“I’m going to find food.” Rio pushed himself off the sagging sofa. The white bandage gleamed against his dark brow. “And you’re going to eat what I bring you. That boy’s going to need tending soon. You can’t tend when you’re sick.” With his lips pressed tightly together, he marched out into the hallway.

“He’s crazy about Nick,” Zack said, half to himself. “It’s eating at him that he didn’t round up three armed men all by himself.”

“We’ll find them, Zack.”

“I thought he would hurt you. I saw it in his eyes. That kind of sickness can’t be disguised by a mask. He was going to hurt somebody, wanted to hurt somebody, and he had you. I never even thought about Nick.”

“It’s not your fault. No,” she said sharply when he tried to pull away. “I won’t let you do that to yourself. There were a lot of people in that bar, and you were doing your best to protect all of them. What happened to Nick happened because he was trying to protect you. You’re not going to turn an act of love into blame.”

This time, when she put her arms around him, he went into them. “I need to talk to him. I don’t think I could handle it if I don’t get to talk to him.”

“You’re going to have plenty of time to talk.”

“I’m sorry.” Alex hesitated at the doorway. His heart was thumping, as it had been ever since he’d gotten the news. “Rachel, are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” She kept one arm firm around Zack’s waist as she turned. “It’s Nick…”

“I know. When the call came in, I asked to handle it. I thought it would be easier on everybody.” His eyes shifted to Zack’s, held. “Is that okay with you?”

“Yeah. I appreciate it. I’ve already talked to a couple of cops.”

“Why don’t we sit down?” He waited while Zack sat on the edge of a chair and lit another cigarette. “Any news on your brother’s condition?”

“They took him into surgery. They haven’t told us anything.”

“I might be able to find something out. Why don’t you tell me about these three creeps?”

“They wore stocking masks,” Zack began wearily. “Black clothes. One of them wore a denim jacket.”

Rachel reached for Zack’s hand. “The one who shot Nick was about five-eight or nine,” she added. “Black hair, brown eyes. There was a scar on his left wrist. On the side, about two inches long. He wore engineer’s boots, worn down at the heel.”

“Good girl.” Not for the first time, Alex thought that his sister would have made a damn good cop. “How about the other two?”

“The one who wanted to trash the place had a high-pitched giggle,” Zack remembered. “Edgy. Skinny guy.”