Chapter 60

60

Gunnar sat between the two beds, feeling utterly useless. They'd moved Heather in with Powell after she'd been cleared in the trauma department over two hours ago.

So they could be guarded tonight. Together.

Both women were sleeping. They'd sedated Heather—in spite of the concussion, after speaking with her family. She'd been in a massive amount of pain. Heather had been hesitant about the sedation. She'd been worried about expressing drugs when she fed her baby. But her sister, the doctor, had assured her the baby would be taken care of just fine—that they had donated breastmilk for her baby for a few days, courtesy of the hospital's NICU or PICU or something. That sister dozed in the chair next to her bed now. They weren't letting Heather out of their sight, he suspected.

The Colesons had thrown a major fit when Daniel had said he was going to stay in Heather's room overnight to keep her safe.

The Colesons had reacted quickly to that idea. Viciously.

That was a very angry pack of terrifying women right now.

Megan had even threatened to kick Daniel again if he took one step into Heather's room. Megan had Hope's face, dark curly hair, was all of eighteen years old, and no bigger than Powell. She'd worn Wonkus McBubbles on her T-shirt. She'd kicked Daniel before when he'd gotten too close.

There had been fear mixed with the anger in her dark eyes. Her Aunt Heather's eyes.

None of them wanted Daniel near Heather at all now. For a moment or two, Gunnar had been afraid they were going to physically rip Daniel apart and feast on Daniel's innards right in front of everyone for even daring to suggest it. With some of Summer's homemade barbecue sauce on top.

Fangs—he'd heard it said before that the Coleson women had fangs. Gunnar suspected there was some truth to that now. Especially when it came to protecting each other.

Daniel was in the hall instead. Daniel hadn't liked it at all. But it was as close as the Colesons were letting him get.

Daniel had screwed up.

Heather had almost been the price of his mistake, Powell right alongside her.

Cara, Heather's niece, had been so intensely upset at the thought of Daniel even being in the same building as Heather that Powell's parents had gotten involved. They'd convinced Daniel to honor the Coleson family's wishes just to keep Cara calm. Powell's parents liked that girl a great deal.

But it had been Mac who had told Daniel to stay the hell away from Heather, or Mac would be the one to take Daniel's head off at the shoulders and launch it all the way to El Paso.

Everyone had heard Mac's words. Heard the fury.

Gunnar was convinced Powell's older brother meant it too.

Mac and Daniel had been close friends for almost two decades now.

The hurt was too damned hard for anyone to miss.

Mac came in—he'd been speaking with Dom and Charlie about what all Heather had said. And the man who had found her, a medical resident at FCU Med, had recorded her as she'd walked. Talked. He had still been recording her when Mac had lifted her and carried her inside. He'd turned the video over to the TSP, but Gunnar hadn't seen it yet.

She'd let Mac touch her, but the instant Caine or Rafe—her own damned nephews—had gotten near her, Heather had freaked. Cried out, terrified. Screamed.

Gunnar had heard those details from Rafe's wife, Jillian. She'd been there too. Had seen it from the doors once Rafe and Caine had run outside at Nikkie Jean's text.

They had had an all-female team treat Heather after that.

No one knew or was saying if Heather had been sexually assaulted.

Powell hadn't been, thank God. But Heather had been obviously more battered and abused. And she had been with those bastards five hours longer. No one really knew what had happened to her during those five hours.

Or what they had done to Heather out of anger after Powell had gotten away. After Heather had made certain Powell had been able to escape first .

Gunnar would owe her for that until the day he died.

Gunnar had seen Nikkie Jean crying in the hallway with Jillian a few moments earlier. She had stayed with Heather during everything. Keeping Heather calm. Nikkie Jean was the only one from Zoey's side of her family that Heather would let near her at all.

Mac stopped right next to his sister's bed. Powell hadn't wakened yet. Nikkie Jean had assured them all she was just sleeping—and that she was doing fine. They came in occasionally and checked the baby's heartbeat with a Doppler too.

Gunnar waited, almost panicked each time. Their baby was fine for now. He had them back.

"Has Powell woke yet?" Mac asked quietly. "Said anything else about what happened?"

Gunnar just shook his head. "Nikkie Jean said she's just…sleeping. Exhaustion. Bruises. Just bruises, thank God. And the baby seems okay."

"Just bruises on my sister, but they beat the hell out of Heather. Damn near tortured that woman." Mac looked at the other bed. The one by the window. Gunnar followed his gaze—Heather looked so incredibly defenseless right now. "Why the difference?"

"Because she was the bigger threat, maybe? TSP, and seen as their enemy? She had been threatened that morning. Maybe…it was a part of that too." Gunnar had been thinking that very same thing. What had happened to Heather was damned overkill. "She would have been armed—but they disarmed her somehow."

"Because of me," a quiet voice said. Gunnar's head jerked toward Powell. "They had me and made her put down her gun because of me. They had just shot my guard and had grabbed me. They wouldn't have even gotten to her except for her trying to protect me . She could have run away. The door was open right behind her. Heather had plenty of time to get away. But she stayed for me."

