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“I want you to talk with the transplant coordinator again. You know Denise Engle.” It wasn’t really a question, but Kristi nodded all the same. “Just make sure that you have everything in place if a match becomes available.”
“Am I at the top of the list yet?” Cody asked. Kristi grabbed at his pointy shoulder to shush him. Cody sounded far too excited. Especially when she and the doctor both understood that his best day would be someone else’s worst.
“I’m afraid not,” Guthrie said. “But you’re getting close. For now, you can stay at home, but...”
She knew that but. If Cody’s condition continued to deteriorate, he’d need to be admitted until his transplant. Dr. Guthrie had warned her of that during their first appointment.
He’d have to leave his car models and his quiet room and his very cool night-light. And he’d probably miss most of the Christmas season.
Cody would hate it.
So she shook her head at the doctor. “Please. There must be something we can do.”
He nodded slowly. “For now we’re going to set you up with a portable oxygen tank.” As he wrote a quick note on his prescription pad, he directed her to a medical supply store. “I want him to use this all day and at night.” Turning his attention to Cody, he motioned long, narrow fingers toward his nose. “The oxygen will help you feel more awake, and it’ll come through a tube that fits over your ears and right into your nose. Think you can keep it on all day?”
Cody shrugged. “I guess.”
“You mean, ‘Yes, sir,’” Kristi corrected.
Ducking his head in chagrin, Cody agreed. “Yes, sir.”
Dr. Guthrie leaned in, a soft smile on his usually firm face. “If you have a hard time with it at first, take it out for five minutes every hour until you’re used to it.”
Suddenly Cody’s face lit up, and Kristi had a feeling it had nothing to do with the doctor’s five-minute reprieve.
“Zach!”
She spun so fast that her neck popped, but she hardly noticed when her gaze settled on the broad form leaning against the exam room doorjamb. His hazel eyes were bright and alert, and some of the color that had drained from his lips had returned. But his left arm was in a black sling, held tight against his body.
She sailed across the room, and before she could even process her own intent, she’d thrown her arms around his waist. It seemed to release a burst of a chuckle, which ended on a soft groan.
“Oh!” She jumped back in time to see him physically working to relax the lines around his mouth. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you? What are you doing here? We were going to go to the ER right—” She waved toward the doctor. “We were going to go find you as soon as we were done.”
He managed a strained smile. “No need. They patched me up and gave me some fluids and sent me on my way.”
Dr. Guthrie eyed Zach with a heavy dollop of suspicion but said nothing. It didn’t help the knot in her stomach. Zach swayed just a bit, and she almost grabbed for him before he leaned his good shoulder against the door frame.
His gaze never moved from hers, but there was a flickering in his eyes, a moment where he wasn’t as focused as he wanted her to believe he was.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“I’m not.” Little lines took up residence around his eyes, even though the rest of his face didn’t move. “Better me than you.” His gaze traveled across the room. “Or Cody.”
Her stomach churned. Cody had been only a few inches away from that bullet. She’d come far too close to losing the person she loved most in the world, and her only response was a three-word prayer. Thank You, God.
But what would happen if Cole found his mark the next time and Cody lost her?
FIVE
“Good morning.”
Zach thought the greeting was innocuous enough, but Kristi still fumbled her coffee cup. He jumped out of the way just in time, letting the steaming joe slosh to the dark gray tile of the kitchen floor.
This wasn’t the first time she’d dropped her coffee in his presence. Apparently he had quite the effect on her coffee-drinking habits.
But he couldn’t be the only reason she was now trembling. Not after the shooting that had taken place just three days before.
“I’m sorry.” Leaning her hand against the counter, she hung her head, presumably so she didn’t have to look him in the eye.
“You thinking about Jackson Cole?”
This brought forth a Bambi stare—all big eyes and innocence—from beneath the fringe of her bangs. “All the time.”
He moved to pat her shoulder, to offer whatever comfort he could, but stopped just short of her threadbare blue robe.
“Listen, we’re going to get through this.”
“How do you know? You don’t know that! You don’t know what’s going to happen. You can’t control it. I mean—look at you.”
True. His arm was in a sling, and his shoulder felt like it was on fire, especially after the pain medications from the ER had worn off. But he wasn’t going to let that stop him from standing by her side.
From standing between her and Cole.
When the urge hit him again to reach for her, he didn’t deny it. Running a hand down her arm, he squeezed her elbow. “We’ll make it through together.”
Suddenly she ripped her arm out of his grip, and the voice that emerged sounded wholly unlike her. Fire sizzled in her eyes. “Aaron used to say that.”
His heart slammed against his breastbone at the agony in her words. He’d felt pain before at the loss of his best friend. But this was new. It wasn’t the stinging reminder of Aaron and their summers running barefoot by the creek. It wasn’t the missed stories they had yet to share or the shared past they’d rehashed a hundred times.
This was different. It wasn’t his own grief that kicked him in the chest.
He ached for Kristi. His heart broke because hers did.
And he could offer only impotent promises about things he couldn’t control. After all, she was right to remind him that he couldn’t stop a bullet, that he couldn’t control Cole, especially when he still hadn’t been found. The cops had searched the hospital grounds, and the crime scene unit had hunted out any evidence. And they’d come up with nothing.
Which didn’t make any sense. If the shooter was able to get away without leaving a trace, he had to know what he was doing. So how had he missed Kristi by almost two feet?
“We’re—”
She whipped up her hand to cut him off. “Please. Don’t.”
“All right.” He wasn’t exactly sure what he was agreeing to, but it was certainly something she felt strongly about, so he was willing to comply. “What...what can I do?”
Her gaze swung toward the living room, where Cody’s Corvette blanket hung over the arm of the couch, the little boy intent on a TV show about two guys who fixed up rusted-out muscle cars and resold them for more money than Zach earned in a year. The little man was either engrossed in it or he had sacked out for another nap.
“I’m scared.” Her words were barely a breath, and he wasn’t entirely sure she’d meant to speak them. Yet they tugged at the part of his heart that demanded he be honest with her.
“I am, too.”
She spun to look into his face. “You are?”
“Of course. I got shot.”
Just as he’d hoped she would, she let out a little laugh. Then she clamped a hand over her mouth as though she wasn’t quite sure it was okay to laugh at his injury.
Better laughter than tears, he’d always thought. So he joined her.
“We’re in the middle of something serious, and we have to find Jackson Cole before he strikes again.” He shrugged his good shoulder, careful to keep the other unmoved. “As much as I hate to say it, I’m not at full capacity.”
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