“But it’s…it’s her. Can’t you see?” He couldn’t help asking that stupid question! “I can’t just leave my sister here, Jameson. Not like this.” He couldn’t think straight. God, his mom! This would kill her. How could he face her, tell her that Trish had been attacked and nearly killed? That she might still die? It’d been hard enough that she’d disappeared like she had, that she’d ever thought hooking was smart or sexy or worth the cash she made from selling her body. Her soul!
“I’m not going anywhere, Tripp,” Jameson said as firmly as ever. “I might not be your flesh-and-blood brother, but I’ve got you.”
He needed to shut the fuck up! “You’ve got nothing,” Tripp roared, pissed that this guy kept saying his name like he knew anything about him or his sister. Like they were friends. They weren’t! “You can’t even see her! What do you know?!”
“I know death is a cheating, motherfuckin’ bitch with no heart,” Jameson murmured, his voice so low Tripp had to shut up to hear him. “It doesn’t ask permission, and it doesn’t care who it takes or how. It just takes and takes and—”
Tripp whirled on his knee, cocked his fist back, ready to knock the shit out of Jameson’s sanctimonious big mouth. And he would have. Could have easily pounded the blind guy, who’d just hit the nail in his heart on its gawddamned head, until—Tripp caught the sparkle welling behind the bottom rim of Jameson’s dark glasses.
Tripp’s bluff and bluster evaporated into the cold, thin air. Shit. This awful scene had impacted more than just him. It was killing Jameson, too. For the first time since he’d hired on with The TEAM, Tripp liked the mild-mannered guy. Lowering his fist, Tripp leaned back on his butt, and sucked in a deep breath. Swallowed. Looked at the bloodied body of the once-upon-a-time innocent little girl he might never get to argue with, tease, hug, or worry about again.
Gawddamn her. Why couldn’t Trish have made different choices?
Watching the medics work on her was hard on his heart. They’d stuck two IVs into each arm, one saline solution, the other blood. Which meant the trauma to her throat was so critical that a local doctor was on duty, right here, working alongside the EMTs to save her life, maybe prepping her to be life-flighted to the nearest trauma ward. Most EMTs didn’t stock blood. It was too hard to store and had a short shelf life. But the guys and gals that flew Air Med did. They were affiliated with specific hospitals and saw more trauma. The truth hit Tripp like a knock-out punch. Trish might not make it this time.
God, he needed a miracle.
He wiped away the bitter tears he hadn’t realized were dripping down his cheeks and off his chin. Looking closer, it registered how profound Jameson’s grief was. His cheeks were wet, and that made Tripp think of his poor mom. Andy had a soft heart. But mostly, Tripp wished it was him lying on the grass instead of Trish. Because that was how Andy would take this death. She’d be losing her baby girl, and somehow, Tripp thought that would hurt his mom worse than her losing him. He’d been a warrior. She’d been prepared to lose him. But Trish? God, Andy had spent nearly all these past years trying to save Trish.
“Come on,” Jameson urged gently, his arm now crooked around Tripp’s neck, his elbow under Tripp’s chin. Not strangling or squeezing, just blocking him from moving further into the horrific scene and taking over. Just holding him back. Like the brother Tripp never had. Like the father he’d never known. Funny how little things, like why his dad had died young, mattered when the world fell apart.
“The last thing I told her was I was working, I was busy. I didn’t have time for her,” he confessed through blurry eyes. Somehow, knowing Jameson couldn’t see his meltdown helped. He’d said that years ago. Hadn’t heard a word from Trish since the day Ikram was murdered. What a fucked-up world, that murder and blood connected people, families, and days like it did.
“She knows you love her,” Jameson whispered. “Focus on that. Think of the good times you two had together. That’s what’ll get you through the next couple days.”
Tucker Chase was crouched beside them by then, his fingertips stuck into the ground for balance, the other hand flat against Tripp’s sweaty shoulder. “Your sister?” he asked kindly.
“Yeah,” Tripp choked. His heart pounded so hard, he could barely cough the word out. “Trish McClane. My twin. She took off from Mom’s house a week ago. Maybe just five days. Mom and me looked everywhere for her. Talked to everyone who might’ve seen her, who might’ve known her. I’d just come back from Seattle and…” Tripp bowed his head at the tragedy in his life and let his tears fall. He had no pride. “My poor damned mom.”
“I’ll go with you to tell her.” The gentleness in Jameson’s voice was heartbreaking.
Tripp stared at the dew-laden carpet of green that stretched from beneath his knees all the way to the blood bath beneath Trish, wishing miracles were real. That she’d flip him the bird with that reptilian ringed finger. That she’d wake up cursing, calling him profane names, telling him to fuck-off, to mind his business. That she’d—
God, that she’d just keep breathing.
Out of nowhere, Alex Stewart was there kneeling with him. Jameson, Tucker, Mark and Beau were standing over him. Connor stood nearby with his wife Izza, both TEAM agents. Some other guys and gals Tripp didn’t yet know were there too, but he could tell they were former military. He was surrounded by a wall of warriors, not able to see his twin when the EMTs transferred Trish to their gurney. Nor
