Abruptly weak-kneed, he leaned hard onto the cane as it dawned on him exactly what had gone on. Or rather, what could have. If he had stabbed who he had believed was Kroner . . . he would have killed her.
In the rush and panic of the aftermath, that hadn’t even dawned on him.
Christ, his choice at that crossroads had saved both of them, hadn’t it. Because he never would have recovered if he’d done what he’d been set up to do.
And as for Kroner . . .
Jerking his head over his shoulder, Veck refocused on the direction that figure of death had gone in. The serial killer must still be alive and in his hospital bed, then—and how much you want to bet, his room was down there somewhere?
By all rights, Kroner’s life was still not Veck’s to take. But that didn’t mean he was going to stop whatever was about to happen. Shit, angels, demons, small dogs with bad perms . . . the world was full of crap he’d only heard rumors about before. So for all he knew? That was the Grim Reaper upright and in person—and in that case, Kroner’s life was being snatched the right way.
Just to be sure, though, Veck limped over to a ceiling light and checked his shadow—even though he felt like a fool.
Only one.
“Ready for this to be over,” he muttered to himself. “Soooooo ready.”
Eventually, he found the right ward, and fortunately, maybe because the nurses took pity on him, he didn’t get any no-visitors backchat. He was just sent down five doors and told if he needed anything to holler.
Like maybe they expected him to fall over in a dead heap at any moment.
When he got to Reilly’s room, he didn’t rush inside in case she was asleep. He just leaned in a little so he could peek past the door.
In the dim glow seeping from the bathroom, it was clear she was out like a light: Even though her head was turned away from him, her breathing was deep and even, her body small and still under the blankets. She was on an IV, and there was a monitor attached to her that was beeping regularly. Probably her heart—
Her head whipped around on the pillow—and then she winced, her hand coming up to her temple. “Veck . . .”
As he rushed over, he said, “Are you all right?” What a dumb-ass question, he thought.
“You’re here.” Then she obviously saw the wristband he’d been given. “Are you okay?”
“Just don’t ask me to run a marathon tomorrow.” When she tried to sit up, he pulled a chair over to the bed. “No, no, lie back. I’m going to park it right here.”
“I didn’t think you were coming,” she said.
As he thought about a response to that, she murmured, “Neither did you, huh.”
He shook his head. “I . . .” God, where to start? “You know, since the first moment I met you, I’ve brought a lot of shit into your life. And then I nearly got you killed tonight—”
“No, you didn’t. We both got set up by Bails and that . . . Who was that woman?”
“I don’t know. But I can tell you this: She’s not coming back.” He believed Jim on that one. “Ever.”
“You took care of that, didn’t you.”
“Guess so.”
“I didn’t mention her when I was questioned.”
“Neither did I.”
Cue a pause. And then he cleared his throat, eager to talk about something, anything other than what had happened in the cave. Maybe later, with distance, they could cover all that what-the-fuck-happened, but not tonight.
“Did your parents come by?”
“They wondered where you were.”
“So you didn’t tell them about me.”
“Oh, I told them everything. How you were framed, how you came after me—”
“I love you.”
That stopped her dead. To the point where he wondered if maybe he shouldn’t apologize. Except then she teared up and reached for his face.
“I love you, too.”
Bending down, so she could reach him more easily, he murmured, “I just want to do right by you. It’s all I’ve ever wanted for us.”
“Then, as you said”—her voice was rough—“no running tomorrow. Or ever.”
“That’s what a friend of mine told me.”
“Jim . . .” When he nodded, she whispered, “That man is an angel.”
“You got that right.”
He didn’t mean to intrude, but somehow he ended up crawling onto the bed and lying next to her. She fit against him so perfectly, and as he held her, he shuddered. They had nearly missed this—not just with what had happened in that cave, but the rest of the shit Bails had been trying to engineer.
Leaning in, Veck kissed her carefully and then just stared into her eyes for the longest time. He’d never had a clean slate before. Hadn’t even been born with one. But at this moment? He saw the fresh start he’d never expected to get in the hazel flecks of those perfect green eyes of hers.
And it was then that he noticed the weight was gone. He’d lived with his heavy burden for so long, it had become something that he wasn’t aware of anymore. Now, though, in the absence of that taxing pressure inside every square inch of him, he felt . . . free. Fresh. Reborn.
The only trouble was that that new-man syndrome had him thinking crazy things, and deciding they seemed entirely reasonable.
Smoothing her beautiful red hair back, he said softly, “So your father asked me a question that night I went for dinner with you all.”
Reilly smiled. “Did he? I just remember him telling you he knew CPR.”
“It was right before that,” he whispered. “You think maybe I could give him an answer someday?”
Her breath hitched. And then a brilliant joy shone out of her face. “If I understand what you’re saying, I think you’re going to have to ask him something first.”
“Your parents free for dinner tomorrow night?”
She started laughing and then so did he. “I think I can arrange that.”
“Perfect.” He got serious. “You’re just . . . perfect.”
Cradling her against his chest, Veck let a peaceful exhaustion claim him: All was right in his world. He had his woman, his life, and his soul back.
Didn’t get any better than this.
Up in heaven, Nigel’s feet took him on a trip around the castle. The ambulation was not to admire the unfurled grace of Jim’s latest victory. Nor was it to check for security. Nor was it to take the air.
Although if asked about his stroll, he would have offered all of those lies in response.
Indeed, perhaps Jim and he were closer than he thought.
And yet if he had proffered such explanations to any person or dog, what he held upon his flattened palm would have announced him as a liar: He carried with him a plate with a damask napkin draped over it—and beneath the fine cloth, there was a currant scone, two biscuits, and a fresh strawberry.
As he walked along with his pastry load, he had in his heart a vague sense of distaste at this butler-like activity. But he needed a tangible excuse to go where he was headed, not just for any others with inquiring minds, but for the intended recipient of what had been plated.
That being said, however, it was not just sweets for the not-so-sweet that he was bringing with him. He had news to share.
Approaching Colin’s tent, he felt like a royal arse, but the archangel had not presented himself for the collective gathering and had missed the missive, so to speak. He was also likely to be hungry after his time away.
Excuses, excuses . . . Nigel wanted to see the jammy sod.
Damn them both.
And so much for clean breaks.
At the entry flap, he cleared his throat. “Colin.”
Waiting for a response, he tugged at the damask napkin to make sure it was still covering the goodies.
“Colin.”
Oh, enough with this polite restraint.
He pushed his way inside and stopped. Upon the modest cot, there were three suits laid out, each with coordinating ascots, stockings, and shoes.