Liam's Witness Protection (Man On A Mission 4) Page 21

  And when he’d made love to her so tenderly, so carefully. Wanting to make it right for her however he could, because he knew what she’d endured at Vishenko’s hands and wanted to break through her mental barriers. Had he already known the truth, the truth she so desperately wanted to keep from him...because she so desperately wanted him to love her?

  Then she thought about what Keira had said, that Liam—that all of them—had overheard what had passed between Vishenko and her, and a hot tide of shame and humiliation swept through her. She’d walked into that courthouse days ago, prepared to enter the courtroom and be vilified in the eyes of the jury...and in the eyes of the world. “‘I am one,’” she’d told herself that morning—a lifetime ago—believing she could do it. But she hadn’t been prepared for this. To be confronted with her sordid past after Liam had told her to relinquish it, to let him shoulder the burden for her because she’d carried it long enough...

  A sudden churning in her stomach warned her and she lurched to her feet, making a mad dash for the ladies’ room. She made it just in time. When the violent reaction was over, she realized Keira had followed her and was silently offering her a warm, damp wad of paper towels to wipe her mouth.

  Still shaking, Cate used the paper towels, then rinsed out her mouth several times. Keira watched her, then asked quietly, “You want to talk about it?” When Cate shook her head, Keira leaned against the sink, crossed one leg over the other and said conversationally, “You know, when Nick D’Arcy asked me to participate in this op, Cody didn’t want me to do it. He thought it was too dangerous.”

  “Op?” Cate’s brain hadn’t focused on it before, but all at once she wondered what Keira had been doing there at the cabin. Not to mention her husband and Trace McKinnon. Wondered how Vishenko had known where to find her. “You asked me what I was doing at the cabin,” she said slowly, “but you didn’t say why you were there. No one was supposed to know where Liam and I were except Nick D’Arcy and Sheriff Callahan.”

  Keira drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly through pursed lips, whistling under her breath, obviously trying to decide how much to tell Cate. “Baker Street—Nick D’Arcy,” she amended, then explained, “We call him Baker Street in the agency. Anyway, D’Arcy knew the attempt on you in the courthouse had to be an inside job. Nothing else made sense. And even though you were still willing to testify, without corroborating testimony from the other witness—the one he was fairly sure Vishenko had killed—he knew there was a chance Vishenko would get off. With you in safekeeping, he decided to go for a long shot.”

  “I don’t under—”

  “Bait a trap...with you.”

  Chapter 18

  “Only not you, if you see what I mean,” Keira was quick to add. “I was supposed to be the bait, made up to look like you from a distance. D’Arcy couldn’t risk you because he still needed you to testify in the conspiracy trial. And besides, he has a thing about keeping witnesses safe. Long story.”

  “I know,” Cate said. “He used to be a US marshal. He told me about it when he...when he convinced me to come here.”

  Keira continued as if Cate hadn’t interrupted. “So he set it all up to make Vishenko believe he was willing to sell you out. Since your location was a closely guarded secret—no one knew where you were except the four of you, and he put out the word through channels that only the agency knew where you were—he knew Vishenko couldn’t get that information from any other source. It had to come from D’Arcy. Which meant Vishenko had to try to bribe him.

  “His plan worked beautifully. D’Arcy had Vishenko dead to rights on bribery and conspiracy to commit murder. In addition to the money—the serial numbers of which, by the way, were recorded by the banks where Vishenko withdrew the cash from his various accounts for the bribe, proving the money came from him—he also had Vishenko on audiotape offering the bribe and soliciting your murder.”

  Cate was puzzled. “How did he manage that? When I knew him, Vishenko was extremely cautious about wiretaps, listening devices and...oh, everything of that nature. I can’t see him letting himself be recorded by Mr. D’Arcy.”

