Page 25 of The Last Morgan

Traffic snarled as horns blared, and pedestrians scattered. Lucy clutched the door handle; her eyes fixed on Barnaby’s screen. The drone zipped overhead, keeping pace with the rogue vehicle.

"They’re trying to lose us," Barnaby muttered. "Smart moves. This guy knows the city."

"Too bad we know it better," Corey said, cutting a tight corner.

Byron sat behind Lucy and asked. "What is so damn important inside that box?"

"That question is something I was going to have answered today, I'm so pissed off right now." Lucy said under her breath.

Ahead, the Beetle swerved suddenly into a narrow alley.

He spun the SUV left, then hard right, slamming through a wooden pallet stand and onto a back lane. They burst into the alley, only to find the Beetle abandoned, door wide open.

Lucy was the first out. Byron flanked her, gun drawn. Corey and Damien fanned out.

"Barnaby, scan the area" Corey ordered.

Barnaby tapped into his mobile interface, eyes darting across the code. "There’s residual heat signatures heading north. Two people on foot."

"We split up," Lucy said. "Byron, with me. Corey, Damian—circle around the back the rest of you walk up the middle. Let’s flush them out."

The air felt heavier as the team spread out across the shadowed streets. They were close—so close—Barnaby could feel it in his bones as he monitored the drone footage from the back seat of the SUV. "We’ve got movement," Barnaby muttered, fingers flying across his keyboard.

Lucy, Byron, Corey, and Damien were already on foot, paired off into calculated groups. The Doves had split into pairs too, creating a web around the two heat signatures Barnaby had locked onto.

“They’ve stopped,” Barnaby said over the comms. “Looks like they’re deciding something.”

“They’re arguing,” Corey chimed in. “I see them. Receptionist from the bank... and that has to be Jimmy. He's trying to run from her. I’ve got a visual. Confirmed.”

“I see them too,” Lucy said, narrowing her eyes from a distance. “He’s tugging her arm, she’s trying to convince him to go a different way. Idiot.”

Lucy stepped forward boldly, heart pounding in her chest, her eyes zeroed in like a predator. “I think you have something for me, JIMMY,” she called, her voice cold and steady.

Jimmy flinched, stepping back. “It doesn’t belong to you! It never did!” he screamed, sweat pouring from his face.

“Why are you doing all of this?” Lucy shouted.

Jimmy spat on the floor. “I don't answer to you.” “It’s a shame you stayed hidden, the night I ordered your family to be killed, such a same.” he started laughing.

Rage exploded in Lucy’s chest. Without another thought, she ran. Hard. Fast. Her muscles screamed as her boots pounded against the pavement, tunnel vision blinding her to everything except the man in her crosshairs.

Jimmy raised a hand, a gun glinting in his grip. A deafening crack exploded as the trigger pulled—

Lucy ducked just in time, skimming the air like a phantom and driving her fist into Jimmy’s face with everything she had.

CRACK.

Jimmy’s head snapped back, and he crumpled to the ground.

Lucy grinned, breath heaving, adrenaline spiking like fireworks in her veins. “That’s what you fucking get,” she whispered. She turned, ready to gloat to Byron, her partner, her—

“Byron?”

Her stomach sank.

He wasn’t there.

Her eyes darted.

Then she saw him. Lying on the ground. Blood blooming across his chest like a poisoned flower.

Time stopped.

Her smile vanished as her breath caught in her throat.

“No... No, no, no...”

She stumbled backward, toward him. “Byron?”

His eyes were half-lidded, his lips stained with crimson. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came.

“NO!” she screamed. The sound tore from her throat like an animal. She fell to her knees beside him, her hands fumbling uselessly over his chest, trying to stop the bleeding, trying to hold him together.

“COREY! HELP ME!”

Corey sprinted over, barking orders to the Doves. “Secure Jimmy. Secure that stupid bitch too.”

Barnaby’s voice came through the comms, shaken. “Ambulance inbound. I’ve pinged our location.”

Corey knelt beside Lucy, already applying pressure with practiced, desperate hands. “We’ve got you, mate. Stay with us.”

“He’s losing too much blood,” Lucy sobbed. Her hands trembled as she cradled Byron’s face. “You can’t leave me, not now... Not now when I finally found someone to love.”

