Chapter 20
With his heart in his throat, Tristan watched as Jeremiah sought a pulse on Juliet's bruised neck. He had seen his platoon medic attend dozens of injured SEALs over the years, and even a handful of civilians, but seeing Juliet in need of his teammate's ministrations distressed him like nothing ever had.
"Don't let her die," Tristan demanded. How could Juliet have believed he was the one in need of protection when she'd been the one in danger the whole time—not of Coenen but, rather, his crazy sister? If Juliet died now, they would never have the chance to reconcile. His life would cease to have meaning.
"Pulse is strong. She's breathing on her own." Jeremiah moved to examine her head wound.
A drop of hope fell onto the barren soil of dread. With the blood flowing from her wound so quickly, though, it seemed impossible to believe she could survive.
"Call for help!" Tristan shouted at Hack, only to realize he was already talking quietly into his phone. Renata lay face down on the floor at the cyber warrior's feet, fingers interlaced behind her head, his foot planted on the small of her back.
Jeremiah clamped a calming hand on Tristan's shoulder. "The bullet seems to have only grazed her temple. I can't find an entry point. Go find me a clean towel, now."
Inspired by Jeremiah's calm, Tristan rose unsteadily to his feet and hastened to the bathroom in search of a towel. A glance at the tub brought to mind the memory of Juliet lounging in a sea of bubbles with a look of ecstasy on her gorgeous face.
The thought of her dying made him stagger against the cabinet, suddenly faint. He chased it from his mind. She was going to live. She had to live. Anything else was simply too unbearable to accept.
* * *
Hours later, Tristan glanced up at the sound of footsteps hastening toward the trauma center's waiting area. Guilt needled him as Hilary's flaming red hair came into view. Emma must have called her sister's assistant to let her know what had happened. He'd been too consumed with torment to think of notifying anyone.
It was Jeremiah who had called Emma as the trio of SEALs followed the ambulance to Inova Fairfax Hospital.
At Hilary's approach, Emma stood to greet her. Hack also took a step toward the petite woman, stopped, and sat back down.
"How is she?"
Tristan took in Hilary's wide eyes, her pink nose. Emma had obviously told her what happened.
He didn't want to hear Emma's response at that moment. Burying his face in his hands, he resisted the childish urge to cover his ears. If only he could be more like Jeremiah, who sat with his back to the wall, eyes closed, appearing perfectly relaxed.
"She was code yellow when the ambulance got here," Emma reported quietly, "which means her vitals are strong, but there's potential for complications. The bullet grazed the side of her skull. They're doing a CT scan right now to see if there's a brain bleed."
Brain bleed. The horrifying phrase made Tristan nauseated. Even if Juliet pulled through, there was the prospect of neurological damage, impaired speech, and a host of other complications. He couldn't envision his proud PI giving up her career because she had to learn to talk again.
"Dear Lord," Hilary breathed, articulating Tristan's dismay.
"She's going to be fine," Emma stated firmly.
"Right. Of course."
With an audible sniffle, Hilary lowered herself into the chair next to Hack, who sat as straight as a flagpole, his gaze averted. Touching his arm, she spoke to him quietly.
Emma resumed her spot next to Jeremiah, and silence fell among the five of them, broken occasionally by the murmurings of the other couple in the room, the sound of someone using a keyboard in an adjacent office. Everyone's ears remained tuned to the urgent stir behind the closed doors leading to the trauma center.
Hushed voices pulled Tristan's attention back to Hilary and Hack. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but Hack's tense jaw and Hilary's baffled and teary expression made it evident that Hack was refusing to listen to her. He jackknifed suddenly out of his seat to cross to the water fountain. Hilary stared after him, looking utterly bereft.
Tristan watched them, too distraught to be curious.
When Hack doubled back, he stopped by Tristan's chair. "Listen, I'm going to take off," he said, looking as uncomfortable as a worm in hot ashes.
Tristan eyed him with surprise then darted a look at Hilary, who stared at Hack like she couldn't believe what she was seeing.
