Had she noticed?
“I thought you were never coming back.”
“I tried to be quick. Sit down before you fall down.” He took her elbow, urging her into the chair. She was still trembling, but not as violently. Dark crescents shadowed her eyes and her skin was colorless, her lips as pale as her cheeks, her freckles dark specks on white canvas.
Despite that, she looked ready to fight, ready to face whatever would come. “I’m sitting. So, let’s go.”
“I’ll push her.” The officer stepped forward. “Which direction?”
“We’ll take the service elevator to the basement and go out the delivery bay. I’ve arranged transportation.”
It didn’t take long to make it down to the basement. Getting outside took a little longer. Undercover officers searched the perimeter of the building and cleared it before they called for Tristan to move out. He borrowed a heavy jacket from a housekeeper, helped Martha ease her arms into it. Then accepted a jacket the officer who’d accompanied them held out.
He pulled it on, covering his cast. “Thanks for your help. Do you mind bringing the wheelchair back up?”
The officer shook his head. “Not at all. You planning on coming back here tonight?”
No, but that was need-to-know information, and as much as the officer had helped, Martha’s whereabouts and schedule were things he didn’t need to know. “I’m not sure. We’ll call your office if we do.”
“Good. You have a good day.” The officer wheeled the chair away and disappeared from view.
“Can we go now?” Martha shifted impatiently. Obviously, she was as anxious as Tristan to be on their way. No doubt the same clock that was ticking the minutes away in Tristan’s head was ticking in hers.
“If you’re ready.”
“I’ve been ready.” Martha looked determined, but there was no mistaking the fear in her eyes.
“We don’t have to do this, Sunshine. Sue is with your dad. He’s not alone. If you don’t want to—”
“I said, I’m ready. Is our ride right outside?”
“Johnson will be expecting you to catch a ride from here if you leave. My brother is waiting a block away.”
“A block.” She straightened her spine, lifted her chin and nodded. “I can make it.”
“I knew you’d say that. You’re tougher than most of the men I know.”
“If that’s a compliment, thank you. If it’s not, I don’t want to know.” She smiled, pulling the hood of the jacket over her hair. Her curls peeked out from underneath, brushing against her cheek and neck. Despite her fatigue, she looked beautiful, her eyes gold-green fire.
“It’s definitely a compliment.” He leaned toward her, knowing he shouldn’t do it. Telling himself it wasn’t the time or the place. Ignoring his own advice as he inhaled the antiseptic hospital scent that clung to Martha and the more subtle scent of chocolate that was like coming home.
Her eyes widened as his lips brushed hers.
Warm silk.
Sweet honey.
Promises.
He meant the kiss to be brief, but it lingered, the world fading…then coming into sharp focus as footsteps sounded somewhere behind them. He jerked back, glancing over his shoulder. A janitor pushed a cart into a storage closet, then moved away.
“We’d better go.” Martha spoke quietly, and Tristan turned back to face her.
She looked the way he felt—surprised.
Worried.
Intrigued.
There was something between them. Something he hadn’t expected, but that he wouldn’t deny.
Possibilities.
He shouldn’t want to explore them, but he did.
There was a reason for that, he thought. God didn’t bring people into each other’s lives without a purpose. He and Martha had met during difficult circumstances, but circumstances changed and eventually Tristan would have time to decide what direction he wanted their relationship to go. If it was going to go anywhere.
And he had a feeling it was.
He pushed open the service door and led Martha out into the cold, dark morning.
SIXTEEN
Grayson Sinclair was nothing like Tristan and everything like him. Both men were tall, broad-shouldered and handsome, but if Tristan was fire, Grayson was ice. While Tristan moved with a lithe and deadly grace, Grayson’s movements were sharp, precise and to the point as he ushered Martha into the backseat of his dark sedan, and then turned to his brother. “Glad you finally showed up. I was beginning to think I’d have to come running to rescue you.”
