Cavanaugh's Bodyguard (21 page)

Josh vaguely remembered saying the same thing to Bridget over an eternity ago, when he found her agonizing over her revised family tree. It felt odd hearing the sentiment echoed back to him.

Father Adam nodded toward the O.R. doors. “How is she doing?” he asked.

The helpless feeling was so oppressive, he was having trouble breathing. Josh shook his head. “They won’t tell me.”

The priest took the non-information in stride. “I subscribe to the no-news-is-good-news school of thought,” he said with a smile, and then he assured Josh, “Bridget’s a fighter.”

“So they tell me,” Josh replied, hopelessness echoing in his voice.

“In her case, those are not just empty words,” Father Adam said. “Let me tell you a little story, Detective. When Bridget was about ten years old, her family rented a cabin in the mountains one winter. She and her younger brother, Logan, snuck out one morning before anyone was up. They were expressly told not to go on the lake because the ice was thin that year.” Father Adam’s smile was a fond, indulgent one. “So naturally that was where Bridget and her brother went. Long story short, the ice broke right under Logan’s feet when they were halfway across, plunging him into the icy lake. Bridget didn’t panic, she didn’t go running back to the cabin to get her father. She took off her coat, dove into the water and saved her brother. When she pulled him out, she wrapped him up in her coat and somehow managed to carry him back to the cabin. She literally saved his life.

“The downside of the story was Logan came down with the sniffles—and Bridget came down with a really bad case of pneumonia. So bad that she had to be hospitalized. Her parents were afraid that she was going die. Even the doctors were worried, telling them to prepare for the worst.”

Listening, Josh nodded. “And she bounced back.”

The priest smiled broadly. “That she did.”

Josh blew out a breath. “Sounds like Bridget,” he agreed, trying desperately to take heart from the story.

Bridget’s uncle placed a large, ham-like hand comfortingly on his shoulder. “The point of the story is that Bridget always manages to come out on top no matter what the situation. Don’t worry, boy. She’s going to be all right.”

God, but he wished he had the priest’s conviction, Josh thought.

Before he could say anything in response, Josh heard a commotion down the hall. It grew louder. Curious, he took a few steps toward the growing din, thinking to investigate. Looking for a distraction.

The distraction came to him.

The commotion came from what amounted to an army of people. It was headed by the chief of detectives who was walking beside Bridget’s father, Sean. Behind them was what appeared to be half the police department. Or, at the very least, half the people who had been at the party the other night to officially welcome Bridget’s grandfather.

As they drew closer, the approaching Cavanaughs managed to fill every single space in the corridor, and while the noise they made couldn’t exactly be referred to as deafening, it was definitely noticeable.

A couple of moments later, a weary-looking nurse approached the group from another direction. She stopped right beside Josh. It was obvious from the expression on the older woman’s face that she recognized at least a large number of the people who now stood in the corridor, shifting back and forth as they made an attempt not to block it.

Sighing, the senior nurse said to no one in particular, “I knew this was going to happen the minute I saw that last name on the insurance form. You know, between getting shot and giving birth, you Cavanaughs should seriously think about getting your own hospital annex,” she said, this time addressing her comment to Brian.

“You make sure our Bridget makes it,” Andrew answered, speaking up from the rear, “and we’ll see about making that happen.”

“Don’t toy with me, Andrew Cavanaugh,” the nurse fired back, pretending to complain. “I’m a very vulnerable woman.”

Andrew laughed at her comment. “I’m counting on that, Virginia.”

Even as he answered her, more and more family members arrived, alerted by the others.

Greetings as well as repeated questions filled the air.

The head nurse pointed toward the recently remodeled and greatly expanded waiting room. The facility bore more of a resemblance to an arena than a room.

“The hospital would appreciate at least
some
of you waiting in there.” Her features pulled into a faux scowl. “No one can get by with all of you clogging the hallway like this.”

“And if we go in there to wait the way you want,” Brian bargained, “in exchange, you’ll come by and give us regular updates on how my niece is doing?”

“Yes, yes, anything to get you people out of the hallway,” Virginia promised.