Byron’s gaze fluttered toward her, his hand twitching to reach hers.

“Don’t talk,” she whispered. “Just stay with me.”

Corey motioned for the Doves. “Get him to the car—now! We’ll meet the ambulance on the road.”

Byron was lifted gently but swiftly, Doves moving with urgency. Lucy walked beside them, her fingers locked around Byron’s until she physically couldn’t keep up.

In the chaos, Corey turned to Damien. “Give me the box. Don’t let Jimmy out of your sight.”

Damien nodded grimly and handed over the small velvet case.

Lucy didn’t care about the box anymore.

She didn’t care about Jimmy.

She cared about the man who had taken a bullet for her.

In the SUV, Byron’s head lolled slightly, his breathing shallow. Lucy climbed in next to him, refusing to let go of his hand, she looked towards his eyes, and could have sworn they had a hint of purple to them, she wiped her tears and before she could take a second look his eyes had closed.

“Please don’t die,” she whispered.

The sirens grew louder as the ambulance approached. The door opened, and paramedics flooded out.

Lucy was pushed back as they worked, tears streaking her face, her hands still red with his blood.

They loaded him into the ambulance.

“I’m coming with you,” she said, firm.

The paramedic nodded.

She climbed in, still gripping Byron’s hand, whispering to him over and over.

“I love you. Don’t leave me. I love you.”

The doors shut.

And they were gone.

Lucy paced the hallway, which was long and sterile, her footsteps echoed with every panicked step. She moved from one end to the other, then turned and walked back again. At times, she stopped mid-stride, folded her arms tight across her chest, only to unravel again and begin pacing anew. Her thoughts were relentless.

Byron was in emergency surgery. The moment he dropped, the image had seared itself into her mind—his body slumped in the street, blood soaking through his shirt, the way his eyes lost focus before closing altogether. And now here she was, utterly helpless. She had fought men, cracked codes, uncovered years of lies—but this... this waiting was a different kind of torture.

Her hands trembled. She clenched them, dug her nails into her palms to keep herself grounded. Nothing worked.

The hospital air was cold. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. The occasional nurse passed by, sympathetic glances offered but unspoken.

The elevator dinged. Lucy turned. It was Corey and Barnaby.

Corey’s face was tense but soft when he saw her. He walked toward her, then, without a word, pulled her into a tight hug. Barnaby hesitated, then joined in from the side, wrapping his arms around them both.

The three of them stood there in silence.

It was odd. None of them were huggers. But somehow, this—this moment—was exactly what Lucy needed to keep from shattering.

Corey pulled back slightly and leaned in. “We're here. For anything. Whatever you need.”

Barnaby nodded, unusually quiet. “Everything else can wait.”

Corey glanced at the bag slung over his shoulder—the box still safely tucked away—but he said nothing. Not now. Not while their sister was breaking from the inside out.

Time passed. Slowly.

Hours dragged on, a slow torture of anticipation.

Finally, just as the clock passed 3PM, the double doors opened, and a doctor walked through.

"Miss Morgan?" he asked, his voice calm but clipped with fatigue.

Lucy bolted forward. “Yes. Please. Is he—?”

“He’s stable,” the doctor said, his voice like a lifeline. “Not out of the woods entirely, but we managed to stop the internal bleeding. The bullet missed any vital organs by millimeters. It was... lucky.”

Lucky. Lucy wanted to laugh and sob at the same time.

“Can I see him?”

The doctor nodded. “He’s in recovery now. He’s sedated, but stable. Come with me.”

The hallway twisted and stretched before her. Her feet were heavy, like she was walking through molasses. When she entered the recovery room, everything else faded away.

Byron lay there, plugged into what felt like every machine known to man. Beeping, hissing, slow rising and falling of the respirator. His chest wrapped in thick white bandages, a line of blood visible beneath the gauze.

She didn’t touch him—she couldn’t. Instead, she sank into the chair beside him, slouched low, hands gripping the edges of her seat.

He looked peaceful. Too peaceful. Like someone sleeping too deeply.

Corey stepped into the room a few minutes later. He kept his distance but leaned close enough to speak. “I’ll take Barnaby home,” he said softly. “We’ll wait to open the box until you’re back. And the interrogation... that can wait too.”

Lucy didn’t respond. Her eyes were fixed on Byron. She didn’t even blink.

