“Correct. But I caught a plane here with your family this evening. They’re out in the waiting room. And now you and I are both in New York.” She bent and kissed the top of his hand, then straightened.
“Thank God you’re here. You . . . okay?”
“Yes, I’m perfectly okay.”
Jude turned his head. He wished he and Gemma were alone—he had a lot he wanted to say to her—but they weren’t alone. A middle-aged man in scrubs watched from the end of the bed. Curtains and machines lined parallel sides of the space. An IV had been implanted in his arm.
Fractured memories dribbled in. Cedric. Vincent. The circle of trees. The gun. “What happened to me?” he asked Gemma.
“You were shot in the side.” The reality of that started to sink in on him like a cave collapsing, but Gemma held the rubble back by squeezing his hand. “You came through surgery and are in recovery at Manhattan Valley Hospital in New York. You’re going to be fine.”
Surgery?He’d missed a chunk of time. The circle of trees was the last thing he remembered. Now surgery was behind him?
“How are you doing?” the nurse asked.
“Considering I was shot and had surgery, I guess I’m doing all right.” He felt terrible. Stupidly groggy, with a body too fragile and weak to move.
Gemma filled him in on what had happened after he passed out using details she said Dixon had given her. The nurse provided medical information.
He recalled now that after Vincent had shot him, he’d thought he might die. The idea that he wouldn’t get more time with Gemma had devastated him.
She was here. She was here all the way from Maine, happy and whole. And he wasn’t going to die. At least not yet.
God had given him more time.
He’d have a chance to live out the rest of his days with her and he’d never,nevertake that for granted. It was a gift of grace.
* * *
Privacy was a luxury, Gemma silently concluded. A luxury beyond her grasp at present.
She and Jude had spoken for only a few minutes before his relatives had joined them in the recovery area. They had every right to Jude. More right to him than she had, certainly. She didn’t begrudge them their spots at Jude’s bedside. On the contrary, she’d forever be grateful to them for allowing her—the newcomer—a seat on their plane.
It’s just that shecouldn’t waitto be alone with Jude. In part so the two of them wouldn’t have an audience. In part because then she wouldn’t feel the way she felt now—like she was intruding on their family time. It must be awkward for the Camdens to have an almost-stranger inserted into this gathering at such a critical time.
Jude had improved enough that the staff was about to move him to a room on the tenth floor. “I’ll be back a little later and will meet you up there,” Gemma said to Jude, gathering her purse.
His focus zeroed in on her. “You don’t have to go.”
“I know. I’m not going far, but there’s something I need to do. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”
She went straight to Dixon, still in the waiting room where she’d left him, and made a request.
* * *
The FBI had taken Cedric to their local Federal detention facility. The multi-story brown-brick building was as imposing as a muscular bouncer with a broken nose.
Gemma waited in a small room enclosed by sliding, see-through doors on both sides. From her chair, she watched as Cedric was led in. Neither she nor her cousin nor the guard spoke as Cedric was pressed into the opposite chair. They affixed his handcuffs to a ring mounted on a metal table bolted to the ground.
The burly guard retreated to the far side of the doors behind Cedric, which whooshed closed.
Wrinkles and dirt marred his suit. His face looked pale and tired. His usually perfect hair was oily and unkempt—like he’d been running his hands through it and tugging.
She hoped he pulled it all out.
“Why are you in New York?” he asked.
“I’m here because Jude got shot today.” She spoke with preternatural calm.
