SB01 - The Guardian's Mission Page 13

  “Sometimes it takes a while for a patient to come out of the anesthesia completely.”

  “That’s what the doctors are telling me, but it doesn’t make me feel much better.” She paused, wiping away a tear that slid down her cheek. “He looks bad. Really bad.”

  “Tomorrow, he’ll look better.”

  “The doctors told me that, too.” She sighed and knocked on the door to Martha’s room.

  The door swung open, and Tristan was relieved to see Martha lying on a bed, her wild curls spiraling in every direction, her eyes flashing green-gold fire. She looked ready to do battle, which was a whole letter better than how she’d looked when she’d nearly collapsed at his feet. “Tristan, please tell the nurse that I am perfectly capable of going to see my father in the ICU.”

  “Please tell Ms. Gabler that this isn’t about being capable. This is about common sense. The last thing her father needs is for his daughter to pass out while she’s visiting him.” The nurse who’d opened the door looked dour and disapproving, her eyes bright with irritation as she speared Tristan with a look meant to force cooperation.

  Too bad he wasn’t in the mood to cooperate.

  No matter how much he wanted to believe Jesse would be okay, he couldn’t be sure what the next few hours would bring. If Martha didn’t see her father now, she might never see him alive again. No way would he be part of letting that happen. “She’s come all the way from Lakeview General to be with her father. I’m sure we can find a way to get her into his room without her passing out again.”

  “I do understand the situation. I know she wants to see her father, but he’s not conscious yet, so I really think it’s best if Martha rests for a few hours before we bring her upstairs.”

  “What if her father doesn’t have a few hours left?” He spoke quietly, knowing Martha and Sue were listening, but not willing to sugarcoat the truth of the situation.

  The nurse’s lips tightened, her scowl deepening, but she nodded. “All right. I’ll get a wheelchair and we’ll take her to ICU, but when she’s done there, she’s to come directly back to her room. The doctor wants her admitted. If her blood count doesn’t come up, we may need to do a transfusion.”

  A transfusion? It was Tristan’s turn to scowl. Obviously, Martha had lost more blood than he’d realized. There’d been plenty of it on the floor at her house, plenty of it on him. He’d assumed most of it was Jesse’s, and had focused on that. Solve the bigger, more deadly problem first. Then take care of the less dangerous situation. It had been a knee-jerk reaction born of training and years of facing tough multifaceted problems. But even while he’d tended to Jesse, his mind had been shouting that he should be helping Martha.

  “Hey! I’m right here, guys. I can speak for myself, or at least participate in the conversation,” Martha said as she eased to the edge of the bed, placing her feet on the floor and looking as if she had every intention of getting up and walking to the door.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Sunshine. You end up on the floor, and there will be no way you’ll be able to convince anyone that you’re strong enough to see your dad.”

  She frowned, but didn’t make any more effort to stand.

  “Martha! Thank goodness you’re okay!” Sue rushed forward as the nurse left the room, throwing her arms around Martha and hugging her vigorously.

  Tristan gave the two women a few minutes to discuss Jesse’s injuries and prognosis before doing what he’d been wanting to all along—move toward the bed.

  Martha smiled as he approached, a sweet, gentle curve of her lips that welcomed him into her circle of family, her hair curling softly around her face, begging him to touch the silky strands. He shouldn’t. There were too many other things he should be doing. Like checking in with his boss, making sure there were men stationed at both hospitals ready to bring Johnson in if he should dare to show his face.

  “You’re looking grim, Tristan.”

  “It’s been a grim night. How are you feeling?”

  “Dandy.”

  “You’re not in any pain?”

  “If I am, it’s completely overshadowed by the pain of embarrassment I’m feeling.”

  “What’s to be embarrassed about?” He gave in to temptation and lifted a heavy lock of her hair, letting it slide through his fingers, the smooth texture feeling like the finest silk against his callused skin.