  Keira’s lips twitched in sudden amusement. “Two years ago D’Arcy had knee replacement surgery on his left knee. He had the brilliant idea of using that as cover for the wire. Do you know that when you go through airport security screening after you’ve had a knee replaced, the replacement knee sets off the metal detector? And when they run a hand scanner over you, it’ll ping on your knee?”

  Cate shook her head.

  “Well it does, so whenever you get a new knee, the manufacturer sends you an ID card stating you’ve had the surgery, and showing what the knee looks like under X-rays. It’s supposed to help you get through the airport screening. Doesn’t really work that way,” she added as an aside. “D’Arcy found that out the hard way. But that’s the theory.

  “Anyway, D’Arcy knew Vishenko’s men would physically search him, use a metal detector to check for weapons and an electronic scanner to detect a wire. Sure enough, the metal detector pinged on his left knee. But he showed them his surgical scar and the ID card, and they bought that explanation. So when they ran the electronic scanner over him, they skipped his left knee—exactly what he was counting on. The wire was hidden in a prosthesis that looked like real skin and muscle, attached to his knee.”

  Keira’s expression grew serious. “But that evidence wasn’t enough for Baker Street. He wanted more. That’s where I came in.”

  A sudden knock on the ladies’ room door startled them both, and they turned sharply as the door opened just far enough to allow Cody Walker to stick his head in. “Liam’s out of surgery.”

  Cate caught her breath. She hadn’t forgotten Liam was fighting for his life—it had been constantly in the back of her mind. But she’d allowed Keira to distract her for a few minutes. A warm, sisterly feeling permeated her when she glanced at the other woman and realized that’s what Keira had been trying to do—distract her from worrying about something over which she had no control. But now...

  She looked at Cody. “Is he...?” She couldn’t get the question out.

  He shook his head. “Don’t know. The surgeon just came out to talk to the family. But she’s smiling, for what that’s worth.”

  Cate closed her eyes briefly. He’s alive. Liam’s alive. Thank You, God. If You’re there...thank You.

  In no time at all they’d joined the others in the waiting room, where a woman wearing surgical scrubs quietly watched their approach. Her gaze moved from Cate to Keira as she asked, “Are you...?”

  “I’m his sister,” Keira said quickly.

  Cate couldn’t say anything. What was she? She had no official role in Liam’s life. She wasn’t his wife. She wasn’t his fiancée. She wasn’t even his girlfriend. But you are the woman he loves, she reminded herself. You’re the woman he risked his life to save...not once, but twice.

  The surgeon was talking, and Cate forced herself to listen.

  “He’s a very lucky man. It must have been a coated or jacketed bullet, because it didn’t deform on impact and cause massive damage. The bullet entered below his right rib cage and nicked his left lung, but it went right on through, out his left side. The paramedics inserted an endotracheal tube into his lungs to help him breathe, and they started an IV right away—our first responders are the best in the business—and that helped. He’s on a ventilator, but we’ll try to get him off that as soon as possible—hopefully tomorrow.”

  Cate wanted to ask why that seemed to be so important to the surgeon, but wasn’t about to interrupt.

  “We reinflated his left lung—no problem. And we didn’t have to remove the lower lobe since it was just nicked—we repaired it and I’m fairly confident that will hold. He’s also got a thoracostomy tube in place—more commonly known as a chest tube.”

  “What’s that?” Keira aske
d, and Cate threw her a grateful glance because she wanted to know, too.

  “It’s a flexible plastic tube inserted through the chest wall into the cavity between the lung and the chest wall. It’s hooked up to a suction device that will evacuate air and any remaining blood from the chest cavity, which will help keep the lung inflated. That tube will stay in place longer, maybe as long as a week. We’ll have to wait and see. I just wanted you to be prepared when you see him. The endotracheal and thoracostomy tubes will make it will look worse than it actually is.”

  “So we can see him?” Keira asked in a hopeful voice, and again Cate was grateful.

