Chapter 9 - Five BulletsClaire did not remember hitting the ground.
She remembered warmth.
Strange, because the rain was freezing.
She remembered Nora screaming.
She remembered trying to say something.
Then Evan was there.
His hands touched her face.
His white shirt turned red.
“No.”
Claire heard the word as if from underwater.
“My mother is safe.”
His voice broke.
“You saved her. Do you hear me? She’s safe.”
Claire looked past him.
Nora was crying in a guard’s arms.
Alive.
“Good,” Claire whispered.
Then darkness closed over her.
Evan did not remember shooting the man who fired at Claire.
His body knew what to do.
Three shots.
Center mass.
Head.
Finished.
Then his weapon disappeared from his hand because Claire was bleeding and suddenly guns were useless.
He dropped to his knees.
Rainwater mixed with blood around them.
“No.”
Claire’s eyes closed.
“No, no, no.”
He pressed both hands against her wounds.
There were too many.
“Medic!”
Someone shouted that an ambulance was coming.
Evan screamed, “WHERE IS THE HELICOPTER?”
“Seven minutes!”
“She doesn’t have seven minutes!”
Nora was brought beside him.
She touched Claire’s hair.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
Evan looked at his mother.
“She stepped in front of you.”
Nora was sobbing.
“Yes.”
“She knew.”
“Yes.”
“She knew what would happen.”
Nora gripped his shoulder.
“Evan, look at me.”
He could not.
He had seen bodies before.
Hundreds.
Men who begged.
Men who cursed.
Men whose blood dried on warehouse floors.
But Claire’s blood on his hands did not look like blood.
It looked like judgment.
Twelve days earlier, nobody.
Now he would have burned Chicago to hear her insult him again.
The helicopter landed in mud.
Doctors worked during the flight.
One bullet had entered her chest.
Another tore through her spleen.
Two caused massive soft tissue damage.
The fifth fractured her pelvis.
Her blood pressure collapsed twice before they reached the trauma center.
Evan stayed beside her until surgeons physically stopped him at the operating room doors.
“You can’t go farther.”
“I own this hospital.”
The trauma surgeon looked at him.
“Then own the hallway.”
The doors closed.
Evan stood there covered in Claire’s blood.
Nora arrived twenty minutes later.
She had refused treatment until Claire was inside surgery.
“You need oxygen,” Evan said automatically.
Nora looked at him.
“So does Claire.”
He turned away.
Five hours.
That was how long surgery lasted.
Evan made thirty-seven calls.
By sunrise, Caleb’s surviving crew had been captured or dead.
Victor Crowe vanished.
Federal contacts received copies of the photographs through three separate attorneys.
Evan set instructions that if Claire died, everything would be released publicly.
If she lived, he would let her decide whether she wanted any part in what came next.
At 6:13 a.m., the surgeon approached.
Evan stood.
“She’s alive.”
His knees nearly failed.
The surgeon continued.
“But she is critical.”
Nora cried silently.
“The next forty-eight hours are dangerous. We repaired vascular damage, removed her spleen, stabilized internal bleeding. One bullet passed very close to the heart.”
Evan stared.
“Will she wake up?”
“We hope so.”
“When?”
“We don’t know.”
He looked through the ICU window.
Claire lay surrounded by machines.
Tiny.
Still.
He hated every machine.
He hated the tube in her throat.
He hated the monitors.
He hated that none of his power could command her to wake.
Nora sat beside her bed first.
“You foolish girl,” she whispered.
Evan stood behind her.
Nora held Claire’s hand.
“You could have moved.”
Evan’s jaw tightened.
“Don’t say that.”
“She could have.”
“She saved you.”
“I know.”
“You’re angry at her?”
“I am furious.”
“Why?”
“Because she decided her life was worth less than mine.”
Evan looked at his mother.
Nora’s eyes filled.
“And I will spend whatever time I have left proving she was wrong.”
Evan sat on the other side.
He took Claire’s hand.
His thumb rested over her knuckles.
“I called her a nobody.”
Nora looked at him.
“I remember.”
“I didn’t know her.”
“You didn’t want to.”
He nodded.
“That’s worse.”
Nora did not comfort him.
He appreciated that.
Three hours later, Owen arrived under guard.
He saw Claire through the glass and collapsed against the wall.
“No.”
Evan caught him before he hit the floor.
Owen looked at him.
“She can’t die.”
“No.”
“She can’t.”
“She won’t.”
Evan did not know if it was truth or threat.
Owen sobbed.
“She spent her whole life saving me.”
Evan looked toward Claire.
“She seems to have a habit.”
Owen laughed through tears.
“I wasted everything she gave me.”
“Then stop.”
Owen wiped his face.
“I’m trying.”
“Try harder.”
The words were harsh.
But Owen nodded.
“I will.”
On the second night, Claire’s blood pressure crashed.
Evan was sleeping in a chair.
Alarms woke him.
Nurses rushed in.
He was pushed out.
For twelve minutes, no one told him anything.
He nearly tore the ICU door from its hinges.
Then a doctor emerged.
“She stabilized.”
Evan pressed his forehead against the wall.
A nurse saw him crying.
She quietly walked away.
By the third morning, Claire’s condition improved slightly.
They reduced sedation.
“She may wake slowly,” the neurologist said.
Evan sat beside her.
Nora slept nearby.
He held Claire’s hand.
“I don’t know if you can hear me.”
Nothing.
“I’ve been informed that people in comas might.”
Still nothing.
“I hate this.”
The monitor beeped.
“You’d probably tell me I’m controlling.”
A tiny change in her heart rate.
Evan sat forward.
“Claire?”
Nothing.
He smiled despite himself.
“I knew insults would work.”
Her fingers moved.
Barely.
Evan stopped breathing.
“Claire.”
Her hand moved again.
He stood.
“Nurse!”
Claire’s eyelids fluttered.
Evan leaned closer.
Her eyes opened.
Confused.
Pain-filled.
Alive.
He laughed and cried at the same time.
Claire tried to speak.
The breathing tube prevented it.
“Don’t.”
He held her hand.
“You’re safe.”
Her eyes moved around the room.
Searching.
Evan understood immediately.
“My mother is alive.”
Claire closed her eyes.
A tear slipped down her cheek.
Evan wiped it away.
“You saved her.”
Claire looked at him.
He bent closer.
“You saved me too.”
Her brow tightened.
He whispered, “I didn’t know there was anything left in me worth saving until you did.”
Claire could not answer.
But her fingers tightened around his.
Outside the hospital, three black government vehicles arrived.
Federal agents entered carrying warrants.
Not for Evan.
For Senator Dorsey.
For six police commanders.
For two judges.
And for Victor Crowe.
The photographs had begun burning the city.
But Caleb Ward had not been captured.
At 9:04 that night, Evan received a message from a number no one could trace.
YOU THINK SHE SAVED YOUR MOTHER.
SHE ONLY DELAYED THE FUNERAL.
Attached was a photograph of the ICU floor plan.
Evan looked through the glass at Claire.
Then at Nora.
May you like
Caleb was still coming.
And this time Evan had two people he could not afford to lose.