"Right now?" Tristan asked. His world had ceased to spin and one of his buddies was leaving?
"To talk to the Taskforce lead," Hack clarified. "He's still waiting for a statement."
After calling 911, Hack had put a call through to Ike Calhoun. Within ten minutes, the inter-agency task force lead had swept into Juliet's apartment accompanied by two burly men who'd read Renata Blumenthal, aka Bergit Coenen, her rights, slapped her in cuffs, and escorted her off the premises. With the paramedics preparing to transport Juliet, Calhoun must have instructed Hack to touch base with him later.
"Yeah, yeah, go ahead." Tristan was relieved to let Hack handle the details.
"I'll call Jeremiah to get updates on Juliet." Putting an awkward hand on Tristan's shoulder, Hack gave his teammate a pat, glanced one last time in Hilary's direction, and walked away.
Tristan watched Hilary grip the arms of her chair as if wrestling the impulse to chase after Hack. When a turn in the hall took him out of her sight, she bowed her head in private misery.
It was apparent to Tristan that the two techno-geeks had hit an impasse in their relationship. Right now, however, memories of Juliet's blood-smeared head kept him from pondering what their problem might be.
The door leading into the trauma center yawned open, ejecting a doctor, still wearing a surgery mask pulled down to hang round his neck, and a trauma nurse.
Juliet's family and friends looked up expectantly. Tristan shot to his feet.
The doctor cast an eye over the room. "Where's the family of Juliet Rhodes?"
"Here." Emma jumped up and crossed to him. Tristan followed right behind her.
"I'm her sister," she said.
"And I'm her fiancé," Tristan asserted.
Emma shot him a wide-eyed look but didn't call his bluff. "How is she?" she inquired, letting Tristan's lie go.
"All things considered, not bad," the doctor said on a cautious note.
Hope hit Tristan's bloodstream like a mainlined drug.
"Her vitals are stable. She has a fractured rib and contusions, bruising on her neck, which looks bad but will resolve without treatment. The CT scan shows an intracerebral hemorrhage in the temporal lobe. She has a skull fracture that is not displaced, meaning she does not need surgery."
"Thank God!" Emma breathed. Tristan grabbed her arm as she started to sway.
"The small bleed in the temporal lobe could lead to complications later. We won't know the extent of those until Juliet regains consciousness. Anyway, she's holding her own, and her prognosis is good."
"When can we see her?" Tristan demanded. If he could touch Juliet, talk to her, he would feel he had some semblance of control over the situation.
The doctor glanced at the others in the waiting room. "We're settling her into ICU so it may be a while. Visitation is limited to five minutes every hour until she's well enough to move into a general-care room. And only family members are allowed while Juliet's in ICU." He winked at Tristan. "I think we can accommodate future spouses, as well."
"Thank you." It was all Tristan could do not to kiss the man's feet.
"Thank you, doctor," Emma echoed as both he and the nurse turned away.
When the door had closed behind the medical team, Emma leaned into Tristan and said out of the side of her mouth. "Getting in kind of deep, aren't you?"
He was glad not to hear any recrimination in her comment. "She needs me," was his simple answer.
Emma sighed and nodded. "That's true," she said. "Now more than ever."
* * *
Juliet floated in a space that defied dimension. Colors she had never seen, let alone imagined, danced around her. She knew she wasn't in her body, but she wasn't scared. Nor was she alone. A being resembling a pulsating globe of light greeted her lovingly, introducing itself as Juliet's guide. Juliet sensed feminine energy as the being invited her to reflect on her worldly experience. They began with her childhood and happy memories of a summer vacation in Cape May, her parents walking hand-in-hand at the water's edge.
"See how much they loved each other," her guide invited.
Juliet saw it. The radiance in her mother's face, the softness in her father's eyes. Her parents had chosen each other over everything else. There might have been moments of boredom but never of regret.
