I nod. “Yeah, but then you came.”
He makes a pissed-off face. “That bastard shot me.”
I blink through tears. “Yes, he did.”
Hunter frowns, looking down at our hands before meeting my eyes again. “Did I shoot him first?”
“I think so. Cross said you leaned into the room and got a perfect gut shot.”
Hunter’s eyes are wide. He’s nodding, but I can tell he’s not completely following, or more likely, he just doesn’t remember.
I hesitate before asking my next question. “Do you remember anything from the helicopter?”
After squeezing my hand for a second, he shakes his head. I’m not surprised. In fact, I’m glad. The times he was conscious were horrible. I wish I could forget them, too.
“Did you go with me?” he whispers.
I nod. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying, because as I sat there in the helicopter, watching those FBI people—or “chota,” as the locals were screaming—work on him, I really, really thought he was going to die.
“I was with you,” I finally manage.
His eyes close as his fingers squeeze my hand. “Stay.”
Hunter
GENTLE HANDS ARE playing in my hair. It feels so good I want to keep my eyes closed, but I miss Libby and I need to know it’s her.
Damn the effort it takes to get my eyes open. And when I do, I have to struggle to focus on her face.
“Libby...”
She looks up. She’s so pretty. I’m so happy she’s here.
She smiles her sweet smile, the one I’ve only ever seen her smile for me. “Hi, you.”
My throat’s dry, and I start to cough. Libby holds out a cup with a straw, and I gulp down a few sips of water. I feel really...stiff, so I try to shift my body weight. Pain like a hot poker lances through my shoulder and I have to bite my lip to keep from whimpering.
Now I’m in a cold sweat.
“Do you want some more pain meds?” Libby looks concerned.
I nod once, then shake my head. I already feel dizzy. If I take a pain pill, I might fall asleep.
“Are you sure? You look a little rough around the edges.” She strokes my hair back off my forehead, and I shut my eyes. All I can think about is Lockwood taking her. I have another awful thought: What if I’m arrested for skipping the country? Who will watch out for Libby then?
I swallow and crack my eyes back open. “Am I…arrested?”
She shakes her head. “But Lockwood has been. For Sarabelle,” she adds quietly. “And all the abductions.”
“No shit?”
She nods. “Actually, I think your dad had a hand in getting it done quickly. Lockwood was taken as soon as they got him back into the states. And, for the record, you just missed your father.”
I blink my dry eyes. “He was here?”
Libby nods. “Yep. And he had news. He’s resigning.”
My shock makes my back hurt. “What the fuck?”
“Apparently he’s fallen in love with one of his aides. She looked a little younger than him, maybe in her thirties.”
I snort. “Oh.”
“But I don’t think that was all. He told me he had some personal things to settle. He’s coming back to talk to you tomorrow.”
I nod, because I don’t expect much from that bullshit. I shift my weight again, testing the pain around my left shoulder. It streaks through me, and I find myself panting.
“You need pain meds.” Libby’s frowning.
“I want to know...about Priscilla.”
Her frown deepens as she leans a little closer, resting her chin on my bed rail. “She’s missing, Hunter. We didn’t get her out of Mexico. Cross says she might have gone with some of the cartel guys.”
I shut my eyes. That’s fucking weird.
“Dr. Libby has been here. So has Marchant. And Loveless.”
I’m surprised. Not about Marchant, but about the others. “How is Loveless?” I manage to whisper.
“She left you those,” Libby says, pointing to a bouquet of yellow flowers, “and the others will all be back to see you tomorrow.”
Libby’s fingers stroke my face, and I reach out and wrap my hand around her arm. I tug her closer, and she lets down the rail and presses her face into my side. She eases an arm over my waist. With my right hand, I reach out and touch her pretty red-brown hair.
“What about you?” I whisper. “How long have you been here?”
“A while,” she murmurs.
“The whole time?”
“Maybe.”
I smile a little, tightening my grip on her. “I can’t get rid of you.”
She sits up, so I can see her face. “You can’t,” she whispers, smiling. But her eyes look serious.
“I didn’t really want to,” I confess.
Epilogue
Elizabeth
IT’S ONE OF the first warm days in March, and Hunter has a poker tournament this evening. This one’s at the Wynn, which is convenient since that’s where we’ve been staying. After he was discharged from the hospital, we sort of took a two-month vacation here.