“There was some nasty bruising across her chest, but the vest caught the shot,” Dr. Ellis said. “She hit her head hard. She might have a concussion, which is why I’m telling you this.” She sighed, and clearly she knew Harley’s history, aka, no family. Thus, her next words. “She needs supervision for the next twenty-four hours. Someone to watch for signs of—”
“I’m on it,” Jericho said.
Dr. Ellis nodded. “Okay then. She’s in the ER, third bay. Good luck.”
He headed through the double doors, Orlando trotting at his side. He still wore his vest labeling him a working K9.
The faint beep of a monitor sounded behind the closed curtain of bay three, and he pushed the curtain aside.
Harley sat on the edge of the exam table, a couple patches attached to her chest, the monitor sending out a signal. She wore a tank top, her pullover thermal shirt draped over a chair. She looked up, and her jaw tightened, her hand already reaching for her shirt.
“What do you think you’re doing?” And yes, he meant his tone.
“Getting out of here.” But she winced as she pulled off the patches. “We need to—”
“Think again there, Miss Run into Trouble.” Jericho crossed his arms, planting himself in the doorway. Two could play at the name-calling game. “Doc says you need supervision.”
“I’m fine.” Harley pulled her shirt over her head—another wince—then slipped off the table, the paper crinkling under her. “I just need some Advil and sleep.”
“You gotshot,” Jericho growled. “And you might have a concussion.”
“Technically, myvestgot shot,” Harley snapped. But her hand gripped the table’s edge, and that was justenough.
“Are you kidding me? You could’ve died, Harley. A few inches higher and he would have taken off your head. Hello—what were you thinking, running after him like that?”
She rounded on him. “I was thinking I didn’t want him to escape!” Her voice rose, and she winced again.
He took a breath, schooled his voice. “He’s not worth you dying.”
Harley, too, lowered her voice. “So what, we just let him go?”
“No. But we need to be smart.” He stepped closer, his gaze hard on hers, and aw, he couldn’t stop himself. “You scared me, okay? When I ran up and saw you lying there, all I could think was...” He closed his mouth, shook his head. Looked away.
“That in the end, you were right,” he heard her say.
He glanced back at her, and her expression had lost its edge. Softer. Almost ... well, something of compassion, even maybe longing, in her eyes.
As if they’d peeled back time to the moment, years ago, when everything shattered.
Not again. At the very least, maybe he was back forthismoment. To keep her alive, which suddenly seemed very much his current mission.
Or perhaps his continued mission. “You’re coming home with me.”
Harley’s mouth opened. “What? No, I’m not.”
“You need supervision,” he said. “The doc says you could have a concussion.”
“I have a headache. I’ll be fine at my place.” Harley reached for her jacket.
“Forget it, HT. This isn’t a request.”
“You’re not the boss of—”
“Right now, I am exactly that.”
She stared at him, wide-eyed.
He took another breath.Calm. Down.“Listen, there are guest rooms at the family lodge. And”—he met her gaze—“Mars is still out there. He knows where you live, and we both know he’s not giving this up. You—we—stirred up the old war, and frankly, you’re not safe.”