Her life fast-forwarded through a series of vignettes, right past the accident, to her second year in college. Juliet was nineteen and getting an apartment of her own because Emma, desperate to recreate what their parents had shared, had married her first steady boyfriend. Juliet threw herself into her studies. She'd decided to become a private investigator. Her drive was relentless. She studied on weekends when everyone else her age was going out.
"You knew what you wanted to do," her guide commented.
All too quickly, Juliet was twenty-five. The owner of the investigative agency had retired and left his practice entirely in her capable hands. She exhausted herself working sixty hours a week, sometimes more. Dragging herself home to her sterile apartment, where there was no one to greet her, not even a pet. With no love interests outside of work, she fell asleep each night only to wake each morning and do it all over again.
"Looks like fun." Her guide's insincerity was amusing.
"It wasn't," Juliet admitted. Yet she hadn't known what else to do.
A vision of her cruise-ship vacation offered a reprieve from grinding routine. Suddenly, there was Tristan, holding out his hand to her, his smile like a ray of sunshine. Memories of the two of them racing ATVs through the jungle in Belize panned past filling Juliet with sudden exhilaration.
"That's living!" said her guide.
"Yes," she agreed. Juliet's happiness faded as she recalled that she was not in her body anymore "Am I dead?" The thought sobered her.
"It's up to you," answered the gentle spirit. "Perhaps you'd like to see what happens if you stay here."
Juliet balked at first, however curiosity got the better of her. "Show me," she requested.
It took a moment to understand what she saw next. Her sister Emma sat unmoving in a chair on a sunny porch. Her gaze was fixed and lusterless. She didn't see her daughter, Sammy, hiding around the corner of the house rolling what looked like a cigarette.
"Is that marijuana?" Juliet reeled. "What is Sammy doing with pot?"
"Ask your sister," the guide suggested.
"Emma?" Juliet tried to rouse her sister from her self-absorption, but she wouldn't stop staring. "Why is she holding her hand like that?" Emma's long fingers lay across her abdomen.
"She lost her baby."
"What baby?"
"The one she is carrying now."
"She's pregnant?" Joy effervesced in Juliet. She imagined Jeremiah's thrilled reaction, followed by the devastation of loss. "Why'd she lose the baby?"
"The doctors said it was emotional stress," her guide explained. "When Emma loses you, it throws her into a deep depression. She ignores her husband, her own daughter. Poor Sammy loses both an aunt and a mother."
"Stop. Please," Juliet begged, relieved when the vision vanished, leaving her in the warmth of her luminous guide. "I don't want to see anymore."
"I understand. Come, there's someone here who'd like to see you."
They turned toward a beam of pink light that streaked toward them, transforming into a familiar figure as it drew nearer.
"Mama!"
Anya's spiritual energy enveloped her with unconditional love. "My girl," she soothed as Juliet wept with mingled joy and sorrow. "Hush, now. You did well, just as you have always done."
Juliet peered around, suddenly afraid. "Where's Daddy?"
"He's here," Anya assured her. "He sends his love, but only one of us can visit you. This is not your time, Juliet. You must go back."
Having seen what Emma's and Sammy's lives would be like without her, Juliet had already determined that much. "I know."
"It's going to be difficult," her mother warned. "You will find that you can't immediately do the things you did before."
"What do you mean?" Uncertainty oppressed her.
"Owning your own practice, working out the way you do, even driving a car. It will take time and dedication to get those things back."
Fear loomed over Juliet.
"Don't be afraid," Anya counseled. "You will realize, even as you work to get back what you lost, that you have everything you need to be happy."
"What things?" Juliet asked.
Her mother's smile was radiant. "You'll see. Have faith. Go now, my love. He's waiting for you."
Kissing her daughter's cheek, Anya encouraged Juliet toward a whirlpool that swirled out of clouds of color. Something far away from her pulled Juliet down through the star-spangled tunnel she had floated up earlier. All at once, she fell through a brilliant veil into a harsh place where pain stabbed her temple, and something pinched the back of her hand.
