Delirious and fading in and out of consciousness, Powell clawed at her hands, struggling to breathe.
“It’s okay.”
The first button opened, but the second proved more of a challenge. Frustrated and afraid he would die before the ambulance arrived, she grabbed each side of his collar and ripped the shirt open. Buttons popped off, flying every which way.
Yanking the hem out of his waistband, she spread the blood-soaked fabric, revealing his entire torso and two bullet wounds. The one on his right side had already stopped bleeding on its own, the bullet having gone in at an angle. But the second shot was near his heart, and it was bad.
Ellie grabbed the towel and moved it over the wound that pumped blood out at an alarming rate. Just below a patch of puckered, scarred skin. A raised scar with feathered edges.
Her hand raising. Jabbing downward. The scissors stabbing into a chest.
She rocked back on her heels as the wind rushed out of her.
Powell’s eyes met hers, wild and frightened.
The metallic smell of his blood hit her nostrils—familiar—and the weight of heavy surgical scissors was heavy in her hand. Confused, she glanced down at her hand, but there were no scissors, only the bloody towel. The cool metal of a shiny steel instrument in her grip was a distant memory brought back from the darkness.
Jaw clenched, she glared at him. “It was you.”
He stared back at her, not bothering to deny her words.
Nostrils flaring, she inhaled sharply, flexing her fingers as horror swelled within her. “You were the one who helped him kidnap me,” she spat out the words in clipped, tight syllables, “and you were the one—”
This time when his left hand flopped beside his body, she realized he was trying to reach for something, but the bullet wound had done some significant damage, making it hard for him to control his movements. His fingers reached beneath him, clawing at the butt of a gun tucked into his waistband. He managed to pull it out, but it slipped from his weakened grasp and onto the concrete floor.
Ellie slid the weapon out of his reach. Skidding across the smooth cement, it came to a stop near the sink. Her voice was full of venom. “You were going to kill me.”
He didn’t deny her accusation. “I couldn’t let you ruin everything I’ve worked for.”
The man who’d shot Powell stirred behind her, his breathing so loud now he sounded more like a winded racehorse than a human.
Ellie cast a glare in Powell’s direction, stood, and backed away slowly.
A single tear slid down his cheek as his hand clutched at his wounded chest. Blood spurted from between his fingers and cascaded down his arm. He was paler now than he had been, the unrestricted flow of blood causing the pool beneath him to grow.
Ellie stood there for what seemed like an eternity while Powell’s breathing grew more shallow, and his eyelids fluttered shut and back open again. Did she leave him there and just let him die? He’d tricked her, earning her trust while manipulating her. Even now, his farfetched story of how he’d come to be in the warehouse in the first place echoed in her mind.
We put a trace on your phone.
When she’d pointed out that her phone was at home, he’d lied so smoothly. Must’ve had a trace on Jillian’s phone too. She’d missed it, so focused on freeing Jillian that she hadn’t noticed the way he’d explained away her every concern without missing a beat. He’d played her, and she’d walked right into it.
Then there was the man who’d appeared after the master had escaped. Powell had been too far away from Jillian and Ellie when the stranger shot him for him to be hit by mistake. No, the younger man had aimed for Powell.
Kneeling just out of Powell’s reach, she moved so she was level with his gaze. “I trusted you.”
His breath was shorter now, with long pauses between each one. Blinking, he cleared his throat and inhaled once more before he finally responded. “That was a mistake.” A long, low groan eased through his slack lips, and his eyes rolled up toward the ceiling.
He was dying, and if the stranger hadn’t shot him, Ellie was sure Powell would’ve killed her and Jillian.
Her choice was clear.
Ellie stood, leaving Powell with his gaze skyward, the light already fading from his eyes. He was too far gone, but the man who’d shot him was alive, and for some reason, he’d risked his life to save her and Jillian. She had to know why.
Powell sputtered and coughed, wheezing as the siren song of the approaching ambulances continued to swell.
She jogged the short distance across the room to the man who’d shot Powell. When she knelt beside him, he forced a weak smile. “I tried to save you from him.”
“I get that now.”
His face contorted with pain as a wave of agony swept through him. When the moment passed, he continued. “He hurt so many people.”
“Try not to talk too much.” She used a pair of bandage scissors that had been laying among the scattered surgical tools to cut his shirt open. The wound was above his heart, low on his shoulder. “You’re lucky I missed your heart.”
He coughed out a soft laugh and clamped his jaw shut against the pain his laughter had caused. “Apology accepted,” he managed with a wry grin.
Gently turning him so she could look at his back, she frowned at the smooth expanse of bronze skin. “There’s no exit wound, so the bullet’s still in there.”
“Can’t have all the luck.” He hissed in pain when she helped him sit back again.
“What’s your name?”
“Gabe.” He ground the single syllable out through clenched teeth, brown eyes swimming with unshed tears.
“I’m Ellie, but I guess you know that.” When she applied pressure to his wound, he arched his back. She gave him a reassuring smile. “You’re going to be fine.”
He nodded as
