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“I’m sure you were covering something,” Paddy said, then let out another long, low sigh. “I’ll see you at the station. Bring actual coffee this time, eh?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Ronan shoved the cell into his pocket and reached for his front door. The knob clicked—louder than usual?
But Ronan didn’t have time to ponder that.
The explosion roared in his ears, heat blistering his chest. He had the sensation of flying through the air, surrounded by a million fireflies of orange flame.
Then the world went black.
Chapter 16
Juliette
The bus smelled like old feet and sour apples, but it was mostly empty. Good news—she probably would have leaped out of her skin if someone brushed against her arm or sat down beside her.
The man in that car had nothing to do with Daniel. The man in the car was just meeting his dealer. She had replayed the mantra all night long, whispering it aloud as she watched the quiet parking lot.
The stranger she’d accosted had driven into the night and had not returned; no one had come looking for him. The man with the compass on his arm could have called his dealer to meet elsewhere—the dealer could have been a no-show, too, which was why compass-man had still been sitting alone when she’d gone out with her curtain rod.
But she didn’t believe that. Not anymore.
She’d stopped believing herself insane the moment the call had crackled through the police scanner. No, they hadn’t said Ronan’s name, but he’d told her he lived on Hawthorn Ridge—“explosive device at officer’s residence” and “code nine,” shorthand for emergencies.
Ronan had been hurt. And what were the odds that a gas leak or some other accident coincidentally occurred mere hours after he’d dropped her off?
She stepped off the bus and into the fresh air, mind racing, her senses on high alert. The dappled walk outside the hospital made her mouth go dry, though she saw no one lurking beneath the trees.
She’d gone to a bar with Jason Mercer—the next day, he’d been in a body bag. And Ronan Duffy had fucked her senseless on the hood of his car. She didn’t believe that Daniel knew the specifics, but he clearly suspected enough to try to kill the man she loved.
Loved? Did she love him? From the way she was shaking, trying not to vomit as she made her way up the walk and through the hospital’s main entrance… yeah. She did. Shit.
I have to get out of here. Now. Not later. While she still had the will to do so. She’d go back to the club tonight and get her money, run before things got any worse. But she couldn’t go without warning Ronan. Plus… she needed to see him one last time. She needed to know that he’d survive.
Juliette stopped at the front desk. “Detective Ronan Duffy?”
“Are you family?”
She held up the bouquet, the cellophane wrapping slick in her sweaty palm. She’d stolen them from a roadside vendor on her way to the bus stop. She wasn’t proud of that, but she needed a good reason to be here—a disguise in case they didn’t wave her through. Hopefully, this would go better than yesterday when she’d posed as a funeral home employee.
“Ah,” the nurse said, blinking at the flowers. She aimed an index finger up the left hallway. “Elevators are that way. Third floor, room 301.”
How had the nurse known that right off the bat? Was this a trap?
Juliette’s hackles rose, and she whipped around. Nurses bustled past in their scrubs. An orderly pushed a tall cart full of silver trays. Half a dozen patients, one in a wheelchair, one leaning heavily on a cane, another dragging a spindly IV stand. None of them looked at her.
Juliette nodded her thanks and hustled to the elevator bay, ducking inside with the crowd, pressing her back against the corner of the lift. Barely room to move, let alone breathe, but at least no one could stab her in the back.
The slow creep to the third floor seemed to take forever, but 301 was the first door on her right. Juliette scanned the hallway, said a silent prayer—please let him be okay—then ducked into the room.
The door clicked shut behind her, but she barely heard it. Relief flooded her veins. White gauze covered the front of Ronan’s left shoulder, but his bare chest appeared uninjured save a few bruises and some small, round cigarette-type burns. She couldn’t see his legs, and his face was turned toward the window, but… it seemed he’d gotten off easy.
Ronan appeared to register her presence because he turned her way.
“Hi,” she said softly, almost shyly, as she started toward the bed. Was that even her voice?
But Ronan’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?”