The nurse let out a deep sigh. “You young’uns have been through a rough patch. If you need anything, my name’s Opal. Holler, and I’ll get to you as fast as I can.” She paused. “Can I get you some coffee?”
“I’d love some coffee,” Luke said. “Any chance you have a Coke machine around here with a Cherry Coke?”
“As a matter of fact, young man, we have one in the break room. I’ll get the coffee, the Coke, and the scrubs. And I’ll get an update on your friend too.”
“Thank you.”
Opal left the room, and he and Faith stared at each other in the silence.
He didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t want to leave her alone. But he couldn’t stand the way his drenched shirt stuck to him, or the way every time he glanced down he saw Gil’s blood. “Give me five minutes?”
Faith’s lips curved into a tremulous smile. “It would take you more than five minutes to get all that off”—she indicated the blood—“even if you weren’t injured. Don’t rush. When Opal comes back with the scrubs, I’ll knock.”
Luke closed the bathroom door between them.
Within seconds, he realized Faith was right. He was going to need way more than five minutes. His injuries made everything harder than it should have been. Getting out of the bloody clothes left him with blood, Gil’s blood, on his face and in his hair. He showered and scrubbed, but the hospital soap wasn’t up to the task, and he could only get one of his hands over his head in a feeble attempt to wash his hair.
Faith knocked on the door. “I’m setting the scrubs on the sink,” she said. After the door closed, he gave up on trying to get any cleaner. He had pulled on the hospital scrub pants when Faith knocked on the door again.
“I have an update on Gil.”
He opened the door and found her standing inches away. “How is he?”
Faith leaned against the doorframe. “The nurse said it’s some kind of miracle. Gil’s lost a lot of blood, and there’s a hole in his head, but the bullet didn’t hit his brain. It’s too soon to say anything definite, but the preliminary report, it’s good.”
“Thank you, Lord. Thank you.” Luke inhaled, possibly the first deep breath he’d taken in the past hour and, without thinking, reached for Faith. Maybe she wasn’t thinking either, but she stepped into his embrace. He held her, her forehead pressed into his chest, and he rested his cheek on the top of her head. Her hair still smelled of something fruity, despite the chaos and drama of the day.
Her hands gripped his waist, and his arms were wrapped all theway around her slim frame. Their breathing was deep, and he had a feeling she was fighting tears the same way he was. Every now and then, a tremor rippled through her, and after the third tremor, he squeezed her closer. Her hands left his waist and wrapped around him, her cheek pressed to his chest.
He didn’t know how long they stood there, drawing strength and comfort from each other. He didn’t care if it would make things awkward later. He didn’t care that she was FBI and that there was no way they could ever be anything more than friends.
Faith Malone wasn’t like anyone he’d ever known. And for the first time, he wondered if maybe Thad had been right.
The buzzing of Faith’s phone startled them apart. She took a step back, and Luke missed the closeness the instant it was broken.
He released her, and she pulled the phone from her back pocket. “Malone.”
Luke tried to get the scrub shirt over his head. Failed.
“Yes, sir. I understand.”
Faith tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder and continued to “hmm” and “yes” and “uh-huh” as she took the shirt from his hands, rolled it from bottom to top, and stepped closer. She reached up, dropped the shirt over his head, and then held out one of the arm holes at an angle so he could get his injured arm through. He shoved his good arm in the other hole, and she pulled the hem of the shirt down the rest of the way to his waist.
Was it his imagination, or did her hand linger for a moment longer than necessary before she turned away?
“Yes, sir. He’s fine, but would you like to speak to him?” She handed Luke the phone. “Your boss.”
He took the phone. “Powell.”
“Give me an update. I know what the FBI is saying, but I wantto hear it from you. Starting with whether or not you’ve been shot or pulled anything or need to be back in the hospital yourself. The word I got was you walked into the hospital covered in blood.” Jacob finally stopped talking and took a breath.
Luke jumped at his chance to speak. “I’m sore. May have ripped a stitch or two, but I’m fine. The blood was Gil’s. All Gil’s.” He gave him a stripped-down version of the events of the afternoon. “How are Zane and Tessa?”
His question drew Faith’s gaze.
“They’re fine.”
At Jacob’s response, Luke gave Faith an “okay” sign, and she sank against the hospital bed in obvious relief. “Where are they?”