"Powell, it wasn't your fault. Don't ever think it was." Gunnar stood. He leaned over her. Studied her. There were memories in her eyes. Hurt. "Sweetheart, I am so damned sorry. I should have been with you."

"You can't be with me all the time. We both know that. And we just walked right into them. In my new house on Hendricks and Jackson. We thought it was safe. We could see Alex's backyard from where we walked. They were inside. With drugs. In the secret room. We walked right in on them when they were moving those drugs. It was about that OPJ." Powell shifted until she could sit better. She looked at the monitors. "Is our baby okay?"

"The baby is just fine. You have a few bruises, but you're going to be fine. And out of here in the morning. Luc has already arranged for guards to get you back to Houghton's. Where you are going to stay put, for once," her brother told her. He leaned down from the other side of the bed and kissed her forehead. "You have to stop scaring me like this, Pow-Pow. I'm actually starting to feel my age. I think…I think I grew up overnight."

"Finally acting like a grown-up now, I take it? Is Heather going to be…okay?" She was looking at the other woman. Staring. "How did she get away? How did she get here? How did you find her? How badly is she hurt?"

"Heather got away, kid," Mac told her. "And she walked here almost completely by herself. That is one seriously tough woman. I think it has to do with her being a vampire goddess queen or something. They haven't exactly said how badly she's hurt, but she'll be getting out of here in a day or two. I overheard her twin telling Cara that in the hallway."

"They really enjoyed hurting her," Powell said. "They were saying things. They were taunting her with what they would do to her. Because of what happened to Steve Wilson. And because the doc had despised Heather for almost two decades. But that didn't make sense to me—or to her. I mean, Heather would have only been fourteen then, right? What kind of doctor would hate a young teenager like that?"

"What else did they say?" Gunnar asked. "Did you hear any names?"

Powell crossed her arms over her stomach protectively. "We could hear them in the other room. Talking. They discussed that, how they were going to kill us both. And…every chance they could, they hurt her. Hit her, touched her, groped her. Said things to her, made horrible threats of what they would do to her before they killed her. They told her she deserved what that bastard ex of hers had done to her, every time. That it was her fault Wilson was a vegetable and useless to them now. That Wilson had really enjoyed playing with her like he had. That they should have killed her four years ago, but Wilson was having too much fun with her. They said she wasn't so proud and snotty and stuck-up now. They asked her where her Mr. Moneybags relative was now when she needed him most. They asked her where the damned TSP was to rescue her. And they asked me how my money was helping me now. They really had a problem with the money. The money I have, the money they thought her family has. Two just kept going on and on about money. I heard one say he didn't want me to see his face at all. But he didn't care if Heather did. Since he would enjoy killing her anyway. But…I had seen him before. In Wyoming."

"How many men were there?" Gunnar asked.

"Seven. Off and on. Usually just two or three at a time, though. Guarding us, and doing something in the office that was next to where they were keeping us. One just looked right at Heather and smirked. She thought she recognized him, but she couldn't remember from where, and it was dark where we were. They had us in an old closet, with pipes running through it. I think he is the one from Wyoming. Then there was…the doctor. At least, we think he was a doctor." She looked at Gunnar. "He was older. Close to my father's age. And tall. Not as tall as you, but he was definitely over a foot taller than I am, but not as heavy as you are either. He kept trying to get the Wyoming man to ‘stop this before he did something even more stupid.' One man called him Doc. "

"He might have been the man responsible for creating the drug in the first place. Rumor has it a physician with access to the original Sopalmitraln four or five years ago created it. Or…someone who worked with him. We never figured out who created OPJ," Gunnar said. Or knew anything about him. But Powell might. Now.

It made him sick to even consider it.

"He…I hate him." Powell said, shivering. Gunnar covered her hand with his. "I hate that man so much."

"What did he do, Powell?" Mac asked quietly. "What did he do to you?"

"He barely acknowledged I was there, actually. He came into the room where they had us. It was dark then. Only a single bulb above us. I could barely see him. He just stood there and stared at us, but the light was behind him, and we couldn't see his face. He just kept saying he couldn't believe it was her. He stepped over my legs, to get to her. He yanked her up. And he said…he had been waiting almost two decades to have her in front of him again . For taking everything from him before. That what he had lost was all her fault." Her breath hitched. Tears covered her cheeks.

Gunnar was going to find that son-of-a-bitch and rip his arms off, just for the look in Powell's eyes right now. For every bruise on her, on Heather…every moment they had been missing. The terror those two beautiful, wonderful, extraordinary women had felt. Gunnar was going to make them pay.

"He pointed his phone flashlight right in her face. In her eyes. He said something about her having a witch's own eyes. Like all of them have always had. He just balled up his fist and hit her right in the face. I screamed as she fell. Her head…struck the wall. The metal wall or the pipes. And Heather…she didn't move for a very long time. I thought he'd…killed her. Until she moved a little while later. I think she was unconscious. Then he just walked out, after he spit on her leg."

"He spit on her?" a soft voice said from the door.