Trial by Fire (37 page)

More shouting. People running toward them. Hands pulling them apart. Taking Kat from him.

“No,” he moaned.

“Let me go, dammit!” Her anguished face appeared above his, her soft hands cupped his cheeks. Tears streamed unchecked down her cheeks. “Oh, God, no. Don’t you leave me, not now. Do you hear me, Lieutenant? ”

He reached for her, determined. She took his hand and he squeezed, hoping to reassure her. “I love you,” he whispered. “Should’ve told you . . . before . . .”

“I love you, too. So much.” Her face crumpled. “You’re not going to die. I won’t let you.”

“Kat, move aside so we can help him,” Julian said, gentle but firm. “You can stay where he can see you.”

A distinct crackle reached his ears. “My house . . .”

“Can be rebuilt, son,” Bentley said, expression grim. To Sean and Jules, he ordered, “Help me turn him.”

Howard’s T-shirt was hiked up and he was rolled to his side. Something slapped onto his back. Pressure bandage. They laid him flat again, repeating the procedure on the wound in his abdomen, then started an IV.

His gaze collided with his father’s. “Is he . . . dead?”

Bentley nodded. “Cops finished him.”

“Good. Dad . . .” He had to tell his father, wanted him to know. . . .

“Don’t talk, son.” His dad’s lips trembled and he made a visible effort to get hold of his emotions. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

Howard wasn’t so sure. As they lifted him onto a stretcher and loaded him into the ambulance, he began to shake, chilled to the bone. No one had to tell him his injuries were bad. He fought for every breath, with every ounce of willpower in him.

A losing battle. His lungs were iron heavy, taking in air almost impossible. He knew the signs. Collapsed lung, internal damage. Shock. He coughed, blood bubbling to his lips. Filling his mouth, choking him.

“Howard,” Kat sobbed. “Please don’t leave me.”

The mournful cry of the vehicle’s siren faded into the distance, like his ears were stuffed with cotton.

“Love . . . you . . .”

Despite his monumental effort to stay with his angel, his vision dimmed. His tenuous grip on life slipped.

And he fell down, down into a deep well.

Like the end of a movie fading to black, his world disappeared.

21

Kat hadn’t believed it possible for a person to cry so much without doing themselves physical harm.

Howard couldn’t be gone.

In the ambulance, as Julian worked desperately to save him, she’d seen the spark in his beautiful brown eyes dim until they were nothing more than blank marbles. No hint of life, of the man who used to reside there. Her best friend and protector.

The man who loved her.

His heart stopped beating. And so had hers.

Julian did his best, laboring feverishly, restarting the organ several times. But when the doctors and nurses rushed Howard into the OR, he’d been clinically dead.

Dead on arrival.

Three impossible, cruel words stripping her soul raw. The sedative a nurse jabbed into her arm to calm her and stop her frantic screaming had succeeded— but only on the outside.

She sat huddled in a chair in a corner of the waiting room, arms wrapped around her knees, shell-shocked. Every fiber of her being cried out for him. To know what was going on behind closed doors. To touch and hold him.

A slender arm encircled her shoulders, pulled her close. “You sure you’re okay? Physically, I mean.”

She inhaled her sister’s familiar scent, battling a flood of fresh tears. “Yeah, they checked me out. A black eye and a twisted ankle. Small potatoes compared to what Howard . . .” Her throat burned.

“Shhh, I’ve got you, sweet pea.”

Grace’s pet name for her did her in. With a low, animal moan of grief, she buried her face in her sister’s shoulder and sobbed. Cried until she slumped in exhaustion, certain she’d shrivel from lack of moisture like a dried plant. Grace stroked her hair, patted her back as she dissolved into hiccups.

“I tried to reach Mom and Dad, but I think they went to dinner with Joan and Greg,” Grace murmured. “They’re not answering their cell phones. I’ll try again later.”

