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should call her father to let him know she was okay, but she just could not face the angry questions and the inevitable demand that she return to the compound. She would call him as soon as she knew Peyton was in the clear.
    She had the phone in her hand for the third time when the surgeon walked into the room. He pulled his surgical cap off his head. KT put the handset on the cradle and waited.
    “Ms. Marant, I’m Dr. Williams.” He shook her hand and then crossed his arms. “Captain Peyton is a lucky man. The bullet in his chest didn’t collapse his lung, and the other two didn’t hit anything vital.”
    The doctor’s words echoed in her head, but mostly, her brain kept repeating “lucky man” over and over. She gripped her hands tight. The pain helped her focus on the rest of the doctor’s report.
    “He’ll be moved to a private room in a little while. Right now he’s in Recovery. I’m sorry, but only immediate family is permitted,” Dr. Williams said. “If you’d like, I could get someone to take you upstairs. You could wait there.”
    The vise in KT’s chest loosened and she took a deep breath before she stood up. “Thank you.”
    Dr. Williams smiled. “Listen, if you’d like, we can lend you some scrubs. You could change in Captain Allers’ room. There’s a shower in there. I can have a nurse set everything up.”
    Why is everyone so concerned about her personal grooming? She nodded anyway. “That would be kind. Thank you.”
    In Peyton’s room, she showered, used liberal amounts of the hospital shampoo and conditioner, and emerged feeling much more herself. The generic green scrubs hung on her like pajamas.
    She wadded up her clothes and stuffed them in the trash can. She never wanted to see them again. Besides, they were ruined. She washed her socks by hand and draped them over the handrail in the shower. They’d be dry long before Peyton needed to use it. Barefoot, she padded into the hospital room.
    The private room held a typical hospital bed, a chair that reclined, a sofa, a wall-mounted television, and a rolling bed table. She turned off the overhead light, left the bathroom light on, door half closed, and curled up on the sofa. She picked up the phone and braced herself for the coming conversation.
    As she dialed her father’s private number, she marshaled her arguments. Yes, she was fine, no need to rush home. No, she was staying until Peyton regained consciousness. Yes, she had acted rashly when she followed him outside, but she had her reasons. No, she wasn’t willing to discuss her reasons on the phone. She imagined his reactions, the anger, the accusations, the demands, and steeled herself to hold onto her own temper. The phone rang once and his voice poured into her ear.
    “KT? KT, is that you?” Anxiety and love flowed through the connection like a salve and she cradled the receiver with both hands. The tone washed away the worst of her fears, and she slumped against the cushions with relief.
    “Hello, Father. I’m fine.”

Chapter Seven
    KT stood watching the lights coming on in the neighborhood below the fifteenth floor dayroom. A day of sitting beside Peyton’s bed had both cleared and confused her thoughts. She’d finally sought some peace watching twilight descend on the city.
    “I don’t know if I should shake you or hug you.”
    She turned to see her father in the doorway. A man of average height and weight, Anton Marant’s mere presence filled any room with a sense of strength. Right now, however, his emotions were tightly controlled and she couldn’t get a read on him.
    She tried to keep her voice steady and held her head high. “Actually, right now, I’d prefer a hug.”
    A smile cracked through Anton’s shell and he opened his arms wide. She rushed into his arms and breathed deep his familiar scent.
    “If you ever try something so crazy dangerous again, I’ll have you salison-chipped,” her father threatened, his voice muffled against her hair as he