Sinful Love (Sinful Nights #4) - Lauren Blakely Page 0,103
she looked like she was trying to form the words he’ll be okay, but instead, tears slid down her cheeks and she clasped her hand to her mouth. They’d been in bed asleep when Sophie called fifteen minutes ago, hysterical with the news. Elle’s son Alex was at a friend’s house, and they’d uncharacteristically slept in until nine a.m., when they were greeted by a screeching phone and sobs on the other end.
Sophie and Ryan were on their way. Shannon and Brent, too, and their grandparents as well. But Elle lived closest, so they’d arrived first. Colin dragged a hand through his hair, trying to breathe, to ignore the beeping of machines, the clatter of equipment, the hushed conversations between nurses and doctors circling nearby, and the faces of all the other people waiting in the emergency room.
“Elle,” he croaked out again, as the woman at the desk toggled through her computer screen.
She wrapped her arms around him. “He’s going to be okay.”
But she didn’t sound like she believed it.
Resting his chin atop her head, because he felt like he might topple over if he let go, he turned back to the woman at the desk. “Do you know where he is? Is he in surgery? What’s going on?”
The woman held up a finger. “One minute.”
“Goddammit,” he muttered. “Elle, is your mom working?” Colin asked, desperation coloring his tone. “Can she find out something?”
Elle shook her head. “She’s not an ER nurse, but I can try to find her.”
“Wait.” Colin snapped his gaze in the direction of the woman in pink scrubs. “Sloan, you said?”
Colin let go of Elle and gripped the counter. “Yes. Michael Sloan. What’s going on?”
She opened her mouth to speak, when Colin spotted John Winston rounding the corner. His eyes were downcast, his arm was wrapped around Annalise, and he looked like someone had died.
Colin’s ears rang, and he heard nothing but the screaming in his own head.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Thirty minutes ago
Silver gleamed on concrete—two, maybe three feet away from her next to the wheel of a car—like a beacon.
A harsh pant came from Charlie, then the dragging sound of unsteady feet across pavement.
Her hands were covered in Michael’s blood, her vision was blurred from her own torrential tears, and her pulse thundered in her brain.
But Michael’s heart still beat, and in an instant, her choices crystallized into just one.
She lunged across Michael for the gun, rose to her feet, and spun around.
“I’m not done,” the man seethed, as he rose to his full height, his gun in his uninjured right hand. “You and your white box comment this morning at the diner,” he snarled. “You know nothing about my brother. Nothing about how he was buried.”
She had no clue what he meant, and she didn’t care. She was nothing but nerves. She’d never held a gun and had certainly never fired one. She didn’t know how to hit the side of a barn, let alone the heart of a man. But as he lifted his arm, her focus narrowed, and her mind sharpened.
Adrenaline bathed her brain in pinpoint clarity. She was alive, she was unhurt, and she was going to be faster than the man who wanted to kill her then finish off Michael.
As she raised her weapon, she realized she knew precisely what to do.
Like taking a picture.
Point. Aim.
Shoot.
The bullet flew.
And she prayed. And hoped. And wished.
Charlie crumpled over, grabbing his belly where she’d hit him.
Seconds later, the ambulance screeched to a stop, the medics poured out, and she was on the way to the hospital with her love losing his hold on life.
Now
He’d died in the emergency room twenty minutes later. Annalise had shot him in the stomach, the bullet nicking an artery and tearing through his intestines, the doctors had said. No time to question Charlie Stravinsky—no chance for a deathbed confession, but one was hardly needed.
His confession had been made when he’d arrived at Michael’s building, ready to kill.
John had already put most of the pieces together that morning with the federal agent, and he needed to talk to Annalise to learn what had gone down in the parking garage. She could barely speak, though. Her hands were still shaking, and all she’d managed to say were the barest of details. There would be time enough for that later. After she’d been checked over and cleaned up, he walked her to the ER waiting room where he was rushed by family members—Colin and Elle first.