“That’s okay.” Kat loved them dearly, but she couldn’t deal with her parents, their thousands of horrified questions when they learned what had happened. Not right now.

Grace pulled back a bit, smoothing Kat’s tangled hair out of her damp face. “How did your talk with Detective Ford go?”

“Fine. He’s really nice. I told him what happened and everything Frank Whitlaw admitted.” She sniffed, shredding her mangled tissue. “He’s going to get a team together to search behind the old Whitlaw place for Liz Whitlaw’s remains. If the monster wasn’t lying, they’ll find her. It’s all I can do for Howard right now. Give him some peace, you know?” Her voice broke, but she retained control.

“Yeah, I know.” Grace pulled her close again.

Earlier, the Mitchells had disappeared down a corridor off the ER, and Kat assumed they’d been whisked to a private room to await news. The main ER waiting area was packed to the brim with firefighters and cops. All of Howard’s friends, praying for his survival.

When a somber doctor emerged and announced to the gathering that Howard made it through surgery, her hopes leapt. They were quickly tempered when he cautioned that the lieutenant’s condition was extremely critical. His chances were being measured, literally, in hours. If he hung on until morning, he might live.

“I’m not leaving,” Kat informed her sister, just in case she thought to force her to go home and rest.

And where is home?

“Then neither am I, sweet pea.” Grace hugged her tight. “Neither am I.”

He was buried.

Suffocating in a deep, dark grave. Alone. Food for the worms.

Like his mother.

No!
He refused to go down easy. Too many loose ends. Too damned much to live for.

Had to reach his angel. How?

Howard? Baby, come back to us. I love you.

Where was she? He strained, but could feel nothing. Not his fingers or toes. He had no voice.

Maybe he was already dead. A ghost who refused to leave her. Unable to accept his demise.

You have to live. I need you. . . . Your parents need you.

Not dead, but close. Perched on the precipice of eternity, his soul torn between two worlds.

But his heart was in this one, with her. So he struggled long and hard to emerge from the void.

So tired.

Exhaustion took him against his will, and consciousness dissolved into black mist.

The lieutenant was alive because he wanted to be, the doctors observed. Despite the fact he kept his body in extraordinary physical condition, his survival defied any other explanation. For days he’d been as near to death as anyone could be and not succumb.

Kat wiggled in the uncomfortable chair beside his bed and laid aside her magazine to study him. Dark lashes curled against his stubbled cheeks. His face was gaunt, waxen. If it weren’t for the gentle rise and fall of his chest, she’d believe he was dead. Due to his incredible willpower, however, he was on his way back.

Today was the first day she’d been able to let go of the terror that he would die. Finally, he was breathing on his own, and yesterday he’d shown signs of waking. He’d opened his eyes the tiniest bit and tried to speak, but quickly went under again.

A wonderful improvement. Better than any of them dared to hope for a few days ago.

Howard shifted, turned his head on his pillow toward her with a groan, something he’d been doing a lot. She leaned over and propped her arms on the mattress by his head, raking her fingers through his funky two-toned hair. He’d always loved when she did that, and she liked to think the stimulation helped him stay connected to life. To her.

“Kat?”

The rasp of his wonderful, deep baritone voice startled her after so many agonizing days of ominous silence. Bending to him, she checked the surge of excitement bubbling in her breast. He had so very far to go; this spurt of wakefulness might not last.

“I’m here, baby. Come on, handsome, open those gorgeous eyes for me.”

And slowly, a millimeter at a time, he did. He stared at her through spiky lashes, looking dazed and lost, but wonderfully alive. A miracle.

“Well, hi there,” she said softly, caressing his cheek. “Good to have you back.”

He blinked in response, awareness returning to his gaze. Knowledge flooded his features. Relief. And love.

“You’re really here,” he murmured, groggy.

“I really am. I’m staying, too, until you get out of here.”

“Only that long?”

“Of course not, silly,” she teased. He smiled back, the effort tired and lopsided. And beautiful.

