Waiting

Cole waited restlessly at the old church, the newest safehouse for the contester sect. Lucy had sent word that Cara had made it through a bullet removal surgery and would be smuggled out of the hospital today. There were so many things that could go wrong between there and the church. If she didn’t make it, he didn’t know what he would do.

He needed to see her, needed to see that she was OK. But more than that, he needed to touch her and feel that she was real and alive.

Watching Champion take Cara away, Cole had worried that she wouldn’t even make it to the hospital. He’d been absolutely covered in her blood. There was so much – on his arms and hands, soaked into his shirt, crawling up his neck and face from where he had pressed her against him. It seemed impossible that she could survive that much blood loss.

Mannon had met him at the new safehouse and had to literally pull the clothes off of Cole to get him clean. Even with his clothes off, the volume of blood on his body was startling. He’d both wanted the blood off of him and couldn’t stand to watch it wash down the drain. It was like watching Cara’s life force be washed away.

Mannon had left late in the evening, and Cole had spent a restless night thinking the worst and replaying the scene in his head. He didn’t know she was there until she’d collided with him.

Major Bannor had Cole locked in sights. He had no intention of capturing Cole alive. Champion Bannor had gotten the order and instead of sending a team or an operative, he’d chased Cole down himself intent on killing him. Cole had been worried that Major Bannor’s hatred for him would harm Cara. He’d been dismissing the concern, thinking that the major would never hurt his sister. He hadn’t considered the risk to Cara as collateral damage.

Cole heard a crunching sound, wheels on the gravel driveway up to the shed. He moved over to the window, and saw that Mannon was back in the work van. Cole’s breath hitched, and his stomach dropped when Mannon came to the door alone. Where was Cara?

He rushed over to the door, reaching it just as Mannon did.

“What happened?” he pleaded. “Where is Cara?”

“She’s OK. She’s asleep in the back of the van,” he assures. “I think it would be best if you get her, she’ll want to see you more than me.”

Cole wasn’t sure. Over the night alone, he’d talked himself into a notion that Cara would be better off without him around. She’d been shot on his behalf, would she be angry? Which spiraled into Cara not wanting him at all. Would she blame him? Would she want to protect herself and get some distance from him?

But the memory of her eyes looking at him, her fingertips brushing against his face even while she was bleeding in his arms. She had wanted him in that moment, of all moments.

Oh, how desperately he wanted to see her eyes again. He thought he might never see them again.

Cole followed Mannon back out to the van. He climbed into the van and found Cara sleeping fitfully on the floor. He ran his thumb gently over her forehead and down her cheek to see if she would open her eyes. She stirred, but didn’t wake up.

“Why won’t she wake up?” he asked Mannon.

“I got her to take a couple of pain pills before we started driving. They probably knocked her out.”

Cole never took his eyes off her face. He stared at her – she was there, breathing, alive.

“Can you pick her up?” Mannon asked.

“Yes, but can you help me get her out?”

The two men, being careful of her slinged arm, maneuvered her to the edge of the van. Cole gathered her up and clutching her to him, brought her inside.

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