by Lynette Mae
“I called my cousin, Conner, and left a message on her cell. Jill and I went to see her play in Atlanta last month, and then we all went out for dinner. Jill and Conner really hit it off.” She rubbed her eyes, looking as bone-tired as Devon felt. “Conner called back to say she’d catch the redeye from San Francisco, which should put her here soon.” She glanced up at the clock on the wall and then back to Devon. “How’s Nate?”
“The captain says the surgery was successful. The bullet missed the joint in his shoulder, and the doctor says the muscle damage will heal pretty well. He’s in recovery now.” She breathed a sigh of relief for her friend.
“So your whole team made it. Good.” Mac forced a smile that quickly died. “Jill’s gonna be devastated when she finds out about her team.”
Devon draped an arm around her friend’s shoulder. “I should have taken the front door. Jill gave me the choice. I’m so sorry Mac.”
“Why? Then Jill and I would be out here praying for you.” She shook her head. “Wasn’t anybody’s fault but his.” The venom in her voice was palpable.
“Still…” Devon didn’t really know what else to say. She fell silent as her relentless mind projector played clips of lifeless bodies, the pure hatred in Honeycutt’s eyes, and the terror on Jessie’s face. Worst of all was the frightening unresponsive pliancy of Jessie and Jillian’s bodies as doctors and nurses did appalling things in the name of emergency medicine. A shudder rolled through her.
She pushed herself off the couch, unable to sit any longer. She paced and her control slipped. “Why don’t they fucking tell us something?”
Hours crept by with no word. Steph tried to get Devon and Mac to go to the cafeteria for some food, but they refused. “What if they come back to tell us something?” Devon asked.
Finally, Steph brought a tray with some fruit, toast, and yogurt. She set it on the table in the corner. Devon picked up a piece of toast and nibbled at it half-heartedly. A TV on the wall showed the local morning show. Aerial shots of the night’s police activity rolled on the screen with the dramatic caption, “Standoff goes horribly wrong.” Then the footage was replaced by pictures of three Orange County Deputies alongside a badge covered by a black band. Bert’s picture stared back at her from the TV and her stomach churned. The news anchor talked about preparations for the massive memorial service to be given in honor of the fallen. He finished saying it was the darkest day in the Sheriff’s Department history. Devon tossed the piece of toast in the trashcan and turned away from the reminder of Honeycutt’s destruction. She could only pray they’d seen the end of the casualties.
Late in the morning, the door opened and a young woman bearing a striking resemblance to Mac rushed into the room. She wore navy sweats, high-top sneakers, and her gray t-shirt said San Francisco Force in dark blue letters across the front. Devon knew right away this was Mac’s cousin, the star forward for the first place team in the women’s pro basketball association. The woman wrapped Mac in a tight embrace and they held each other silently for long moments. Finally, Conner asked, “What happened?”
“It’s a very long story,” Mac sighed. “Right now, Jillian is in surgery. There was an explosion. She has some pretty serious injuries. The doctor hasn’t told us anything yet.”
“Sorry it took me so long. I grabbed the first plane I could after I got your message.”
“Thanks for coming, kiddo.”
“I wouldn’t be anywhere else in the world right now. You know that.”
They embraced again before Mac turned her toward Devon. “Dev, this is my cousin, Conner.”
Devon stood and shook her hand. “Devon. Glad to meet another member of the McKinley clan.”
“Actually, Conner’s a Maguire,” Mac said. “Our mothers are sisters.”
“You’re definitely related,” Devon said.
Conner was obviously pleased by the observation. “So, you’re the woman I’ve heard so much about over the years. I feel as if I know you already.” She had exactly the same smile as Mac. Conner was about six feet, two inches, with deep blue eyes, whereas Mac’s were charcoal gray. Other than that, there was no doubt they were cut from the same family mold. “Thanks for being here for Mac,” she said to Devon.
Devon nodded absently in return. “No problem.” If only I was just here to support my friend, she thought. She excused herself and went to the window, unable to carry on a conversation of pleasantries. Conner’s comment was innocent. Of course she would assume Devon was here as Mac’s friend. She had no way of knowing about Jessie or about the history Devon had with Jillian, or about anything else that had happened.
