Val didn’t miss the unsubtle allusion to her own husband’s death. Well, hell, of course they would know about that, along with a lot of other things she didn’t want to contemplate. That Scott was still interested should convince her he was serious.
Cool blue eyes searched her face before another smile bloomed. “Yes, you are exactly what Scott needs. Now, you’ll have to excuse me while I go bully some answers out of the doctors.”
Head up and shoulders back, Charlotte Harper barreled out of the waiting room and through the swinging doors marked RESTRICTED: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
Val smiled despite the hollow ache in her chest. If anyone could pry information out of the secret society of doctors, her money was on the diminutive Harp.
“Ms. Wooten?”
Valerie spun around at the deep voice behind her. The man who’d helped her and Scott in the parking lot, the doctor—
“Stillman Gray. The man you pulled a gun on,” he added with a fleeting smile. He grasped her hand warmly. “How’s Agent Munson? I’m afraid I haven’t been able to get away to check in on him yet.”
Surprised by his concern, she could only stare at the man. How could he even think about anything other than the woman he so obviously loved?
He frowned and took her cold hand in both his. “Have you heard something? Do you want me to track down his doctor?”
My God, he was serious. “No, thank you. I think his old boss is plowing through the white coats as we speak—” she stopped and took a bracing breath, “—I wish I’d put all the pieces together sooner.”
“Nonsense. I heard from Yasin how you worked twenty-four-seven even though you’d lost your home.” He patted her hand as if she were a child needing comfort. “You could have walked away from all of this and no one would have blamed you. Instead, you tore after that data trail like a terrier after a rat.”
“Rat. A perfect analogy for that family.” Strange, the smile he gave her felt like a blessing. She frowned and crossed her arms over her stomach. “I wish I’d spent more time researching Ali—”
He shook his head. “We all can play that game, but it doesn’t change a thing. The only way to win this bloody war is to keep getting up and pressing forward. The minute we stop, they’ve won.”
“Dr. Gray?”
Valerie turned. A surgeon in blood-splashed green scrubs with sweat stains bisecting his chest and circling his armpits came to stand next to Stillman.
Within seconds a sea of Coasties surrounded them.
“The lieutenant is in recovery. I’ll have someone notify you when she’s moved to her room.”
A collective sigh of relief ushered in a general confusion of voices while the two doctors reverted to medical jargon only they could decipher. From Stillman’s expression Val guessed all the news was good, or at least what he’d anticipated.
When Stillman shook the surgeon’s hand, the tension in Val’s shoulders eased a little. Maybe he’d know about Munson’s condition. Maybe she—
“Any word on the FBI agent, Scott Munson?” Stillman asked as if reading her mind.
Yasin stepped to her side and put his arm around her shoulders in a surprising show of support. She hadn’t anticipated becoming a part of Munson’s inner group. But Yasin’s not-so-subtle inclusion elevated her status in front of the other agents. She blinked hard. She would not break down and cry like a schoolgirl.
“All I know is they’re still in surgery,” the doctor said. He swept the soaked theater cap from his head and rubbed his neck. Once again the two doctors reverted to medical jargon.
Valerie swayed and Yasin tightened his arm. “Don’t fall apart now,” he said softly.
Val nodded numbly. “They’ve been working on him since long before they brought Caitlyn in. That can’t be good.”
“But he’ll live, won’t he?” she demanded of the doctor, unable to wade through the medical doublespeak for a final verdict.
“I’m sorry, I really don’t have any answers yet, we’ll know more when he comes out of surgery.”
Yasin patted her shoulder. “Come on, Val, that old dog’s not turning in his badge just yet,” he assured her.
“Good. Because I haven’t finished with him,” she shot back. Dammit, he still owed her that second chance he’d promised.
* * *
Stillman stopped at the foot of Caitlyn’s hospital bed and inhaled his first free breath since Joe’s near miss driving into the cantina’s parking lot. Her skin looked translucent, almost fragile, with a lacy blue network of veins clearly visible. Hell, she appeared defenseless—something he didn’t like seeing.
