Chapter Fifteen

Doc

"You decent?" Raelynn pokes her head in the door with her hand over her eyes.

Of course McCabe would send her. He knows I have a soft spot for the woman. Or maybe this is his way of washing his hands of me. After all, she was the last member of Hidden Agenda I treated.

I try one more time to get my left arm through the sleeve of the button down shirt but give up when darkness creeps along the edges of my vision. The only other option in my ruck—a black t-shirt—was a no-go from the start.

"A little help?" I ask.

Raelynn drops her hand and her eyes go wide. "Shee-it, Doc. Is there any part of you that ain't bruised?"

"Bottom…of my right foot? Maybe."

Before I can pass her the shirt, Raelynn's at my side with her hand on my shoulder. "Tell me the truth. Should you be leavin' the hospital?"

"Probably not." It's still hard to take a deep breath. The chest tube only came out a few hours ago. The attending physician wanted to keep me another day, but I signed myself out "against medical advice." Lying in a hospital bed while Nat's out there alone? Fuck that. I have to find her. "But I'm going…with or without your help. Or a shirt."

"Well, you're lucky I have some experience bein' down an arm," she says with a smile and a wink. "Drop your left shoulder."

I do, and she works the shirt up my arm. It's easier to maneuver my right hand into the sleeve with her help. The sight tremble in my fingers pisses me off, but I manage to fasten the buttons before Raelynn offers to do them for me.

"If you even try to pick up that bag," she warns, "you'll be sorrier than a one-legged man at an ass-kicking contest."

I'm not about to fight her. Standing is hard enough. If I make it to Raelynn's car without losing consciousness, it'll be a fucking miracle.

"Got you a stylish ride down to the garage," she says, opening the door to snag a wheelchair waiting in the hall.

I don't object.

Once we're in her car, Raelynn turns and pins me with a hard stare. "Ry gave me your address. But we ain't movin' until you tell me who Nat is and why you're riskin' your life for her."

"You try…talking with a broken rib and…a hole in your chest."

"Been there. Done that. Try again, sugar," she says with a sweet smile.

"Sugar?"

Her blue eyes sparkle. "In Texas, that means ‘idjit.'"

"What did McCabe…tell you?" I let my head fall back against the seat and close my eyes.

Raelynn puts the car in reverse. "Everythin'. We don't keep secrets in this family. Wren tracked down the phone number for the resort's owner. But I convinced her not to call it. Yet."

I force my heavy lids open and squint in the bright mid-morning sun. "Why?"

"Nash."

I've treated her enough to recognize the way her voice changes when she talks about the man she loves.

"Those pig fuckers who cut off my ear found Nash by accident. One of them was out in Seattle makin' a deal to supply the DeLuca crime family with oxy. He ran right into us outside a coffee shop." She shakes her head with a little huff. "If he'd come out here a month earlier…I'd still need two earrings every day. But Nash—and his father—would be dead."

"Still doesn't explain…"

Raelynn shoots me a look I can't quite read. "I reckon you have some idea where Nat is. Or where she's goin'. Ry agrees. We ain't about to spook her until you tell us to."

"McCabe—" A spasm of pain steals my next words. I refused a breathing treatment this morning, knowing it would keep me at the hospital at least another hour—if not two. I didn't tell the attending I had plenty of oxygen at home. But if I don't give myself one soon, my lung could collapse again.

"Doc? Goddammit. I'm takin' you back to?—"

"No," I grit out. "How long…did you have to stay…in the hospital with Nash? In Chicago?"

She eyes me warily. "‘Bout fifteen hours. Which was twelve hours too long. But you can't string more than five words together in a row without wheezin'."

"Which one of us has a medical degree?" I glare back at her. "And that was more than five words."

"Stubborn idjit," she mutters and veers off onto the West Seattle Bridge. "We can handle this, Doc. Findin' people…it's what we do. Just say the word."

I choke out a laugh. "McCabe wouldn't risk…his team…for me. Not after what I…said to him. And I'd never ask him to."

Raelynn's quiet until she pulls into my driveway. Before I can open the car door, she wraps her fingers around my wrist. "Ryker ain't an easy man to know. I've been with Hidden Agenda for almost a year and I still can't read him half the time. But somethin' inside him broke that night." Her free hand brushes the remains of her ear. "West and Inara got there first. To my place? Ry was on comms. You know how they saved me?"

"No. I never ask for details."

