Lethal Confessions (54 page)

Beckett grunted, his eyes drooping shut.

Anxiety tightened Amy’s chest. “Stay with me, Beckett. The chopper’s on the ground. The medics will be here in a second. Now, I’ve got to go open the door so they don’t break it down and toss in a flashbang or something.”

“I’ll handle Kellen,” Beckett said in a slur of words, a crooked little smile quirking his lip.

Amy lowered his head with all the gentleness and tenderness she could find in her, and then got back to her feet, looking down at him. “That performance of yours wasn’t exactly Plan B, Beckett. In fact, it wasn’t Plan Anything.” She paused for a second. “Plan Stupid, maybe.”

He gave a weak chuckle. “You sweet talker.”

Sunday, August 8

8:10 a.m.

Amy opened her eyes and blinked. Pale green institutional room. A TV on the opposite wall. Weird smells.

Hospital
.

She vaguely remembered a medic sticking a needle into her arm, and then a couple of other SWAT guys helping her into the helicopter. She’d been alert enough to tell the medic she still had some thiopental in her system but he’d waved her off. Whatever drugs he’d given her must have been pretty good.

A sling supported her left arm but she no longer felt much pain. The medic had told her she’d dislocated her left shoulder in the fight with Garneau. Her terror that Beckett might have been killed had overwhelmed much of the pain, but as soon as the crisis had passed, it had come rocketing back through her system. That’s when the medic had stuck her.

As they were strapping her into the helicopter, she’d asked Cramer about M.L. and Cooper. He’d assured her they’d been picked up by a local fire rescue squad less than ten minutes after Beckett called 9-1-1 with their location. Her sister and nephew were fine, or as fine as anyone could be after being kidnapped by a serial killer.

A deep voice rumbled from the right side of the room. “Finally.”

Cramer
.

“Captain?” she managed to croak through a dry mouth.

He moved closer, a faint smile lightening his stern expression. “How are you feeling, Detective? I have to say I’ve seen you looking better.”

Amy winced. “I’m okay. The shoulder hurts a little, though, and I’m a bit woozy.”

“The nurse gave you more pain meds a couple of hours ago.”

“I guess I slept through it.”

“Just relax and rest up, Amy. When you’re ready to be discharged, the patrol officer outside will take you home.”

She swallowed, her throat dry as cotton. “But Beckett…is Beckett all right?”

Cramer rolled his eyes. “Hell, yeah. If the Taliban couldn’t kill that son of a bitch, that little weasel Gardner sure couldn’t.”

Relief made her even woozier. “Garneau’s his real name.”

“I’ll make a note of that for his mug shot,” Cramer replied dryly.

“Is he here, too?”

“He’s upstairs in a room with two deputies at his door. Hell of a concussion, I hear.”

Amy shook her head. “I meant Beckett.”

Cramer grinned. “Oh, him. He’s in a room down the hall, and he’s going to be just fine. A cracked rib and a little bump on his thick head. Nothing much, really, but he won’t be playing golf again for a while. Not with the rib injury. Plays havoc with your swing.”

Thank God Beckett had donned the vest. She’d wanted him to wear it from the time they left her place, but he’d refused saying it might interfere with his rifle shot and that wasn’t acceptable. At least he’d had the brains to put it on before he launched his wild gamble at Garneau’s kill house.

That ploy had been insanely risky, but Beckett had obviously calculated that he could get Garneau to fixate on him and then push his buttons until the killer lost control. Beckett had brains and courage to spare, but she still wanted to throttle him for putting himself so brutally in harm’s way. If Garneau had shot him in the head or neck…

She blinked as she felt a hot rush of sudden tears. “He saved my life, Captain. I couldn’t have taken Garneau down without him.”

“Maybe not, but he’s still an idiot. You’re both damn idiots. And I was the one who had to explain all that lunacy to the sheriff in the middle of the goddamn night.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I couldn’t trust M.L.’s and Cooper’s lives to a tactical unit operation.” She met his gaze, tilting up her chin in defiance. “I’ve seen what can happen. We both have. And I couldn’t lose my sister, Captain. Not like that.”

Cramer rubbed a hand over his drawn, exhausted features. He’d probably been up all night.