“Did I say something wrong?” Devon heard Conner ask.
“Her lover was seriously injured tonight, too,” Mac explained. “We’re waiting for word on both of them.”
The door swung open again and a slender woman clad in sapphire blue scrubs pulled a cap from her head. She approached the group and scrubbed her other hand through her brown hair to loosen it from where it had been pasted against her skin beneath the cap. The doctor smiled professionally. “Which one of you ladies is Ms. James?”
Everyone in the room turned to Devon. “I am.” She took the doctor’s outstretched hand, meeting her eyes with trepidation.
The doctor smiled wistfully. “Yes, my patient said your name a few times before we put her under. I’m Doctor Bishop.”
“Is she okay?” This was the moment Devon had prayed for, and now that it was here, dread crept through her. Breathing was suddenly difficult.
Doctor Bishop nodded. “We were able to stop the internal bleeding. Her lung will repair itself in short order. The bullet wound in her shoulder was a bit trickier. It required some reconstructing of the connective tissues and the tendons in the shoulder itself. I used titanium pins, and it looks good. With some physical therapy, she’ll have full use of it, although she may be able to tell you when it’s going to rain.” Her face lit up when she smiled. “I expect her to make a full recovery.”
Devon sagged against the windowsill. Nothing in her life had ever been as important as knowing Jessie would be all right. The relief flooding her body made her lightheaded. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks. “Thank you,” she choked out.
The doctor squeezed her shoulder. “My pleasure. Give us a little longer to get her settled in recovery and then you can see her.” She offered another smile before starting back toward the hall.
“Doctor?” Mac called after her and Doctor Bishop turned back. “Can you tell me anything about the deputy who came in, Jillian Gray?”
The doctor’s brow wrinkled in thought momentarily. “The one from the explosion. Yes. She’s still in the OR.” Her eyes filled with compassion, although her face was a professional mask. Devon stepped up next to Mac, waiting for the rest of her answer. “The chief of surgery is working on her. He’s the best in his field. She’s in excellent hands.” Considering the women for a moment, she added, “I’ll go see what I can find out for you.”
A command sounded over the loud speaker. Doctor Bishop to ER one, stat.
“Sorry.” The surgeon gave them a terse nod and jogged down the hall the way she had come.
DEVON PUSHED ASIDE the curtain to enter the recovery room area where Jessie was resting. Tubes and machines were attached to Jessie’s arms, and bandages covered much of her exposed skin. Devon stifled a sob. The only sound in the room was the steady blip, blip of the heart monitor. Devon moved next to the bed and stood watching her. The peacefulness of sleep belied all of the terror she’d survived.
Doctor Bishop had assured her that Jessie would make a full recovery, but believing that was impossible until she saw for herself. She needed to hear Jessie’s voice, feel the way it always soothed and settled her. She wanted to see Jessie’s smile. That picture perfect radiance lighting up her face, never failing to affect Devon like a powerful drug.
She loved the way Jessie’s laughter rang in her ears, lifting her spirits effortlessly. Jessie’s eyes, the c
olor of a summer meadow when she was happy, a dark forest green when she was sad, were like a churning ocean current when they made love. Devon remembered the first time she’d seen her, pumped from her workout, with her hair falling in her face, refusing to be tamed. The first time she’d kissed Jessie her entire world shifted. That kiss had rocked her to the core, stole the air from her lungs, and when she held her, she’d known instinctively that one touch would lead to an endless need.
Jessie was a sweet blood-borne infection, and Devon had a hopeless case of her. Oh, yeah, she was addicted, all right. But, if there was a cure, Devon wanted no part of it. She leaned over and gently pressed her lips to Jessie’s forehead, closing her eyes and silently thanking the heavens she’d made it this far. Devon brushed strands of dark hair away from Jessie’s brow and let her fingers linger, needing to touch her. Grateful tears rolled down her face. “I love you, Jess.”
Jessie’s eyes fluttered open. She blinked as if to bring the world into focus, then her gaze fearfully darted around the room.
“Shhh.” Devon stroked her head. “Easy, love.”