  “I passed out in front of a bunch of strangers and had to be scraped off the pavement. What’s not to be embarrassed about?”

  Tristan couldn’t help chuckling. “You didn’t exactly fall onto the pavement, so no scraping was required.”

  “Someone caught me before I fell?”

  “Yes.” He had, but he doubted Martha wanted details. Her independent nature was one of her greatest gifts, but also one of her most serious weaknesses. To be tough, a person had to be willing to be weak. He doubted Martha had learned to do that yet.

  “Even worse.”

  “You’d rather have ended up on the ground?”

  “I’d rather it not have happened at all.”

  “Your ride is here.” The nurse stepped back into the room, pushing a wheelchair in front of her.

  “Thank you.” Martha eased into the chair, biting her lip as the nurse pushed her out into the hall. She was anxious. Tristan could see it in the way she clenched her fists and sat stiffly in the chair. He wanted to reach out and squeeze her shoulder, offer her silent support, but the nurse was moving away, taking her toward the bank of elevators at the far end of the hall with short, quick steps that refused interference.

  Probably she wanted Tristan and Sue to stay in Martha’s room and wait for their return. She was going to be disappointed. No way was Tristan going to let Martha out of his sight again. The police might be on the ball, making sure that Johnson wouldn’t get into the hospital and get to Martha, but Tristan wasn’t leaving her safety to someone else. He’d already failed her and her father once. He didn’t plan to do it again.

  The nurse shot him a look as he and Sue stepped onto the elevator, but she didn’t tell him to return to the room. Not that he would have listened if she had.

  He leaned his shoulder against the wall as the nurse gave Martha instructions. “As you know, your father is quite weak. He’s hooked up to a lot of machines, and he’s unconscious. That doesn’t mean he can’t hear you. When you go in to see him, make sure you talk to him and let him know you’re there.”

  “All right.”

  “Don’t be nervous about what you see. The machines are serving a vital purpose.” The nurse pushed Martha out onto the third level of the building and headed in the direction of a large sign that pointed out the ICU.

  “I understand.”

  “Good. Some family members get a little panicky when they see someone they love hooked up to monitors and machines.”

  “I’m not the panicky type.”

  “Then you’ll be just fine. Just talk calmly to your dad, tell him he’s going to be fine. When your time is up, I’ll come in and get you to bring you back to your room. Please don’t try to get down there on your own.”

  “I won’t. When do you think my father will regain consciousness?”

  “No one can say. I know it’s hard to do, but in situations like this, the best thing is to just take it a day at a time and be there for your dad.” For the first time since the door to Martha’s room had opened, the nurse looked compassionate and kind.

  “I will. Thank you.”

  “You can only visit for ten minutes every half hour. And only one at a time, so I’m afraid you and your mother will have to take turns.”

  At the word mother Martha stiffened, but she didn’t correct the mistake. Neither did Sue. It seemed there was an unspoken understanding that in this situation, they were family. No matter how new the relationship or fragile the bond.

  “I understand.” Martha glanced at Sue, then Tristan, her eyes filled with a million worries. Tristan wanted to tell her everything was goin
g to be fine, that her dad would be up and around sooner than she imagined, and that Johnson would be behind bars before she stepped out of the hospital again. But there were no guarantees in life, and no matter how badly he wanted those things to be true, he knew that only time would tell for certain.

  “Here we are. You two can wait in our lounge while Martha visits her dad.” The nurse pointed to a door that led off the hallway. Tristan hesitated. He knew what he’d find inside—grief. Thick. Hard. Ugly.

  He’d been there before. In rooms just like that one. Faced family members of fallen agents and seen the ravages of grief, the horror of loss. He’d rather stand eye to eye with a hundred cold-blooded killers than see one mother crying over her wounded child, one wife grieving for a husband she had to let go, one husband trying to comfort his children. That’s what he worked so hard for. Get the bad guys off the street so that fewer people had to deal with the horror of losing someone they loved. It was another reason he’d never committed to a relationship. Never considered marriage, kids, family. He didn’t want his wife, his kids, sitting in a room like that one, waiting, wondering. Crying.