The rest of the day slipped away.

As night fell, the machines continued their gentle rhythm. Lucy, slumped forward now, lay with her head on the edge of Byron’s mattress, cheek resting against her crossed arms.

At some point, sleep took her.

Then, around 2AM, she stirred.

It wasn’t the beeping of the machines or the footsteps outside.

It was a hand.

A heavy, warm hand brushing across the top of her head.

Her eyes snapped open.

She shot upright, blinking and scanning the dimly lit room—until she saw him.

Byron.

Eyes barely open. Weak, but undeniably conscious.

She gasped. “Byron?”

He was struggling against the tubes in his throat. Alarm bells began to chime as a nurse rushed in, followed by a doctor.

“It’s okay,” the doctor said, easing toward him. “We’re going to remove the tube. Just stay calm.”

They worked quickly and gently, sliding the breathing tube out and checking his vitals. The machines beeped steadily.

“Vitals are strong,” the doctor said. “That’s a good sign. He’ll need rest, but the worst is over.”

Byron cleared his throat. “Water,” he rasped.

Lucy offered a glass, her hand shaking. He drank deeply, then again. When he finally leaned back, his gaze found hers.

“You're not getting rid of me that easy,” he whispered with a crooked smirk.

Tears streamed down her cheeks before she realized it.

“You scared me,” she whispered.

“I told you... I’d protect you. Just maybe not by getting shot.”

“I’m sorry,” she choked. “I should’ve known... should’ve told you the plan—”

“Lucy,” he said gently, his hand brushing her cheek. “It wasn’t your fault. Just... next time, give me a heads up before you dive in.”

She nodded, swallowing her sobs.

“I love you,” she whispered.

Byron closed his eyes for a moment, as if letting the words sink in.

“I love you too,” he said. “But if I’m going to be stuck in a bed, you better be my nurse.”

She let out a wet laugh. “We’ll see.”

He opened one eye. “I’m serious. No one else touches me, only you.”

They sat in silence, hands entwined.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Lucy let herself breathe.

Two days in the hospital had been more than enough for Byron. He wasn’t one for rest or routine, and being confined to a sterile room full of beeping machines had made him more irritable than usual. When the doctor came in to check his vitals that morning, Byron had already dressed himself — a slow, grumpy process involving a lot of swearing and one too many pulled stitches.

“Discharge me,” he growled at the nurse. The nurse did not hesitate.

Lucy, exhausted and worried beyond measure, had made the call. A private nurse had been arranged, for him on the estate, and after a very long drive and a slow shuffle from the car to the front steps, Byron was home.

Barnaby was the first to greet them at the door. He lunged at them as they came in.

“Hey Byron! My man, how you doing?”

Byron gave him a sideways glare. “I Got shot, mate.”

Barnaby blinked, then grinned. “Right. Obvious. Got it. Well, moody guts, let’s get you settled in the downstairs suite.” He winked at Lucy. “We’ve converted it into the Byron recovery unit. Great lighting. Big windows. Views of the garden.”

“Sounds like a fucking spa,” Byron muttered, letting Lucy and Barnaby help him inside.

Lucy’s tone was light but laced with exhaustion. “I’ll come join you later,” she said mockingly, patting Byron’s shoulder as he was led away.

Once he was safely settled and the nurse took over, Lucy turned to Corey.

“Finally,” Corey sighed. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

Lucy gave him a look. “He was shot, Corey.”

“I know. But the box…”

She rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips despite herself. “Did you manage to secure it?”

Corey nodded. “Of course. It hasn’t been touched. We’ve been waiting for you.”

“Thank you,” she said, her voice softer now. She looked around the grand entryway of the estate, the familiar scent of home surrounding her. “I’m going to take a bath. Two days in that place and I smell like antiseptic and stress.”

She started up the stairs, her hand trailing lightly along the polished wood of the banister. She paused halfway up and turned to look back down at Corey and Barnaby.

“We’re at the finish line,” she said. “Just hold it together for a bit longer.”

Corey gave her a short nod. Barnaby saluted her with his bubble tea.

As she disappeared upstairs, the two men looked at each other. There was a weight in the air that hadn’t quite lifted, even now.

“You think we’re ready?” Barnaby asked.

“No,” Corey replied honestly. “But since when has that ever stopped us?”