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Gus didn’t budge, his blue eyes pinned on his nephew. With just a thirteen-year age difference between them, Gus was in some ways like an older brother to Nate, in other ways like a father. “I turned on CNN before the marshals called, and I knew it was you. I’m telling you. I just knew.”
“I’m sorry, Gus. It’s my job—”
“It’s not your job to get shot by some asshole in Central Park.”
Antonia groaned. “Gus! Now’s not the time.” She shifted her attention to her older brother. “You’ll do what your doctors say, won’t you? And don’t be stingy with the pain medication. Take what you need.”
“Got it.”
She wasn’t convinced. “You do not. You’re itching to get out of this bed and go find who shot you.”
“And you wouldn’t be?”
She didn’t answer. No one did, because his uncle, his sisters and the men they’d married were all cut from the same cloth when it came to waiting patiently for others to do what they wanted to do themselves. They simply didn’t.
Nate felt bad about what they’d been through today. He knew what it was like—he remembered how he’d reacted when he learned about the close calls his sisters and brothers-in-law had had last fall. “Where are you guys staying tonight?”
No one wanted to answer that one, either, but finally Ty did. “Your place. Hank and I are heading out tonight, but your uncle and sisters are staying. Gus took a lasagna out of the freezer and brought it down.”
The thought of Gus’s rich, uncompromising lasagna made Nate nauseous. Spending the night in the hospital suddenly didn’t look so bad. Armed guards and medical types hovering over him—or his family.
When his nurse entered the room, his entourage retreated, but Nate could hear them out in the hall. If his bandaged arm hadn’t forced the reality of his situation to sink in, their presence did.
He’d been shot.
He’d damn near been killed.
And Rob Dunnemore—it could go either way with him.
After the nurse left, Nate tried to get the deputy at his door to find who he needed to see about checking himself out.
No dice.
He’d just have to wait.
Four
Juliet Longstreet made herself dump the last of her latte in the water fountain next to the elevator that had dropped her off on Rob and Nate’s floor. It was her seventh latte of the day, and she had acid burning up her throat. Not a good sign.
She ran the water to clean the drain but didn’t take a sip. She didn’t like drinking out of hospital water fountains.
She didn’t like anything about this whole damn day.
The chief deputy had turned the care and feeding of Rob Dunnemore’s sister over to her, probably because they were both female and blond. Any comparison ended there. Sarah Dunnemore was just about the prettiest woman Juliet had ever actually met in person. Long honey-colored hair streaked with pale blond highlights, gray eyes, slim build, elegant even in her jeans and dark gray silk twin set. She wore two delicate little rings on her fingers. Juliet still had Band-Aid scum on her thumb after jamming it in the weight room. She was a lot taller. And her hair. Nobody could do a thing with it. A friend had dragged her to a trendy New York salon, and she’d learned about hair wax and identified every one of her cowlicks—she’d spent a fortune and looked good for about three days.
Christ.
Rob was in there dying, and she was thinking about her hair.
“Dr. Dunnemore?” Faking a calm professionalism, Juliet pretended her throat wasn’t burning and motioned toward the waiting room recently vacated by the Winter family. “Let’s go in there. It’ll be quiet.”
It seemed to take a few seconds for her words to sink it, but Sarah Dunnemore nodded and mumbled something about calling her by her first name, then walked into the little room. Juliet had already kicked out any loitering law enforcement types. All the armed marshals in the halls were enough to agitate her, never mind a Ph.D. who’d just learned her twin brother had been seriously wounded in a sniper attack. A New York hospital on a good day was hard to take. This was not a good day.
Juliet had no idea what to say. None.
“Can I get you anything?” she asked finally.
Sarah shook her head. “When can I talk to Rob’s doctor?”
“Soon. Your brother’s just out of surgery.”
The gray eyes were steady, but Juliet could see the fear in them and realized that Sarah couldn’t speak.
“He’s holding his own,” Juliet said, guessing Sarah’s question. “I understand that the next twenty-four hours are critical.”
Sarah took a moment to digest Juliet’s words, then breathed in through her nose and nodded. “What about the deputy who was with him? Nate Winter. How is he?”
“He’s fine. Someone forgot to chain him to his bed, so he got out of here about an hour ago.” It was seven now. Juliet had returned his weapon to him and, like everyone else, futilely told him to go home and take it easy. “The bullet that hit him just grazed his upper arm. He was never in surgery.”
“That’s good,” Sarah said absently. She remained on her feet—she was wearing sandals that would not be adequate for the miserable weather New York was having. “I don’t know much about guns. Shots like that—would they be difficult shots? Do you think the shooter meant to kill my brother and Deputy Winter outright?”
“No answers yet. FBI’s investigating.”
“There must be witnesses. Central Park at midday—someone must have seen something. Are there places for a shooter to hide? How would he escape? If the police arrived quickly—”
“Look, have a seat.” The chief deputy had warned Juliet to try to keep Rob’s sister from dwelling on, dissecting, the shooting. It wasn’t good for her. It wasn’t good for any of them. “At least let me get you a cup of coffee.”
“I don’t drink coffee, but thank you. I’m okay. I just want to see my brother.”
“I know, but it might not be tonight.” He was in intensive care, on a respirator. Juliet didn’t want to be the one to tell Sarah Dunnemore that. “Let’s just wait and you can talk to his doctor.”
Sarah nodded, saying nothing, and lowered her head, fiddling with one of her rings, as if to keep Juliet from seeing that she was on the verge of tears.
Hell. Juliet took in a steadying breath. Now her stomach was burning. She had no idea what to say to this woman. “Where are you staying?”
“I could stay at Rob’s. I haven’t visited since he was assigned up here, but I could—I’m sure I could get the key.”
“That’s not a good idea, not tonight. FBI could be going through his place for all I know, but you shouldn’t stay there on your own. Forget about it, okay? Trust me. You can stay at my place if you don’t mind my fish and plants, or I can book you into a hotel.”
“That’s very nice of you, Deputy—Longstreet, right?”
“Juliet’ll do.”
“Juliet. That’s a pretty name.”
“Yeah.” She smiled. “I used to think I should change it to something meaner sounding.”
Sarah raised her eyes. “You and Rob…” But she trailed off, not finishing.
Juliet understood what she was trying to say. “We used to see each other.”