Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Brea didn’t know anything about her or why she’d helped Pierce, but if she had contributed to saving his life, Brea wanted to shake the woman’s hand.
“But Montilla seems to have disappeared somewhere into the desert. Poof…” Joaquin tossed his hands in the air.
That wasn’t good news. She knew without being told that cartels were full of dangerous people with long memories. What were the odds they could give up on Pierce simply because his fellow operatives had rescued him and hauled him back to the States?
“How long until he’s out of recovery?” Cutter asked. “Before they know what kind of permanent damage he’ll sustain?”
She shook her head, resisting the pull of fresh tears. She shifted with nervous energy instead. “I’m hoping it’s not much longer. The surgeon called the operation a success, but he has no idea at this point how much Pierce will eventually recover. The next twenty-four hours are critical, so I’m going to stay.”
Cutter frowned. “In a motel?”
“Yes. I’ll find one later.”
He hesitated, then glanced Hunter’s way, who nodded. “I’ll stay with you.”
“You don’t have to. I appreciate you wanting to protect me, but I can do this.” She needed to.
“I know.” He sighed. “I forget sometimes how damn grown you are. I still remember being sixteen and scaring off the bullies in your third-grade class who pulled on your pigtails.”
She managed a wobbly smile. “You did. But the only thing that scares me right now is Pierce’s condition.”
“That’s why I’m going to stay. I can be as strong as you need me to be.”
“You always are.” She squeezed his hand in thanks.
Hunter and Joaquin stood, then the elder Edgington brother spoke. “We’re going to head home for a spell. I’d like to see Kata and my son, get some decent sleep. Then I’ll be back…”
“Your wife called me earlier, too, and said she’d like to see her brother.” Joaquin pointed at himself. “And my wife is worried sick. Bailey wants me home.”
“Go on,” Cutter said. “If there’s any change, I’ll call you.”
“You’re a bigger man than me,” Hunter said.
Brea wanted to correct him. Cutter had never been her boyfriend and, contrary to popular sentiment, Pierce hadn’t raped her. But Joaquin quickly shook Cutter’s hand, then nodded her way, before he lifted the duffel at his feet and headed out. Hunter did the same.
She sighed. Their opinions weren’t important. Right now, she needed to focus all her energy on Pierce and his recovery.
But the hours waiting for news dragged on. She refused breakfast, choosing instead to pace and pray and worry how she would cope if the worst happened. For possibly the first time in her life, Cutter was unable to soothe or console her.
Finally, at ten a.m., a nurse sought them out. “Ms. Bell? Your fiancé is out of recovery and back in his room. He’s not conscious yet, but visiting hours have begun, so you’re welcome to sit with him.”
Relief filled her. She snatched her purse up from her abandoned seat. “Thank you. I’ll follow you.”
Cutter fell in behind her. “Fiancé?”
She shot him a glare over her shoulder and silently shushed him. Later, she’d take the time and energy to explain that was the only way the hospital staff had been willing to bend the rules. Now was about laying eyes on Pierce.
But nothing could have prepared Brea for the sight of him lying so bruised, half-starved, and lifeless in the sterile hospital bed. Both his eyes were black and swollen shut. Another massive hematoma covered the side of his head, which flared with a goose-egg-size knot and had been shaved to reveal an ugly, multicolored wound. The respirator covering his nose and mouth were the least of her concerns once she saw the stitches in various places on his scalp and the drain taking fluid from his brain to a bag near the bed. Bandages pinned his right arm in place and more surrounded both legs.
The sight of him so broken took Brea to her knees. “Pierce…”
Cutter was right there to pick her up and help her into the chair he rolled to One-Mile’s bedside. He stood beside her, palming his face. “Jesus…”
“He’s in bad shape,” the nurse said. “If it had taken you and your friends even another hour to get him medical attention…”
The shake of the older woman’s head said what Brea could see with her own two eyes. He would have died.
Brea pressed a hand over her mouth to silence her fear, anger, and grief. They wouldn’t help him now. Only her love and her positive thoughts might.
It had been almost a month since she’d asked Pierce for space, but not a day had gone by that he hadn’t crowded into her thoughts. Now she was ashamed for avoiding him, for assuming they had all the time in the world for her to sort out her feelings, for being too afraid of everyone else’s reactions to open her heart to him.