Heart in Wire: A by a Thread Companion Novel (15 page)

“Not a good start,” George retorted with a smirk.

“There was an incident in Montana, at the field office.” Patrick looked down at his hands, unable to look at George. He was hoping that George just talked to El.

“What do you mean, ‘an incident’?” George asked, his face going white.

Patrick’s hopes deflated like a 10-day-old balloon. “Well, there was an explosion,” Patrick began.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” George yelled at him from behind the bar, confusion all over his face.

Patrick assessed their surroundings. “Is there somewhere we can go and you can sit down?”

George shook his head and looked around, as if he’d forgotten they were having this conversation in public. “Okay,” he said, his voice detached.
He walked toward the office and motioned for Patrick to follow him. “I’ll be right back, Hazel.”

George sat down behind the small desk and Patrick practically fell into the seat across from him.

“The field office where El was working was bombed,” he said softly. “There’ve been reports of casualties and injuries, but no names yet.”

George’s eyes were looking at Patrick, but he couldn’t tell if George understood what he’d just said.

“Wait...” George ran his hands through his hair. “I honestly can’t even understand what you’re trying to tell me right now. So you’re telling me that El is either hurt or dead?” George turned from side to side in his office chair.

Patrick nodded once. “She may be okay, but I haven’t heard from her and I’ve texted her seven times. Have you heard from her today?” he asked, hoping George would tell him she was fine.

A look of relief washed over George. “Yes. She texted me this morning at...” George pulled out his phone and looked at the time, “at 9:00 am.”

Patrick’s relief dissipated. “That’s 7:00 am in Montana. The attack happened around 10:00 our time. Text her and see if she responds.”

George was still, his face drained of any color. Patrick blew out a breath.

“Look, George, I wouldn’t have come here, but I knew if anyone had heard from her, it would be you. I’m trying not to jump to conclusions, but...”

George texted, slamming his shaking finger down on the SEND button. They stared at the phone. Patrick willed it to make some sort of noise, any noise, to convince himself that she was alive.

Nothing.

“Shit,” Patrick muttered and got up. He felt pin pricks of heat travel up and down his body. “George, please let me know if you hear from her and I’ll keep you updated from my end.”

Patrick made sure he had George’s number and looked at him levelly, meeting the other man’s scared eyes, the eyes that today mirrored his own. Neither one wanted to say what they were really thinking, that they may have both lost her. “Please.” Patrick’s voice cracked.

George nodded and Patrick left his office. He walked through the bar in a haze and out to his car. He called Billy, but he’d been watching the news. They still weren’t releasing any names. He made the hardest call he’d ever made and called Frank.

“P, what’s up man?” Frank answered cheerfully. It was mid-morning so unless you were on the internet, you wouldn’t know that there’d been an incident in Montana.

“Frank.” He couldn’t talk. He couldn’t breathe.

“Patrick?” Frank’s voice was clipped. “Is it Stella? Is she okay?”

“No,” Patrick forced himself to say.

“No?”

“Turn on the news or pull it up on your computer, Frank. There was a terrorist attack at the FBI field office in Montana.”

Silence.

“Frank, no one has heard from her. We don’t know anything.”

“What the fuck do you mean, you don’t know anything?!” Frank yelled into the phone. “How the fuck am I supposed to tell her mother that you called and Stella was in a bombing and we don’t know anything?!”

“Frank,” Patrick kept his voice calm as he could while addressing the father figure in his life, “I wanted you to know as soon as possible. I’m hoping to hear something soon. I plan on heading there as soon as possible.”

“Is this even real?” Frank asked rhetorically.

Patrick took a deep breath; he couldn’t even believe this was happening himself.

“Patrick?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I love you,” Frank said, his voice cracking with emotion. “Please call me with anything you know. I’m headed home to tell Miranda now.”

“I love you too, Frank.” Patrick disconnected.

Difficult memories filled his sleep. He willed them to stop. These were memories he’d worked to forget, to place somewhere in a box next to the memories of his brother being shot and his dad leaving. Images and thoughts that made him so desperate and full of despair that he refused to acknowledge he had them. He’d been able to keep the emotions and need for El from bubbling to the surface when she lived with him and she was seeing George. Millie filled the void in his bed, but couldn’t stop the ache in his heart. He’d denied that ache, ignored it and wished it would go away, but it remained, lingering. When she was shot, hating him, everything changed. The wall he’d carefully constructed around his heart fell from the blast that was the realization she may never be coming home. He remembered feeling utterly helpless and shattered by that simple fact. He remembered thinking she might be dead because he stopped feeling her that day.