  No, he did not want to go into that room and see the harsh side of life. The alternative, though, was leaving Martha on the third floor and waiting down in her room for her return. That wasn’t an option, so he took a deep breath, braced himself and stepped into the maelstrom of emotion.

  EIGHTEEN

  Martha had expected her father to look bad. She thought she’d braced herself for it, but seeing him lying in bed, tubes and wires snaking around him, was harder than she’d imagined. The nurse wheeled her close, positioning the wheelchair at the head of the bed, so that Martha could reach out and touch his leathery cheek.

  “Dad, it’s Martha. Can you hear me? Sorry it took me so long to get here, but you know what they say—better late than never. I’ve been praying for you, and Tristan is doing everything he can to get the guy who did this.”

  “That’s exactly what you need to do, Martha.” The nurse spoke briskly as Martha took her father’s limp hand in hers. “Just talk to him like it’s any other day.”

  Any other day? Any other nightmare was more like it. Martha’s hand shook as she brushed it over her father’s wiry hair. He looked shrunken, older than his seventy years, all his vibrancy, all his life gone.

  Please don’t let it be gone.

  “Will you be okay in here on your own? Is there anything I can get you?” Nurse Ratched hovered near the door, watching with a worried expression. The first one Martha had seen from her since she’d arrived. Maybe she’d pegged the nurse all wrong. Maybe the woman wasn’t a brute who loved throwing her weight around. Maybe she really was concerned about Martha’s well-being.

  “Martha?” Apparently, she’d taken too long to answer. The nurse was moving toward her again, looking as if she was ready to wheel Martha out into the hall.

  “I’m fine. I don’t need anything. Unless…” She stopped herself before she could say what she’d been thinking.

  “What?”

  Don’t say it, Martha. You don’t need Tristan in here with you. You’re fine on your own. You’re independent. Strong. Able to face whatever may come on your own.

  “Would it be okay if Tristan came in here with me? My friend who brought me in, I mean.”

  Way to listen to your own advice.

  “I’m sorry. The rules—”

  “I know. It’s okay. I’m fine.”

  The nurse eyed her for a moment, then nodded and stepped into the hall. It was for the best. Martha really didn’t want Tristan with her. Okay. She did. But she didn’t want to want him with her. That had to count for something.

  She brushed a hand against her father’s cheek, feeling the dry warmth of his skin. He’d always seemed so young. Now he looked like an aged husk of the person he’d once been. How could it be that a man who’d been so filled with life could suddenly be so close to death?

  One moment.

  One heartbeat of time.

  That was all it had taken.

  And all it would take for him to drift out of her reach. “Dad, if you can hear me, I want you to know how much I love you. I know it wasn’t easy raising me alone, but you did a great job.”

  Her voice broke on the words, tears slipping down her cheeks. This was her fault. All her fault. If she hadn’t gone into the mountains to nurse her pride, if she hadn’t dated a man who’d been so obviously wrong for her, if she hadn’t wanted so much more out of life than what she had, then her father would still be fine.

  The soft click of the door told her someone had entered the room. Probably the nurse coming to check on her. She didn’t look up, just kept her eyes trained on her father, hoping her tears were hidden by the hair that fell across her cheek.

  Someone touched the back of her head, wove fingers through her hair and let them rest at the base of her skull, the touch soft as a butterfly’s kiss.

  Her heart leaped in acknowledgment even before Tristan spoke.

  “Everything will be okay.” His words washed over her, his hand lifting, then smoothing down her cheek to brush her tears away.

  She didn’t resist as he tugged her to her feet and wrapped her in his arms, his hand pressing against her back, his summer-blue eyes probing hers. “The nurse said you wanted me in here with you.”

  “She told me it was against the rules.”

  “I guess she decided she could bend them for once.”

