Look at me, he thought at her. See me.
But it was too late for her.
And ultimately, too late for him.
AS LYDIA DIED, her consciousness receded to a pinpoint in her mind, no longer a universe of sensations and thought, no longer a planet of them, not even a plot of land or a stone or a grain of sand.
Just a pinpoint.
But she felt Daniel’s hand in her own, and knew he was holding what he could of her, and she heard the words he spoke.
Both the ones about her to the man who had shot him—and the ones to her after he had seen what had to have shocked him to his core: He loved her. And he had been true to her in the end, in spite of what he had lied to her about before, in spite of all that she didn’t understand and yet couldn’t question.
When Daniel had had nothing to lose, and hadn’t known she was there, he had tried to protect her in his mission, whatever it had been. He had done his best.
So he had been true to them and what they had had.
That was all she could ask for really.
Lydia tried to squeeze his palm back. And as she listened to the preserve’s wolves attack to protect her, protect him, she began to cry …
Sometime later, it felt like years, there was only the scent of blood and the silence of the forest.
Opening her eyes for the last time, she looked into the face of the male wolf she and Daniel had released back into the wild.
Thank you, she thought at the animal.
He snuffled and lowered his head, giving her a nuzzle, as if he were thinking of what else he might do to help—and wishing there was more he could do to repay that which she had done for him.
And that was when she heard the repeating sound, the thumping, overhead.
As the wolf looked up and then reared back, she focused on the sky … and couldn’t understand how C.P. Phalen’s helicopter was coming in for a landing in a clearing a couple hundred yards away. How had the woman known …
The pack scattered into the trees, the wolves disappearing into the shadows beneath and between the pines. And then Lydia had a trippy vision of men in camo coming through the forest, with stretchers.
The woman with the short cap of white hair was unmistakable, and for once, C.P. Phalen was not in a business suit. She was wearing camo as well.
“I don’t have a heartbeat over here.”
At the male voice’s grim pronouncement, Lydia moaned and turned her head to Daniel. It was hard to see him because the men were crowding around him, and opening medical kits.
“IV in,” someone said.
“Paddles on and charged.”
As Daniel’s body jerked, she looked at their hands.
He had let go of hers. She was the one hanging on to him now.
C.P.’s face entered Lydia’s vision. “We’ll get you, too. Don’t worry.”
“Save him,” was all Lydia could say before she passed out. “Just save him—”
DANIEL!”
As Lydia shot upright and yelled, the pain that answered the callout was the kind that turned the stomach and made your vision go checkerboard.
With a groan, she collapsed back against something that was pillow soft—oh, it was a pillow. Actually, she was in a bed—a hospital bed—and hooked up to an IV and all kinds of monitors. Across the way, a TV was mounted on the wall, and there were no windows. A wooden door, which didn’t seem to have a lock on it, was closed.
It didn’t stay that way.
The thing was pushed opened. “You’re awake. How are you doing?”
C.P. Phalen was still in the camo she’d been wearing when she’d arrived with her—
“Is he alive,” Lydia croaked. “Is Daniel alive.”
The woman nodded and urged the door closed even though it was shutting on its own. “He’s in surgery still. But they expect him to pull through.”
Tears speared into Lydia’s eyes and she didn’t bother to hold them back. And as the attendant weeping made her shoulder scream with agony, she realized she was bandaged up on that whole side, even on her arm.
“It’s okay.” C.P. came over to the bedside and sat down. “You’ve had a helluva scare. Just let it go.”
“I thought he’d died. I thought I was … dead, too.”
When the worst of the emotional breakdown had passed, Lydia wiped her eyes with the hand towel C.P. held out to her, and then took a shuddering breath.
“You’re in my private clinic.” C.P. indicated the bed and the monitors. “The standard of care down here is world-class.”
“How did you know … we were there?”
“You’re not the only person with cameras on the mountain.”
Lydia’s breath stopped in her chest. “So you saw me …”
C.P.’s eyes dropped to the floor, something that Lydia was very sure the woman very rarely did. Ever.