“Too bad he drew his weapon,” Dane murmured. “Caleb had no choice but to shoot him.” Beau’s mouth quirked, the corners drawing up in amusement.
“Yeah, that’s a real shame.”
“Let’s go, Caleb,” Eliza gently urged. “We have a lot of explaining to do before Ramie can come home.”
Caleb closed his eyes in grief because he knew Ramie would never come home to him. Who could blame her? Obviously somewhere in the deepest recesses of his soul he must be capable of the horrific or his mind wouldn’t have been so easily controlled.
THIRTY-SEVEN
THE steady beep of the heart monitor reassured Caleb that Ramie’s heart still beat. In his darker moments, he’d feared that he had been too late and that she’d die of blood loss from all the knife wounds to her body. Cuts he’d inflicted. He still couldn’t look at her without his stomach knotting viciously.
He’d been her constant shadow in the days following her rescue. She hadn’t yet regained consciousness but the doctor had told Caleb that she had a lot of healing to do and it was best done while sleeping. It was the body’s natural way of ensuring its recovery.
Only by the grace of God was Caleb not in jail at this very moment. The two lieutenants who’d witnessed Ramie’s psychic abilities had gone to the D.A. and at least stalled any action until Ramie could herself be questioned about the incident.
Caleb stood by her bed, stroking his knuckle down the still-bruised skin of her face. He touched her loose curls, twining one around his finger and then letting go, it jiggling like a Slinky down the stairs.
He wasn’t in any hurry for her to wake up because when she did, she’d look at him with the knowledge of his betrayal in her eyes. Until such time, he was content to stand here and watch over her while she slept so peacefully.
As it was, it happened when he wasn’t the least bit prepared for it.
The fingers of her right and his left hand were laced together and rested on the bed next to her side. He was sitting in a chair next to the head of the bed and he’d leaned over, resting his cheek against the reassuring pitter-patter of her chest.
He’d drifted to sleep, into sweet forgetfulness, when he felt her stir and then stiffen. He lifted his head, expecting the worst and yet still gutted when fear chased the color from her face.
A panicked whimper slipped from trembling lips.
He stared at her a long moment and then simply backed away from the bed, his hands up where she could see them.
“I just wanted to make sure you were really okay,” he whispered, his heart breaking wide open. “I’ll go now. Eliza or Dane will be in to take over.”
He lifted one tiny hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the palm.
“I love you, Ramie. I’ll always love you.”
And then he turned and walked away, closing her door carefully behind him.
THIRTY-EIGHT
RAMIE stared at the opposing wall of her hospital room and once again practiced making her mind go completely blank. She was getting more adept at the skill, which gave her hope that her future would be nothing like her past.
So much pain and devastation. Lives wrecked, ruined. It didn’t make any sense to her why people like Charles Bloomberg were even born. The sole legacy he’d left behind was one of pain and misery, not only for her and Caleb, but for so many other victims.
She was overcome with sadness, the weight becoming heavier and heavier with each passing day. She was sliding helplessly into a void she might never get out of. She couldn’t muster the energy to care.
Caleb hadn’t been back to see her since the day she woke up and he’d kissed her goodbye. Even after she’d absolved him of the horrific charge he was facing with the police, he hadn’t returned.
Warm, salty tears burned her eyelids and she sucked them back, taking several deep, steadying breaths so she didn’t cry. Again. So far everyone who’d come to see her had been cried all over by her.
Especially Tori, Quinn and Beau Devereaux. She’d cried so hard that they’d instantly retreated, apologizing for traumatizing her.
She wearily closed her eyes, uncaring that all she did these days was sleep. The doctor had asked her if she was ready to go home and she’d merely shrugged. She didn’t have a home so it didn’t really matter if she stayed or went.
A soft knock sounded at her door. As with all her other visitors, they didn’t wait for her to offer a summons. Eliza barged in a few seconds later, her eyes bright and cheerful, her sunny demeanor making Ramie want to hold her down and choke her with her own hair.
How could anyone be that friggin’ happy? Especially when Ramie was so friggin’ miserable.
She glowered darkly at Eliza, but Eliza didn’t look like the happy, chipper Eliza Ramie had been subjected to for the last week. She’d lost count of the days she’d spent recovering in the hospital. Just as she’d lost count of the stitches they’d had to give her. She was a veritable Frankenstein’s Monster these days.
“I need to talk to you, Ramie,” Eliza said firmly. “And since I know you can’t go anywhere, I’m taking advantage of you being a captive audience.”
Ramie raised one eyebrow, wondering what had gotten up Eliza’s behind.
“Can you not bring yourself to forgive Caleb? Or at the very least offer some understanding? I’d think you of all people would know what it felt like to be at the mercy of someone else and their bidding. For God’s sake, Caleb killed him in cold blood . . . for you. So you’d never be linked to him or anyone else again.”