  “Dad looks terrible.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s all my fault.”

  “Not even close.”

  “It is. I was such an idiot. Dating Brian when everyone told me how arrogant and self-serving he was. If I’d listened to them, Dad wouldn’t be here right now.”

  “Weren’t you just telling me that I couldn’t have known what would happen? That I couldn’t have prevented it?”

  “That’s different.”

  “Because it’s me and not you?” He sighed, his breath ruffling her hair. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot the last few hours. Sometimes things happen in a way no one can predict or prevent. If we could both go back and make different decisions to change the outcome, we would—but we can’t. So we’ve just got to hold on tight and pray that when we get to the end of the journey, we’ll understand why things happened the way they did.”

  He was right. Marti’s head knew it, but her heart was telling her something different. Her heart was telling her that she could have saved her father a lot of pain and trauma if she’d made better choices.

  As if sensing her thoughts, Tristan tugged her even closer, pressing her head to his chest, his warmth, his strength, easing the icy fear that ran through Martha’s veins.

  She should put some distance between them, tell him that she was okay and didn’t need his support, but she didn’t. Her arms wound around his waist, her hands fisted in his shirt as her entire body shouted that she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

  And the truth hit her like a ton of bricks.

  She needed Tristan. Needed him. Not like she’d needed Brian—as a means to an end, a way to get one step closer to the family she’d always longed for. With Tristan, it was different. It was the kind of need that said—when you’re with me, the world is a better place. When you’re with me, I’m not alone anymore. When you’re with me, all I want is for you to stay.

  The kind of need that made a person vulnerable.

  The kind of need she’d never, ever imagined she’d feel.

  This was bad. Really, really bad.

  She stepped away, avoiding Tristan’s eyes, not wanting him to see what she was feeling. “How is Sue holding up? I didn’t even think to ask her.”

  “She’s doing okay. One of her sons is flying in to stay with her. He’ll be here in the morning.”

  Martha nodded, putting a little more distance between them as she leaned over her father and lifted his hand. “Hey, Dad, it’s me again, Martha. Anytime you’re ready, you c
an open your eyes and let me know you’re in there. I’m starting to worry that you’ve landed on that tropical island you always dreamed about visiting and you’ve decided to stay.”

  He didn’t even twitch, his gray-tinged face lifeless, his eyes closed.

  “Sue is worried about you, too. Neither of us knows what we’ll do if you’re not up and around in time to put up the Christmas lights. Remember last year? How you decided to outdo your neighbors? There was so much light pouring off your house, Darrel James called the sheriff and complained.” The memory made her smile through the tears that were falling again.

  Good times. Lots of them. No matter what happened, at least she’d have those.

  “It’s almost time to leave, babe.” Tristan spoke quietly, his words reminding her of what she’d wanted to avoid. Him. His presence. The aching need inside that said being with him was much better than being without.

  “I just want to pray for him before I go.” She put a hand on her father’s shoulder, feeling muscle and bone. Life and strength along with fragility she hadn’t noticed before. Had he always been like that and she’d just not seen it?

  Tristan leaned close, his chest pressing against her back as he placed his hand over hers. There. With her. Supporting her in a way no other person ever had. Not her mother who’d run from responsibility. Not even her father who had always loved her unconditionally, but who had hurt too much when she was hurt for Martha to ever want to share all her burdens with him.

  She took a deep breath, closing her eyes, forcing her mind away from Tristan and back where it belonged—with her father. “Lord, I know You’re here with us, and that You’re in control of the situation. I pray for Your healing hand on my father. In the same way You made the blind see and the lame walk, I pray that You’ll return Dad’s strength to him. I trust that Your will will be worked out in Your perfect time, and I ask for Your comfort for Sue and me as we face whatever is to come. Amen.”

  “Amen.” Tristan’s agreement rumbled out, his thumb gently caressing her knuckles as he pulled his hand away. “Ready to go back to the room?”