“I understand, Amy. I really do. But what you pulled last night wasn’t police work. It was unprofessional and downright foolhardy.”

She sighed. Somehow Cramer’s controlled disappointment hurt as much as or more than the tongue-lashing she’d expected. “I guess that means I’m fired.”

The thought of having to turn in her badge threatened to restart the tears. She clamped down hard, steeling herself in anticipation of his next words. But however much it would hurt to get kicked off the force, she’d never second guess her decision. Never.

Cramer snorted. “When Luke finally told me what you two were up to—way too goddamn late, I might add—I fired your ass about a hundred times as I chased him all over hell’s half acre.” Then, he gave her a wry smile. “But I don’t think the good people of this county would let me get away with firing a genuine hero. Or heroine, as it were.”

Amy closed her eyes, holding back a choke of relief. She opened them when Cramer gingerly took her hand.

“You did a dumb thing, Detective Robitaille, but you’ve got more guts than a platoon of Marines.”

She shook her head. “I’m no hero, Captain. Beckett is, though.”

“Either an idiot or a hero. I’m still undecided on that one.”

Amy laughed. “How about both?”

“Okay, done,” the captain said. “Look, Pushy’s here, too, you know. He’ll be back in a minute—I sent him and Ryan to get more coffee. You should know that those two got to the scene just as you were being strapped into the chopper.”

“Ryan?” she asked, completely surprised.

Cramer nodded. “As soon as they got word that Garneau had taken you, she and Pushy argued their way onto one of the SWAT trucks. Apparently, Ryan was going bat-shit crazy on the squad until they let them on.”

“
Tabarnak
,” she muttered. “You never know, do you, Captain?”

“Ryan’s a good cop, Amy, and cops take care of their own.” He exhaled a sigh as he glanced toward the door. “Look, the media are going to be all over you and Luke the minute you get out of here. The whole communications team has been tasked to this case, and we’re trying to control how the details of the story are spun out. In the meantime, we’re not going to let the hounds anywhere near you or Luke or Marie-Louise.”

“Sounds good to me, sir.”

“Well, I can’t have the public thinking one of my detectives would pull something as crazy as you did last night, can I?” He was back to looking stern.

“Absolutely not, Captain,” she said in a respectful voice.

But she didn’t regret one second of it. Not with M.L. and Cooper safe at home.

Luke stared out the window of his hospital room. Bright sunshine slanted through the half-closed blinds as he watched palm fronds bobbing in a stiff breeze. Cooler air must have pushed through overnight in the wake of the violent rainstorm.

All night, he’d chafed under the constant attention of nurses and doctors. He’d had his fill of x-rays, CT scans, blood tests, and neurology residents who waved fingers at him and asked dozens of necessary but irritating questions.

Every time he moved, stabs of pain lanced through his rib cage. But the doctors had taped it and that was about all they could do. He’d have been discharged long ago had it not been for the concussion. A “mild” concussion, the neuro resident had eventually labeled it. Unfortunately, it was number three for Luke, so they’d decided to be extra cautious.

When not being poked and prodded, Luke had spent the night replaying the nightmare scene in Garneau’s living room. He had been pretty sure going into it that he could goad the killer into firing on him, giving Robitaille the opening she needed to attack and subdue him. Cramer had told Luke that she’d kicked the crap out of the little bastard and put him in the hospital. And she’d done it all while stark naked, to boot.

Some great cop. Some incredible woman
.

“You look like hell, Beckett.” Robitaille smiled at him from the doorway. She looked small and vulnerable in a hospital gown and wheelchair. Cramer stood behind, holding onto the handles.

“Thanks,” he said, mustering up a grin. “You look absolutely beautiful.”

She scoffed. “Liar.”

Cramer cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll leave you two alone. Amy, get Luke to buzz for a nurse when you’re ready to go back to your room. Don’t try to maneuver this chair with one hand, and you damn well better not even think about getting up and walking.”

“Thanks, Captain,” she said.

Cramer patted her good shoulder and left.

Luke sat there, taking in her lovely, but bruised face. She looked surprisingly serene given everything she’d been through. Suddenly, he felt a whole lot better. “I hear you won a first round knockout over Garneau. I hate like hell that I had to miss it.”

