“Oh my God.” His breath rushed out of him. “I heard there was a shooting at your clinic. But you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” she said, reassuring him. “Diesel was shot, but he’ll recover. An FBI agent, one of the clinic’s doctors, and my nurse are in stable condition.”

“And Kaiser?” Grant pressed. “Is he dead?”

“No. Kaiser survived.” She drew a breath and exhaled loudly. “I saved his life.”

“What?” Grant shouted, then apologized. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. But . . . why?”

“He has other hostages. And he should face justice. He should pay for what he did, all the people he hurt.”

Grant unlocked his car and slid behind the wheel, so damn tired. “You’re right.” He still wanted Kaiser dead, but she was right. “Is he talking?”

“Not yet. He’s in ICU. He’s alive, but . . . well, it doesn’t look good. If he were a religious man, I’d say he should be asking for a priest right now.” The last was uttered with a dark humor that Grant suspected was helping her to cope. “How are you, Grant?”

“I’m . . .” He started the engine. “I’m leaving the funeral home.”

A beat of silence. “I’m sorry.” And she was. He could hear it in her voice.

“Thanks. You take care of Diesel, okay?”

“I will. You take care of yourself.”

Grant ended the call, then sat staring through his windshield. He switched on the wipers when the glass became blurry, then realized that it wasn’t raining. He wiped his eyes and pulled out of the parking lot. He still had one more thing to do before he left this city and never came back.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Cincinnati, Ohio
Wednesday, March 20, 1:30 a.m.

“Mr. Kennedy, we do not advise this,” the doctor said firmly.

Dani would have said the same thing to a patient with Diesel’s injury. But Diesel wasn’t just any patient. He was in pain, but refusing painkillers.

Not here, he’d whispered to her when she’d tried to get him to take the damn pill while he lay in the ER. I can’t. Not here. I will at home. With you. But not here.

And then she’d understood. Ten years ago he’d woken in a military hospital surrounded by white coats and, in a post-sedated state, had lashed out with such vehemence that they’d had to restrain him. Which had, of course, made it worse.

Now, hours after being shot, he was pale and trembling and hanging on to his composure by a thread. He’d conquered most of his fear of white coats for Dani, but some of that fear remained, especially when he was the one in the hospital bed.

Diesel held out his hand for the clipboard the nurse held. “I’ll sign the form.”