“I love you.”

“I know, and I love you more.”

Howard reached for her but didn’t quite have the strength to lift his arm, so she took his hand and brought it to her face, rubbing it against her cheek. “Better?”

“Yeah.” He sighed, as if he needed her touch to exist. He studied her, sharper now. More and more aware. “Your bruises are healing.”

She grimaced. “The puffiness is gone around my eye. Now, if all these interesting colors will fade, I’ll be happy.”

“You’re perfect to me.”

“You’re biased, but thanks.”

“Your ankle?” He frowned.

“It’s fine. Stop worrying about me and concentrate on getting well.” Good Lord, the man had taken two bullets and almost died, and he was worried about her bruises and turned ankle.

Exhaling a deep breath, he closed his eyes. After a few minutes, he opened them again, looking at her with surprising intensity.

“I thought you’d gone back to sleep.”

“No, just thinking.”

“About your mother?” she guessed, hating the flash of sorrow the question caused.

“Among other things.”

“Sweetie, I’m so sorry about what truly happened to her.” She kissed his fingers, clenched his hand to her breast. “I’m sorry you had to find out the way you did.”

“Me, too. Or I was, at first.” His jaw tightened and his voice broke. “Now I know the truth. She never left me, Kat. She never would have.”

“Howard . . .” What she must tell him next might be the hardest thing she’d ever had to say to anyone. And the toughest for him to hear. “I told Detective Ford everything Whitlaw said. What he claimed he’d done with your mom’s body. They searched for days.”

She paused. God, this was tearing her apart. She could only imagine how he’d feel.

“Tell me.”

“She was there in the garden. I’m so sorry.”

“All this time,” he said in a small voice.

“Yes. Dental records confirmed her identity.”

Falling strangely silent, he appeared lost in his thoughts. “I’d like to hold a funeral for her. Something small and nice,” he said after a while.

“Your parents and I figured as much. We’ll help you plan it as soon as you’re feeling better.”

“Thank you.” He shook his head. “I can’t cry for her, angel. Why can’t I cry?”

“Too much shock all at once. You’re tired.”
But you will.
“Why don’t you rest, okay?”

“Kat?”

“Hmm?” The intensity was back.

“Stay with me forever? Please?”

Forever. Her heart lurched with hope, but that didn’t mean a literal commitment. She gave him a playful grin. “Just try to ditch me, buddy. I might have to use the fishing pole again.”

His lips hitched up. “Can’t promise you won’t want to at times. But if you can stand me . . .” His voice faded. He was worn out, depleted.

“Oh, I think I can manage.” Not a proposal, but she’d take his request as a giant step. Scooting right up onto the bed next to him, she pressed a soft kiss to his mouth. Then she snuggled into his side, careful not to jostle him.

Content, happier than she’d ever been, Kat finally gave in to days of nail-biting terror and joined the man she loved in slumber.

When Howard next awoke, he’d expected to find Kat at his side. Instead, Bentley sat in the chair by his bed, watching the television mounted on the wall of his private room.

My father.
Not the piece of feces who’d nearly destroyed him, but this man. A man of integrity and honor.

A man he should’ve called Dad long before he knew the truth.

He’d spend a lifetime making up for the pain he’d caused.

Howard cleared his throat. “Hey.”

His father’s head whipped around, expression swamped with relief. “Thank God!” He swiveled in his chair, laying a big hand on his son’s arm. “Kat told us you woke up for a bit yesterday and talked with her. We were afraid you’d relapsed.”

Yesterday? “No wonder I feel rested,” he joked. The older man didn’t smile.

“I’m so damned glad to see you awake. When that sonofabitch stumbled onto the porch and shot you in the back and I thought we’d lost you . . .” Visibly shaken, his father gathered himself. “I’m not sorry Whitlaw’s dead.”

“Me, either.”

“I suppose you want answers.” He looked uncomfortable. Afraid.