“Rachel. You’re—” Then he saw his brother, sprawled on the floor, his face ghostly pale. And the blood seeping rapidly through his shirt. “No! Nick, no!” Panicked, Zack grabbed for him, fighting Rachel off as she tried to press her hands to the wound.

“Stop! You have to stop! Listen to me—keep your hands there. Keep the pressure on. I’ll get a towel.” With prayers whirling in her head, she scrambled up to her feet and dashed behind the bar. “Call an ambulance,” she shouted. “Tell them to hurry.” Because terror left no room for fumbling, she clamped down on it. Kneeling by Zack, she pushed his hands aside and pressed the folded towel on Nick’s wound. “He’s young. He’s strong.” The tears were falling even as she felt frantically for Nick’s pulse. “We’re not going to let him go.”

“Zack.” Rio crouched down. “They got away from me. I’m sorry. I’ll go after them.”

“No.” Revenge glittered in his eyes. “I’ll go after them. Later. Get me a blanket for him, Rio. And more towels.”

“I’ve got some.” Lola passed them to Rachel, then dropped a hand on Zack’s head. “He’s a hero, Zack. We don’t let our heroes die.”

“He got in the way,” Zack said as grief welled into his throat. “Damn kid was always getting in the way.” He looked at Rachel, then covered her hands with his over his brother’s chest. “I can’t lose him.”

“You won’t.” She heard the first wail of sirens and shuddered with relief. “We won’t.”

Endless hours in the waiting room, pacing, smoking, drinking bitter coffee. Zack could still see how pale Nick had been when they rushed him through Emergency and into an elevator that snapped shut in Zack’s face.

Helpless. Hospitals always made him feel so helpless. Only a year had passed since he’d watched his father die in one. Slowly, inevitably, pitifully.

But not Nick. He could cling to that. Nick was young, and death wasn’t inevitable when you were young.

But the blood. There had been so much blood.

He looked down at the hands that he’d scrubbed clean, and could still see his brother’s life splattered across them. In his hands. That was all he could think. Nick’s life had been in his hands.

“Zack.” He stiffened when Rachel came up behind him and rubbed his shoulders. “How about a walk? Some fresh air?”

He just shook his head. She didn’t press. It was useless to suggest he try to rest. She couldn’t. Her eyes were burning, but she knew that if she closed them she would see that last horrible instant. The gun swinging toward Zack. Nick leaping. The explosion. The blood.