Melindas Wolves (30 page)

He held her shoulder as if it were a lifeline, and she realized he was in the same position as her, praying, hoping, waiting for the word.

And then shouts.

Melinda jumped to her feet, dislodging Trace and stepping past him.

Men with smiles. Whooping.

Someone shouted, “He has a pulse.”

She raced around the disaster scene to the other side, only marginally aware of Trace at her heels.
Please, God
, she begged.

Paramedics hovered over the deep chasm in the rubble. Fireman lay on their bellies, arms stretched over the space created from the removal of debris.

Melinda couldn’t see anything, and before she could get close enough to peer down over the heads of the rescuers, someone grabbed her arm. “Baby, stop. Don’t get any closer.” Trace’s voice was gravelly, filled with emotion.

She didn’t care. She shook herself free of his clutch and turned to nail her gaze on him.

He flinched as he stared into her eyes. A tear rolled down his face.

Good. He should feel bad. He’d made a very poor choice.

She swallowed back any retort and inched forward.
Please let it be Keegan
.

A limp body was lifted from the debris, arms and legs dangling from the unconscious figure. There was no way to identify him from the several yards separating Melinda from the victim. The man was the right size, but then so were all the workers.

He was covered in a thick layer of gray powder.

And then she almost screamed. Long locks of hair hung behind the limp head.

Blond hair. Stringy, glorious, blond, dirty hair that could only belong to her mate.

Trace gasped right after Melinda. He’d obviously realized this was Keegan at the same time.

Melinda fought to wiggle between the dozens of rescue workers to get to her mate as firemen laid him on a stretcher and paramedics worked frantically.

Keegan didn’t move.

Someone pushed an oxygen mask over his face. His arms and legs were gathered tight, and four men lifted the stretcher and ran toward the parking lot where three ambulances waited.

Melinda broke free of the crowd and ran as fast as she could to catch up.

The EMTs were setting Keegan’s stretcher on a gurney as she reached his side.

“Ma’am,” one of them said as she leaned over his unconscious frame and kissed his cheek.

“Keegan. Oh, God. Honey. Hang in there. Please. You have to.” She choked on that last part, tears streaming down her face uncontrollably. Amazing considering how many she’d already shed.

The chaos at her back continued, and she hated knowing another man was still buried in the rubble. But she had to be with Keegan now.

“Ma’am,” the paramedic repeated. “We need to get him to the hospital.”

Melinda lifted her face to find the EMT speaking to her, leaning into her line of sight. He was a shifter. That was good. Wasn’t it?

A hand landed on her back. Trace. He leaned over Keegan’s body and grabbed his hand. “Keegan. Hold on, man. Hold on.”

Melinda didn’t pull away this time. She soaked in the strength from Trace and then turned to watch as the EMTs lifted him into the back of the ambulance. They shouted out the name of the local hospital and slammed the door shut, leaving Melinda in a stupor. Numb. Stunned. Speechless.

Alone.

Trace was at her side, but she had never felt more alone.

•●•

Wayne held up his binoculars and watched the scene unfolding in front of him with a giant grin. “Bingo.”
Finally
.

He’d never been as relieved as the moment he watched that meddling asshole fall into the deep pile of debris. No one could survive such an accident. Except two of the men had.

Luckily the other two were still buried. And one of them was Keegan Phillips.

Hopefully they stayed that way or got pulled out to be put in body bags.

As soon as the slate was cleared of all those involved in halting the completion of this project, Wayne would breathe a sigh of relief. It worked out perfectly that Keegan believed all the strange accidents on the site had been caused by subpar construction.

As soon as he started making his rounds to investigate every possible section of the construction site, Wayne realized how easy it would be to eliminate Phillips. And it had gone off perfectly.

The sheriff’s office and the FBI would eventually write this situation off as a result of the earthquake and get out of town. He wasn’t worried about them.

His only concern was Phillips. And hopefully he’d just been eliminated. Phillips had pissed Wayne off for the last time.

Eventually, Wayne lowered his binoculars and walked away. He needed to get home before Penelope texted him. The last thing he wanted to do was argue with his wife tonight.

