Alibi (Brantley Walker Off the Books #5) - Nicole Edwards Page 0,20

followed close behind.

Gage managed to keep up, never releasing Kylie’s hand. She looked so pale, so fragile, it pained him to think they were going to take her away even for a minute. He needed to be with her, to assure her she wasn’t alone.

“Sir, you’ll need to stay here,” one of the masked people told him. “We’ll let you know as soon as we have news.”

Gage shook his head, tried to go with her, but the hands pulling at him were strong. Too strong.

“They’ve got her. She’s in good hands.”

He knew he needed to hold it together, needed to comprehend what they were saying so he could relay the details to everyone else when they arrived. If he had to guess, Travis was right behind them. He prayed he was because Gage couldn’t do this alone. He needed Travis, needed his husband’s strength to keep him standing.

“Come on. This way.”

It wasn’t until Gage was halfway down the hall that he realized Reese was the one guiding him, Brantley right beside him, their dog leading the way.

“I didn’t believe you,” he whispered.

“What?” Reese guided him into a chair in a brightly lit room with people scattered throughout. “What did you say?”

Gage’s legs gave out, the seat coming up to meet his ass. “I didn’t believe you.”

When he looked up, both Brantley and Reese were frowning.

“I didn’t think she was still a threat,” he admitted, his voice rough. “I thought Travis was losin’ his mind. Overreactin’.”

Their expressions went blank immediately.

“It was her. Juliet Prince. She was the one who hit Kylie?”

Brantley’s face was full of sympathy. “We believe so, yes.”

“Where is she?” His eyes bounced back and forth between them. “Please tell me they caught her.”

It was on their faces. Juliet Prince was not in custody. She was not being processed for attempted murder.

“She fled the scene,” Reese answered, his tone smooth and low. “But we’ve got a license plate number, and there’s a BOLO out for the car. We’ll—”

“Where is she? Where is my wife?”

The voice boomed through the space, drawing the attention of everyone.

Gage was on his feet, moving toward Travis.

The instant Travis saw him, he was marching over, then his arms were around him, holding Gage together. He held on to Travis, inhaling his familiar scent, trying to absorb some of his strength, knowing he would need it.

Travis’s hand cradled the back of his head, holding firmly as they leaned on one another. It didn’t last long, but it was long enough to assure Gage that Travis was there with him, that he was not in this alone.

When Travis released him, stepping back, Gage gripped Travis’s arm, feeling back in control of himself for the first time since leaving the park. “Come on. Let’s sit.”

“Where is she?” Travis demanded, stopping Gage when he tried to lead them away from the nurses’ station.

“They’ve taken her into surgery,” he explained, recalling only briefly what he’d been told.

“Surgery?” Travis frowned. “Why? For what?”

Honestly, Gage had no idea, and he didn’t want to lead Travis to believe otherwise.

“Let’s take a seat,” Curtis suggested, his voice low and commanding as he motioned them to the far side of the room.

“I don’t wanna sit,” Travis snapped. “I wanna see my wife.”

“You will,” Brantley said firmly. “Give them time to take care of her.”

Gage’s first instinct was to placate Travis, to tell him everything was going to be all right, that Kylie would be fine. He didn’t say any of those things. Probably because he had so many doubts himself. Fear, even now, threatened to choke him. It was likely exacerbated by the sheer terror he could see on Travis’s face. The man who was always strong and stoic looked anything but, and that scared the shit out of Gage.

Someone directed them to an empty corner of the room, offered coffee. They both refused but took their seats. Gage settled for sitting silently, his arm brushing Travis’s as they both remained perfectly still, staring at the doors that led to their wife.

Time moved slowly. Too slowly.

“How long has she been back there?” someone eventually asked.

“Not long,” someone else answered.

There were a few hushed whispers, maybe even a group praying softly. Gage barely heard them over the steady, painful thump of his heart as he sent up his own silent prayer, begging God to spare the most beautiful, the most vibrant woman he’d ever known.

Suddenly the doors opened and a man stepped out. Older man, pleasant face, serious eyes. Blue scrubs. He pulled off the face