As she gestured again toward the waiting room, the members of the family slowly began to file by her, taking seats or opting to stand as they all gave one another comfort.

The nurse looked at Josh expectantly. “You, too, young man,” she urged.

“He’s only one person,” Father Adam pointed out. “And her partner. If there’s an ounce of mercy in you, I’d let him stay exactly where he is,” he advised gently.

After a momentary debate, Virginia begrudgingly nodded. “All right, you can stay,” she told Josh, then turned to look at all the others. “But as for the rest of you—”

She didn’t need to finish her sentence.

Dutifully, the family members who hadn’t retreated into the room yet did so now.

“I am holding you to your promise,” Andrew said to the nurse as he followed the last of the combined family into the waiting area.

The nurse nodded. “And I’ll keep it,” Virginia told him solemnly. Glancing again at the young man leaning against the wall beside the O.R. doors, she withdrew for now. But she would be back and soon, just as she’d promised. Virginia Gibbs knew better than to ignore the former chief of police.

Chapter 16

S
even heavy layers were pressing down on her. Smothering her. Seven layers of hot, searing pain, determined to keep her submerged in a hazy, oppressive, formless world.

Bridget struggled, desperately trying to surface.

Her eyelids felt as if they each weighed a ton apiece. Maybe more. They refused to open.

She refused to give up.

Eventually, an eternity later, she won.

But when she finally opened her eyes, she didn’t recognize her surroundings. Only that she’d never been here before.

This wasn’t her bed, or her room. And who was that with his head down on the bland blanket that covered the bed and her?

Slowly, the answers came into focus.

This was a hospital room. And her side hurt like hell. Moreover, something must have clearly crawled into her mouth and died there because not only was there a terrible taste inside her mouth, but her lips felt as if they’d been glued together. It hurt to pull them apart.

She did it anyway.

Trying to speak, Bridget wound up moaning instead. Her eyes closed again.

Josh jerked his head up, alert the second he heard the sound. His neck protested the sudden motion, aching because of the position he’d unintentionally assumed when he’d finally fallen asleep. He’d been at her bedside for over two days now, keeping vigil over her. Waiting for Bridget to open her eyes and finally wake up.

“Bridget?” He whispered her name hesitantly, afraid he’d only
thought
he’d heard her. Or maybe he’d only dreamed it and his desire to make it true had propelled him into an awakened state.

Bridget dragged in a ragged breath. “Uh-huh,” she managed to push out. With supreme effort, she opened her eyes again.

He’d never seen anything half as beautiful as those blue eyes of hers.

“Oh thank God,” Josh cried, grasping her hand in both of his. “I was starting to think that you weren’t ever going to open your eyes.”

It was still a struggle to keep her eyelids up. And then, it was as if someone had opened a giant door in a cloud. Her memory of the last few minutes that she’d been conscious came flooding back to her. Surrounding her. Josh had found her. Rescued her.

Josh.

“How did you…”

Her energy ebbed away from her before she could finish the question. She tried again, determined to be heard. When she spoke, her voice was a little bit stronger. She peeled each word away from the roof of her mouth.

“How did you find me?”

Josh laughed shortly. As if he would have ever given up looking until he found her.

“Easy,” he quipped. “I just asked around for the biggest pain in the butt in the area. It was never any contest,” he told her, wanting to take her in his arms and just hold her.

But Bridget was in pain, despite the medication. He could see that and he knew if he followed through on his impulse, he would only be hurting her.

“No, seriously,” she pressed hoarsely. “How did you find me?” She had to know why she was so lucky when others hadn’t been. How he had tracked her when so many other women before her had fallen victim to the Lady Killer’s knife.

“Your earbud,” he told her. It was a miracle that it hadn’t gotten dislodged and fallen out when she’d been kidnapped. He wasn’t about to think what might have happened if she’d lost that tiny piece of electronic equipment.

Bridget blinked, confused. “What?”

“That transmitter you still had in your ear, it was on. I called in and had the lab tech locate the frequency in order to track it. That’s how I found you.”

