“They haven’t released a name. Trevor said they took the injured officer to GW.”

Running, Nick skipped the elevator and took the stairs on his way to the car, aware that numbness had been replaced by bone-crushing fear. Sam was obsessed with finding Reese. It had to be her. If he lost her, too…He stopped running when his legs threatened to buckle under him.

Christina caught up to him and guided him into her car.

On the way, Nick focused on breathing. His chest ached under the weight of the dread. No one could have this much bad luck. He kept telling himself that, over and over. Breathe in. Breathe out.

“You don’t know it’s her,” Christina said tentatively. “It could be Tommy or someone else.”

Nick shook his head. “Sam’s been after Reese. She thinks he had something to do with her father’s shooting.”

“Try not to think the worst.”

“Why would I do that?”

They drove the rest of the way in uncomfortable silence, every minute feeling like a year.

At the hospital, Nick once again made use of his newfound clout to learn that the injured officer was in surgery on the seventh floor. With Christina trailing behind him, Nick emerged from the seventh floor elevator and ran down the hallway to the waiting room at the end. He came to a stop when he saw Sam talking to a pretty dark-haired woman. Taking a step back, all the stress of the last half hour came out as an anguished moan that caught Sam’s attention.

She got up and rushed over to him. “I’m so glad to see you.”

Christina was right behind him.

“What happened?” he managed to ask, still trying to catch his breath and slow his racing heart.

“It’s Freddie,” Sam said in a small voice, her arms curling around him, her head resting on his chest. In a rush of words, she continued. “I sent him to watch the house because I was mad at him. He went in there alone, and Reese shot him. It’s bad, Nick. He lost a lot of blood.”

Christina stepped around them into the waiting room.

Nick knew he should comfort Sam but couldn’t seem to move his arms. All at once, fear became anger. “I can’t.” He shook her off.

“What?” she asked, startled.

“I can’t be here. I’m sorry.” Spinning around, he started back down the long corridor to the elevator.

She followed him. “Where’re you going?”

He walked faster, needing to get out of there. Immediately. “I don’t know. Home. I can’t do this, Sam. I thought I could, but I can’t.”

“What can’t you do?” She grabbed his arm, forcing him to look at her. “What’re you saying?”

“I thought it was you.” His heart breaking, he studied her one-in-a-million face. “I thought you’d been shot.”