Recognition dawned when Jessie found Devon’s face. She tried to speak. “Devon…”
“Yes, baby, I’m here.” The lump of emotion in her throat strangled her voice. She laced their fingers together, concentrating on the feeling of Jessie’s hand in hers, letting it ground her. Devon kissed her knuckles as a new wave of grateful relief washed through her.
Terror flickered in Jessie’s eyes. “Is he…?”
Devon squeezed her hand reassuringly. She cupped the side of Jessie’s face and leaned in to kiss her gently. “He can’t hurt anyone again.” She didn’t tell Jessie that she planned on going to the morgue just to be certain. Maybe it was crazy, but just because she’d shot him, she couldn’t make herself believe that he was truly gone. She had a twisted need to see the undeniable proof, fearing that if she didn’t, her new nightmare would be Honeycutt stalking them like a horror movie villain, bullet holes oozing as he lumbered along. She needed to see for herself in order to find peace. Maybe then they could all get on with their lives.
Jessie was still watching her, as if waiting for more.
“Honeycutt’s dead,” Devon said.
Jessie nodded and closed her eyes. “I’m tired.”
“Rest. Everything’s all right now.” Devon prayed that her statement was true. Jillian had made it through surgery, but was still critical. Devon was glad that Jessie didn’t know what had happened. Jessie would take it hard and blame herself for the casualties last night and that wouldn’t help her recovery. The news about Jillian and the others could wait until she was a little stronger. When Jessie’s breathing became deep and regular, Devon crept out to get an update on Jillian.
Conner was sitting outside the door to the ICU when Devon stepped off the elevator, her long muscular legs stretched out in front of her, crossed at the ankle. She stared at the ceiling.
“Any word?” Devon motioned in the direction of the double doors. A sign instructed visitors to don a gown and mask and wash their hands prior to entry.
“Not much. She hasn’t regained consciousness yet. Doc says the next twenty-four hours are critical. What they’re worried about is the blast injury to her lungs. They said the damage keeps her lungs from being able to process oxygen for her body. ” She looked over her shoulder. “Mac’s in with her now.”
Devon pushed her hands deep into her pockets and drew a slow breath. Conner stood and offered her the chair, but Devon waved her off. “Thanks, I’m too keyed up to sit.”
“Listen,” Conner said, “about earlier, I’m sorry. I didn’t know your lady was hurt.”
Devon shook her head. “Forget it.”
“How is she?”
“Jessie’ll be okay, I think. I just saw her for a few minutes. She’s resting now.”
“I’d like to meet her.”
“Jessie would be thrilled. She loves basketball.” As they spoke, Devon couldn’t help stealing worried glances at the ICU door.
“You should go on in,” Conner said.
Devon hesitated, looking at the door and back to Conner, Mac’s twin fifteen years younger.
Conner gripped her shoulder. “Mac told me all about you two in Lebanon. She also mentioned that you and Jillian go back longer than that.” Her expression was filled with empathy. “Mac said you’re Jillian’s family and hers. That makes you my family, too.” Conner gave her the trademark McKinley lopsided grin. “She said to send you in when you came by.”
Devon nodded with a lump in her throat. “Thanks.” She donned the protective gown, gloves, and mask and pushed through the door.
Inside, Mac sat in a chair pulled close to the bed. She held Jillian’s hand and spoke softly to her. Devon stood at the door, not wanting to intrude on her friend’s time. Without turning around, Mac spoke through the mask, “The doc said it’s good to talk to her. He says she needs the respirator to make sure she gets the air she needs until her lungs heal.”
Devon moved to Mac’s side. Jillian’s face was swollen and bruised. A bandage covered the right side from her cheekbone to jaw. A line of stitches snaked from her temple, disappearing into her hairline. Gauze dressings covered her neck, chest, and arms where she had obviously been burned in the blast. A large blue tube was taped to her mouth, the other end attached to a respirator on the far side of the bed. The steady hissing beat of the machine’s compressions breathing for Jillian made the entire scene much too real.
