Born to Die - Lisa Jackson [184]
Shake it off, she told herself and after leaving a protesting Eli with Tilly and Ed, made her way to the Recovery Room as she was a doctor on staff. Alvarez and Pescoli were right behind her, but hung back to give her a second’s privacy when she headed to the bed where Trace lay.
He was just coming around and woozy, his leg bandaged, his hospital gown askew. His leg had been saved, the femoral artery nicked but repaired. He moaned, his head dark against the white sheets. He blinked slowly awake.
“Hey, there,” she said, leaning over his bed as the Recovery Room nurse stepped away to allow them some privacy.
With obvious effort, he tried to focus.
“It’s me.” She took his hand and her heart squeezed at the sight of him, his hair rumpled on the pillow, his jaw dark with beard shadow. God, she loved him and for a few harrowing minutes she’d thought she’d lost him forever. “Trace?”
One side of his mouth lifted in a dopey grin, but his eyes were far from clear. “Kacey?” he said, his voice rough.
“Yeah, it’s me.” Her throat nearly closed as his grip tightened over hers.
“Eli?” he whispered.
“He’s fine.” Tears burned the back of her eyes. “And he’s here, waiting to see you. He’s with the Zukovs, just down the hall.”
He seemed relieved, then goofy again. “Oh. Tilly. Ed.”
“Yes.” She knew he wouldn’t remember much about waking up, maybe nothing, but she couldn’t help herself from squeezing his hand. “Trace, I need to tell you something,” she said.
“Hmmmm . . .” He was drifting again.
“First of all, Leanna turned out to be okay. More than okay. I think she saved your life.” He didn’t respond. Probably hadn’t heard. “And there’s something else,” she admitted, leaning close over the bed. “I love you.” She smiled, though she felt warm tears slide down her face. “It’s crazy and I know it, but damn it, I love you.”
“I know . . .” His voice was far away. “You’re gonna marry me.”
He was still out of it; didn’t know what he was saying, but it filled her heart with joy. “We . . . we’ll talk about it when you’re better . . .”
His eyes opened suddenly and in that split second his gaze was clear. “I am better,” he said, and reached up quickly, his fingers sliding around her nape, as he lifted his head from the pillow and pulled her close so that their noses were nearly touching. “And you’re gonna marry me, Dr. Lambert.”
Before she could say a word, he pressed his lips to hers in a kiss that was as crushing as it was desperate. “No arguments,” he said when he finally released her and fell back on the sheets, spent, his eyes closing again.
“Faker,” she accused.
He didn’t respond.
She felt a smile tug on her swollen lips and she didn’t say it, but thought. I am going to marry you, Trace O’Halleran. Count on it.
Epilogue
“ Come on, come on ... we’re going to go caroling!”
Joelle, wearing ridiculous, red felt reindeer antlers was herding everyone into the lobby.
Pescoli looked up from her desk where she was studying the death certificates and newspaper reports on the two sisters of Cameron Johnson who had died young . . . in accidents. “I am not caroling! I’ve got work to do.”
“Oh, don’t be a Scrooge!” Joelle admonished before clipping off in her clear high heels that looked like something Barbie would wear . . . well, and Michelle. Yeah, Lucky’s young wife would love those heels.
It was only a week until Christmas and Joelle was really ramped up for the holiday. Christmas music and cookies and garlands and even the spinning tree with its fake presents stacked beneath it. What more could one woman do to a government office?
Not that Pescoli paid