Page 77 of Deep Cover

His throat worked, his jaw tightening under her palm. “There’s always a choice. And you made the wrong one.”

The same words she’d said to him when she found out he chose Blackout over her were directed back at her, only they lacked the fury she’d meant when she spoke them.

“I’m sorry,” she managed. “I’m so sorry, Reid.”

He pressed hard against her shoulder, applying pressure to the bullet wound. “Just stay with me, Ryss. We’re choosing each other now, goddammit! Do you hear me? Please.”

Smoke curled around them, and the building groaned overhead. Caryssa held on to the sound of his voice and the look in his eyes.

If this was the end, she thought, drifting, at least she’d gotten this.

“Reid. I love you,” she whispered, and then the world tipped sideways and went dark.

EIGHTEEN

Rivers hadn’t slept. Didn’t plan to, until he saw her eyes open.

The hospital chair had left a permanent dent in his spine, but he would have sat there for a year if it meant she woke up.

Caryssa’s face was pale against the stark white sheets, her hair tumbling across the pillow, and the bandage over her shoulder where the bullet passed through was stark white too, though a small bloom of blood already soaked through the gauze.

He counted her heartbeats on the monitor. Three thousand two hundred and something, and he still wasn’t done counting.

She stirred with a soft groan, eyelids fluttering against the harsh light, and he was on his feet and at her bedside in a heartbeat.

“Hey.” His voice wavered. “Hey, Ryss. I’m here.”

Her gaze fixed on his chest before flicking up to his face, at first unfocused and then sharpening. She ran her tongue over her dry bottom lip. “Did you get him?” she rasped. “The fireman. The one who shot me.”

Of course that was her first question.

Not am I okay, not what happened. Her mind went straight to the case, even half-conscious with a bullet wound in her shoulder.

Christ. He couldn’t believe she’d been shot. As if the shooter knew she was wearing body armor, he aimed for her high shoulder and caused enough damage to require weeks of healing time.

Reid also didn’t want to answer her.

He searched her beautiful eyes, still hazy from anesthesia. “He got away. Dumped the fire gear in the woods about a quarter mile out. No trace of blood from where I shot him. He must have been wearing body armor too. We sent everything off for DNA.”

“Good.” She let her head fall back against the pillow, eyes slipping shut again.

His heart squeezed at the sight of her—pale, bandaged, but alive. He didn’t know if he’d ever shake the vision of her cold and still on the gravel after he got her out of that building. All of his skills in field medicine couldn’t have saved her if she had been worse, and that tore him up every time he thought about it.

He crouched beside the bed and took her hand. Bringing it to his lips, he let his eyes slip shut with a silent prayer of thanks that she was alive. She made a small noise, and he looked up into her eyes.

“Am I allowed to have water?” she croaked.

He stood and reached for the cup on the rolling table. He held the straw to her lips, and she drew a sip into her mouth.

“Thank you.” Her lips curved at the edges, leaving his heart soaring with hope that she would be back to her old self very, very soon.

If not the Ryss he’d known way back when…at least the healthy version of who she’d become. And he loved that woman with a ferocity that could bring him to his knees.

He dragged the chair close to the bed and enveloped her hand in both of his. “You needed surgery.”

She nodded.

“Nothing is permanently damaged. You’re going to be all right, Ryss.” He bent to brush his lips over her knuckles again.