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GAGE

“Are you ready to get out of here?”

I force a smile as I walk into Rory’s hospital room, doing my best to keep my gaze on hers instead of moving to the purpling bruise on her forehead.

Or to the expanding ones on her neck.

My jaw clenches in an attempt to keep my expression steady. Every time I see the evidence of Rory’s injuries, it’s a battle to keep my anger under control. Not at her, of course, but at the still-unidentified man who did this to her.

No, we don’t have proof it was a man. But given the size of the fingerprint-shaped bruises…

Pain shears through my teeth and down my neck. My molars grind so hard, it’s a miracle they don’t shatter.

Dammit. At this rate, I’m going to need dental work by the end of the week.

But how can I not be angry?

Strike that. I’m not angry. I’m furious.

After spending the last twenty-four hours either inside Rory’s room or stationed outside the door, I’ve had plenty of time to stew about it. Plenty of time to come up with creative methods of revenge once we track down the asshole who hurt her.

And we will find him. Between my team and the Bliss police, it’s only a matter of time.

Alec’s been scouring surveillance footage from the surrounding area, including neighbors’ security systems and traffic light cameras.

While Ronan’s been at Rory’s place, he’s been canvassing her neighbors, asking if they saw anything suspicious.

And once Rory’s at the GMG property and feeling better, we’ll do a deep dive into her background to find out if there’s anyone who might have a motive to hurt her.

But who would want to hurt Rory?

Generous, kind-hearted Rory who’s dedicated her life to rescuing animals?

Thoughtful Rory who sends Christmas gifts to all the families who adopted dogs from her, complete with a framed “Gotcha-Day” photo and a handmade bandana?

Sweet Rory who always greets me with a smile, her face lighting up when she sees me?

The idea of harming her is unthinkable.

I suppose it could have been a random attack, or a case of mistaken identity, like the police suggested.

But that doesn’t explain why Rory was outside in the dark when she should have been safely home in bed.

Did she answer the door and someone attacked her, forcing her to flee into the woods?

Was she having trouble sleeping and decided to go for a late-night walk, inadvertently stumbling upon some kind of criminal activity?

We don’t know yet, because she can’t remember.

Hopefully her memories will come back soon, and she’ll be able to give us a name. Or barring that, a description to go on. But the neurologist said there’s no way to know when they’ll return—in a day, a week, or possibly never.

“What if my memory never comes back?” Rory asked me last night, after spending half an hour pushing her sad-looking hospital food around on the plate without touching it. “What if we never find this person? What if he hurts someone else because I can’t remember?”

“We’ll figure it out,” I promised, patting her hand while fighting the irrational desire to pull her into my arms instead. “No matter what happens with your memory, we’ll find this ass—this guy. He won’t hurt you again.”

That wasn’t exactly what she asked. But she let it go. After a few silent seconds, she lifted her chin and gave me a shaky smile. “I know you will, Gage. And I know I said this before, but truly, thank you for everything you’re doing for me.”

But I don’t want thanks. I want to go back in time and change things so this never happened to her.

That’s another thing I’ve been thinking about—more like torturing myself, really.

All the things I could have done to make sure Rory was safe.

I could have pushed her to install a full security system instead of backing off when she resisted.

I could have called her, texted her, stayed in touch more often; so she might have thought to call me first before going into a potentially dangerous situation.

I could have…

Damn. I don’t know. Something .

“I’m definitely ready to leave,” Rory replies, returning my smile with a strained one of her own. Her gaze shifts to the door before returning to mine. “Do you think I can sneak out of here before they show up with the wheelchair? All the release paperwork is done, after all.”

“Probably not.” I spring forward as she starts to get off the bed, her legs wobbling a little as her feet hit the floor. Taking her arm gently, I ease her back onto the thin mattress. “I think it would be safer if you waited.”

She stares at me for a moment before admitting quietly, “I really don’t like hospitals. And I just… I really want to leave.”

I’m not a big fan of them myself, so I can definitely understand why Rory’s eager to leave. Not that being at the hospital is ever a pleasant experience—well, unless you’re having a baby, I guess—but having to deal with memory loss on top of painful injuries…

“We’ll be on the road in no time,” I reply in a cheerful tone. “Before you know it, we’ll be at GMG and you can check out the cabin. Winter and Lark went over yesterday to get it all set up for you. So the fridge should be stocked with your favorite foods, and?—”

A tiny line forms between her brows. “Gage. How would they know my favorite foods?”