She shifted and made a little noise. Her eyelids fluttered but didn’t open. He scanned the monitor on the wall. All normal. His gaze returned to her face, searching, memorizing the features that had captured his attention, if not his love.
No, not her looks. She’d hijacked his heart with her boundless energy, unfailing loyalty, and her obsessive need to bestow irreverent names on everything. His palm cramped and he had to unfurl his hand from its unconscious fisting. She’d flown with a violent maniac holding an automatic weapon on her, then risked drowning to save him. Now, hardly a week later, she’d taken a bullet meant for Stillman.
He stepped to the side of her bed and lifted her hand in his. Long, thin fingers with blunt no-nonsense nails gave no hint to her skill and courage. He settled his butt bedside, content to watch her breathe. She’d have to learn how to give up some of her legendary control, or at least share it, because he wasn’t leaving her side.
Chapter Nineteen
Clearwater, FL,
Tuesday, 4 October, 0830 hours
Stillman returned from the hospital’s parking lot, the ER glass door whooshing closed behind him. He’d finally convinced Ryan and Joe they could go home. The staff was moving Queeny out of ICU and into a private room and demanded everybody stay away until she was settled in. His stomach and head protested that coffee did not a breakfast make.
He stretched stiff muscles and gingerly rubbed his swollen jaw. Ali had landed more than a few good punches before—his brain shied away from the ensuing scene. He’d experienced death in all its guises, and hated that Ali had forced Caitlyn to embrace it so intimately. The emotional healing often took longer than the physical.
“Stillman?”
The husky voice didn’t register, but the tall, slightly stooped figure that stepped in front of him did. “Father? What are doing here?” Stillman stood like an idiot gaping at the elder Dr. Gray. “You should still be in the hospital,” he blurted out.
Blue eyes sparked with humor. “I am in a hospital.” He grabbed his son and pulled him into an uncharacteristic hug. “You think anyone could keep me away after I heard what happened? I swear, boy, your life has been threatened more here than when you were overseas,” his father said while awkwardly patting his back.
How the hell had his father heard about the shooting? Shaken, Stillman carefully returned the hug.
After a heartfelt moment the elder Gray pushed Stillman back to study his face. He didn’t comment on its battered appearance; instead, he shifted and took his son’s arm.
“Knowing you, you haven’t eaten breakfast. Don’t try to make any excuses. Barbara is keeping an eye on Caitlyn for us. Besides, I told her you wouldn’t let me neglect my health.”
“Yeah, like you ever listen to me,” Stillman grumbled and allowed his father to steer him to the cafeteria. “What did you hear that made you hop on a plane so soon after surgery?”
The hand on his arm tightened. “There was a news bulletin about the pilot involved in the terrorist hijacking getting shot.”
“God, I’m sorry. You thought it was me? Didn’t—”
“No, I knew it was your young lady. And I thought you could use your family’s support. Someth
ing we haven’t done enough of in the past.”
Between his father’s reference to Caitlyn as his “young lady” and the offer of support, Stillman felt like he’d walked into a parallel universe. The cafeteria was in full swing, serving breakfast to medical staff and visiting families with loud voices and the clink of cutlery on thick white china.
“Why don’t you sit while I get us something to eat,” Stillman said. His mind reeling from lack of sleep, stress over Caitlyn’s condition, and now his father’s arrival, shifted to automatic pilot.
“You’re as bad as your mother,” his father complained when he accepted the tray with fruit and oatmeal. “I haven’t had a decent meal since a week before the operation.”
“What’s really going on?” Stillman asked as soon as he settled in the chair across the table from his father.
He waited while his father added brown sugar and raisins to his oatmeal with unusual care. “I’ve done a lot of thinking these past few weeks. Before the surgery I was so sure I had every right to resent your refusal to join the practice I’d spent my entire adult life building.”
Stillman stifled a sigh. He really thought they’d gotten beyond that argument.
