Here With Me (Adair Family 1)

My hand looked tiny in his.

Tears pricked my eyes as I thought of all the years I’d missed holding my father’s hand. A memory hit me out of the blue. Me, just a little kid, up on his shoulders, my hands in his as we walked through Boston Public Garden together. We strolled over the bridge, and Mac sang loudly, not caring that people looked, a song by Billy Connolly, a Scottish comedian he liked.

Something about Glasgow, the city of Mac’s birth.

“Robyn?”

Adair’s voice brought me out of the memory, and I glared at him, hating his presence, that he was witness to my obvious vulnerability around Mac.

Adair’s expression softened. “I’ll give you a moment.”

To my shock, he left the room with the nurse.

Covering Mac’s hand with mine, I slid into the seat by the bed. “Where did you go?” I whispered, choking back the tears. “Why did you leave me?”

* * *

Hours later, I sat in the same chair by Mac’s bed, my eyes never leaving my father’s handsome face.

I’d stayed outside the room with Adair as Arrochar and Thane paid a visit. They’d emerged awhile later, Thane’s arm around Arrochar, her eyes red and bloodshot from crying.

“I’m taking Arro home,” Thane said to Adair. “I need to get back to the kids. Are you staying?”

“Yes, I’ll keep you posted.” Adair hugged his sister and then his brother. I gave them both a tight nod and thanked Arrochar for bringing me to the hospital before I slid past them into the private room.

Mac’s boss and friend wasn’t far behind me.

Adair sat on a chair opposite the foot of the bed.

We’d stayed in silence for what seemed like an age.

That silence broke abruptly when a young nurse came into the room with a clipboard in hand. She halted at the sight of us, her attention moving to Adair. Her cheeks flushed pink with recognition as their eyes met. “Oh, Mr. Adair …” Her eyes flicked to me, then back to him, and her cheeks turned scarlet red. “I’m sorry, sir, but it should be family only outside of visiting hours.”

I tensed for his reaction and saw the frustration pass over his features before he controlled it. He stood slowly, and the nurse took a step back.

“I am sorry, Mr. Adair.”

Guilt niggled at me. “Don’t,” I blurted out. “I might as well be the product of a sperm donation. He’s”—I gestured to Adair—“he’s like a brother to my father.”

The young nurse blushed again at my bluntness, but nodded. “All right, then. Let me just check Mr. Galbraith’s vitals.”

A renewal of the awkward silence filled the room as she went about her duties and Adair retook his seat.

I could feel him staring at me, but I kept my focus firmly on Mac’s face.

The nurse left.

“You honestly believe that?” Adair asked as soon as she was gone.

Knowing he referred to my last comment, I turned to him. Despite Mac’s attack bringing back terrible memories, I already knew it wouldn’t send me running. It wasn’t in my nature. I’d quit being a cop not because of what happened to me but because I wasn’t happy. Fear didn’t shut me down. It fueled me. It made me want to overcome it. And I could only overcome this particular fear by sticking around.

“I don’t know what to believe. I guess I’ll have time to find out.” My expression hardened as stubborn determination gripped me. I had to find out who did this to my father. “Because I won’t be going anywhere for a while.”

My statement hung in the air between us like a threat.

6

Robyn

He came out of nowhere. The man. Handgun raised, pointed at Autry. My heart exploded into action as I saw his finger on the trigger. Eddie. This guy was Eddie Johnstone, a known drug dealer in East Boston.

I didn’t know that. How did I know that?

“Eddie, no!” I yelled, diving in front of Autry, gun raised. “Don’t make me shoot.”

His expression darkened. “Take your best shot, bitch.”

I pulled the trigger.

Eddie’s eyes widened. There was a hole in his forehead. Blood and brain matter splattered the wall behind him.

Then he fell, hitting the apartment floor with a loud, decisive slam.

Relieved, shocked, I turned to Autry to make sure he was okay.

“Robbie,” Autry whispered, looking grief stricken.

“What is it? We’re okay, we’re okay.”

“Robbie, no.” He looked down at my chest.

Frowning, I followed his gaze and terror paralyzed me. There was a huge hole where my heart should be. A person could see right through me.

“He shot you, Robbie. You’re dead.”

It can’t be, a voice whispered in my mind as the floor came toward me. Robyn, you’re dreaming. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real—

My eyes slammed open, and I gasped for breath. The sight of the cracked ceiling of my hotel room brought reality crashing in and with it, a huge wave of relief.