Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
My phone rang again, and it was a number I didn’t recognize.
“Hello?”
“Jory.” Ian coughed and then cleared his throat. “I need to tell you something.”
“Okay.”
“I debated because I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”
“I don’t understand.”
“So, my boss said to tell you that he loved you, but then he said, ‘Never mind, he knows.’ But I said, ‘It might be nice for me to tell him you were thinking of him,’ and he gave me that look, you know the one, it makes you feel like a dumbass? And he said you know that already.”
I smiled, and the tears started again.
“But I said, ‘I’m gonna tell him,’ and he said, ‘Fine, but it doesn’t mean an end or goodbye,’ so yeah, that’s what he said.”
“Thank you.”
“Just…it doesn’t mean the end, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I agreed.
“Okay.” He hung up.
It was long. Not the longest four hours of my life, but it was close.
For Chicago, forty-five wasn’t cold, but I was a freeze bug, always had been, and so without a sweater, in only jeans, socks, and a T-shirt, I was shivering by the time the phone rang at a quarter past seven.
“Jory,” Chris Becker said, and I nearly threw up with how flat his voice sounded. “The hostage situation is over. Sam subdued Osborne and made the others surrender before Wes breached, which made for a quick and nonviolent resolution.”
“Sure,” I agreed woodenly.
“He’s been airlifted to Northwestern Memorial Hospital, and the attending there, Dr. Dorothy Chen, has been sent all your information, so she will update you on his condition, as will I, as I’m on my way there now. So you know, Ian and Miro are there now as well, waiting on him to arrive.”
“Is Ian all right? I forgot to ask him when he called.”
“Ian was only grazed, so yes, he’ll be fine.”
I was sure Miro had the same initial heart attack I did. “Can I just head over to the hospital now?”
“You can. I can have Eli escort you, but you’ll be sitting in the car until Sam’s in a room, because of Covid.”
“That’s fine. I’ll do that.”
“Okay, get ready. I’ll let Eli know.”
In theory, from my house in Oak Park to Northwestern Memorial Hospital, it should have taken about half an hour, but this was Chicago, on Saturday night, so there was traffic as usual. I was surprised Eli didn’t try and make conversation, which I really appreciated. He was on his phone as he sat beside me in the back seat, mask off, texting and talking, the conversations all about Sam. I suspected the texting concerned him as well.
“I’m fully vaccinated,” he assured me out of the blue, and I turned to look at him. “Your husband made sure we all were as soon as we could be.”
I knew that; Sam told me. Everyone in his building, from him on down to the marshals in the courtrooms, got vaccinated. He was protecting the public, and he took that very seriously.
“Thank you for letting me know.” I was masked, but I appreciated the confirmation. “I’ve only had one dose so far.”
He nodded.
My door was opened, and Ian was there, forcing a smile for me as Eli got out and went around the SUV to see Miro, who was standing a bit behind Ian.
“Are you okay?” I asked him, not sure what arm he’d been shot in, neither visible under the peacoat he had on. It was a strange color blue. Not ugly, just odd. It seemed more a Miro jacket than an Ian one, though I really didn’t know them well enough to make that call.
“I’m fine,” he assured me quickly, so similar to Sam that I felt a twinge in my heart. “The helicopter landed about fifteen minutes ago. He passed out when they rolled him out of Elgin, but that doesn’t mean anything. We’re gonna stay with you and––”
“Don’t do that,” I stated implacably. “Sam wouldn’t want that. Eli’s here. He’ll wait with me, and Chris Becker is here somewhere as well. You were shot. You need to go home and rest, and as soon as we know something, we’ll let you know.”
I glanced behind him at Miro, and watched him exhale. His gaze told me how thankful he was for my words.
“Please,” I insisted.
Ian gave me a head tip, and when he stepped back, Chris Becker was suddenly there, walking up beside the SUV.
“He’s awake, and he’s giving directions to the ER doctor,” he reported with a grimace.
A beat of time passed.
“I’m sorry, what?” Ian asked, rounding on him, sounding as though he couldn’t believe the words that had just come out of Chris Becker’s mouth.
“All I heard before they closed the doors on me was him telling his doctor that he was sure the bullet was lodged in the back of his vest after it went through him, but maybe they should give him an X-ray or something to make sure he was okay inside.”