Code of Justice. Liz Johnson

bruised face. A pool of blood on Kit’s left thigh grew rapidly.

      “Kit? Kit, can you hear me?”

      Green eyes, filled with pain, opened to half-mast. “I meant to tell you…”

      “Shh. It’s okay. Help will be here soon. It’s okay.”

      “Heather. Please. Drugs.”

      “I don’t have anything for you. I don’t have anything for the pain.” Kit’s grip relaxed slightly, and Heather clung to her hand, holding it to her chest. “Please. Hang on.”

      “Follow…”

      “Shh.” A teardrop splashed on their hands, but it was several moments before Heather realized that it was her own.

      Kit closed her eyes, swallowed and tried again. “Follow the drugs,” she breathed.

      Heather couldn’t let go, even though she knew her sister had. She clung to Kit’s hand as darkness consumed her.

      ONE

      Heather’s mind had been mostly foggy with only a brief respite for days. The medication the doctor had given her made it hard to remember how many days had passed or who had been to visit her since she first arrived at the hospital. Had it been three days? Maybe four?

      She couldn’t be sure when she had last been awake, but as the haze rolled away this time, her brain felt less fuzzy, and she was able to concentrate on the sound of footsteps on tile. Then a gentle touch on her arms and leg. Then searing pain in her left leg. She could manage only a whimper. Then there was a prick on the back of her hand and a voice she didn’t recognize. “She pulled it out again.”

      None of the past days made any sense, no matter how hard she tried to pull them all into focus. Her brain felt like mush, her memory hibernating.

      Soon the pain ebbed, and she sighed, sinking a little deeper into the pillow beneath her head. Light flashed before her closed eyes, and she tried to open them, but they refused to respond.

      After several minutes another set of footsteps entered the room, this one lighter and punctuated by the staccato taps of high heels. The steps quick and purposeful. A gentle voice said, “How’s she doing?”

      She knew that voice.

      “No—” Her voice cracked, but she tried again. “Nora?” The sound was barely audible, but immediately a warm hand slid into hers.

      “Heather. I’m here.”

      Slowly, her mind started to clear through the haze of the drugs they’d given her. Nora. Nora James. Who was engaged to Nate Andersen, her supervisor at the Bureau.

      “Do you want some water?”

      She nodded, but was met with resistance under her chin. The neck brace. The leg brace. They had repaired her torn ACL, which had been shredded in the crash.

      The crash.

      It all hit at once and tears leaked between her closed eyelids, running down the sides of her face. A smooth knuckle slid along her temples, wiping the drops away. Then a plastic straw pushed against her lips. She drank several long sips before Nora pulled it away.

      Fighting the pain that wanted to keep her eyes closed and brain turned off, she opened them a crack. Nora’s kind features and long blond hair were blurry but unmistakable.

      “How are you doing, sweetie?” She squeezed Heather’s hand. “Do you need anything else?”

      Heather opened her mouth, but couldn’t push another word past her throat. Was Nate here, too? She didn’t want him to see her like this. Please say he hadn’t already been to visit.

      And then the footfalls that had walked past her office for nearly three years entered her hospital room. “Sorry I’m late, ladies.” Nate stepped up to the bed, leaning over just enough so she could see his ever-present five o’clock shadow, which looked longer than usual. He rubbed it with one palm as he pulled up a chair closer to her bed. “Just had another phone call with Mitch. He’s worried about you, kid. Everyone at the office is.”

      “I’m fine,” Heather managed just before another wave of pain from her shoulder stole her breath.

      Nate wrapped his arm around Nora’s waist but seemed to lean in closer to Heather, even if she could barely see him out of the corner of her eye. “It’s good to see you. You look good.”

      Liar.

      She looked awful, and she didn’t even need a mirror to know it.

      And she looked weak. She felt weak. She just didn’t want Nate to see her in this state. Would he think she couldn’t handle an assignment after seeing her like this?

      “Nate.” She sighed, finally offering him half of a smile. “You’re a good boss, but I wish you wouldn’t have come.”

      He chuckled. “You’re on a lot of medication. You’ll think otherwise when you’re back to normal.” Picking and choosing what he heard had always been his way with her.

      She managed a tiny shake of her head, despite the neck brace and heavy fog threatening to roll back in. She blinked again, trying desperately to make her mind return to its normal speed.

      “We were here yesterday with Mitch and Myles and Kenzie, too. You just didn’t have the decency to wake up to greet us.”

      She had woken up yesterday, though not while her friends or family were there. She wished her timing had been better. Maybe it wouldn’t have hurt so much if she’d been told by her parents or friends that she was the crash’s only survivor—that Kit was dead.

      Still she offered the obligatory apology that she knew Nate was waiting for. “Sorry.”

      He chuckled again and squeezed her hand briefly before letting it go.

      “The nurse said you were talking about your gun in your sleep last night,” Nora said. “I think you were looking for it and pulled out your IV instead.”

      Nate’s shoulders jostled as a broad smile spread across his face. Since he’d returned from his last assignment where he met Nora, he’d been smiling and laughing a lot more than usual. “I guess I shouldn’t have expected anything else from you. But don’t worry about it. I’ll keep it safe until you’re released.”

      Heather scowled, her hand searching for the cool handle of her Glock out of pure habit. She pleaded with her eyes for him to give her back her gun, but Nate shook his head. “Nope. You’re on way too much medication, not to mention the amount of oxygen just sitting next to your bed. When they let you out of here, you’ll get it back.” He smirked at the glare she shot his way.

      She swallowed again, forcing her vocal cords to recall their job. “How did you get it?”

      “Your mom gave it to me. I guess the hospital had it with your clothes and other personal affects.” He tugged Nora a little closer and whispered in a mock-conspiratorial tone, “Apparently she had it with her in the helicopter. Because, you know, when I go on a strictly sightseeing tour of Mount Saint Helens and Mount Hood, I always bring my weapon with me.”

      Nora shoved her fiancé’s shoulder. “Give Heather a break.”

      Heather shrugged, then cringed as pain shot through her shoulder. Twisting as much as her multiple braces and injuries allowed, she turned toward Nate. “So where are my parents? Does the hospital only allow two visitors at a time?”

      He looked away then brought his steel blue eyes back to meet hers, all teasing aside. “Listen, Heather, I’m sorry.” He swallowed thickly, and her stomach turned with a sudden knowledge.

      “Kit’s funeral?”

      “It was this morning. Nora and I skipped the grave-side service. Your mom wanted someone here when you woke up.” He studied the spot on the floor between his shoes, and she realized that he was dressed in his best