Her Last Goodbye (Morgan Dane #2)(59)

This could all be fixed. He knew where she lived. He’d taken her from there once before. He could do it again. This time, she would be forewarned. The police would be watching her. The bar would be higher. But if he was patient, everyone would let down their guard eventually.

No one could remain completely vigilant for an extended period of time. It wasn’t natural. When nothing happened, they would become complacent.

But waiting was not one of his strengths. Maybe he should find another woman and hone his methods.

Chelsea was still meant to be his, but there was no reason she had to be his only woman. But what if she remembered too many details about the container? What if she led the police right back to his doorstep? There had to be some way to get to her.

He had to get her back.

And if he couldn’t, she’d pay the ultimate price.





Chapter Twenty-Seven


Chelsea rested her head on the pillow. Nerves hummed through her like electrical currents. Her body refused to accept that she was safe. They’d put her across from the nurses’ station to keep her under close observation. But it was the hub of the floor, crowded and noisy. Every bang of a metal tray or slam of a drawer startled her. The doctor, a tiny Asian woman with a calm demeanor, had said she was stable. But she didn’t feel very stable.

According to the doctor, her body was still in flight mode. They’d offered her a sedative, but she’d said no. Why would she want to be drugged and helpless again?

She shivered, tugging the heated blanket up to her chin. Would she ever be warm again?

Her entire body ached, from her torn-up feet to her beaten face. Her eyeballs hurt if she moved them too quickly. There wasn’t an inch of her that wasn’t cut, bruised, abraded, or exhausted.

But she was here.

Alive.

She’d won.

A sound in the doorway made her jump.

Tim.

Her heart stuttered at the sight of him. She hadn’t thought she’d ever see him again.

He walked into the room. As much as he tried not to stare, she felt his shock at her appearance. She hadn’t seen her face in a mirror, but she knew she looked awful. Her lip was split, both eyes blackened, her nose broken. She was dehydrated and hypothermic. Her skin felt raw and tight, as if it belonged to someone else.

At the foot of the bed, a nurse wrote on a chart and talked in a soothing monotone. “It’s going to rain tonight.”

Tim shuffled into her room. He stopped, as if afraid to approach her. As if he didn’t want to frighten her. “Hey, Chels. It’s me.”

Emotions choked Chelsea. She didn’t know what to feel first. Love. Relief. Gratitude.

She’d wanted to live—to see her husband and her children again—and she had.

Now what?

The nurse hung the chart from a hook and moved to Chelsea’s side to take her pulse. “I was just telling your wife how happy everyone is to see her.”

The artificial pleasantness of the nurse annoyed Chelsea. She swallowed, her throat dry.

“Tim.” Her voice was a croak.

He let out an audible breath.

How did he feel? He must have thought she was dead.

“I’ll give you a few minutes alone.” The nurse handed Tim a plastic cup of water. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.” With a reassuring nod, the nurse left the room.

Tim put the straw between Chelsea’s lips. She closed them around it and winced as a scab cracked. How could she even react to a pain so slight after what she’d been through? But her body seemed overly sensitized. Could a person use up her supply of grit?

“I want to hug you, but I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.” Tim’s eyes shone. Was he crying?

“It’s OK,” she said, the words slurring through her swollen lips.

He leaned over the bed and studied her face. “I want to kiss you, but I don’t know where.”

A tear slipped from her eye and ran down her temple. She took her arm out from under the covers. Tim took her hand, the warmth radiating between them familiar and comforting. She held on.

This is what she’d prayed for.

Tim wiped a hand across his eyes. “I don’t have the words for how I feel right now. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

She squeezed his fingers. “Same here.”

“I love you.” Tim looked into her eyes. “You are the strongest person I know.”

His words warmed her from the inside out. “I love you too. The whole time I was . . . there, all I could think about was getting home to you and the kids.”

“Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“Just be here?” Her next breath shook her to the core. From the scattered, panicked emotions flitting through her mind, she knew that her psychological recovery was going to be harder than her physical healing.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Tim perched on the edge of the bed.

She almost couldn’t believe she’d made it.

A knock startled them both. Chelsea recoiled, a reflex she couldn’t control.

In the doorway, the sheriff cleared his throat. “Mrs. Clark. I’d like to talk with you for a few moments.”

“It’s OK, honey.” Tim shot the sheriff a look of warning. “This is Sheriff King.”

Tim nodded toward a plastic chair against the wall. “Why don’t you sit down, Sheriff?”