struggle. “I don’t want you here if I’ve got someone shooting at me.”
It wasn’t what she’d expected to hear. “Just relax, okay? It’ll be all right.”
“If this guy sees you…”
“Nobody’s going to see me.” She tried to sound cheerful, but his fear was palpable, unnerving. “Rob, please don’t worry—just concentrate on getting better.”
His eyes still closed, he mustered his energy and squeezed her hand. His hair was matted, dirty. “You’re too trusting.”
She wanted to reassure him, but she had no intention of going back to Tennessee, not until he was more himself. “I’ll go home. Of course I will. I can’t wait to go home.
After
I know you’re better.”
“What time is it?”
“It’s a little after nine in the morning. You were injured yesterday around lunchtime.”
“Tonight. You can catch a flight back to Nashville tonight. Promise me.”
She didn’t know if he was entirely lucid or if the trauma of his injury, the lifesaving surgery and the medications he was on were making him a little crazy. Paranoid. She had a friend whose father, suffering complications after heart surgery, kept insisting he saw waiters in tuxedos delivering him pheasant under glass in the I.C.U.
Or was her brother simply projecting his own fears onto her? If she were drinking tea on the front porch at home in Night’s Landing, he’d feel safer.
“I don’t…” His voice was barely a rasping whisper now. “I don’t remember anything.”
He looked so vulnerable, so out of his element. Sarah could picture him yesterday in Central Park—strong, vital, a professional but also a man with a sense of fun. Why would someone shoot him?
Who
would do something like that? She’d lain awake much of the night on the futon in Juliet Longstreet’s, surrounded by plants and fish tanks as the questions repeated themselves. And over and over, until she finally gave up on sleeping at all, she kept hearing Rob on the phone, telling her he’d been shot.
She found herself having to choke back tears. “I’ll let you sleep. I’ll see you soon.”
But her twin brother had already drifted off.
Brushing her tears off her cheeks with her fingertips, Sarah stepped backward toward the exit and stumbled on someone’s feet. Before she could fall flat on her face, a firm hand caught her by the elbow, steadying her.
“Whoa, there. Easy.”
She spun around, straight into Nate Winter, the deputy who’d been shot with her brother. She recognized him from the photo they’d shown on TV. He was tall, lean, his dark hair softened with just a hint of auburn, and he had, Sarah thought, the most incisive, the most no-nonsense blue eyes she’d ever seen. He wore black jeans, a black T-shirt under a dark plaid flannel shirt and scuffed running shoes.
The blue eyes settled on her. “Sarah Dunnemore, right?”
She nodded. “Deputy Winter—I hope I didn’t hurt your arm.”
She realized she was about to cry. She’d held her tears in check since the marshals had arrived in Night’s Landing yesterday, but now, with her brother lying a few feet away from her, hurting, begging her to go home, with the lingering sting of Juliet’s words, she couldn’t hold back. “I should go.”
Nate Winter didn’t say a word, didn’t try to stop her as she pushed past him and ran out of the I.C.U. into the hall, sobbing, tears streaming down her face. She couldn’t stop herself, couldn’t bring herself under control. She
hated
crying in front of anyone.
Juliet shot out of the waiting room. “Sarah—wait.”
Sarah broke into a run, charging past startled law enforcement officers. She squeezed by doctors and nurses getting off and onto an elevator and pushed her way to the back wall, sinking against it, bracing her knees as she focused on her breathing in an attempt to calm herself.
Nate Winter had been
shot
yesterday, and he was a rock. Steady, unemotional.
She had no business falling apart.
“You’re too
It wasn’t what she’d expected to hear. “Just relax, okay? It’ll be all right.”
“If this guy sees you…”
“Nobody’s going to see me.” She tried to sound cheerful, but his fear was palpable, unnerving. “Rob, please don’t worry—just concentrate on getting better.”
His eyes still closed, he mustered his energy and squeezed her hand. His hair was matted, dirty. “You’re too trusting.”
She wanted to reassure him, but she had no intention of going back to Tennessee, not until he was more himself. “I’ll go home. Of course I will. I can’t wait to go home.
After
I know you’re better.”
“What time is it?”
“It’s a little after nine in the morning. You were injured yesterday around lunchtime.”
“Tonight. You can catch a flight back to Nashville tonight. Promise me.”
She didn’t know if he was entirely lucid or if the trauma of his injury, the lifesaving surgery and the medications he was on were making him a little crazy. Paranoid. She had a friend whose father, suffering complications after heart surgery, kept insisting he saw waiters in tuxedos delivering him pheasant under glass in the I.C.U.
Or was her brother simply projecting his own fears onto her? If she were drinking tea on the front porch at home in Night’s Landing, he’d feel safer.
“I don’t…” His voice was barely a rasping whisper now. “I don’t remember anything.”
He looked so vulnerable, so out of his element. Sarah could picture him yesterday in Central Park—strong, vital, a professional but also a man with a sense of fun. Why would someone shoot him?
Who
would do something like that? She’d lain awake much of the night on the futon in Juliet Longstreet’s, surrounded by plants and fish tanks as the questions repeated themselves. And over and over, until she finally gave up on sleeping at all, she kept hearing Rob on the phone, telling her he’d been shot.
She found herself having to choke back tears. “I’ll let you sleep. I’ll see you soon.”
But her twin brother had already drifted off.
Brushing her tears off her cheeks with her fingertips, Sarah stepped backward toward the exit and stumbled on someone’s feet. Before she could fall flat on her face, a firm hand caught her by the elbow, steadying her.
“Whoa, there. Easy.”
She spun around, straight into Nate Winter, the deputy who’d been shot with her brother. She recognized him from the photo they’d shown on TV. He was tall, lean, his dark hair softened with just a hint of auburn, and he had, Sarah thought, the most incisive, the most no-nonsense blue eyes she’d ever seen. He wore black jeans, a black T-shirt under a dark plaid flannel shirt and scuffed running shoes.
The blue eyes settled on her. “Sarah Dunnemore, right?”
She nodded. “Deputy Winter—I hope I didn’t hurt your arm.”
She realized she was about to cry. She’d held her tears in check since the marshals had arrived in Night’s Landing yesterday, but now, with her brother lying a few feet away from her, hurting, begging her to go home, with the lingering sting of Juliet’s words, she couldn’t hold back. “I should go.”
Nate Winter didn’t say a word, didn’t try to stop her as she pushed past him and ran out of the I.C.U. into the hall, sobbing, tears streaming down her face. She couldn’t stop herself, couldn’t bring herself under control. She
hated
crying in front of anyone.
Juliet shot out of the waiting room. “Sarah—wait.”
Sarah broke into a run, charging past startled law enforcement officers. She squeezed by doctors and nurses getting off and onto an elevator and pushed her way to the back wall, sinking against it, bracing her knees as she focused on her breathing in an attempt to calm herself.
Nate Winter had been
shot
yesterday, and he was a rock. Steady, unemotional.
She had no business falling apart.
“You’re too
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