  “He’s still in recovery, but yes, we’ll let you see him as soon as we can. Not for too long, please, and not all of you at once—you don’t want to exhaust him. We’ve got him on antibiotics, of course, and pain meds. He won’t be able to talk to you, not even after he regains consciousness—not until he comes off the ventilator—but you’ll be able to talk to him.” She smiled. “You might not know it, but the presence of family and friends is great medicine and can actually aid in the healing process. So we encourage visitors...in limited doses.” She smiled again, this time at her little joke, then glanced at the clock on the waiting room wall. “Is there anything else you wanted to know?”

  Cate finally found her voice before anyone else had a chance to ask a question. “You said you want to get him off the ventilator as soon as possible. Why?”

  The surgeon hesitated. “He’s young. He seems to be in splendid physical shape. And his wounds in and of themselves aren’t that serious. But there can be...complications,” she said reluctantly.

  “Complications?” Cate’s heart skipped a beat.

  “Pneumonia is the most common. But when the patient is immobilized with a ventilator, we also have to worry about deep venous thrombosis and possibly a pulmonary embolus.” Before Cate could ask, the surgeon explained, “DVT, that’s blood clots in the leg veins. And if that occurs, the blood clot could break free and travel to the lungs, causing the pulmonary embolus—PE.” She held up a cautionary hand. “Don’t be alarmed, I’m not saying any of these things are going to happen. Just that they might. We’re taking steps to prevent them, but the most important thing is to get him off the ventilator as soon as possible.” She gave them an encouraging smile, and glanced again at the clock. “If that’s all... I really do need to get back. One of the recovery nurses will let you know when you can see him.”

  * * *

  When the nurse came out to tell them they could visit Liam one at a time, Cate had no intention of stepping forward. And when Keira turned to her and said, “You first, Cate,” she demurred.

  “You’re his sister. I’m just—”

  “You’re just the woman he loves,” Keira said swiftly. Her smile was woman to woman, and full of understanding. “He’ll want to see you first.” And when Cate still hesitated, she added, “Go on. I know him. He’ll want to know you’re okay. And since he can’t ask...”

  Another burst of sisterly affection for Keira filled Cate—similar to what she felt for Angelina—and she blinked back sudden tears. Liam’s sister was just like Liam, and Cate could so easily see herself fitting into their family, if...

  She didn’t hug Keira, but the urge was there. “Thank you.”

  * * *

  The nurse led Cate through the double doors and down a long hallway, to a dimly lit hospital room filled with so many monitors, pumps and other pieces of lifesaving equipment there was scarcely room to maneuver except right next to the bed. “Ten minutes,” the nurse said.

  Cate hesitated in the doorway until Liam turned his head toward her, and his eyes—those beautiful dark brown eyes—lit up at the sight of her, despite how weak he obviously felt. Then she was at his side in a flash, leaning over and kissing his cheek as emotion welled up in her throat. She wasn’t going to cry, she told herself with a kind of desperation. She wasn’t.

  Only...she was. Tears coated her cheeks as she whispered, “Please don’t ever scare me like that again.” Then kissed his shoulder, his arm, his hand—the one without the IV drip. Hot, frantic kisses, because she was so overcome with emotion that he was alive and she had to let it out somehow.

  She shushed him when he tried to speak even though the ventilator tube made it impossible. “Don’t, Liam. Just listen.” She brushed a hand over his forehead, then cupped his cheek. “I’m sure there are lots of questions you want to ask...but you’ll have to wait until that tube comes out. All you need to know right now is I’m okay...and Vishenko is dead.” She kissed his cheek again for good measure. “And you are a lucky man, according to your surgeon.”

  He gripped her hand and squeezed, his eyes telling her he knew he was a lucky man...and not because his injuries weren’t life-threatening. His eyes said plain as words he was a lucky man because she loved him. “I do,” she whispered. “I do love you, Liam. More than you know. More than I can ever tell you.”

  He tugged on her hand until she let him guide it to his chest and splay her fingers over his heart. Then he moved her hand to her own chest and pressed it against her heart, and she knew he was trying to tell her the only way he could that he loved her, too.