“When have you ever had to do that?” Tristan settled into the seat beside Martha, his large frame taking up more than its fair share of space. Or maybe it just felt that way because Martha was so aware of him. His short hair mussed, his chin shadowed with the beginnings of a beard, he looked tough, even dangerous, yet sitting next to him made Martha feel safer than she’d felt all night. She shoved the thought to the back of her mind. Later, she’d pull it out and examine it more closely. For now, all she could think about was getting to her father’s side. Everything else was secondary to that.
“I could name a few, but I wouldn’t want to embarrass you in front of your friend.” Grayson slid in behind the steering wheel, meeting Martha’s eyes in the rearview mirror, his expression somber. “Since I was just sitting twiddling my thumbs waiting for my slowpoke brother, I decided to make good use of my time. I called the hospital to check on your dad.”
At his words, Martha tensed, her heart jumping with anxiety. At any second she expected to hear the news that her father had passed away. The moment he’d been shot had been replaying in her mind for hours. All that blood. Her father’s blood. His sunken eyes. His labored breath.
Don’t miss me too much, doll.
The words echoed in her head, but she shoved them away, not wanting to think that he might have been saying goodbye forever. “How is he?”
“Holding his own.”
That seemed like a catchphrase for “he’s alive for now, but may not be for long.” “Did they say if he’s awake?”
“Sorry. I was lucky to get that much information out of them.” He pulled out onto the nearly empty road, the car picking up speed, but not going nearly fast enough for Martha’s taste. She wasn’t one to break traffic laws, but in this instance ten or fifteen or twenty miles an hour above the speed limit didn’t seem like such a bad thing.
Twenty miles. That’s how far it was to the hospital. Martha had been there enough times to know they should be there in a half hour.
Not long.
Still, it seemed like an eternity. Anything could happen in that amount of time. Her father’s heart could stop. He could have a stroke, a blood clot, or simply slip quietly from this world into the next. Worse, Gordon Johnson could find his way into his room and finish what he’d started.
Her hands clenched at the thought, her fingers curling into tight fists. Of course, Johnson wouldn’t go after her father. Why would he? It was Martha he wanted to get rid of. But what if he did? What if he tried to kidnap Dad to get Martha to cooperate and killed him in the process? What if—
“Relax. We’ll be there soon.” Tristan covered her hand with his, gently prying open her fingers and smoothing his thumbs over the crescent-shaped gouges on her palms. Something shivered to life inside her. Something she acknowledged even as she shoved it to the farthest reaches of her mind.
“I just hope soon is soon enough.”
“Lynchburg General is a good hospital with an outstanding trauma team. They’ll do everything they can for your father. He’s in good hands.” Grayson cut into the conversation, his smooth tenor very different from his brother’s gritty baritone.
“I know, but I can’t help worrying. Dad’s not as young as he used to be.”
“But he’s tough. Strong. In good shape for his age.” Tristan squeezed her hand, offering comfort that Martha shouldn’t want. Hadn’t she just been telling herself that she didn’t need a man in her life? That she
was perfectly capable of going it alone? That the only person she needed to depend on was herself?
Of course she had. Yet here she was, allowing Tristan to take care of her, to hold her hand, to offer comfort. Alarm bells should be shrieking inside her, screaming that the barriers around her heart were being breached. Instead, all she heard was the sluggish throb of her pulse and the grinding worry in her stomach.
Oh, yeah. She also heard her brain telling her that if she was going to depend on a guy, Tristan was the kind of guy she could depend on. The only guy she’d want to depend on.
Not good, but Martha was too tired and too worried to think about it, or to pull her hand away from his, or to even pretend that she didn’t need him sitting beside her telling her everything was going to be okay.
“When I was a kid, I thought my dad could do anything. Leap over buildings, outrun bullets, stop a speeding train. It didn’t take me long to realize he couldn’t actually do all those things, but in my mind he was still invincible.” She spoke quietly, sharing with Tristan in a way she never had with Brian.
