Radio chatter. I can't process the words. Just noise.
"Target down. Hostage secure. Requesting medical evac."
The drug drags harder, pulling me down where I can't fight it anymore.
I'm falling.
Then nothing.
I wake to fluorescent lights and the sting of antiseptic. Hospital. My head pounds like someone used it for target practice, and my mouth tastes like chemicals and blood. The IV in my arm pulls when I try to move.
Simone's asleep in the chair beside my bed. She's wearing the jeans that look like they’re from last night, dark stains visible on the denim. My blood, probably. Her hair's come loose from whatever style she had it in, and exhaustion shows in the lines around her eyes even in sleep.
The monitors beside my bed show steady vitals. Heart rate elevated but stable. Blood pressure within normal range. Whatever Julien injected me with hasn't killed me yet.
I pull the IV out with practiced efficiency. The machine starts beeping. Simone jerks awake, eyes going wide when she sees me sitting up.
"Luc." She's on her feet, hands hovering like she wants to touch me but isn't sure she should. "You're awake. The doctor said you need to rest, that the drug in your system?—"
"How long was I out?"
"Not long. They said the substance Julien used was some kind of sedative mixed with?—"
"Where's Remy?" I swing my legs over the side of the bed. The room tilts slightly, but I lock my muscles and wait for equilibrium to return.
"At the operations center. Luc, you shouldn't be moving. The doctor?—"
"The doctor can bill me for leaving AMA." I stand, test my balance. Steady enough. "I need my phone. My clothes. Where are they?"
She points to the small closet. "But you were unconscious. You have head trauma. They want to keep you for observation?—"
"I don't have time for observation." I pull open the closet, find my jeans and shirt. Both are stained with blood and dirt from whatever happened at that property. "Julien?"
Something shifts in her expression. "Remy called me while you were unconscious. Told me what the team found during the extraction." She wraps her arms around herself. "Julien's dead. They found him dead at the property. Shot. Execution-style."
I go still. Julien dead changes everything. This isn't a stalker who got caught. This is someone cleaning up loose ends.
"When?"
"The tactical team found his body during the breach. The coroner estimates he died shortly after they took you." She wraps her arms around herself. "Luc, I'm so sorry. If I hadn't?—"
"Stop." I pull on my shirt, ignore the way dried blood makes the fabric stick to my skin. "Julien's dead because someone executed him. Not your fault."
"But—"
"No." I move closer, tilt her chin up. Force her to look at me. "Julien made his choices. Stalked you. Someone used that obsession as a weapon. When he became a liability, they eliminated him. That's on them. You don't get to carry their shit."
Her eyes are red-rimmed. Exhausted. She's been crying, blaming herself for everything.
The urge to pull her against me hits hard. But not here. Not now. Not when someone just executed my primary suspect and we still don't know who's running this.
"I need to get to the crime scene," I tell her. "Remy's coordinating with NOPD?"
"Yes. Detective Broussard is lead on the investigation." She pulls out her phone, shows me a text from Remy. "He said to call when you woke up."
I dial. Remy answers on the second ring.
"You're awake."
