“They didn’t like Rawley keeping tabs on them. Most of those thieves think they’re invincible.”
“That’s what Rawley said. They only care about money.”
Killian studied Rawley’s sleeping profile. “When can he go home?”
“A few days, the doctor said, but it could take up to two weeks for him to heal.” Skylar looked at Rawley, watching his slow, even breaths. “I was so scared when you called.”
“I told you he was tough.” Killian’s eyes softened at her worry. “Rawley’s one of the best agents we’ve got. We all know we can count on him.”
She managed to smile. “I’m sure he can count on you too.”
He stood, brushing dust from his jeans. “Always. I’ll get going. I just wanted to check on him. Tell him I was here, and if he needs anything, he only has to ask.”
“I will. Thank you for saving his life.” She noticed the wedding band on the ring finger of his left hand.
“I just got him here. The rest was up to him.”
“His parents just left.”
“I talked to them. I should go before my wife starts to worry. Have a good evening.” Killian touched the brim of his hat and walked out, the door closing with a soft click.
Skylar exhaled, exhaustion washing over her. She sank back into the chair, curled Rawley’s hand around her fingers, and rested her cheek against the mattress. The steady hiss of the muted heartbeat in the monitor lulled her into a dreamless sleep.
****
Rawley opened his eyes to a blurry ceiling of white tiles, momentarily lost in the fog between consciousness and sleep. The antiseptic smell and rhythmic beeping gradually reminded him; he was in the hospital. When he tried to shift his right arm, he realized it was pinned down. Skylar’s hair spilled across his forearm, her face peaceful in sleep despite the dark circles beneath her eyes. A sudden movement sent white-hot painlancing through his bandaged chest. He couldn’t suppress the sharp hiss that escaped through his clenched teeth.
Skylar’s head jerked up, her blue eyes wide and alert in an instant. She scrambled from the vinyl chair, its legs scraping against linoleum.
“Are you okay? Do you need the doctor?” Her voice was husky with sleep.
“No—” His throat felt like sandpaper. “Water, please.”
Skylar’s hands trembled slightly as she poured water from a plastic pitcher into a Styrofoam cup. She guided the bent straw between his lips. The cool liquid was heaven against his parched throat. He gave a weak nod when he had enough.
“How do you feel?” Her fingers touched his hand.
“Like I got shot three times.” He leaned back into the thin hospital pillow that crinkled beneath his head. “When can I get out of here?”
“A few days.”
“No. I want to go home.” The fluorescent lights overhead made his eyes ache.
“You will listen to the doctor, Rawley.” Her tone brooked no argument. “I’ll be here with you. Oh, Agent Doyle was here checking on you.” A smile softened her worried expression. “He’s very good-looking.”
“He’s married.” The words came out more gruffly than he intended.
Skylar laughed. “So, I can look, can’t I?”
“No.” He caught her gaze, drinking in the sight of her. “I’ve missed you, Skylar.”
“I missed you too.” Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“Did Killian say anything about the men?” The stakeout flooded back.
“Three were killed and two are in custody.”
“Which two?” His heart monitor picked up pace.