“I guess most kids think that about their parents.”
“I guess they do.” She smiled, remembering the hikes she and her dad had been on, the camping trips, the hours spent working in his store. “With Dad and me, though, everything was a team effort. There couldn’t be one of us without the other. Where he went, I went. To his store, on hunting trips, hiking, camping, fishing. Now that he’s getting older, I realize our time together is limited. I accept that, but I guess I’m just not ready to say goodbye.”
“You’re not going to have to, Sunshine. God didn’t save your father’s life on the operating table so He could take it in the ICU.”
“I want to believe that, but no matter how much I trust that God is in control and that He’ll work everything out, I also know that bad things can happen. They do happen. I’m not immune to them. None of us are.”
“That doesn’t mean they’ll happen this time.”
“It doesn’t. It also doesn’t mean they won’t. I need to be prepared for that.”
“There’s no doubt in my mind that whatever happens, you’ll handle it. You’re a strong woman, Martha. It’s one of the things I admire about you. When things get tough, that’s when you shine. And you’ll shine this time. No matter what.”
No matter what. No matter if her father lived or died. No matter if Johnson came after Martha again. She’d be fine. She really wanted to believe Tristan was right, and that she’d hold up under whatever trouble came her way. She wanted to believe it, but she felt shaky, unsure. As if the world had tilted and she’d tilted with it. Off balance, she couldn’t quite grasp the determination that usually brought her through tough situations.
She sighed, leaning her head back against the seat, Tristan’s finger still linked with hers, his hand anchoring her. To reality. To hope. To the faith that suddenly seemed as elusive as a dream.
What do You want me to learn from this, Lord? There must be something. Some life lesson that will hurt, but that will help my faith grow.
The prayer whispered through her mind, but Martha felt no peace. Eventually, she’d be able to look back and see things clearly, but right now everything that had happened in the past few days seemed surreal and confusing. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t quite wrap her mind around the fact that someone wanted her dead. Dead! And that in trying to kill her, that man had almost killed her father.
“We’re here. Want me to pull up in front of the main entrance?” Grayson’s words broke the silence, pulling Martha from her circling thoughts.
“Drive around the back. I’ve got some people waiting to make sure we get inside safely.”
“You think Johnson is going to show up here?” If Grayson was worried by the thought, his tone didn’t show it. He sounded as relaxed and untroubled as he had when they’d been introduced.
“Not if he thinks Martha is still at Lakeview Memorial. Since there’s no guarantee he does, I’m erring on the side of caution.”
“I taught you well, little brother.”
“Little? Last time I checked, I was an inch taller than you.”
The banter between brothers continued as Grayson drove to the back of the building. Several police cars were parked there, angled close to the hospital, but Martha knew they’d be a flimsy barrier against a barrage of bullets. And it wasn’t like there weren’t plenty of places for Johnson to take aim from. A parking garage hulked above the back lot, three stories tall and dark despite numerous lights. A great place for a killer to stay hidden until he was ready to make his move.
Uniformed officers were stationed near a back door, their faces shadowed by hats, their guns in holsters at their waists. It looked like a scene out of an action flick, but it was real. Too real.
Martha’s stomach clenched, her breath catching in her throat as Grayson stopped the car. The engine died, the silence deafening.
Open the door, Marti. Get out of the car. Go in the building. Find your father.
But no matter how many times the words raced through her mind, Martha couldn’t seem to move. She was frozen in place, her fear sapping her strength, stealing her ability to move.
Gunshots.
Blood.
Death just a heartbeat away.
Did she really want to step outside and live it all again?
An officer pulled open her door, several others standing beside him, forming a wall of protection that looked even less effective than the police cars. “Ms. Gabler? If you’re ready to go in, we’ve cleared everything for you to go up and see your father.”