He realized he couldn’t breathe without her.

Kevin texted Patrick about an hour after he left Finnegan’s. El was alive…for now… barely. She was in surgery in Montana. Billy and Millie had both come home so they all could be together.

Patrick looked up from his phone. He didn’t know how to tell them the news. He didn’t want to allow himself too much hope. Kevin certainly didn’t give him too much hope with his text.

He cleared his throat. “So El’s in surgery.”

Millie gasped and started sobbing. “She’s alive,” she choked out.

Billy nodded without a word.

“Kevin’s text says she’s alive, for now,” Patrick confirmed.

“Fuck,” Billy said, shaking his head.

“I’m going out there.” Patrick pulled up the internet and got a flight out to Montana later that night. “Millie, do you want to go?”

“I...I don’t know,” she answered honestly.

Patrick and Billy both looked at her in confusion.

“She may die.” Millie began crying again.

Patrick moved from his seat to where she was sitting on the couch. “She’s tough, Mil.”

“I know,” she choked out, massive tears falling from her fearful eyes. “But, this is…” She never finished, her sobs took over and she couldn’t speak.

Billy silently got up and went to his room.

Patrick wrapped his arms around her and smoothed her hair back. “I leave in a few hours. I’ll tell her you love her, okay?” He kissed her forehead as he got up and headed into their room to start packing an overnight bag.

He pulled out his phone and texted George and Frank, then sat down on his bed and put his head in his hands. Millie closed the door behind her and wrapped her arms around him. His face pressed into her stomach, but he refused to cry. They stayed that way for what seemed like hours.

Patrick’s steps echoed through the hospital as he made his way to El’s room. He didn’t even remember the flight. Patrick couldn’t believe that she may not wake up and the last thing she’d said to him was that she hated him. She didn’t even give him a chance to explain. All these years he’d wondered if she’d ever find out and what he’d say to her and yet he couldn’t find the words to combat her anger, her utter devastation that he’d lied to her for so long. He’d make it up to her. He had to.

He walked up to the information desk. “I’m here to see Stella Murphy, please.”

The woman didn’t even look up. “Not going to happen.”

“Excuse me?” Patrick asked.

“No one gets back there.”

Patrick cleared his throat. He obviously didn’t think about this part of the plan to see her. She was probably still in surgery or something. He pulled his badge out of his back pocket, thankful he brought it.

“I need to see her as soon as she’s out of surgery.” His voice was authoritative.

The middle-aged nurse sharing the desk with three others finally looked up from her computer and examined the badge. Her eyes softened. She nodded. “She’s still in surgery and won’t be out for about another hour. You can stay here and wait or
you can head up to the fifth floor waiting room.”

The lobby was swarming with press, so Patrick thanked the woman and made his way to the elevators. A police officer was standing at the elevator bank on the fifth floor.

He held his hand up to stop Patrick as he exited the elevator. “Sir, you can’t be on this floor.”

Patrick flashed his badge and looked both ways down the hall. “Where is everyone?” he asked the cop.

“Down the hall and to the right.” The cop pointed to Patrick’s left.

Patrick walked that way, flooded with anxiety. He stopped when he reached the waiting room; he stood at the entrance and listened.

“It looks like she survived the bombing, but she was shot. Everyone else died in the blast,” a male voice said.

The words settled on his skin and pierced his heart. Shot. Holy fuck. She survived the bomb, but then she was shot. His brain pounded, rejecting the notion that she’d escaped the bomb to look down the barrel of a gun. She must’ve been terrified.

“Three casualties. It would’ve been more, but there was a three-person team that was in the field instead of the office this morning,” a female voice commented.

“Well, they said she’ll probably die on the table,” the male said.

“Any idea about suspects?” a different male voice asked.

“Well, Harris says that the first group he’s going to look into is the operation that was ongoing with the ATF. But no, no serious suspects. There are no witnesses and if the girl dies then we’re done for.”

“Shit,” he heard the female say.

Pieces of him were breaking off and dropping to the floor. He heard them clattering on the linoleum. Patrick wasn’t sure if he’d be able to pick up the pieces and fit them back together. His breathing slowed and he slid down the wall, his legs splayed out in front of him, leaning his head back against it. All of a sudden he was too hot and everything was too loud.