He remembered that horrid pain in the pit of his gut when he’d realized that she must have been taken by their suspect. But it was nothing in comparison to the way he had felt when the van had abruptly stopped moving.

Praying she wasn’t dead, he’d run, his weapon drawn, to intercept the van. He’d torn opened the back door and had been just in time to keep her from receiving a fatal stab wound from the driver’s drawn knife. That was when he’d seen that there was already blood on it. And that there was blood all around Bridget’s prone body on the floor.

“Oh,” she managed to murmur, then said, “I dreamed you were yelling at me.” Each word was a little easier to utter than the last, but her mouth still felt as if she’d had sand for lunch. Sand that had trickled down her throat.

“That wasn’t a dream,” he told her simply. “I did.”

Her eyes drew together. “You yelled at me? But I was just stabbed,” she protested.

“And you were also an idiot,” he countered, anger suddenly surging through him when he thought of how close he had come to losing her. “
That
was why I was yelling at you.”

His tone was accusatory, masking the raw, vulnerable emotion just beneath. If something had happened to her, he wouldn’t have ever been able to live with himself.

“Who the hell told you to get into that van and try to take Green down single-handedly?” Josh angrily demanded.

“I didn’t get into the van,” she protested.

“Then how—”

Bridget wet her lips. They were sticking together again.

“He must have knocked me out and dragged me into the van.” She blinked, trying to remember the order in which everything had to have happened. “I saw him drive up while you and Kennedy were inside the office, taking to the manager. Green must have seen something that tipped him off. I saw him hurrying back to the van. I got out to talk to him. I knew I had to stall him until you came. Otherwise, he could just vanish on us again.”

Touching the back of her head, Bridget winced. The pain from that area was unexpected. “He must’ve hit me when I turned my head to look at something.” She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to distance herself from what she remembered. “When I came to, my wrists were duct taped together and I was in the back of the van, on the floor. I knew if I didn’t do something, he was going to kill me.” As she took another ragged breath, her lungs ached in protest. She would feel like hell for a while, Bridget thought, resigning herself to the fact. “How long have I been out?”

“Three days,” he told her.

She’d expected to hear that she’d been unconscious for a few hours, not days. The latter was scary. And then something else occurred to her. She looked at him. The man definitely appeared worn out. “And you’ve been here the whole time?” she asked in disbelief.

Josh shrugged, trying to make light of it. “Didn’t seem to be much of a point to be anywhere else.” Because that focused too closely on his own vulnerable state, he changed the subject. “A lot of your family’s been by. New and old,” he added. “When they heard you’d been hurt, they almost took over the whole damn hospital. They’re an impressive group of people,” he admitted. He saw a weak smile curving her mouth and found it immensely heartening. “Oh, by the way, I finally got to meet your Uncle Adam. He’s a really nice guy. How come you never brought him around?” he asked.

She was going to shrug, but that, it turned out, hurt too so she stopped midmotion. “It never occurred to me. Why? Did you want to make a confession?”

He was still holding her hand, he realized. But he didn’t let go. His eyes met hers. “Not to him.”

Her sense of protectiveness rose to the fore. “What’s wrong with my uncle?”

“Nothing,” he answered simply. “But if I was going to confess something, it would be to—” And then he shrugged again. He wanted to pick his time, and this wasn’t it. “Never mind.”

Pressing the control button beside her, Bridget managed to elevate the back of her bed so that she was in more of a sitting position. “You know I hate it when you do that, start saying something and don’t finish it.”

Well, if they were going to compare dislikes, his trumped hers, he thought. “And I hate you acting like some superheroine who thinks she’s bulletproof.”

Where did he get off taking her to task for anything? “You’ve got a lousy bedside manner, Youngblood, you know that?”

Sometimes she could get him so mad, he could shake her. Did she know what she meant to him? That she was more than just his partner, although that was a pretty big deal in itself. And did she even realize that what she’d done could have cost her her life?

“Maybe that’s because I don’t want to be standing at a hospital bedside.” His expression softened. “I’d rather be standing next to the bed in your apartment—as long as you were in it.”