Page 71 of Undercover Hearts
Then she was under again, features relaxing as sedation reclaimed her.
"That's enough for now," Dr. Hassan said kindly but firmly. "She needs rest, and frankly, so do you. She'll be more coherent when they remove the ventilator tomorrow."
Jenna nodded, her earlier exhaustion returning with crushing force now that the immediate crisis had passed. "When can I come back?"
"Officially, visiting hours start at two," Dr. Hassan replied. "But I suggest you go home, shower, change, and get some actual sleep first. She'll be heavily sedated until at least this evening."
The logic was undeniable, though Jenna's instinct was to remain as close as possible. But the blood dried on her clothes, the grit in her eyes, and the bone-deep exhaustion seeping through her body made Dr. Hassan's suggestion impossible to ignore.
"Call me if anything changes?" she asked, reluctantly releasing Michelle's hand.
"I'll make sure you're updated," Dr. Hassan promised. "And Detective Scott left this for you." She handed Jenna a small duffel bag. "She said it contains clean clothes and your spare phone from your desk."
Jenna accepted the bag with a nod of thanks, her gaze returning to Michelle's still form. The ventilator continued its mechanical rhythm, the monitors displayed stabilizing vitalsigns, and despite the tubes and bandages, Michelle appeared peaceful in her medicated sleep.
"Thank you," Jenna said to Dr. Hassan. "For everything."
"She's strong," the doctor replied. "One of the strongest patients I've seen. Just make sure you take care of yourself too. She'll need you at full capacity during recovery."
Jenna nodded, gathering the duffel bag and moving toward the exit. At the doorway, she paused for one final look. From this distance, Michelle could have been simply sleeping, the quiet vulnerability Jenna had glimpsed during their nights at the safe house now visible to anyone who entered the room.
The thought brought an unexpected wave of protective tenderness, along with renewed determination. Jenna straightened her shoulders and turned away, striding with purpose toward the hospital exit.
For the first time since the shooting, a small, genuine smile touched her lips. Michelle had survived the night, opened her eyes, and not just recognized Jenna but responded to her presence.
Everything else—the long recovery, the professional complications, the conversation they still needed to have—could wait. For now, that simple fact was enough: Michelle was alive and fighting to stay that way.
Jenna stepped into the morning sunlight, the weight of fear lifting enough that she could finally take a full breath. She would go home, shower, change, and rest—not just because Dr. Hassan had advised it, but because Michelle would need her strength in the days ahead.
And Jenna intended to be there for every moment of that journey, whatever it might bring.
15
MICHELLE
Consciousness returned in disjointed fragments.
The steady electronic beep of monitoring equipment. The antiseptic smell of hospital disinfectant. The distant murmur of voices beyond a closed door.
Michelle fought against the heavy fog of medication, struggling to orient herself. Her body felt distant, disconnected, as if she were floating slightly above the physical form that registered only as a collection of muted sensations. A dull throb beneath her left collarbone. The rough texture of bandages against skin. An uncomfortable tube in her throat, now gone but leaving rawness behind.
She forced her eyes open, blinking against the soft light filtering through half-drawn blinds. Hospital room. Private. Modern equipment. Daytime, though the hour remained a mystery.
And beautiful Jenna—asleep in a chair pulled close to the bed, her body curled awkwardly in a position that would punish her upon waking. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, her normally vibrant features drawn with exhaustion. She wore clothes Michelle didn't recognize: a simple t-shirt and jeans ratherthan the blood-soaked outfit she vaguely remembered from the cliffside.
How long had she been there? How long had she been unconscious?
Memory filtered back gradually through the medication haze. The operation. The shipment. Kendall stepping from the shadows, weapon raised. The immediate, visceral understanding as Kendall's aim shifted toward Jenna.
The choice that hadn't felt like a choice at all.
The gunshot. Impact spinning her body. The cold stone against her back. Jenna's face appearing above her, features tight with controlled panic, hands pressing against the wound as warmth pulsed between her fingers.
"Stay with me," Jenna had commanded, voice steady despite the fear in her eyes.
She'd tried to respond, but her body had betrayed her, consciousness slipping away despite her determination to reassure Jenna.
Now, lying in this hospital bed, Michelle studied Jenna's sleeping form with a clarity that extended beyond physical sight. She had stepped in front of a bullet for this woman. Not for a colleague. Not for the operation. For Jenna specifically, without hesitation or calculation.