Devon thought about all of the things she would have wanted to say to Alex if the end had not been so final. Did Jillian know what significance she would always hold in Devon’s life? Before Jillian, she was just a scared kid wondering where in the hell she belonged. From the moment Jillian opened the door to that dorm room, she had finally discovered a truth about herself and who she really was.
Loving Jillian had been like trying to hug a tornado, but Devon was better for the effort. More than that, somehow Devon had seen the calm eye of the storm. The cockiness and swagger were all about Jillian preventing anymore loss or pain to her already wounded heart. Despite everything, Devon knew now that Jillian was an essential part of her life, making her into the person she was meant to be. Without Jill, she would have never known the rightness of Jessie. Hell, she wouldn’t have Jessie, if not for Jillian Gray.
Devon simply slid her gloved hand onto Mac’s shoulder. She stood there silently with her friend, every so often one of them wiping away a tear.
“How’s Jessie?” Mac asked after a time.
“Good. She was awake for a few minutes. I talked with her. I have to get back to her soon, but I wanted to check on you.”
Mac nodded and sniffed, rubbing her thumb across the back of Jillian’s hand. “I can’t lose her, Dev.” She raised her head to look at Devon. The white mask and green surgical cap covered all but her tear-filled, pleading eyes. “I haven’t told her. I...” Her words drifted away on the wave of emotion.
“Tell her now,” Devon encouraged.
Mac lifted Jillian’s hand and kissed her through the mask. “I love you, Jillian. Please. We’ll get through this, no matter what. I don’t care what obstacles we have to overcome. Please don’t leave me.”
Devon remembered a time when heartbreak and fear nearly consumed her after Alex died and how Mac’s friendship had been the rock-steady support she so desperately needed. Then, after Beirut, came the dark days when Honeycutt Senior’s relentless pursuit had destroyed any semblance of peace that she might have found. Although she was eventually cleared, the investigation drove her out of the military and nearly out of her mind. If not for Mac, she might not have made it through. She prayed that she could be that anchor for Mac now.
What Conner had said was true. They were each other’s family, and that knowledge was a great comfort. Jillian had given Jessie back to her and there was no way to describe the depth of gratitude that Devon was feeling. Once again, Jillian had sacrificed herself for Devon’s benefit
. This time, she’d almost gone too far, and the implications of what losing Jillian would cost all of them made Devon feel physically sick. No, that won’t happen, she told herself. That can’t happen. Not now, when they finally had a real chance to move beyond all of the pain and find some happiness. She reached around Mac and brushed her fingertips on top of Jillian’s head.
The door behind them opened. Conner stuck her head in. “Mac, why don’t you come to the cafeteria with me for a cup of coffee, maybe a small bite to eat?”
Mac shook her head, but Conner pressed. “C’mon, Devon will stay with Jill for a few minutes and you need a break. I promise I’ll bring you right back.”
Devon patted Mac’s shoulder. “Conner’s right, you need to try to eat something. Jillian will need you to keep your strength up for the long haul.”
“All right, but call if there’s any change.”
Devon sat in the chair Mac had been using. Jillian seemed very fragile in this setting, bearing no resemblance the vibrant, vivacious woman she’d always known. That was the most difficult aspect to come to terms with. Jillian was the consummate, naturally talented leader, in any circumstance. Her strength and gregarious personality made everyone around her believe in the certainty of her convictions. Devon remembered the way Jill had convinced her they would get Jessie out alive. She had absolute faith that the team would prevail.
“We did it, Jill. Thanks to you, Jessie’s safe.”
She picked up Jillian’s hand. It was cold, so Devon wrapped both hands around it. She watched the accordian-like contraption compress and expand, listening to the steady click and hiss as it delivered precious oxygen to Jillian’s body. Precious. Yeah, that was a good word. The last twenty-four hours had reaffirmed for Devon what was precious in her life. She’d learned enough lessons in loss when Alex died, carrying guilt around and using it to deflect any chance of intimacy, and, she reasoned, the pain that followed. When Jillian re-surfaced, it felt necessary to keep her at a safe distance. Why, she wondered. Even Jessie could see the importance of Jill in Devon’s life. Now, Devon couldn’t bear the thought that Jillian might leave without knowing how she felt.
