Lover Undercover (McCade Brothers 1)

Trevor needed no further assurance. He shoved his gun in the waist of his jeans and opened the back door. And there she was, sprawled half-on, half-off the seat, hair covering her face, and utterly still. For a frantic half second he stood frozen, praying to see her chest rise and fall. His own breath backed up in his lungs until he saw that telltale sign of life.

“Kylie?” Relief turned his voice into a hoarse whisper. Before he could lean closer, two EMTs shouldered him aside, the larger of the two saying, “We’ve got her, Detective. Give us room. Let us take care of her.”

Ian approached and put a hand on his shoulder. They watched in silence, staring mostly at the paramedic’s back as he leaned in and assessed her. She still hadn’t regained consciousness by the time they lifted her onto a gurney. When they wheeled past, the medic told Trevor, “Her blood pressure’s a little low. Other vitals are good. My guess is he hit her with some homemade chloroform because I smell acetone, but they’ll run tests at the hospital.”

“You stick with our witness,” Ian suggested, and started walking backward toward the area where a couple of officers had Benny cuffed and facedown on the hood of a cruiser. “I’ll get our friend checked in to his suite and see if he feels like talking.”

Trevor nodded. “Thanks. Keep me posted.”

“Same goes.”

Trevor backtracked to pick up Stacy and sped to the hospital. Once there, they got some good news. Kylie was no longer in the ER. With vital signs stable and within normal limits, she’d been installed in a room on the fourth floor. What he saw when they reached her room didn’t look quite as good. His heart clutched at the sight of her lying there, fragile and unmoving, in the hospital bed. They’d hooked her up to various tubes and wires, but she was still unconscious, and to his eyes, very pale.

“Does she look pale?” Stacy whispered from beside him.

He patted her hand, which clung to his arm in a tight grip. “It’s the hospital lighting.” Check him out, sounding so calm and sure despite the fear ricocheting through him.

They stepped closer to the bed. “What’s this for?” She pointed to the wire running from under the front flap of Kylie’s hospital gown to a machine beside the bed.

“It’s a heart rate monitor. Tells you how many beats per minute, oxygen level, and some other stuff.” Pointing to the heart icon flashing at regular intervals on the display next to the bed, he went on. “See here? Everything looks nice and normal.”

“So why isn’t she awake?”

“She’s awakened for short intervals, but mostly, she’s still sleeping it off.”

They both turned and stared at the petite redheaded nurse standing in the doorway. She stepped into the room, checked the monitor, and added, “Don’t worry. She’s going to be fine,” before heading to the hall.

“Tha’s a relief,” came a thin, groggy voice from the bed.

“Oh my God, Ky!” Stacy rushed to her sister’s bedside, grinding Trevor’s toe under her cast in the process. He hobbled over to the opposite side.

“Hey, beautiful.”

Drowsy blue eyes with pupils the size of planets turned to him, and then tried to roll up behind her eyelids. He took her hand, holding it carefully, as if the physical contact could somehow anchor her. “Stay with me, Kylie.”

Her gaze steadied and locked on him. “Always.”

Chapter Eighteen

“Always,” she repeated, encouraged when her voice sounded less like it came from the far end of a long tunnel. She fought the dragging pull of sleep. Vague recollections of losing this battle a couple of times already, with the paramedics, a harried doctor, a nice nurse, danced through her mind. But this time she really wanted, no, needed to win. Because this time, it was Trevor.

As the fog cleared, she pulled his heart-stopping face into focus. He opened his mouth to respond, but Stacy’s anxious voice swept into the silence.

“Do you remember what happened? Benny drugged you and tossed you in the back of his car.”

She turned her head and found Stacy on her other side.

“Benny?” For a moment, her mind refused to connect the name with anything, and then, whoosh, it all came rushing back—the knock at her car window, surprise at finding him standing there, a chemical-laden cloth shoved in her face.

That cleared the fog like a gale force wind. She struggled to sit up, only to have two sets of hands hold her down. She turned to Trevor. “Stacy’s right. I got home, I wasn’t paying attention, and then—out of nowhere—he was there, by my car, and—and—”

“Shhh. I know. You’re safe. He’s in custody. Ian’s already got his confession.”

“Can you believe it?” Stacy interjected. “It was Benny, all along. He killed Alex and Carlton. Turns out Benny had a sister who worked as a stripper at a club in Boston. She got him a job bouncing there. On his night off, one of her regular customers got good and loaded, cornered her in the parking lot after her shift, and when she turned down his proposition, beat her to death.”

Stunned, she turned to Trevor. He nodded. “He never forgave himself for not being there to protect her.”

She looked at Stacy again, but directed her question to Trevor. “Blond with blue eyes?”