Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
A wet nose nudged the side of his face. Betty sat next to him, whimpering. She knew Jo wasn’t well. “You did so good, Bet. You found our girl. You saved her.”
“They’re close, T. Real close,” Jinx said. He sounded as anxious as Tracker felt, but that couldn’t be possible. There wasn’t a person alive experiencing the same internal torment as him.
“Tracker,” Jinx said after a few moments.
He tried to release Jo, but his muscles wouldn’t obey.
“Come on, brother. They’re here. You gotta let ’em do their thing.” Pressure on his shoulder finally had him straightening his spine. Jinx hovered over him, soaked with his hair hanging heavy and wet around his ears.
Next to him stood two EMTs in rain gear holding an extensive medical kit.
Still, he couldn’t let go. If he let go, she might slip away.
“They’ll take good care of her.”
The EMTs nodded, and one crouched next to him. He couldn’t be older than twenty-three. Fresh-faced even while wet. “Promise, sir. But you gotta let us check her out.”
“She’s cold.”
“We’ve got warming blankets for her.”
Nodding, Tracker slowly released his grip on Jo. Jinx helped him stand, but it felt wrong. He needed to be touching her, holding her, showing her he was there and wouldn’t leave her alone.
He moved to her feet and pressed his boot against her tennis shoe. Stubborn woman hadn’t even worn rain boots in the damn hurricane. He made a mental note to check if she owned any.
In no time, the EMTs had an oxygen mask on her face, pressure on her wounds, and had her strapped to a gurney.
“On three,” the young-looking man said. “One, two, three.” They raised the gurney to waist height and began rolling toward the ambulance, moving at a near run, which did nothing to calm Tracker’s nerves.
“You can meet us at the hospital, sir,” the female EMT called over her shoulder.
“Come on, brother. I’ll drive and take care of Betty while you’re in there. Curly and the gang will meet you there.”
Tracker turned toward his friend. Even without the massive amounts of rain, he felt like he was experiencing life underwater. Everything seemed muted, wavy, and distorted except for the fear. That was clear as a damn blue-sky sunny Florida day.
Thank God for Jinx. The big man came through in every damn way. He got Tracker to the hospital in record time. Told the ER receptionist Tracker was Jo’s fiancé and waited with him until Curly and the rest of the gang showed up. Then he left to take Betty home and get her dry.
For his part, Tracker sat in the waiting room, a strange combination of numb and terrified as he waited for word on his woman.
While he sat there, staring at his clasped hands, he made himself a promise. Jo’s partner wouldn’t live to see another hurricane.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
VOICES.
So many deep, loud, angry voices.
They cut through the haze, pecking at her brain like a hungry chicken attacking its meal.
Who was it? And why did each voice sound distinctly familiar even while all blending together in a muddled mess?
She wanted sleep. That’s all. More sleep, but the arguing wouldn’t stop. She couldn’t make sense of it, or anything, and it seemed the harder she tried, the foggier the world became.
Where was she? Why wouldn’t they let her sleep? And—oh shit—why did everything hurt?
Her face.
Her hands.
Her side.
And, oh, God, her leg.
Had she been attacked?
In an accident?
Nothing felt familiar except for the voices. They hovered on the edge of her understanding but couldn’t penetrate enough to be recognized.
Jo floated along on a cloud of confusion and pain, listening to the quarreling but not comprehending a damn thing. The argument grew louder and angrier, finally cutting through some of her disorientation.
Tracker! That was Tracker’s voice. And he was pissed, furious even, but also worried.
For her?
“There’s only one way I’ll leave this goddamn room, and that’s in a fucking body bag,” Tracker growled the words out. He sounded close but not close enough. If he wasn’t touching her, he wasn’t close enough.
“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, asshole?” another man’s voice shot back.
Recognition hovered just out of reach. She swore she knew to whom that angry voice belonged.
“How about we throw your ass in jail? Sounds like you belong there anyway.” A third voice.
“Works for me. Lock him up, lose the fucking key so he can’t go near our sister ever again.” Yet another voice.
Sister?
Sister?
“Um, I’m so sorry. Mr. uh… Fin said he was the patient’s fiancé. Is that not accurate?” That was a woman.
“No.”
“Hell no.”
“Fuck no.”
The three men spoke at the same time.
Sister.
Holy shit.
There went the gentle slide into consciousness.
Her eyes flew open, and she gasped at the sight before her as pain and recognition collided. What the hell were her brothers doing fighting with Tracker? And why were they all in her bedroom?