Page 11 of Lethal Threat
Sierra is totally unsuspecting. A lump the size of a 747 appears in my throat.
“She will,” I rasp out through tight vocal cords. “And when she does, this is going to blow up in our faces.”
“I know. I accept full responsibility for my part.”
I’m pacing back and forth in angry silence. He tries to make me feel better.
“She might noteverremember. You can ask her to marry you, then it won’t be a lie. You’ll really be engaged. You could get married.”
I almost topple over on my face.
Cade’s words slice through me, right through my heart, and hit the shriveled piece of soul that’s buried inside me. The thought makes my knees buckle.
My throat goes drier, somehow, and my words come out rough. “Don’t say that. I want her to recover. I want her healthy and want her to have her life back. Even if she still hates me.”
Cade grunts. His eyes are… almost sympathetic now. “You didn’t want to give Sierra up. I know you want her back.”
The discord between my head and my heart royally pisses me off. “Let’s get this done.”
Silently, we head toward the entrance of the hospital.
Could I play out a lie about being engaged if she never remembers?
I’m a man of honor. I never sway on that.
But my heart is a traitorous bastard and chooses that idea.
It latches onto something that’s wholly immoral. The decimated organ wants one thing. Sierra back in my arms.
What an asshole thing to do.
I thought living without Sierra for the last seven months was awful. Now I know I was wrong. This is hell.
The hospital is quiet. People in scrubs and lab coats talk with families and patients in low voices. As we move further into the building, there’s a hum of beeping machines behind closed doors.
Neither of us speaks on the elevator ride. Our expressions match.
Doom. And gloom.
The walk down the long hallway that’s filled with the pounding echo of our boots.
When we reach a locked door, Cade presses the intercom button. “Major Cade Slaughter and Master Sergeant Cole Strong here to pick up Lieutenant Sierra Owens.”
“Buzzing you through now.”
A loud vibration rattles the door and the lock clicks, granting us entrance.
I have to unclench my jaw to speak. “Is a locked unit really necessary?”
“They can’t just let someone with amnesia go wandering in the streets.”
As we round another corner, we are met by a short, stout, rosy-faced nurse. The woman has every bit of her penetrating, judgmental gaze is locked on me. “I’m glad they found you. You must be worried sick about your fiancée.”
I just hope she doesn’t remember who I am. Or we will have a serious problem.
“You’re right. I’ll feel better once I lay eyes on her.”
“First, you have to meet with the doctor.”
