Page 69 of Undercover Hearts

As Dr. Hassan returned to the surgical area, Diana turned to Jenna with newfound assessment in her gaze.

"You should go home," she said. "Get cleaned up. Rest. I'll call when there's news."

"I'm staying," Jenna replied, the words leaving no room for discussion.

Diana studied her for a long moment, something unreadable flickering across her features. Then she nodded once, a gesture that acknowledged both Jenna's determination and the deeper reason behind it.

"I'll have someone bring you essentials," she conceded. "And I'll arrange for your formal statement to be taken here."

Jenna sank back into her chair as Diana issued quiet instructions to Zoe and Destiny. The hospital's antiseptic smell mixed with the metallic scent of blood still clinging to her clothes, creating a nauseating combination that perfectly matched the churning in her stomach.

Two more hours of surgery. Then, if Michelle survived, a long and uncertain recovery.

If she survived.

Jenna closed her eyes, the fluorescent lights suddenly too harsh to bear. Behind her closed lids, she saw Michelle again—not bleeding on the cliffside path, but sitting at their safehouse dining table, concentration furrowing her brow as she reviewed case files. Michelle sleeping peacefully beside her, vulnerability replacing her usual guardedness. Michelle's rare smile, transforming her entire face when it reached her eyes.

A soft touch on her shoulder startled her from these memories. Darlene Patterson, the department's veteran dispatcher, stood beside her chair, holding a paper bag and a fresh cup of coffee.

"Destiny called me," she explained, her voice gentle. "Thought you might need some company."

The simple kindness—this woman Jenna barely knew coming to the hospital before dawn—threatened to crack her carefully maintained composure. She accepted the coffee with a nod of thanks, not trusting her voice.

Darlene settled beside her, seemingly content to wait in silence. Around them, the hospital's rhythm continued: staff changing shifts, occasional announcements over the PA system, the distant sounds of medical equipment.

And through it all, the clock kept ticking forward, marking the minutes Michelle spent fighting for her life somewhere beyond those swinging doors.

A gentle touch on Jenna's shoulder pulled her from the depths of unconsciousness. She startled awake, momentarily disoriented as her body registered the immediate complaints of muscles cramped from sleeping in the uncomfortable hospital chair. Her neck throbbed, and her lower back protested as she straightened.

She hadn't intended to fall asleep. Hadn't even realized she'd drifted off.

"Detective Walsh."

Dr. Hassan stood before her, surgical cap removed, her teal hijab on full display. Though exhaustion lined her face,something in her expression had shifted—the grim professional mask replaced by cautious relief.

Jenna scrambled to her feet, ignoring the protests of her stiff body. "Michelle?"

"The surgery was successful," Dr. Hassan said, her voice warm. "We repaired the subclavian artery damage and stabilized her condition. She's been moved to recovery."

The words took a moment to penetrate Jenna's fog of exhaustion and fear. Then their meaning washed over her in a wave of relief so powerful her knees nearly buckled. She reached for the chair back to steady herself.

"She's alive," Jenna whispered, the simple fact suddenly the most important truth in the universe.

"Yes," Dr. Hassan confirmed. "She's still critical but stable. The next twenty-four hours will be crucial, but she's fighting hard."

Jenna glanced around the waiting room, which had emptied of the other officers sometime during her unintended sleep. Weak morning light filtered through the hospital windows, suggesting she'd been unconscious for several hours.

"What time is it?"

"Just past eight," Dr. Hassan replied, checking her watch. "You've been here all night. Chief Marten left about two hours ago to oversee the case processing. She said to call her when you had news."

Jenna nodded, her hand automatically reaching for her phone before remembering it had been collected as evidence after the operation. Another procedural detail that seemed impossibly distant compared to the news that Michelle had survived.

"Can I see her?" Jenna asked, her voice rough with emotion and exhaustion.

Dr. Hassan hesitated, professional protocol warring visibly with compassion. "Technically, only immediate family is permitted in recovery."

Jenna felt something crack inside her chest. Of course. She wasn't family. In the official record, she was just a fellow officer, a detective who'd worked with Captain Reyes for three weeks on an undercover assignment.