"Well, tough shit. You're gettin' them now." Her shoulders curl inward, and her eyes unfocus. "They had me tied to a chair. Diego Ruiz—he worked for the DeLuca family—was about to put a bullet in my knee. Inara took out Diego's partner from the roof of the house next door. I tipped the chair over. Damn near cracked my head open. Diego shot me in the arm. The next bullet would have killed me. But West threw a goddamn knife and caught the asshole in the throat."

"Shit."

A shiver runs through her slim frame. "Ry had to listen to the whole thing on comms, knowin' he couldn't do a goddamn thing. And on the way to the warehouse, he about lost his shit on me for scarin' the ever-lovin' fuck out of him. He ain't good at givin' up control."

"That's a massive understatement."

Raelynn throws her head back and laughs. "Damn straight. Yet, a week before Harlow was born, he turned Hidden Agenda over to West. We've taken on four jobs since, and he's been hands off with all of them."

I don't know why she's telling me all of this. Or what she expects me to say to her.

"So imagine my shock when six hours after we save your life, he moseys on into the warehouse, baby girl strapped to his chest, and tells us to make sure our go bags are packed, because the minute you pull your head out of your ass, we're doin' whatever it takes to find this woman you went and caught feelings for."

If she'd revealed that McCabe was secretly an opera singer, I'd be less shocked.

"All I'm sayin', Doc, is you don't need to ask us for help. We're here. We've always been here. You've saved all of us at one time or another. Ain't a single member of this family who'd think twice about returnin' the favor."

Dipping my hand into my pocket, I find the heart-shaped piece of sea glass. "I don't need saving." The absurdity of that statement slaps me in the face. My chuckle turns into a pained cough. "Again."

"Doc…"

I grit my teeth, shove the car door open, and stand. Thank God the world only tilts on its axis for a few seconds. Once I'm alone, I'll call Gladys. She'll be able to help me find Nat. After a couple hours of real sleep—not the broken, restless sleep one gets in a hospital—I'll be strong enough to go after her. I just need to know she's okay.

Raelynn's phone rings as she grabs my ruck, and she pulls the device from her pocket. The soft smile gracing her lips tells me all I need to know about who's on the other end of that call.

"Take it," I say and ease the bag onto my shoulder. "I can manage from here."

"That ain't a good idea?—"

"I mean it, Raelynn. Leave me…alone."

Before the hurt in her eyes can change my mind, I rush into the house and shut the door.

What the hell did I just do?

Over the months I treated Raelynn—first for the shoulder, then for so many other injuries—we've talked here and there. About life. About what matters. I think of her like…my favorite niece—if I'd had any brothers or sisters. Almost family. And I just slammed the door in her face.

I let the rucksack slide to the ground and limp into the kitchen. I didn't say a word to the doctors about my back. It's still fucked, but that's nothing new. A week—maybe two—and it'll heal up enough for me to ignore it again.

Snagging a bottle of water from the fridge, I head for the bathroom—and the industrial-size bottle of ibuprofen in the medicine cabinet.

"Fucking hell."

My heart shoots into my throat. The water bottle hits the tile, rolls, and comes to a stop against Nat's bare foot.

She's collapsed on the floor next to the shower, wrapped in one of my towels. I can't tell if she's breathing.

"Nat? Baby, can you hear me?" I crouch down and check for a pulse. It's weak, but steady. Thank fuck. She's burning up. A soft moan escapes her lips as I cup her cheek. "Open your eyes for me."

She tries, and I get a glimpse of the gray depths before she loses the battle. "Doc…"

"I'm here. Need to get you…off this floor." Slowly, fighting against the agony tearing a hole through my chest, I ease her up to sitting. Her head rests on my shoulder.

"Have to go," she whispers.

"You're in no condition to go anywhere. Except bed. But I need you to help me. I can't carry you this time."

Nat draws her knees up to her chest. The motion shifts the towel off her hip and reveals the bullet wound. No bandage. Fuck. It's so much more than a graze. She's lucky that Parker asshole didn't hit bone. Two of the stitches have popped, and I can smell the infection over the scent of my shampoo clinging to her hair.

"Up on three, okay?" I count it out and pray I have enough left in me to get her all the way to the bed. It's touch and go for a few steps until she gets her legs under her.

"Can't stay…" Nat clutches my shirt as I ease her down to the mattress. "Isn't safe."

"Shhh. This is the safest place for you right now." I brush a hand over her hair, hoping like hell I'm telling the truth. "I promise."