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. “When I saw him on the path,” she said in a voice that trembled, “I was afraid at first. Then... I can’t explain it...but I felt your arms around me. Holding me safe. Loving me. And I knew no matter what happened, he couldn’t touch me. Not the real me. Only you can do that. Only you.”

  * * *

  The ventilator had been removed and Liam had been moved to a regular hospital room when Cate returned the next day. The IV was still inserted in a vein on the back of his right hand, and the chest tube was still in place, too. Despite that, he was sitting in a chair beside his bed, trying to interest himself in a not-so-recent swimsuit issue of Sports Illustrated one of the nurses had provided him with from the waiting room...but thinking about Cate. Thinking that none of the swimsuit models could hold a candle to her. Remembering, too, that she’d once dreamed of being a model herself...before the Bratva and Vishenko entered her life.

  He looked up when the door opened, and there she stood in a simple cotton T-shirt tucked into snug jeans, her shoulder-length blond hair shining. But all he really saw was the radiance in her face, her eyes, and his heart turned over at the sight of her. It probably always will, he realized. Fifty years from now she’ll still make my heart skip a beat. And he wasn’t the least bit sorry.

  “Hey, sweetheart.” He tossed the magazine onto the bed and held his left arm out to her. She moved into his embrace and kissed him lightly, careful not to touch his chest tube. “I was just thinking about you.”

  Still in the circle of his arm, she reached over and picked up the magazine from the bed. Her gaze moved from the nearly naked cover model on the front of Sports Illustrated to him. “Oh really? Thinking of me?”

  Her attempt at the sexual banter most women engaged in without a second thought was endearing, and he gave her his most flirtatious grin. “Yeah, darlin’. I was thinking you might pose like that for me...a private showing.” His grin deepened when her cheeks turned crimson. But his grin was erased when a stricken expression entered her eyes and she turned her face away from him.

  “Hey,” he said, attempting to use his right hand to turn her face back to his, but the IV wouldn’t let him reach that far. Frustrated, he said, “Cate. Sweetheart. What is it?” When she still refused to look at him, he suddenly realized what the problem was and mentally cursed. He shifted his left arm so his hand was at her waist, then he was tugging her T-shirt out of her jeans.

  “What are you doing?” Her voice was breathless.

  He slid his hand beneath her shirt and ran his fingers up her back. Slowly. Gently. Feeling the scars he knew were there. The scars she’d shown him once, but never again.

  “D
on’t,” she choked out, but she didn’t try to escape so he refused to obey. Instead, he continued to caress her with his fingertips until she shivered with sexual awareness. Until her nipples betrayed her body’s reaction to his touch.

  “Look at me, Cate.” When she did, he knew from her expression that her arousal warred with shame that her body was no longer model-perfect...and why. Fury again slashed through him at the man who’d done this to her, the same fury that had possessed him when he’d heard Vishenko yesterday. I didn’t kill him, he reminded himself as he fought his fury down, just as he’d done the day before. I wanted to kill him. And I could have. But I didn’t.

  But he wasn’t sorry Vishenko was dead.

  “I know the scars are there,” he said, his voice as gentle as he could make it. “But they don’t have a damn thing to do with you, sweetheart. They don’t affect my love. And they damn sure don’t affect my desire for you—couldn’t you tell the other night?”

  “How can you say that?”

  “Because it’s true.” He drew a deep breath—as deep a breath as he could with his damaged lung—as he searched his heart for the words. “The shame is his, Cate. Not yours. Don’t be ashamed. Not of the scars. Not of what you did to survive, to escape. You did what you had to do...because you were the only one who could do it.”

  After several moments she said, “You’re right.” Her voice was low, but firm. “For the longest time I blamed myself...despised myself for giving in. But yesterday...when I saw him...when I thought I was going to die, I realized I was wrong. It’s like you said. You can only do the best you can do at the time.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I did the best I could—the only way I knew how.”