Drawing a deep breath, Juliet inhaled the scents of bleached sheets and flower petals. Slitting gritty eyes, she blinked until a hospital room came into focus. Vases of bouquets splashed color against the sterile backdrop. Turning her head to take in the bright display, her gaze landed on the man snoozing in a recliner by a window.
Soft morning light slanted through the vertical blinds and gilded his golden mane. Tristan slept in an upright position with a pillow propped against the winged side of the chair. A growth of beard obscured his jawline, suggesting he hadn't shaved in days. His usually tan face looked sallow. Even in his sleep, he appeared stressed. At the sight of him, her heart expanded to the point of pain.
Memories came rushing back. She'd been fighting for her life against the same adversary who had killed her mother a decade before. Somehow, some way, Tristan had saved her life.
Juliet tried to say his name, to tell him she'd awakened, but her lips and tongue felt glued together. She strained to lever herself onto her elbows only to realize how appallingly weak she'd become. Falling back against her pillow, she jarred her head, causing it to throb.
The squeak of her bed brought Tristan out of his chair and to her side in a flash, as the pillow tumbled to the floor behind him. He stared down at her with a disbelieving gaze.
"Oh, my God, you're awake!" He seized her hand in a gentle grasp while frantically depressing the call button with his other.
"How... long?" To her relief, she found her voice.
If he noticed her difficulty in speaking, he didn't show it. Tears of joy crested his lower lashes. "Five days," he answered hoarsely. "You were in ICU for three. Then they moved you in here." A single tear slid down the lean plane of his cheek as he bent over her.
"S-s-sorry." Juliet had to concentrate to spit the word out.
"Don't say that." Love brimmed in his eyes as he stroked her jaw and smiled tenderly. "You're back," he marveled. "You came back to me."
To Juliet's dismay, Tristan bowed his head, apparently attempting to hide his emotions from her.
Her mind slipped briefly to the spiritual plane she'd visited. Juliet longed to share her experience, but her thoughts were as clear as muddied water, and the words wouldn't come. This must be what her mother had meant when she said, You will realize, even as you work to get back what you lost, that you have everything you need to be happy.
Concern flooded Juliet. What if Bergit's attack left her permanently impaired?
"The bullet...?" she managed.
"Hit your hard head and bounced off." Tristan's smile became a grin. "Thank God you're so thick-headed, honey." With his unkempt beard, he resembled a savage Viking.
Juliet's heart expanded with love for him. How did she, who had rebuffed this incredible man not once but repeatedly, deserve the level of devotion he had demonstrated staying with her all this time?
And where was her family? "Emma? S-sammy?" she asked, remembering with delight the baby growing in her sister's womb.
"Emma had to teach this week, but she's coming back tomorrow." Tristan's grin faded abruptly.
She could tell he knew something about her condition, something he didn't want to share with her yet. She already knew what it was. Owning your own practice, working out, even driving a car. It will take time and dedication to get those things back.
"I'm...," she fought to articulate the assurance her mother had shared with her.
Tristan nodded encouragingly, but his eyebrows pulled together as if it pained him to witness her difficulties.
"I'm going to be OK," Juliet stated.
A fresh wave of tears rose in his ocean-colored eyes. He cleared his throat. "Of course you are. You've got me, don't you?"
Miraculously, despite all she'd done to sabotage their growing love for each other, Juliet did have him. That was exactly what her mother had told her—that she had everything she needed for a life filled with happiness.
Gazing up at Tristan's beloved face, it was suddenly clear what that was.
"Hey," she said, managing to reach up and caress the side of his face.
"What?"
"I f-forgot to tell you something."
"What's that, honey?" He searched her gaze, clearly having no idea what she was going to say.
Getting her lips and tongue to form the words took more time than she wanted. She could hear someone, most likely the on-duty nurse, outside the door, getting ready to push her way inside.
"I love you, too," she managed, finally replying to the words he'd spoken in their hotel room in San Francisco, the afternoon she'd nearly been struck by the double-decker bus.
Tristan's expression told Juliet she'd said everything he needed to hear.