I woke to the smell of saltwater and diesel.
That told me we were near the harbor.
The second thing I noticed was pain in my left arm where the needle had entered.
The third was that my wrists were tied to a metal chair.
I kept my eyes closed.
Years in emergency medicine had taught me something valuable.
When you wake up disoriented, do not move immediately.
Listen.
Two male voices.
One close.
One farther away.
A generator humming.
Water striking pilings.
Warehouse.
Probably waterfront.
“Rusk said Cross took the bait.”
“He always does when it’s personal.”
“That nurse better be worth this.”
“She is now.”
I opened my eyes.
The men turned.
“Morning, sweetheart.”
I ignored him.
Instead, I assessed myself.
Pulse elevated.
Breathing steady.
No severe dizziness.
The sedative was wearing off.
Likely midazolam or something similar.
My hands had sensation.
Good.
No obvious fractures.
Better.
A steel table sat nearby.
Medical supplies rested on it.
Syringes.
IV tubing.
Cardioxyl-B.
My stomach twisted.
They intended to use me medically.
That was why Dominic needed me alive.
The door opened.
Vincent Mercer entered.
I had never seen him in person.
Only photographs in newspapers.
He was older than Damian.
Early fifties.
Silver at his temples.
Expensive coat.
He looked more like a university donor than a criminal.
“Claire Bennett.”
“You must be Mercer.”
He smiled.
“Not impressed?”
“I’ve had scarier patients with kidney stones.”
One guard laughed before catching himself.
Mercer looked amused.
“I understand why Cross likes you.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Please.”
He pulled up another chair.
“Damian Cross does not put his hand on people.”
I said nothing.
“He does not bring women into his home.”
Nothing.
“He does not personally send twelve men to guard nurses.”
I kept my expression blank.
Mercer leaned forward.
“You became valuable very quickly.”
“What does Dominic want?”
Mercer smiled.
“Dominic wants what should have been his.”
“Damian’s businesses.”
“Damian’s empire.”
“And you’re helping him?”
“For a price.”
“Which is?”
“Half the waterfront.”
So that was it.
Greed.
Power.
The oldest explanation in history.
“Why the medical poison?”
“Because a public assassination creates war.”
“Natural death creates opportunity.”
“Exactly.”
“You needed Damian’s medical records to make it believable.”
Mercer’s smile widened.
“Very good.”
“And the gala was supposed to be the end.”
“It was.”
“Then your waiter failed.”
“Because of you.”
He didn’t sound angry.
That frightened me more.
“Now what?”
“Now Damian comes here.”
“He won’t.”
Mercer laughed.
“He already is.”
My stomach tightened.
“Dominic told him we have you.”
I closed my eyes briefly.
Of course.
Damian would come.
Even knowing it was a trap.
“You said you need me medically.”
“Correct.”
“For what?”
Mercer nodded toward the supplies.
“You’re going to give Damian the injection.”
“No.”
“You are.”
“No.”
He stood.
“Everyone says no before consequences are introduced.”
One of the guards dragged Adrian Walsh into the room.
The doctor’s face was swollen.
He could barely stand.
Mercer pointed toward him.
“If you refuse, he dies first.”
Walsh looked at me.
“Don’t.”
Mercer sighed.
“Doctors are exhausting.”
I studied the medication.
My mind began working.
Cardioxyl-B was dangerous.
But dosage mattered.
Route mattered.
Timing mattered.
If they believed I was cooperating, I might control all three.
“I need equipment,” I said.
Mercer paused.
“What?”
“You want his death to look natural?”
“Yes.”
“Then I need a cardiac monitor. Fluids. Potassium. Magnesium.”
Mercer’s eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
“Because if you overdose him incorrectly, he’ll seize or collapse too fast. Any competent medical examiner will know.”
That was partly true.
“Can you do it properly?”
I forced myself to nod.
“Yes.”
Walsh stared at me.
He understood.
I wasn’t surrendering.
I was buying time.
Mercer ordered the supplies brought in.
Once they left, Walsh whispered, “You have a plan?”
“Not yet.”
“That’s comforting.”
“I’m improvising.”
“You always were good under pressure.”
“Your compliments have terrible timing.”
He almost smiled.
Twenty minutes later, gunfire sounded outside.
Mercer checked his watch.
“Cross.”
My pulse jumped.
The warehouse came alive.
Men ran.
Weapons were raised.
Dominic entered from a side door.
For the first time since I had known him, he wasn’t smiling.
“You should have listened when he told you to leave Boston,” he said.
I stared at him.
“Why?”
“Because none of this concerned you.”
“You tried to kill him.”
“I tried to correct an imbalance.”
“He trusted you.”
Something moved in Dominic’s face.
“Trust does not pay for twenty years spent standing one step behind another man.”
“There it is.”
His eyes narrowed.
“What?”
“The truth.”
“You know nothing about us.”
“I know he called you brother.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
“He got everything.”
“You helped him build it.”
“I built half of it.”
“Then why not leave?”
“Because men like Damian don’t let you leave with what you know.”