She wrinkled her nose as she smiled. “I remember telling him that I was going to kill him with my teeth, Beckett. I was like, feral. So crazy I’m surprised he didn’t die of a heart attack.”

He chuckled. “Remind me never to provoke you. By the way, it’s supposed to be Luke, remember? We’re sure as hell not at HQ.”

“I know. But here’s the thing.” She hesitated, dipping her gaze for a moment before looking at him again. “The fact is, I’ve come to love you as Beckett. So, why don’t we just stick with that?”

Luke’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. “Did I just hear the L-word, Detective Robitaille?”

She ducked her head again. “
Calice
, you know you did, hero. And I’d better hear it back in the next five seconds, or I’m going to have to find my gun.”

He’d never said the L-word to any woman except his mother and Kate, so it surprised him how easily it came to his lips. “I love you, too, Amélie Robitaille.”

“Good,” she said firmly, wincing as she shifted the chair closer to him. Luke reached out to stroke her tumbled hair. He wanted desperately to wrap his arms around her, but this would have to do for now. She brought his hand to her soft cheek and nuzzled into it.

“Thanks for saving my life, Beckett. Even though I’m still mad as hell at you for doing something so stupid.”

“Not stupid, babe. I took a calculated risk. And there was just no way that I was going to let that sick bastard hurt you.”

She met his gaze, her gorgeous gray eyes misty with emotion. “You know how they say everything slows down when you think you’re about to die? Well, it’s absolutely true. In that bedroom, when I finally realized that it might be all over…I didn’t have any regrets about what I’d done to save M.L. and Cooper. The only thing I regretted was not knowing what would have happened with the two of us.” A single tear escaped down her cheek, but her smile was a thing of beauty. “Maybe now I’ll find out after all.”

To hell with the pain. He had to get his arms around her. Carefully, Luke urged her onto the bed with him, shifting over to make room. Two wounded warriors, beat up and drugged, but it was worth the pain to have her next to him where she belonged.

“We’ll find out together, Amélie,” he whispered as he held her close.

Saturday, August 14

12:15 p.m.

Amélie sat next to Luke, obviously lost in thought even as she kept a warm grip on his hand. She’d been a source of quiet strength for him all week, and for Alicia, too. They both went to the hospital every day to spend time with the little girl. Luke had watched the woman and the child he loved forge a bond he hoped would last a lifetime.

Not that he and Amélie had talked yet about what would happen when Luke took Alicia home, and what it would mean to them as a couple. And she hadn’t pushed for answers, either. Amélie had obviously sensed his need to put all his energy into getting his soon-to-be daughter through her surgery.

But if actions spoke louder than words, she was in all the way—as she was with every challenge she took on. He thanked God for that, because what lay ahead with Alicia would be a challenge, one that would likely test him every day. He was going to need Amélie’s strength and courage to help see him through what could be some dark times.

They waited together—endlessly it seemed—for Alicia’s surgery to finally be over. They’d been stuck in the family waiting room for well over four hours, and Luke’s nerves had frayed to the breaking point. Only Amélie’s determined efforts to calm him had kept him from climbing the walls.

Just when he thought he might have to storm the O.R. to get answers, the door swung open and a tired-looking Anna Halperin strode into the room. Luke’s heart jammed against his ribs and he could barely take in a breath. He and Amélie got up, both still moving a bit gingerly after their injuries. Amélie’s grip tightened around his and he returned the pressure, too worried to speak.

Then Dr. Halperin smiled, and life started again. “Alicia is doing very well. There were no surprises during the surgery and no apparent complications. She’s in recovery now, and they’ll take her up to ICU in a little while. A nurse will come for you once Alicia is settled.”

The relief that flooded Luke’s body was so powerful that he couldn’t seem to make his brain function. Fortunately, Amélie had his back.

“What can you tell us about her prognosis, Dr. Halperin?” she asked in a calm voice. “Can you give us any indication yet?”

“Much improved compared to before the surgery, I’m happy to say. We’ll go over the details later but, for now, just be happy that she’s doing so well.”

Luke seized Halperin’s hand. “Thanks for everything, Doc. I owe you—we owe you—big time.”

The surgeon put her other hand on his shoulder. “Just be a good dad to her. She deserves that.”