To Catch A Thief. Nan Dixon

nurse came to the door and called, “Ms. Calarion?”

      The two people waved. The man supported the injured woman while the nurse led them away. At least they had each other.

      Carolina paced. When Mamá had been diagnosed with breast cancer, they’d never ended up in the ER. Her mother had chosen a lumpectomy and everything had been outpatient. But Carolina had spent months helping her mother through her chemo. Holding her hair back as she’d thrown up.

      Mamá had been in remission for so many years. Why now?

      Her phone rang and she answered without looking at the screen.

      “Hi, Carolina.”

      “Sage?”

      “I know we just talked this afternoon.” He laughed. “I wanted to hear your voice again. I’m not a stalker. Really.”

      Stalker? “I don’t think you’re...” She broke down and sobbed.

      “What’s wrong?”

      “My...my mother,” she blubbered.

      “Take a deep breath.” His voice soothed her like a warm blanket. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

      “Mamá had a seizure.” She pressed her lips together so she didn’t cry. “I’m at the hospital. They won’t tell me how she is.”

      “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know she was that sick.”

      She hadn’t wanted to focus on her mother’s cancer during their conversations over the last two days. “This is her first—I think.”

      “That’s hard,” he said. “Who’s at the hospital with you?”

      He was so sweet. “No one.”

      “You’re alone?” he asked. “Where are you?”

      “Memorial.”

      “I’m on my way.”

      “What? You don’t—” But he’d hung up.

      She should call Sage back. Tell him not to come. He was healing from his own injury.

      But she was selfish. She didn’t want to be alone.

      * * *

      SAGE FIRED UP the Uber app and entered the information. Twice. The numbers and letters kept bouncing around. Great. Five minutes away. He was pushing out the door when the SUV arrived. “Memorial University Hospital. ER please.”

      The driver frowned at him through the rearview mirror. “You aren’t bleeding on my upholstery, right?”

      “No. Just—helping a friend.” He patted his pocket, checking for a pain pill. He wasn’t sure if a headache would erupt. He knew some of the triggers—bright lights, forgetting to eat—but he didn’t know what else might ignite the jackhammers in his head.

      Talking to Carolina over the last two days had been the highlight of his week. Somehow listening to her voice soothed his aches. He’d known she’d come back to Tybee because of her mother, but he hadn’t known her mother was this sick. Carolina shouldn’t be alone at the hospital. He could sit with her, help her.

      The image of him in a white cowboy hat riding Mac, his Appaloosa, to her rescue stuck in his brain like barbed wire. Would his father think this was heroic? It was about all he could do until he could get back on the job.

      The SUV pulled up to the ER doors. “Thanks.”

      He spotted Carolina in the ER waiting room. She stared at her hands, not noticing him walking toward her.

      Slipping into the chair next to her, he said, “Carolina?”

      “You came,” she whispered. The relief in her drenched blue eyes made him want to earn that white hat.

      There was something so lost about her that he took her hands, needing to touch her. “What can I do for you?”

      Her mouth dropped open. “For me?”

      He ripped his gaze off her pink lips. This wasn’t the time to think about kissing her. “The medical staff is taking care of your mother. I’m here for you.”

      “Thank you.” The muscles in her body softened. “They won’t tell me what’s going on.”

      He wanted to hold her. To tuck her safely into his arms. “Let me check.”

      Sage never used his job to get information, but for Carolina, he headed to the receptionist desk and snapped out his badge. “What is the status of...?” Damn. He didn’t know the mother’s name. “Mrs. Castillo?”

      The receptionist’s eyes widened at the sight of his FBI credentials. “Is there an ongoing case?”

      Hell, Sage was on medical leave until his headaches and vision were normal. He just stood there, letting the woman draw her own conclusions.

      “Mrs. Castillo is stabilized. They’re giving her fluids for dehydration. She’s scheduled for a MRI.”

      “So why can’t her daughter see her?” Sage raised his eyebrows, even though there was a warning tick that if he kept this up, those jackhammers behind his eyes were going to start drilling.

      “We had car accident victims come in. They’re pretty busy.” The receptionist stood. “But let me check.”

      “Thanks.” He headed back to Carolina and asked, “Did they tell you she was dehydrated?”

      “They haven’t talked to me.”

      “They’re working on that and she’s scheduled for an MRI.”

      Carolina took a deep breath, her tank top molding to her very nice chest. Damn, he was scum.

      “They probably want to check her brain tumors.” Carolina’s voice was so soft he leaned closer to hear her.

      “Brain tumors?” Guess they hadn’t fully discussed her mother’s diagnosis. “I’m sorry.”

      A nurse waved to them from the door. “Miss Castillo, you can come back now.”

      Carolina stuffed things into a big bag. She turned to him, her lower lip caught between her teeth. “Will you come with me?”

      “Absolutely. Whatever you need. I’m here for you.”

      * * *

      “HAS SHE REGAINED CONSCIOUSNESS?” Carolina asked the nurse, taking Mamá’s hand.

      “Still unconscious, but she’s made some sounds.” The nurse smiled. “That’s not a bad thing. I’ll get the doctor. He can tell you more.”

      The nurse slipped out the doorway. Sage’s fingers squeezed her shoulder.

      Her mother’s skin was as pale as the industrial-white sheets covering her. Carolina was used to her mother’s warm golden skin tone. The blue veins in Mamá’s arms and hands stood out. Without her dancing eyes and animated face, her mother looked fragile.

      Sage leaned over. “You look like her.”

      “That’s what people say.” Her mother was more beautiful than Carolina would ever be.

      “Sit.” Sage pushed a chair next to the bed. “Can I get you something? Coffee? Tea? Food?”

      “I guess. I didn’t get a chance to eat.” She stroked Mamá’s hand. “Crackers and water?”

      He grimaced. “How about a sandwich?”

      She shrugged.

      “I’m on it.” He patted her back and his chocolate-and-citrusy scent cut through the hospital disinfectant. “I’ll be right back.”

      It should be—weird. But having Sage here wasn’t awkward or strange.

      “Mamá.” She lay her