“I may have made some suggestions. I hope that’s okay.”

She still looks confused. “But. How would you?—”

“Ror.” This time my smile is genuine. “I see you every week. Most of the time, we eat lunch or have a snack together. I know you try to make things I like, but I think I can figure out some of your favorites, too.”

Pink creeps across her cheeks. Then a pleased smile curves her lips. “So… what did you ask them to get?”

I perch on the edge of the bed; close enough to Rory that our legs brush each other. A spark of electricity arcs from her leg to mine, sending an unexpected rush of heat through my body.

No , I remind myself sternly, we’re only friends .

“Well,” I answer, forcing my mind back to safer topics, “I may have asked them to get lots of cheese. Muenster, cheddar, that stinky gorgonzola…”

Rory makes a cute face at me. “It’s not stinky. It’s pungent. There’s a difference.”

I shoot her a skeptical look. “It smells pretty bad to me. But anyway, there’s cheese. And crackers, those fancy ones you like. Plus, some of that red pepper jam. And salami. Apparently, the grocery store in Bliss doesn’t sell prosciutto, so Winter thought that would be the next best thing.”

“Gage.” Rory’s voice pitches up. “You didn’t have to get all that.”

“I know you haven’t been very hungry. Not that I blame you; most hospital food is crap. But I thought it would be nice to have something you like when you get home.”

A beat later, I realize my mistake. “The cabin,” I amend. “Sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“It’s fine.” Rory touches my hand. “I know what you meant. And thank you, Gage. That was so?—”

“Is someone ready for a ride?” An overly-chipper voice interrupts us as a nurse arrives at the door, pushing a wheelchair in front of her.

She beams at me before turning her attention to Rory.

Her smile fades briefly before returning, brighter than ever.

“I’m here to escort you out. How does that sound? ”

Rory drops her gaze to her lap. Her hand releases mine. In a soft voice, she says, “It sounds good. Thank you.”

An unsettled feeling worms into my stomach.

Something’s wrong.

Not the stuff she’s already upset about. Something else.

“Ror.” I pitch my voice low so only she can hear me. “What’s wrong? If you don’t like this nurse… Alec ran background checks on everyone, but if you want me to find someone else?—”

“No. It’s okay.” Eyes still downcast, Rory adds, “Everything’s good. Let’s get out of here.”

The whole way home, it niggled at me. Logic could explain Rory’s sudden shift in mood to any number of things—side effects of the concussion, a sore throat from talking, or fear of going to stay at the cabin, which, although very nice, is just another reminder that she can’t go home.

But it didn’t feel like any of those things.

Was it because the nurse looked at Rory’s bruises? Was she feeling self conscious about them?

That’s another thing I can understand. Feeling insecure about an injury.

And if that’s what was bothering Rory, I didn’t want to bring it up and make her feel worse.

Instead, I’ve been talking about pretty much anything pleasant I can think of, from Knox and Lark’s upcoming wedding in July to Dewey’s newest trick, which is balancing a treat on his nose and catching it.

Rory’s quiet through most of it, just smiling softly and nodding, but once we pull through the reinforced gate and onto the GMG property, she turns towards me and asks, “Is everyone here? All your teammates? Do they want to talk to me now?”

I don’t miss the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes or the stiff set to her shoulders.

And of course, it makes sense she’d be worried.

I hadn’t wanted to talk too much about the specifics of investigating her case, at least not while she was in the hospital, but I should have prepared her better.

Poor Rory is probably imagining a full-on interrogation instead of the gentle approach we take with our pro-bono clients.

Not that Rory’s a client, exactly. Yes, we’re taking on her case. And no, we’re not going to ask her for money. But she’s my friend. Enzo and Winter adopted a dog from her rescue. Rory’s best friend, Isla, is married to Knox’s old Green Beret teammate.

Which reminds me…

“Are Isla and Matt coming to visit?” I ask. “I know they just had their baby, but?—”

“No,” she replies with a firm shake of her head. “Absolutely not. Isla just gave birth last month. She and Matt need to be home with Dove, not flying halfway across the country to see me for no reason.”

No reason ?

I’m not sure I agree with that.