Cleared everything with the doctors, or cleared the halls to make sure Johnson wasn’t lurking somewhere? Martha’s mouth was too dry to ask, and instead of taking the officer’s hand and allowing him to pull her from the car, she stayed put, her mind screaming for her to grab the door and slam it shut.
“You’re not chickening out on me, are you, Sunshine?” Tristan whispered in her ear, his words spurring her to action.
“No.” She took the officer’s hand, and was pulled out into the cold morning air. Several pairs of eyes watched as she took a shaky step away from the car. Could they see how scared she was?
She felt dizzy, her ears buzzing, her heart slushing through her veins but apparently not bringing much oxygen to her brain. If she collapsed, one of the officers would feel obligated to catch her. That would be bad. She really needed to lose a few pounds before some poor guy had to lift her off the pavement. The inane thought ran through her mind as she swayed, stars dancing in front of her eyes. Apparently, she’d lost more blood than she should have, because no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t quite keep the world steady beneath her feet.
“Are you okay?” Tristan wrapped an arm around her waist, saving her from doing a face-plant onto the ground, and saving his friends from having to peel her off it. Then again, maybe he was saving himself. One arm or not, Martha had a feeling he’d be the first to attempt to hoist her up if she went down.
Which she was not going to do.
She’d lost a little blood. Big deal. People lost blood all the time. Her father was in the hospital. She was going to walk in on her own two feet and see him. Nothing could keep her from doing that. Not Gordon Johnson and not a pint or so of lost blood.
“Martha?” Tristan stopped walking and looked down into her eyes, concern etching fine lines near the corners of his eyes. “Do you want me to have someone get a wheelchair for you?”
“No way. I’m right as rain.” Kind of.
“You’re sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.” To prove her point she took a quick step forward and felt the earth tilt again, this time too far. And she tilted with it, falling into blackness as the world disappeared.
SEVENTEEN
Tristan paced the hall outside the room where they’d brought Martha twenty minutes earlier, adrenaline humming through him and begging for release. Despite nearly twenty-four hours without
sleep, he wasn’t tired. Instead, he felt wound up, energized. Ready to go. In other circumstances, he’d be out on the hunt, searching for Johnson, knowing he was close and not giving up until they were face-to-face. But these weren’t other circumstances, and his need to find Johnson was outweighed by his need to make sure Martha and her father were okay. It hadn’t been a good night for the Gabler family. Tristan intended to do everything in his power to make sure the new day was a better one.
“Is Martha okay? One of the nurses told me they had to bring her in on a stretcher. I should have found a ride to Lakeview General while Jesse was in surgery. Martha shouldn’t have gone through all this alone. It was too much for her.” Sue hurried down the hall toward him, her words spilling out in frantic staccato beats, her round face creased with time and worry.
Hours ago, she’d seemed vibrant and lively. Now she was drained, her face gray and worn. Grief stole life as brutally as any disease. Tristan had seen it enough to know that for sure.
“It wasn’t too much for her, Sue, and she wouldn’t have wanted you to leave Jesse here alone.”
“I hope you’re right. I really do. Jesse and I haven’t been married long, and I want so badly to be the mother that Martha never had. What if she thinks I was wrong to stay here, or expected me to come with her? What if she’s angry with me and we never speak again? These things happen all the time, Tristan. They do. I’ve seen it on Oprah.”
Tristan put a hand on her shoulder, hoping to stop the flow of words. “They’re not going to happen this time. Martha isn’t that kind of person. Besides, I know for a fact that she was relieved to have you here with her father. How is he doing, by the way?” Refocus her thoughts. Make her talk about something else. That was the goal, though Tristan wasn’t sure he’d be successful. Sue was a great lady, but he had a feeling that refocusing her attention wasn’t always easy.
“The same. He still hasn’t opened his eyes. When he finally does, I’m going to have a thing or two to say about how badly he scared me.” Despite the upbeat words, her eyes were red from tears, her lips trembling as if she was holding in much greater emotion.
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