Page 93 of Laced With Secrets
Sheriff Hawkins appeared behind Blake.
“You’re both going to the hospital,” the sheriff said firmly. “No arguments. We can take statements there.”
“Adelaide?” Dominic asked, wincing as the paramedic cleaned a particularly deep cut on his shoulder.
“Apprehended,” Hawkins said with grim satisfaction. His gaze slid to me. “Your phone GPS led us right to her. She’s in custody now, being transported under armed guard.”
“Richard’s giving his statement about the sabotaged control panel and the explosives,” Blake said.
The paramedics helped us out of the ruins carefully, navigating the debris field. In the corridor, Richard stood with Deputy Martinez.
He saw us emerge and something crumbled in his expression.
“I’m so sorry,” Richard said, his voice breaking. “I should have known. Should have suspected her?—”
“You tried to disable the mechanism,” I interrupted.
“I almost got you both killed,” Richard said flatly.
“Your sister almost got us killed,” I corrected. “You helped save us. There’s a difference.”
Richard looked like he wanted to argue, but Hawkins put a hand on his shoulder.
“You did good, Richard,” Hawkins said quietly. “You tried. That matters.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The ambulance ride to the hospital was a blur of sirens and flashing lights. Dominic refused to be separated from me despite his injuries, sitting beside my gurney and holding my hand when he really needed to be on the gurney himself. The paramedics had given up trying to treat him properly, settling for temporary bandaging while shooting him looks that saidstubborn alphalouder than words ever could.
“Sir, you really need to let us give you something for the pain.” The medic tried again. “I know you said you didn’t want to be sedated, but?—“
“I’m fine,” Dominic said, not taking his eyes off me. His thumb traced circles on the back of my hand, the repetitive motion seeming to calm him more than it did me.
Through our bond, I felt his barely controlled terror warring with relief—the emotional whiplash of almost losing everything and then finding it safe in his arms. My own emotions were too tangled to separate: residual fear, bone-deep exhaustion,and a fierce protective love for this alpha who’d literally thrown himself between me and death.
At the hospital, they finally managed to separate us long enough for proper examinations. I was wheeled to obstetrics while Dominic was taken to surgery for the metal fragments embedded in his shoulder. I felt his panic spike through our connection when the distance grew too great, felt him fighting against the sedation they were trying to give him.
I’m okay,I pushed through to him as hard as I could.The baby’s okay. Let them help you.
The response was wordless but clear: reluctant acceptance.
Then, his presence faded to a faint whisper as he succumbed to the anesthetic.
My examination took over an hour. The on-call obstetrician was thorough and patient despite clearly being roused from sleep for this emergency.
“Everything looks perfect,” she said, moving the ultrasound wand over my belly. “Strong heartbeat, no signs of distress, placenta looks healthy. You both got extraordinarily lucky.”
I watched the screen, seeing our baby moving—little flutters that made my chest tight. That tiny life had survived a building collapse. Had been protected by a Victorian potting table, sheerstubborn luck, and his or her father’s willing to give everything to protect us.
“Can I see my alpha?” I asked when she finished. “Please.”
The obstetrician’s expression softened. “Let me check on his status.”
She left, and I was alone with the steady beep of monitors and the overwhelming need to see Dominic, to touch him, to confirm through more than just our bond that he was alive and safe.
Thirty minutes later, a nurse appeared. “Your alpha is out of surgery and in recovery. He’s asking for you.” She smiled slightly. “Well, demanding might be more accurate. Let’s get you into a wheelchair.”
They put us in a private room—probably Blake’s doing, some strings pulled to ensure we could be together. Dominic was propped up in the hospital bed, shirtless beneath the light blanket, his torso wrapped in fresh white bandages. His right arm was in a sling, and I could see the edges of surgical tape peeking from beneath the gauze on his shoulder.