A distraught-looking Samson paced the floors, muttering to himself.
“What happened?” Chase managed to ask, though his mouth had grown dry as cotton.
“What does it look like, genius?” Samson aimed a scowl Chase’s way. “We don’t need you here.”
“That’s a point I’m not going to debate now. What happened? Besides the obvious, I mean,” he asked again, impatience in his tone and anger in his blood. Anger at himself and at fate for taking advantage of his own stupidity for leaving Sloane alone.
Samson ran a weary hand over his eyes, and for the first time, Chase felt sorry for the man who was obviously suffering as much as he.
“I came to find my daughter,” Samson said. “She’d been here awhile, but whoever shot at me didn’t know that because they’d probably been following only me.”
Chase swept a strand of hair out of Sloane’s face, concerned when she didn’t flinch.
Without turning to look at Samson again, he asked, “Is this a guess, or do you know for a fact you were followed?”
“I know.” The old man turned a deep crimson shade. “Someone’s been after me, hanging around, watching my movements.”
Chase gritted his teeth, fear consuming him as he looked once more at Sloane’s pale face and cataloged her lack of response to anything, including him squeezing her hand or whispering in her ear. “Any reason you didn’t report this to the police? Or at the very least tell Rick earlier today?” Chase raised an eyebrow in question.
“I don’t trust nobody. I thought I covered my tracks coming here. You didn’t know I’d gone. Least not right away.” Samson raised his chin in a gesture of defiance that didn’t fool Chase.
Not when his eyes were damp and his mouth trembled when not arguing his point. The man was near to a breakdown with guilt and concern, and though Chase wanted to lace into him, Chase agreed he bore much of the same blame.
They’d both failed Sloane. “Listen, man. Maybe it’s time you start trusting, before she suffers even more.”
Samson snorted, his sarcasm obvious. “As if you’re an expert.”
Blessedly, ambulance sirens sounded in the distance, growing closer and preventing the argument from escalating. It wouldn’t do Sloane any good, and if Rick caught the shooter, not much else mattered, Chase thought.
Except Sloane, the woman he loved. And the one he might lose, if she lost any more blood. He ran a shaking hand down her cheek, trying not to look at the patch of red seeping through the old jacket. It looked like so much blood. And she was still unconscious, he thought, fear lodging in his throat. The overwhelming panic hadn’t left him since he’d realized Sloane was with Samson, and had only magnified with each passing minute.
Because he’d left her alone, putting her in harm’s way, he might not have the chance to tell her that he was sorry. That he really did love her. That he didn’t want to lose her.
Yet, what did that mean for the future he’d envisioned? The one without family or responsibilities. He shook his head, his own desires mocking him, as his mother provided enough responsibility and would continue to, even if she married Eric. Old habits died hard. He’d never be completely free of his responsibilities.
Nor, he was coming to realize, did he want to be. The one thing he didn’t want was to end up old and alone. And if Sloane died, that’s exactly where he would be.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Ashoulder wound. The bullet had passed clean through, or at least that’s what Chase thought he heard an emergency-room doctor say. Needing confirmation, he walked over to a fresh-out-of-med-school-looking guy and tapped him on the shoulder. “Excuse me. I need to see Sloane Carlisle.”
“She’s with the doctor,” he said without glancing up.
But that doctor wasn’t Eric, Chase thought, because he hadn’t arrived yet. “How is she?
Last time I saw her, she was unconscious and there was too much blood.” He involuntarily trembled at the memory.
“Are you family?” the guy in green scrubs asked, barely glancing up from his chart.
“Because I can release patient details only to family.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m family,” Chase muttered, the lie slipping too easily off his tongue.
In reality, he had no claim on Sloane other than a sudden overwhelming desire to possess her as his own, and to never let go.
“You’re her . . . brother?” the young resident asked, hazarding a guess as he finally looked up.
Stupidly, Chase shook his head no because he wanted to say he was her husband. He couldn’t. There were too many people in this hospital who knew him, knew his background, knew how proudly he’d always touted his bachelor status. Especially once he’d become the last remaining single Chandler man.
The resident met Chase’s gaze, compassion filling his eyes. “Okay, buddy, you want to get in to see your girlfriend. I get it. But not until she’s conscious and can okay your visit.” He patted Chase’s shoulder in what must be his best practiced bedside manner.
“I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.” Chase turned away, pissed at the other man but mostly pissed at himself.
As a journalist, he’d often fudged his status to get closer to a story, admittedly not possible that often in a town that knew everyone’s business. But he’d had no compunction doing it when he could. Yet with Sloane lying in the other room, her status unknown, he could barely think enough to hold himself together and get in to see her.
Some hotshot reporter he turned out to be, unable to get near the most important person in his life.
His heart was pounding double time and adrenaline raced through his veins, making him forget common sense and reason. Which cemented his feelings. As if he’d had any doubt.
He didn’t. Not anymore. He had no doubt about how he felt and what he wanted—
Sloane, in his life forever. But he’d start with seeing her open those gorgeous eyes.
Glancing at the clock, he realized only ten minutes had passed since he’d followed the ambulance to the hospital, feeling useless and more frightened than he ever remembered being. Including when he’d been eighteen and his father had passed away, leaving him as the man of the house and completely unprepared for all that status had entailed.
Chase groaned. Ten minutes wasn’t nearly enough time for the doctors to really patch up Sloane. It wasn’t enough time for Rick to drag the suspect’s sorry ass down to the station and see to it he was processed correctly. But Rick had in fact captured the man, gun in hand, tackling him on the neighbor’s property before he could make it to his truck, which he’d left on the corner. At least Chase could trust his brother to take care of police business.