“Did you ever ask?”
Dominic didn’t answer.
That told me enough.
“You didn’t.”
Gunfire sounded closer.
Mercer shouted orders.
Dominic grabbed my chair.
“Time.”
He cut my wrists free and shoved me toward the medical table.
“Prepare the syringe.”
My hands shook deliberately.
I drew liquid.
But not Cardioxyl-B.
I used saline from an unlabeled flush syringe.
Then I added a tiny amount of sedative.
Not enough to harm Damian.
Enough to slow him.
Enough to make him appear affected.
The warehouse door burst open.
Damian entered.
Blood stained one shoulder.
A gun hung loosely in his right hand.
Gabriel and two men appeared behind him.
Mercer’s guards surrounded them.
Then Dominic pressed a gun to my head.
Everything stopped.
Damian looked at me.
Not Mercer.
Not Dominic.
Me.
“Claire.”
“I’m okay.”
His jaw tightened.
“You’re bleeding,” I said.
“Occupational hazard.”
Even now.
I almost laughed.
Dominic pushed the barrel harder against my temple.
“Drop it.”
Damian lowered the gun.
Gabriel followed.
Weapons hit concrete.
Mercer smiled.
“Look at that.”
Damian’s eyes finally shifted toward Dominic.
Twenty years of history seemed to pass between them.
“Why?” Damian asked.
Dominic laughed bitterly.
“You seriously have to ask?”
“Yes.”
“You built a kingdom with my hands and called it yours.”
“I gave you half of every legitimate company.”
“Legitimate.”
Dominic spat the word.
“You kept control.”
“You asked me to.”
“I expected you to understand.”
“Understand what?”
“That I deserved your chair.”
Damian stared at him.
Then something in his face changed.
Not rage.
Grief.
“You could have asked for anything.”
“Except your place.”
“Yes.”
Dominic blinked.
Damian continued.
“If you wanted out, I would have let you go.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“You were my brother.”
Were.
The word hit harder than a gunshot.
Mercer grew impatient.
“Enough.”
He pointed toward me.
“Do it.”
I looked at Damian.
His eyes held mine.
Trust me, I tried to communicate.
He gave the smallest nod.
I approached him with the syringe.
Dominic kept his weapon aimed at us.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
Damian’s gaze never moved.
“I’m not.”
I inserted the needle.
Injected saline and sedative.
Thirty seconds later, Damian swayed.
Mercer smiled.
“Again.”
“No.”
“That isn’t enough.”
“I need time.”
Damian’s knees buckled.
Gabriel shouted.
I caught Damian before he hit the floor.
His weight dragged me down.
I whispered into his ear.
“Pretend.”
His arm tightened around me for half a second.
Then went limp.
I checked his pulse dramatically.
“It’s becoming irregular.”
Mercer stepped closer.
That was what I wanted.
Closer.
“Is he dying?”
“Yes.”
Mercer bent toward Damian.
Damian’s eyes opened.
His hand shot upward.
He dragged Mercer down.
Chaos exploded.
Gabriel attacked the nearest guard.
I threw myself behind the steel table.
Gunfire thundered.
Dominic shouted.
Someone screamed.
Then I heard Damian yell my name.
I turned.
Dominic had grabbed me again.
His arm locked around my neck.
Gun against my ribs.
“Stop!”
Everything froze.
Damian stood fifteen feet away.
His face was pale from the sedative and blood loss.
But his eyes were lethal.
Dominic dragged me backward toward the loading doors.
“You always take everything,” he said.
Damian lowered his weapon.
“You don’t want her.”
“No?”
“You want me.”
Dominic laughed.
“Finally, you understand.”
He shoved me aside.
Raised the gun toward Damian.
I saw his finger tighten.
And I did the only thing I could.
I drove my heel backward into his knee.
Dominic stumbled.
The gun fired.
Damian jerked.
My scream ripped through the warehouse.
Gabriel tackled Dominic.
I ran.
Damian collapsed.
Blood spread across his shirt.
“Damian!”
I dropped beside him.
The bullet had entered below his ribs.
Too much blood.
Far too much.
His eyes found mine.
“You said you were a nurse.”
“I am.”
“Then fix it.”
My vision blurred.
“Shut up.”
His mouth almost curved.
“Bossy.”
I pressed both hands against the wound.
“Stay with me.”
His breathing became shallow.
“Claire.”
“No.”
“Listen.”
“No.”
“Claire.”
His hand found my wrist.
“If I—”
“You are not finishing that sentence.”
Behind us, Gabriel shouted for the medical vehicle.
Sirens approached.
Damian’s eyes started closing.
I slapped his cheek lightly.
“Look at me.”
He obeyed.
“You came back,” I whispered.
“Told you.”
“You’re not done.”
His fingers tightened weakly around mine.
“Neither are we.”
Then his eyes closed.
And for the first time in my entire career, I begged a patient personally.
“Please.”
Not as a nurse.
Not as an employee.
As the woman who had fallen in love with him before she had realized it was happening.
“Damian, please don’t leave me.”