“But hearing of your hijacking, then having you come home afterward, seeing you’d finally accepted how wrong Hilary was for you, made me realize some hard truths about myself.” He shook his head when Stillman started to speak. “No, this needs to be said. Should have been said years ago.
“First, I need to tell you how proud I am of you.”
Coffee washed over the rim of Stillman’s mug, burning his hand. “What?” he blurted out, then hastily mopped up the mess he’d made.
His father continued, “I’m proud of you for standing up to me and your grandfather. I’m proud of you for becoming an army pilot and serving our country. And I’m damn proud of you for falling in love with a young woman with more balls than your old man has.”
“Jesus, where is this all coming from?” He’d never seen his father look so, so ingenuous.
The older man chuckled. “See what facing death does to an old man?” He took a bite of oatmeal and grimaced. “Still hate this crap.” Undaunted, he chewed a second mouthful, chased by half a mug of black coffee. “Now you can tell your mother I had a healthy breakfast.”
His father sighed and pushed the bowl away. “Son, when you came home after the hijacking, I could tell you’d changed. Your mother and I had a long heart-to-heart when you left. I love her dearly, have no regrets for the career choices I made for her, but I’m finally going to be doing what I really love.”
Realization smacked Stillman alongside the head. “Your volunteer work for DCS.” He’d been surprised how many special projects his father’s surgery provided to Child Services every year. Now it all made sense. “You repair kids,” he said with a growing smile.
“Yeah, I guess I do,” his father agreed with a chuckle. “Because of the skills I’ve gained and the money I’ve earned treating the rich and famous you disdained so much, I can now devote my time to making a difference in the lives of children.”
Son of a bitch. They were more alike than he knew. “You understood why I chose emergency medicine, didn’t you.”
“Yeah, but you scared me when you married Hilary. She was a Barbara with training wheels. I knew once they came off you’d both be in trouble.”
Stillman took refuge behind his coffee mug. “When I came back from Iraq I was in a hurry to create a normal life. I didn’t stop to analyze why Hilary seemed so familiar. Hell, how could I admit I’d married my mother?”
The elder Gray stirred his oatmeal. “From what you told us of your time on the island, your Caitlyn is nothing like Barbara,” he said with the gleam back in his eyes. “Have you two picked a date?”
“Date?
“Stillman, I know you’re not this slow.” But he spoke as if conversing with a young and not-so-bright child. “When are you and Caitlyn getting married?”
Hell, he was slower than his father gave him credit for. “We haven’t set a date. And now, with this,” he said with a noncommittal shrug. A shrug that ended in a shiver of nerves and a haunting memory.
Once again he heard the explosion of Caitlyn’s nine millimeter going off, the subdued pop of Ali’s silenced gun right behind and his own roar of fear and rage. There were no guarantees in life. He knew that better than most men. And he had no excuse for his panic of committing to Caitlyn.
He’d pretended work kept him away. It had been his own fear of failure and the knowledge that Caitlyn would always have the power to bring him to his knees. It didn’t matter if she was taking her helicopter into un-flyable conditions or crossing the street in front of her apartment, he’d worry about her. That’s what you did when you loved someone.
“Don’t take too long, son. She doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman to sit around and wait on a man.”
Clearwater, FL,
Wednesday, 5 October, 0730 hours
Caitlyn slowly opened her eyes expecting to see Stillman sprawled in the chair next to her bed. He’d been there throughout the drug-hazed day before. And all night he’d watched each nurse check her vital signs every couple of hours.
She blinked. The blue eyes staring back at her were eerily similar, but definitely not Stillman’s.
“Good morning, young lady,” the not-a-stranger said. “Forgive me for not standing. I’m still a little shaky myself.”
Caitlyn’s eyes widened. “Stillman’s father?” Her voice hardly qualified as a whisper. She fumbled for the bed control. She so did not want to meet his father looking like roadkill.
“Here, let me do that.” The woman’s voice was everything Caitlyn’s wasn’t—vibrant, cultured and standing.