His phone buzzed as he reached his car, and he pulled it out of his pocket, glancing at the caller ID while sliding into the front seat. “What?”

“They just pulled Phillips out of the rubble.”

“Dead?”

“No.”

“Fuck.”

“Though it is possible he won’t live. He was buried deep and looked pretty bad when they put him in the ambulance.”

Wayne gripped his phone tighter and cussed under his breath. “Keep me posted.”

Trace grabbed her hand and pulled. “Come on. We’ll follow.” He jogged toward his truck, tugging her in his wake, never letting go.

She let him lead her, wondering if she should drive her own car, while at the same time knowing he would never permit it and not being up for the fight.

Trace yanked open the passenger door and grabbed Melinda by the waist to lift her into the cab. He met her gaze for a second, his brow furrowed with pain—the pain he was in from hours of worrying about Keegan and the pain she was causing him now.

She was certain he couldn’t even feel the ache his knuckles should be causing. They were caked with blood, some of it drying.

He opened his mouth as if to speak, but she lowered her face away from his to attach her seatbelt. Two seconds later, he shut her door with a soft snick and rounded the truck at a jog.

Trace sped out of the parking lot, sending a cloud of smoke up behind his tires as they made purchase with the gravel.

Melinda sucked in a breath and held on to the door handle, gripping it to avoid being slammed back and forth as Trace raced out of the parking lot and met up with the back of the ambulance.

He drove too fast. It wasn’t safe. She didn’t care. The same sense of urgency coursed through her veins. If he had gone any slower, she would have screamed.

Besides, he was a cop. He could drive fast if he wanted to. And she knew he had more experience doing so than most regular people.

Neither of them spoke as they raced behind the ambulance. It took ten long minutes to reach the hospital, and Trace said nothing as he pulled up behind the ambulance and let Melinda jump from the cab.

She was grateful for that small token.

“How is he?” she shouted over the engine as the EMT opened the back end.

“Still with us,” the man replied.

“Still unconscious,” the other EMT declared.

Melinda backed out of their way as they lowered the gurney from the ambulance and ran into the emergency entrance.

She followed in their wake, sensing Trace behind her. How had he parked so fast?

And then time stopped.

The door to the emergency room slammed shut, a definitive loud noise that sent a shudder down Melinda’s spine and left her speechless, heaving for a breath and staring at the sealed entrance to a section of the hospital Trace and she would not be able to pass through for quite some time.

Trace took two strides to reach the woman behind the desk. He spoke to her in muted tones while Melinda spun around. The emergency room wasn’t crowded. Only a handful of people sat in the uncomfortable yellow plastic chairs arranged in prefect little rows. Why were emergency rooms so uninviting and sterile? Yellow fiberglass seats?

Melinda padded over to one and lowered herself slowly onto the hard surface. She gripped the sides with her hands. Her heart raced. What she really wanted to do was pace and scream. Her adrenaline was that high.

But she was a zombie. She knew she couldn’t hold herself upright much longer without collapsing.

She lowered her head and took several long deep breaths, trying futilely to rein in her frustration and anger.

Trace’s footsteps approached.

She bit her lip. She needed to face him. And right then she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t say things she couldn’t take back.

“Melinda…” He squatted down in front of her, setting his hands on her thighs and pinning her with his stare. “Baby, talk to me.”

“I can’t yet. I need some time.” Her voice hitched, and renewed tears fell down her face. She released the edge of her seat with one hand to wipe them away.

Trace didn’t move. His breathing was uneven. His fingers looked like hamburger.

He needed medical attention. He squeezed her thighs. His head sank lower.

She didn’t shove him away, which was as much as she could manage at the moment. Every ounce of her being wanted to curl up in his lap, hold him tight, and cry her eyes out. But she’d never been so pissed at another being in her life. It was scary how angry she was.

Her warring emotions made her draw into herself, knowing if she spoke now it would be out of anger. Nothing good would come out of her lips. She needed to calm down first.

And her top priority wasn’t Trace’s feelings—it was Keegan’s life. All her focus needed to be on sending positive energy to Keegan. When they finally let her go back to see him, she needed to be his everything. Calm. Collected. Positive. Upbeat.

