a hiccupping sound. “Easton, there was so much blood.”
“He’s in surgery, baby. He’s fighting.”
“I can’t get the blood off.”
“Here.” He moved to the side and slid her hands under the water again. Soon, the water washed clear.
He pulled her sweater off, leaving her in a pretty, silver-gray bra. He grabbed a cloth off a stack of them beside the sink, and wiped away any remaining streaks of blood off her skin.
Her wounded eyes met his. “Thank you.”
“I’m here, Harlow. Lean all you want.”
Her chest hitched. “I’m afraid that if I do, I’ll fall apart.”
“So, fall apart. I’ll catch the pieces.”
She bit her lip, her voice a whisper. “I’m really afraid that I’ll do that, and then you’ll disappear.”
He pulled her to him, holding her hard, and pressed his cheek to her hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She gripped him. “I’m so afraid he’ll die. I’ve been so mad at him…”
“You’ve got to have hope, baby. And he knows you love him.”
Easton felt fresh tears soak his shirt. He stroked her back until he felt her drag in a shaky breath.
“Here.” He lifted the sweater he’d brought with him.
“My spare sweater I keep at work.”
“Vander warned me you might need it.”
She pulled on the pink, scoop-neck sweater. “Thank you.”
He took her hand and pulled her into the waiting room. Rhys was sprawled in a different chair. Vander was standing by the window.
“Any news?” Harlow asked.
Vander shook his head.
Easton towed Harlow to a chair. She clutched his hand like a lifeline.
The doors opened and Saxon strode in, his suit jacket flaring. He lifted his chin.
Vander strode to meet him. “You meet with Pierce?”
Saxon nodded. “But we were too late. It was Pierce’s people who shot Carlson.”
She squeezed Easton’s fingers.
“It’s done now,” Saxon said. “Pierce said her quarrel with Carlson is done. As long as she has no trouble with Norcross, she’s happy to get her seventy grand whenever Carlson can pay.”
“One down, one to go,” Vander said.
“Antoine,” Harlow whispered.
Easton scowled. They still had to come to some sort of agreement with Armand. And even if he had cut Hugo loose, the man had gone underground and was likely still carrying a grudge. Easton was worried about what the man might do.
“Gia’s bringing Scarlett over,” Saxon said.
Moments later, the doors flung open and Scarlett raced in, Gia a step behind her. Ace trailed the women.
“Harlow!” Scarlett made a beeline for her sister.
Harlow leaped up, and the sisters engulfed each other and started crying.
Gia moved to Saxon and pressed a kiss to his lips. Then her gaze met Easton’s. “Any word?”
“He’s in surgery.”
Gia nodded. “I’ll get everyone some bad coffee.”
An hour later, Easton could see that Harlow and Scarlett were barely holding it together. There was still no update on Charles Carlson. When the waiting room door opened again, he glanced up to see Rome holding it open. A slender blonde entered.
She was an older, slimmer version of Harlow.
Harlow blinked. “Mom?”
“My girls.”
The woman hurried over and hugged her daughters. “Is he…? Is there any news?”
Harlow slid an arm around her mother. “Not yet. But no news is good news. Why don’t you sit down?”
“No.” Eleanor Carlson straightened. “I know I haven’t always been the strongest, most organized person. And maybe not the most perfect mother. I know I’ve leaned on you too much, Harlow, but I’m not sitting down.”
Mrs. Carlson lifted her chin, a move Easton had seen Harlow do too many times to count. And despite her bravado, he saw the woman’s hands were clutching her handbag. She was nervous, but not backing down.
“Mr. Nash told me that your father got himself in trouble.”
Harlow shot Rome a narrow look.
Mrs. Carlson touched Harlow’s hand. “He didn’t give me all the details, but I want them, Harlow. I’m not hiding or burying my head in the sand. And I’m not letting your father and you take care of everything for me. Look where that’s got us. Your father shot—” The woman’s voice cracked.
“Okay, Mom.” Harlow hugged her. “Let’s sit down and I’ll start at the beginning.”
Easton stepped up behind Harlow and squeezed her shoulder.
Eleanor Carlson looked up at him, and blinked. “Who are you?” Her voice was breathy.
“I’m Easton Norcross.”
The woman’s eyes widened. “The billionaire?”
“Easton is my boss,” Harlow said.
“I thought your boss was a woman called Meredith?”
“I was temporarily reassigned to Easton.”
Easton felt the urge to shake her. He hated that she was hiding their relationship.
He dragged in a deep breath. His feelings weren’t important right now, not while Charles Carlson’s life hung in the