“Tell Louann…” He gurgles as he fights for another breath. “I…love…her and the…kids.”
I can’t feel my right leg anymore. Or my hip. Everything’s blurry as fuck, but I think I hear sirens in the distance. “Urbanski? Open your eyes, asshole. That’s…a goddamn…order!”
But his entire body relaxes, and I know. He’s gone.
Emi
The scent of antiseptic turns my stomach. I didn’t want this story. I’ve only been back at work for three days. My morning passed in a flurry of phone calls—my grandmother’s bank, the probate lawyer, the various charities she designated as beneficiaries of her trust. I’m drained, and it’s only noon.
Grief steals so much of my energy every day. Dealing with the minutiae of death. The last wishes of the woman who practically raised me. So many decisions I never knew I’d need to make. At least we had time to prepare. But it’s still exhausting.
Still, I’ll be damned if I let Danny Riscaldo scoop me. It’s his favorite game, and I’m sick of it. One more “Buck up, little lady, your time will come,” and I’m gonna make sure he has a permanent hitch in his giddy up.
At least Nelson—Channel 5’s news director—has my back.
“This could be big, Emmylou. Rumor has it, the fibbies were circling the warehouse after the explosion. Find out why. But do it quick before Danny works his contacts and freezes you out.”
Gritting my teeth, I stride down the hospital corridor like I’m not about to lose my lunch all over the dull, scuffed linoleum. What did the charge nurse say? Room 762? Or Room 726? Dammit. I should have asked him to write it down.
By the time I reach Room 762, the memories are hitting hard and fast. The EMTs dragging my big sister away from me. Mama screaming at the doctors to do something. All the blood. Everything going soft and quiet, despite half a dozen people working on me at once. Dying. It didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. Coming back…that was harder.
I press a hand to my stomach to quell a burst of nausea. Twenty years, and I still can’t smell antiseptic without panicking.
“Focus, Emi. You have a job to do.”
My little pep talk isn’t near enough. But I’m fixin’ to land the biggest story to come across my desk since I moved back to Austin. I can let the abyss of my memories swallow me tonight in the darkness of my apartment.
“Eyes on the prize. Network news or bust,” I whisper.
The riot inside my head settles to a dull roar. The scents of the hospital fade into the background. I can do this.
I angle a quick glance through the open door to Room 762. Lieutenant Jasper Blade—the only Texas Ranger to survive an explosion at an empty warehouse two nights ago—lies in a narrow bed with his eyes closed. His right leg is in traction, his arm in a sling held tight to his body. The side of his face looks like an angry horse dragged him ten miles over rough road.
Shit. What if he’s still unconscious? The explosion was two days ago. I thought he’d be up to talking by now. But the Department of Public Safety hasn’t responded to any of my calls.
“Who the fuck are you?” a man drawls.
I jerk back and almost drop my tablet. Shit. He could be Jasper’s twin. His hair is darker, his face a little thinner, but they’re otherwise almost identical. Stubble shadows his jaw, and as he pushes to his feet, the fluorescent lights glare off the shiny badge clipped to the double belts the Rangers so often wear.
“I’m Emmylou Marsh from Channel 5 news.”
“Get out. My brother doesn’t have a damn thing to say to you.”
“This is a developing story. Rumor has it, the Marquez gang lost several members of their organization in that explosion. Were the Rangers investigating them? They’ve been linked to the Cordova Cartel on numerous occasions.”
“I said, ‘Get out.’” He stalks toward me, the fire in his bloodshot blue eyes so bright, I want to look away. But this is my damn job and I’m gonna do it.
“Channel 5 was first to report on the explosion that left two decorated Rangers dead and Lieutenant Blade in critical condition. The Department of Public Safety won’t comment on the investigation. What was going on at that warehouse? It hadn’t been occupied for a year.”
“None of your goddamn business,” Jasper’s brother grits out. “You want a statement, go talk to our media relations liaison.”
“Surely you don’t want to let speculation run wild, Ranger Blade?—”
“It’s Stone. Captain Stone. Do you think I give a shit about your…speculation? My brother ain’t gettin’ out of here for God-knows-how-long, and he sure as fuck don’t want to talk to you!”
“AJ. Shut up. Or…better yet…go home.” From the bed, Jasper struggles to focus on the two of us facing off in the doorway. Pain crinkles at the corners of his eyes as he lets out a shudder.
AJ flinches like someone jerked a knot in his spine, turns back to his brother, and shakes his head. “No.”
