Sixteen years had passed since Jodi died.
Finally, 3C coughed, wheezed. Black smoke curled from her mouth before she dragged in a ragged breath on her own.
The relief that spun through Riley brought moisture to his eyes and left his hands shaking.
3C’s blue eyes fluttered open as she gasped for more air. Her gaze darted from one face hovering over her to another. Until it landed on Riley’s.
Her eyes zeroed in on his. Widened. Brightened.
Across from him, an EMT had an oxygen mask ready and slipped it into place over her nose and mouth.
But her gaze clung to Riley’s, recognition softening the panic and pain in her expression as she fought for each breath.
Again an EMT tried to shoulder Riley out of the way. He moved, letting the medic work, but he didn’t leave 3C’s side. He couldn’t. Something in her steady blue eyes reached out to him and held him fast.
When he stroked her sooty cheek, she lifted her uninjured arm and linked her trembling fingers with his. As with her gaze, he sensed in her touch a connection that went beyond the mere joining of hands.
Tears puddled in her eyes, kicking him in the gut and yanking a tighter knot in his chest.
He may have failed Jodi, failed Erin, failed nameless others, but he wouldn’t, couldn’t let this woman down.
Leaning closer, he whispered, “You’re going to be okay now, 3C. I’m gonna take care of you.”
The EMTs finished their preliminary exam, scooted a backboard under her and loaded her onto a stretcher. Through it all, Riley stayed beside her, squeezing her hand gently and giving her encouraging smiles.
As they rolled her toward the waiting ambulance, he trotted beside the gurney. He released her hand only when the medics slid her into the ambulance and her fingers slipped out of reach.
An EMT climbed inside and closed the back of the ambulance with a thud that reverberated in Riley’s heart, in his memory.
He closed his eyes and saw the door close on the coroner’s wagon that had carried Jodi away to the morgue.
And then it was he who couldn’t breathe for several moments. Raw emotions, unearthed by the near tragedy today, scraped through him, setting every nerve ending on fire.
“Hey, Sinclair,” Cal said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “You okay, buddy?”
Riley gathered himself quickly, shoving down the emotions that left him so exposed and vulnerable. Buried them again.
“Yeah,” he rasped, then cleared his throat before continuing. “I’m fine. It’s just…I know her, and—” He blew out a deep breath. “That was too close. We almost lost her.”
Cal slapped him on the back. “Key word there is almost. You really came through for her, buddy. Good work.”
Riley acknowledged his friend with a nod, then headed toward the place on the lawn where he’d discarded his helmet.
He may have saved 3C today, but it wasn’t enough.
It was never enough. He had too many marks in his loss column.
Nothing would change the mistakes he’d made with Erin.
And, more importantly, he could never make up for having failed Jodi.
“The police said when they arrived at the scene yesterday, the man driving the car had already disappeared.” Ginny’s mother, Hannah West, sat forward in the hospital chair and stroked Ginny’s uninjured left arm. “They’ve been looking for him all day today, but no luck so far.”
Hannah had touched Ginny frequently throughout the day, as if repeatedly reassuring herself that her oldest of three children and only daughter was, in fact, alive, safe, healing.
“This Walt Compton fellow the newspaper mentions…if he was hurt when he crashed through the wall, his injuries apparently weren’t enough to keep him from running off before the cops arrived,” Megan Calhoun, Ginny’s best friend, said from a chair opposite Hannah.
So much for her client’s confidentiality. Thanks to the newspaper reporting the actions of Annie’s husband and mentioning the police’s top suspect by name, her mother and best friend already knew enough to fill in the blanks about the woman whose identity Ginny was duty-bound to keep confidential.
“Also says here that Walt Compton was dishonorably discharged from the service for assaulting an officer.” Megan glanced from the newspaper to Ginny. “History of letting his temper get the best of him.”
Ginny frowned but didn’t answer. Smoke inhalation left her throat painfully raw, her voice almost gone. But her throat and voice would heal, as would her broken right arm.
Right now, her main concern was for Annie. Twenty-four hours after the fire, Annie’s husband was still out there, still a threat, enraged enough to try to kill her and anyone else in his path.
“Is his wife…at…shelter?” Ginny whispered, despite the ache in her throat. She had to know her client was safe before she could rest and concentrate on her own recovery.
Hannah and Megan exchanged a glance.
“I don’t know. We were so worried about you that we didn’t ask,” her mother said.
Ginny sent Megan a querying glance that needed no verbalization.
Megan, who volunteered at the women’s shelter and knew the staff well, nodded. “I’ll find out and let you know. If she’s not, I’ll make sure someone from your office knows to get her there.”
Ginny released a sigh of relief and smiled her thanks.
Megan had recently been through an ordeal of her own, facing down a second attack by the man who’d raped her years before. Fortunately, Megan had stopped her attacker and gained a boatload of confidence and perspective in the process. She was well on her way to a new life, making a fresh start with her new husband, Jack, and Jack’s darling daughter.
Ginny’s thoughts turned to her own dependent—the furry kind—and caught her mother’s gaze. “Zach?”
Her mom nodded. “Don’t worry, hon. I’ll stop by your place on the way home to feed him.”
“Shot, too.”
“And I’ll give him his insulin. Your cat is in good hands. You just concentrate on healing,” Hannah said.
A soft knock sounded on the hospital room door, and Ginny looked up.
“I hope I’m not intruding,” said the gorgeous blond man standing outside in the hall. “I just wanted to check on you. Make sure you were doing all right.”
Ginny’s heart lifted, her pulse stumbling to a racing beat.
4A.
A wide smile tugged the corners of her mouth, and she waved him in. Hi, she mouthed.
From the corner of her eye, she caught her mother’s and Megan’s curious glances, but her gaze stayed locked on her handsome firefighter neighbor.
He stepped into the room, gave the other women a polite smile and set a small vase of flowers on the tray at the foot of her bed.
“I’m Riley Sinclair,” he said, shaking Megan’s hand then Hannah’s and nodding when they each introduced themselves.
Riley Sinclair. Ginny let the name roll through her mind, testing the feel of it. She smiled to herself, amused that this was how she’d finally learned his name—when he introduced himself to her mother.
“Riley’s the man…who saved my life,” Ginny rasped.
All eyes swung to her, then her mother and Megan both turned back to gawk again at