Page 125 of When He Plays

At least, he was to her.

“Why else would I have married you?” Logan cocked his head to the right.

“To…protect me?” She’d thought that was the reason.

“Sure, that, too. I will always protect you. Hell, baby, I’d die for you. Also would kill for you because, you know, more effective.”

“Get an ambulance!” Meredith ordered. “Two vics down! We need help! We need this scene secured!”

They would get help to the scene, but Charlotte already knew that there would be no coming back for Carmichael. What Logan had done to his chest…

A shiver slid down her spine.

“Afraid of me?” Logan asked. The young, uniformed cop was pulling him away from her.

She surged onto her toes and grabbed his shoulders. “Never.” Her lips crashed into his. Hard. Clumsy. Passionate. “I love you. I. Love. You!”

The cops took him away. She protested. She explained. Over and over. She was even about to break cover and to tell them she was CIA⁠—

“Enough.” Jezebel’s voice. Cutting through all the confusion and the chaos. EMTs were working on Sebastian. Others had crowded around Carmichael. Like there was anything that could be done there.

“FBI,” Jezebel announced breezily, flashing a badge toward Meredith. A real badge, of course. She always had real credentials when she needed them. A detective’s badge at the hospital and a badge for an FBI agent now. “That man is a suspected serial killer.” A wave of her hand toward Carmichael. “We’ve been tracking him for quite some time.” She ambled closer to Carmichael.

Stared down at him.

There was still so much darkness in that building, and…suspicion bubbled in Charlotte. Just how long had Jezebel been there? Watching the show? Waiting…

For Carmichael to die?

“I bet that hurt,” Jezebel noted as she studied Carmichael’s gaping, bloody chest. Then she nodded. “Good.” Her head lifted. She sent a grim smile toward Charlotte. “Mission accomplished.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

She’d been stitched up. Five stitches in her thigh. Four in her shoulder. The nurse had numbed Charlotte so she wouldn’t feel any pain, and she’d watched with a sort of dazed fascination as the needle slid in and out of her skin.

Charlotte knew she’d crash, eventually. The docs had checked her out thoroughly, even hooked her up to a heart machine after she’d told them about the electrocution. They’d been worried.

She’d just been glad the nightmare was over.

Logan had been taken away from her. Something that infuriated her. The local cops had insisted on questioning him. Jezebel had gone to the station with Logan. She’d promised to clear things up. Charlotte had assumed that meant her boss would work her magic and get Logan pulled from custody, ASAP.

I want my husband with me.

But she wasn’t alone in the hospital room. Harper was with her. Technically, it was Harper’s room. A too pale, too quiet Harper. Harper had been sewn up, too. She’d been patched. Examined. Poked. Questioned by uniforms.

Her answers had been brief. Stilted. Her voice too hollow.

Despite the protests of the docs and nurses, Charlotte insisted on staying close to Harper. Harper had been through hell. She would need friends and family to comfort her. She’d need counseling. She’d need⁠—

“Sebastian.” Harper’s whispery voice. “When will we hear how he’s doing? I-I know they took him back to surgery at least an hour ago.”

Yes, yes, they had.

“He…he was some kind of cop, wasn’t he?” Harper asked.

“US marshal,” Charlotte said.

Harper reclined in the hospital bed. Her white gown dipped off one shoulder. There were so many bruises on her body. “Marshal,” she repeated. She blinked quickly. “Why didn’t he tell me?”