The mattress under her head slowly rose, elevating Caitlyn about forty degrees. “How is that?” the woman asked. She placed her hand on her husband’s shoulder and smiled briefly. “Yes, we’re Stillman’s parents.”
Caitlyn didn’t know if she should laugh or cry. She tried to scan the room for Stillman under the guise of reaching for a water glass.
Mrs. Gray scolded her and held the straw to Caitlyn’s lips. “Stillman took your parents down to the cafeteria for breakfast. It was the only way we could make sure they all ate something better than the plastic-wrapped chemicals from those abominable machines.”
Drugs. She must be having some kind of drug-induced hallucination. A memory tugged the edge of her brain. Her mother fussing over her while her father patted her hand. She closed her eyes on a sigh. Of course they’d come. They would have been sick with fear and—
“Are you in pain? Should we call a nurse?”
Dr. Gray chuckled. “I think we’ve overwhelmed her,” he said.
Caitlyn forced her eyes open. The handsome couple was watching her with obvious amusement. Wait, didn’t the elder Stillman just have heart surgery? “Shouldn’t you be in the hospital? Didn’t you have an operation only a week ago?”
She frowned. Had she lost track of more time?
“I’m in a hospital,” he said. The glint in his eyes was a perfect match to Stillman’s.
Caitlyn snorted. “I see where he gets his sense of humor.” She eyed his wife. “My sympathies to you.”
Mrs. Gray looked at her husband. “You were both right. She’s perfect.”
* * *
Stillman left Caitlyn’s parents as soon as they were seated in the cafeteria. He had no idea how Caitlyn would respond to waking up to his mother and father watching over her. Besides, he wanted to be the one she saw when she opened her eyes. The doctor had cut back on her drugs during the night, so he anticipated a much more alert Caitlyn. He didn’t intend to let another day go by without asking her to marry him.
His gut tensed. Damn it, he knew she loved him. So why was he shaking in his boot
s like a student pilot in a twenty-knot crosswind?
Stillman walked into Caitlyn’s room in time to hear his mother say something about being perfect. Queeny’s expression showed shock and maybe a hint of hope. Good, she needed to realize just how much his parents had accepted her as the perfect match for their unpredictable son.
“Mom, Dad, why don’t you go keep Mr. and Mrs. Stone company? Caitlyn and I have a few things to clear up.” He leaned over and gently kissed her parted lips.
He ignored his parents’ departure, instead, he let his gaze roam over Caitlyn’s pale face. He still went shaky over how close he’d come to losing her.
He dropped the bed’s side rail and carefully settled his butt on the mattress. “How are you feeling this morning? Any trouble breathing? Headache, nausea?”
“I’m fine, Dr. Gray. Why are your parents here? Were they worried about you?” Her eyes narrowed before popping wide open. “Oh no, you were hurt,” she said lightly running her fingers along his jaw. A frown crept across her forehead and she shifted stiffly. “I, I forgot about the fight. And Ali. Is he—”
Stillman took her hand between his two. “Dead? Yes.” He allowed a cocky grin to ease tension from his jaw, only to have it settle in his chest. “You saved my life. And my parents are here because they heard you were shot. They were worried about you, not me.”
She rolled her eyes, but the pink coloring her cheeks encouraged him.
“Caitlyn, I love you. I’ve given up counting how many ways, and times, I could have lost you in the last few weeks. You want to move to Alabama—” he cut off her reply with a finger to her lips “—no, let me get this out. I’ll find a way to relocate. If you want a long engagement, I’ll do that too.” He squinted his eyes at her. “But not too long. I want kids while I’m still young enough to chase after them. And to fight off boys sniffing around if we have a little redheaded heartbreaker like you.”
Her eyes filled and panic seized his throat, threatening to choke him. “I know my timing sucks, but like you, I don’t want any regrets.” He hugged her hand to his chest. Tears now overflowed, forming tiny rivers down porcelain cheeks. “Honey, don’t cry.” Shit, what the hell had he said?
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