I need you.

“Will he be . . .” Abigail’s body went rigid. “Will he have blood on him?”

Mercy’s heart crumbled. “No, sweetheart. He’s all cleaned up. But he has a bandage on his throat and there are machines and tubes that will look scary.”

Abigail nodded stoically. “Miss Irina told me. She said he has a tube that helps him breathe.”

Mercy kissed Abigail’s forehead again. The girl’s skin had gone clammy with fear. “That’s true, and I won’t lie to you, it’s really scary. I . . . I was scared, Abigail. I still am.” Which was why Rafe hadn’t left her side in Amos’s ICU room. He was waiting for her there now, elevating his leg in the room’s recliner.

“You’re scared he’ll die?”

Do not lie to this child. “Yes,” Mercy whispered. “But I have hope, so you should, too. And, Abigail, if being here at the hospital is too scary, and you want to go back to Irina and Karl’s house, you can do that. No one will be upset with you. Especially your papa. I promise.”

Abigail’s jaw set stubbornly. “I want to see him.”

“Then we will.” Mercy stood, took Abigail’s hand, and hit the ICU admittance buzzer with her other hand.

Poor Rafe. Mercy hurt a little, but Rafe was in serious pain. One of the doctors had checked him out when they’d arrived at UC Davis, worried that Amos’s tackle had reinjured tendons that had been shredded by a bullet six weeks ago. From the expression on Rafe’s face when he’d thought she wasn’t looking, he was afraid of this, too. It would put him further back on his PT rehab schedule, which meant even longer before he could be a cop again.

If he ever could. Mercy had felt the anxiety coming off him in waves and it broke her heart. But it was time to shift her worry over Rafe to Abigail as a nurse opened the ICU door to take them to Amos’s room. They’d had to get special permission, but Irina had worked her magic and they’d been allowed an hour. Squeezing Mercy’s hand hard, Abigail walked into her papa’s room, pressed close to Mercy’s side.

Rafe looked up with a tired smile. “Hi, Abigail.”

Abigail nodded, her eyes fixed on Amos in the bed, on the way his chest rose and fell, powered by the ventilator. Her lips moved, but no sound emerged and she was even paler than she’d been before.

Mercy moved closer to the bed and took Amos’s hand with her free one. “Abigail’s here,” she said quietly. “She is so brave, Amos. You’ve raised her well. You’re a good papa.”

“Can he hear us?” Abigail whispered.

Mercy smiled down at her. “Maybe. But in case he can, let’s let him know we’re here, okay?”

Abigail joined Mercy close to her father’s bedside. “Hi, Papa. I’m . . . here. I’m here, Papa. I hope you can hear me.”

“I think he can,” Rafe said softly. “When I had my surgery and was recovering, I could hear Mercy talking to me.”