Nothing she currently felt.

A chill swept through her body, making her shake as if she were cold. She couldn’t stop it. Her entire frame trembled.

Trace eased his hands up to her waist. He lifted his head. “Please, baby.”

She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes. “Just sit. Later. I can’t right now.”

She wrapped her arms under her chest to ward off the irrational chill. Shock.

The automatic door to the emergency entrance slid open and Keegan’s parents stepped inside, their gazes quickly scanning the room before settling on Trace and Melinda as Trace stood. Will and Marcy dashed around the groups of chairs. Their eyes were wide. Marcy’s face was red and splotchy.

Will set his hand on Trace’s shoulder as Marcy sat in the chair next to Melinda and pulled her into her embrace.

“Any news yet?” Will asked.

“No.” Trace’s voice was faint.

Melinda started crying again as Marcy threaded a hand in her hair and rocked.

“Shh. It’s going to be okay.” How could the woman be so positive while Melinda felt like her entire world was ending?

Marcy set her chin on Melinda’s head and rocked her back and forth. The tears kept falling until Melinda was all-out sobbing once again. And she couldn’t stop shaking.

She barely knew this woman, and yet here they were bonding over a man they both loved.

And she did love Keegan. With her entire being.

Trace flipped her palm over and set a handful of tissues in it. That only made her feel worse. She needed him to be indifferent toward her right now—not nice.

Will wandered away, hopefully to get more information.

Trace took a seat on Melinda’s other side.

She was aware of his every move. There was no way to avoid it. Even as she hiccupped in an effort to gain some control of her emotions, she felt his stress through their connection.

What she didn’t feel was Keegan.

Her knees bobbed up and down rapidly. “So cold…” she muttered.

Marcy held her tighter. “Breathe, sweetie. You’re going to hyperventilate.”

“Anything?” Trace asked as Melinda saw Will’s shoes reappear in front of her.

“They won’t let us back yet. They’re still working on him. He’s unresponsive.” This last part Will uttered at barely a whisper. “When Mitch called, he said neither of you have had any communication with Keegan since the collapse. Is that right?” His tone was hopeful.

Melinda sat rigid. She couldn’t say anything to make the man feel

better—especially since she hadn’t been given the privilege of attempting to communicate with Keegan.

Trace jerked at her side. She hadn’t blocked him from her line of thinking. He didn’t comment on her jab. “No,” he muttered. “Nothing.”

Melinda suddenly had a horrible thought. She lifted her gaze to Marcy. “We shouldn’t be here. We need to get him out of here. There are too many humans. He needs to shift.”

Marcy hugged her tighter. “Sweetie, this is the best place for him right now. He can’t shift. He isn’t conscious.”

Right. Of course. She hadn’t thought about that. If Keegan had any brain trauma that kept him from waking up, he needed to be stabilized in a human hospital. They were the only ones who could do anything for him. Until he woke up…

If he woke up. She cringed.

Marcy spoke again. “When he regains consciousness, we’ll make changes. Until then, he needs doctors to monitor him.”

Melinda nodded. She bit her bottom lip between her teeth and clamped down hard enough to draw blood on the inside. She didn’t care. The pain grounded her in a way.

“The best thing you two can do,” Marcy continued, “is talk to him. You’re the only ones who have any chance of reaching into his mind. And it doesn’t matter where you are—out here or in that room. If anyone can reach him, it’s you.”

Marcy was right about that too. How was this woman so levelheaded?

Her husband paced back and forth, running his hands through his short gray hair.

Melinda closed her eyes.
“Keegan, babe. Please. I hope you can hear me. I’m not in the
room with you, but I’m close by. I need you to wake up. We all need you. Dig, babe. Find the
will.”

The door behind them swung open and Melinda twisted around to see a doctor entering the room. He made his way directly toward the group. “Are you Keegan Phillips’ family?”

“Yes,” Will said, making quick strides to rejoin the others.

“I’m Dr. Bernard.” He reached out a hand to shake Will’s.