Their expressions went blank immediately.
“It was her. Juliet Prince. She was the one who hit Kylie?”
Brantley’s face was full of sympathy. “We believe so, yes.”
“Where is she?” His eyes bounced back and forth between them. “Please tell me they caught her.”
It was on their faces. Juliet Prince was not in custody. She was not being processed for attempted murder.
“She fled the scene,” Reese answered, his tone smooth and low. “But we’ve got a license plate number, and there’s a BOLO out for the car. We’ll—”
“Where is she? Where is my wife?”
The voice boomed through the space, drawing the attention of everyone.
Gage was on his feet, moving toward Travis.
The instant Travis saw him, he was marching over, then his arms were around him, holding Gage together. He held on to Travis, inhaling his familiar scent, trying to absorb some of his strength, knowing he would need it.
Travis’s hand cradled the back of his head, holding firmly as they leaned on one another. It didn’t last long, but it was long enough to assure Gage that Travis was there with him, that he was not in this alone.
When Travis released him, stepping back, Gage gripped Travis’s arm, feeling back in control of himself for the first time since leaving the park. “Come on. Let’s sit.”
“Where is she?” Travis demanded, stopping Gage when he tried to lead them away from the nurses’ station.
“They’ve taken her into surgery,” he explained, recalling only briefly what he’d been told.
“Surgery?” Travis frowned. “Why? For what?”
Honestly, Gage had no idea, and he didn’t want to lead Travis to believe otherwise.
“Let’s take a seat,” Curtis suggested, his voice low and commanding as he motioned them to the far side of the room.
“I don’t wanna sit,” Travis snapped. “I wanna see my wife.”
“You will,” Brantley said firmly. “Give them time to take care of her.”
Gage’s first instinct was to placate Travis, to tell him everything was going to be all right, that Kylie would be fine. He didn’t say any of those things. Probably because he had so many doubts himself. Fear, even now, threatened to choke him. It was likely exacerbated by the sheer terror he could see on Travis’s face. The man who was always strong and stoic looked anything but, and that scared the shit out of Gage.
Someone directed them to an empty corner of the room, offered coffee. They both refused but took their seats. Gage settled for sitting silently, his arm brushing Travis’s as they both remained perfectly still, staring at the doors that led to their wife.
Time moved slowly. Too slowly.
“How long has she been back there?” someone eventually asked.
“Not long,” someone else answered.
There were a few hushed whispers, maybe even a group praying softly. Gage barely heard them over the steady, painful thump of his heart as he sent up his own silent prayer, begging God to spare the most beautiful, the most vibrant woman he’d ever known.
Suddenly the doors opened and a man stepped out. Older man, pleasant face, serious eyes. Blue scrubs. He pulled off the face mask and the hair covering as he approached. It was in his movements, a sense of regret that had Gage’s heart squeezing.
“Walker family?”
No. Please no.
Gage got to his feet, shaking his head. It hadn’t been long enough. They hadn’t had her back there long enough to fix her broken, battered body.
“Is Kylie gonna be all right?” someone asked.
