When she made a sound of distress, he opened his eyes. He lifted his free hand. "Sorry…"
She rushed over to him, holding his hand in both of hers. "Don't talk."
"…let Gary…down…promised…"
"No," she said softly, tears blurring her eyes. "You didn't. He understands."
The emergency room doctor who had sewn her up came around to move her out of the way. "That's all—we've got to get him into surgery. Now."
But Chuck gripped her arm hard, his expression fierce under the pain. "Get…away from…here."
She leaned closer. "Where's Gary, Chuck? I have to talk to him."
"No…" He shook his head back and forth, agitated.
The doctor placed a firm hand on her shoulder and pulled her away. "I said, that's all."
Chuck whispered something, then started mumbling.
"Wait," Kaz said urgently, then bent down, putting her ear next to his mouth. "Say it again, Chuck."
"…boats…" he whispered, then lapsed into unconsciousness.
#
"Shut up. Just…shut up and let me take care of you for a little while." Michael eased Kaz into the passenger side of his car.
He'd almost lost her. It had been so close. From the back seat, Zeke licked the side of her face, whining, and she raised a hand to pet him. Michael leaned across her to fasten her seat belt. "For once, quit trying to handle everything yourself."
"We have to go to Bjorn's," she said.
"No, we don't. We're going back to your house, where we've got a police presence, and you're going to let me put you to bed. You have a head injury, and I can tell you're hurting…" He stopped and shook his head.
She laid a hand over his on the seat belt fastener. "Twenty-four hours," she said quietly. "That's all I've got."
He was so close he could see every small scrape and abrasion the bastard had put on her. Unable to respond without snapping, he straightened, slammed the car door, and walked around to the driver's side. If the guy had simply hit her a little harder…been a little rougher…
"Why Bjorn's?" he asked as he got in.
"I think he might know where Gary is."
"If I take you there, then will you come home with me?"
"After we talk to Gary," she insisted.
He wanted to rage at her for taking so many chances. But the blame lay squarely with him—he hadn't been there when she'd needed him.
But he couldn't think about that now—that was exactly what the killer wanted him to do. He wanted Michael to act irrationally and emotionally. To panic, so he lost his edge, so he'd miss something. Starting the car, he put it into gear. "How do I get to Bjorn's?" he asked more calmly.
She gave him the directions, and five minutes later, they were parked in front of Bjorn's house. She climbed stiffly from the car on her own—that damned independence again. She seemed grateful, though, when he put his arm around her to help her up the walkway.
She moved slowly, almost shuffling her feet. She had to be hurting bad. Although they'd filled a prescription for pain medication at the hospital pharmacy, she'd refused to take it, worried, she'd said, that it would keep her from thinking clearly. He'd let her get away with acting tough for another hour or two, but eventually she'd take the pills, even if he had to grind them up in her food.
Bjorn answered the door on the first ring of the doorbell—he'd probably seen them drive up. He took in her injuries and bruises. "What happened?"
"I was attacked," Kaz said. "Chuck's in the hospital—we don't know if he'll pull through."
Bjorn slumped against the doorjamb. "I can't do this anymore." He ran a hand through is hair, then seemed to remember his manners and held open the door, showing them into a large living room cluttered with comfortable chairs and children's toys.
Michael gently eased Kaz into the nearest chair but remained standing. "If you know something," he told Bjorn, "now's the time to tell us."
"You know where Gary is, who's hiding him, don't you?" Kaz asked.
"How do I know you won't arrest him?" Bjorn asked Michael. "He isn't part of this, you know."
Before he could speak, Kaz said, "You can trust Michael." It was the first time, despite all they'd been through, that she'd given him any concrete indication that she believed in him.
Bjorn kept his gaze on Michael. "Gary doesn't want her involved."
"She's already at risk," Michael said. "Her attacker gave her one day, then he's coming back."
Bjorn looked from one to the other of them, squared his shoulders. "Gary's been staying on the boats—mine, Jacobsen's—moving a couple of times a night, then hiding out in the abandoned warehouses on the days we're out on the water."
"Where is he right now? Which boat?" Michael asked.
"Jacobsen's 70-foot trawler, the Alliance."
"Thank you," Kaz said softly, getting up to walk over and give him a brief hug.
He gently hugged her back, his eyes sad. "I hope I've done the right thing. You'll be careful?" With the last question, he looked to Michael for confirmation.
Michael nodded. "I'll take care of her. She's not getting out of my sight until this is finished, not again." He'd handcuff her to her bed if he had to. Her days of risk-taking were over.
Bjorn saw his determination, heard the emotion in his voice, and frowned. "That thing back in Boston—you let that guy die in that fire?"
Michael raised an eyebrow, but shook his head. "No, but I'll never be able to prove it."
Bjorn studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Just handle this honorably, that's all we ask."
"You have my word."
#
They drove straight to the mooring basin, but the Alliance was locked up tight, its portholes dark. When they spied two search teams a couple of blocks down, Michael noted the sick look on Kaz's face.
They spent another forty-five minutes searching other trawlers in the vicinity, as well as the closest warehouses, but there was no sign of Gary. If he was nearby, he wouldn't reveal his hiding place, not with the cops so near. Seeming to give up, Kaz allowed Michael to drive her back to the house.
Zeke trailed them into the kitchen, hovering close to Kaz. Michael made her sit in one of the kitchen chairs while he rummaged around in her cupboards, finally coming up with a can of chicken noodle soup. Standing at the stove, he kept an eye on her while he stirred the soup. When she got up to help, he exploded. "For God's sake, just let me do it!"
"It wasn't your fault."
"I should've been here—I shouldn't have let you come back here alone. My gut was screaming at me, and I didn't listen to it." He set the saucepan aside and came over to her, kneeling down to put his arms gently around her. "I can't stand that you've been hurt, that you won't let me handle things for you."
She rested her head on his shoulder. "I'd like nothing better than to check out, but there's no time."
His arms tightened for a minute. "At least let me feed you."
He felt her smile against his shoulder. "Your specialty."
"Yeah."
He served the soup and they ate in silence for a few minutes.
"I should've been paying more attention," she said between spoonfuls. "He must've come in while I was on the phone to the hospital in Portland."
He gave her a curious look and she related what she'd discovered. "So Ken was using the drug money to pay for Bobby's treatments," she concluded. "And I think Gary may have made the anonymous payment." She looked frustrated. "I have to get to Gary, but I can't figure out how."