Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
“Tracked you. Tika and me.”
Oh yeah. He could track anybody. Her face throbbed from the last punch, but everything still worked. Mostly.
Christian leaned in closer, those dual-colored eyes concerned. “Baby? Tell me you’re okay.”
Baby. He’d called her that before. She smiled.
Panic sizzled across his face. He dropped beside her and took her face in his hands like he was afraid to break her. “I’ve got you. You’re okay now.” His voice was rough. Warmer than anything she’d ever heard.
She couldn’t see well. “Weren’t we just in this situation? Seriously?” She was so over explosions and people pointing guns at her. “I need a vacation.”
Something flickered in his eyes. Humor. Relief. Rage. She couldn’t name the sentiment. But the sight grounded her. Behind him, boots pounded again. Troopers shouting. Brock cuffed Helene as Ace watched dispassionately and Tika sat quietly to the side.
Where had Damian gone?
Amka swallowed down the lump in her throat. “I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered to Christian right before she passed out.
Cold.
Chapter 39
Christian sat in the hospital chair, hard plastic digging into his back, his gut clenching. His hands were braced on his thighs, stiff from holding still too long, the wound in his shoulder screaming. Didn’t matter. He kept his eyes on Amka.
He almost lost her. Couldn’t lose her. Ever.
She was propped up in the hospital bed, bruised, stitched, and stubborn. An oxygen monitor clipped to her finger beeped steady and soft, almost in rhythm with the slight tremble in her hands. She kept her voice calm and even as she finished walking the troopers through the entire ordeal. Her tone didn’t shake, but her fingers did.
Doc May moved quietly behind her, checking vitals, peering at her pupils with a small light, the hem of her green scrubs looking worn over her white tennis shoes. Her blonde hair was piled up in what had probably started as a neat bun hours ago. She didn’t say much. Just nodded, made a note on a chart, moved to the next thing. Focused. Controlled. Probably pissed.
May hadn’t stopped glaring at Christian since she’d walked in and realized his shoulder was bleeding through the half-assed duct-tape job he’d done hours earlier. He hadn’t let her touch him. Not yet. Not until Amka was cleared.
“...And she fired the gun, but I’d already slammed into her,” Amka finished, her voice raw. “Then Christian and Tika came in.” She looked toward him then, gaze landing on his shoulder with something soft in her expression. “He saved me once again.”
Paige, sharp in her uniform and perfectly gelled bun, jotted a few final notes. Jeb stood beside her, hat in hand, mouth twitching slightly as he chewed over something. Paige snapped the notebook closed. “It’s a strong statement, and we believe you. But it doesn’t change what we’re seeing in Jarod Teller’s case.”
Amka’s jaw twitched. “He’s dead. What more do you need?”
Jeb shifted his stance. “We know that. But Helene Stanford was clearly waiting for him to show. That doesn’t track with her being the shooter. He was a bad guy, Amka. If you killed him in self-defense, let us help you.”
Christian stiffened. “You’re saying you still think she did it?”
“Yes,” Jeb said. “Even more so now. But it was probably in self-defense. The prosecuting attorney agreed and charged her. This isn’t going away.”
Christian started to rise, already ready to snap, but Doc May turned then—fast, sharp—and cut the air with one hand. “Hold it,” she said, her voice clipped. She moved around the bed with that deceptively graceful doctor glide and pointed a finger at Christian. “Sit. Down.”
He opened his mouth.
“I said sit,” she snapped. “You’re still bleeding through gauze held together with actual duct tape. This is not a movie, and you’re not Rambo. But I’m finishing with my patient before I deal with your nonsense.” She turned back to Amka. “You were charged?”
Amka nodded, her gaze intense on the doctor. “Yes, and it’s okay. I didn’t kill him, and I’m willing to go to trial to prove it.”
May took a step back. “Amka—”
“No,” Amka said. “I’ve got this.”
Warning ticked down Christian’s spine. What had Amka said right before he’d been shot? When she looked at that green hat on the counter?
May turned, her jaw set, desperation in her eyes. “I shot Jarod.”
“No,” Amka protested.
May held up a hand, looking at the troopers. “I dropped by Amka’s house that night to return the hat that she left when she stayed over last week. She never leaves her door locked, so I just dropped it on the counter. When I was leaving, Jarod was there, and he was drunk.” Tears filled the doctor’s eyes. “He dragged me into his truck, tried to take off my clothes, we fought, and I grabbed the gun from under his seat. I pointed it at him, trying to get out, and he lunged. I shot.”