Chapter 151
Jack's POV
The call came while I was archiving the final tranche of Silverpine communications.
"Jack Harrison."
David's voice, tight with controlled urgency: "There's been an incident. Ms. Clarke and Ms. Grant were in a vehicular collision. Silverton General, Emergency."
My hands stopped moving. The folder I'd been holding hit the desk.
"How bad."
Not a question. A demand.
"Ms. Clarke took the brunt of impact. Still in emergency surgery. Ms. Grant has minor injuries, treated and released to the waiting area."
The room tilted slightly. I gripped the desk edge.
"I'm on my way."
I don't remember the elevator ride down. Don't remember getting into my car or the route I took. The next clear moment was pulling into the hospital parking garage, my hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel.
Still in surgery. That meant alive. That meant—
I killed the engine and forced myself to breathe.
This was operational. Crisis management. I'd handled worse.
Except I hadn't. Not when it mattered.
Not when it was Diana.
---
The emergency wing smelled like disinfectant and fear.
I found them in a private waiting area—Rowan standing by the window, phone pressed to his ear, his voice low and lethal. Emily sitting with her arm around Lena, who stared at nothing, a bandage visible above her left eye.
Lena's clothes were covered in blood.
Too much blood.
"Where is she?" The words came out rougher than I intended.
Lena's head snapped up. Her eyes were unfocused, shock-glazed. "They're still—she's in surgery. They said it would be hours."
I crossed to the surgical board on the wall. Diana's name, listed under Dr. Sarah Kimura. Status: In progress.
My chest constricted.
Rowan ended his call, turning to me. "Kenneth's coordinating with the FBI. The SUV was reported stolen yesterday, found abandoned six blocks from the scene. Professional job."
"Marcus." The name tasted like ash.
"We're confirming, but—" Rowan's jaw tightened. "Yes. Almost certainly."
I should have been there. Should have insisted on driving them myself, should have—
"Jack."
Lena's voice pulled me back. She was standing now, Emily steadying her.
"It's not your fault," she said, as if reading my thoughts. "It's mine."
"No." The word came out harder than I meant. "It's Marcus Grant's."
But Lena wasn't listening. "She pushed me out of the way. She saw it coming and she—" Her voice cracked. "Why would she do that?"
Because that's who Diana was. Because when she saw someone in danger, she didn't calculate risk. She didn't weigh consequences.
She just acted.
Like she had for Katya Ivanov. Like she'd done for every client the system had failed.
"Because she's that kind of person," I said, the words coming slowly. "She always stands where she needs to stand."
Lena's eyes met mine, and something in them sharpened—recognition of what I wasn't saying.
Before either of us could speak, the surgical doors swung open.
---
Dr. Kimura was younger than I expected, with tired eyes and blood on her scrubs.
We all stood.
"Diana Clarke's family?"
The question hung in the air. Emily started to speak, but I stepped forward.
"I'm—" What? Her colleague. Her friend. The man who'd spent three weeks cataloging the way she took her coffee, the precise angle of concentration when she read case files, the rare smile that made her whole face transform.
The man who had no right to claim any formal connection.
"I'm a close associate," I finished. "She doesn't have family in Silverton."
Dr. Kimura's expression softened slightly. "She's critical but stable. We've repaired the worst of the internal bleeding, but there's significant trauma to her left side—broken ribs, ruptured spleen, liver laceration. We had to remove the spleen entirely."
Lena made a small sound. Emily tightened her grip.
"The next forty-eight hours are crucial," Dr. Kimura continued. "If she remains stable, we'll perform a second surgery to address the orthopedic injuries. Shattered clavicle, dislocated shoulder, fractures in the left arm."
My throat closed. I forced words through it: "Can I see her?"
"She's in the ICU. Family only, I'm afraid—"
"She has no one else." The desperation in my voice startled even me. "I need—she shouldn't be alone when she wakes up."
Dr. Kimura studied me for a long moment. Then she glanced at her tablet, made a notation.
"Ten minutes. ICU staff will direct you."
---
The ICU was a maze of beeping monitors and hushed voices.
Diana was in the third bay, surrounded by machines that blinked and hummed. A ventilator breathed for her, tubes ran from her arms, monitors tracked every heartbeat.
She looked impossibly small in the hospital bed. Fragile in a way I'd never associated with her.
I pulled the visitor's chair close, careful not to disturb any of the wires.
Her left side was heavily bandaged. Her face was bruised, a ventilator tube taped at her mouth. But her heart monitor showed a steady rhythm. Her chest rose and fell with mechanical precision.
Alive.
I reached for her right hand—the one without an IV line—and carefully wrapped my fingers around hers.
"Hey." My voice came out hoarse. "It's Jack. You're—you're going to be okay. Dr. Kimura says you'll need another surgery, but you're stable. You're going to be fine."
Her hand was cool in mine. No response. No flutter of eyelids.
"Lena's okay," I continued, because if she could hear me, that's what she'd want to know first. "Minor injuries. You got her out. You saved her."
The monitor beeped steadily. In-out. In-out.
"So you need to rest now. Let the doctors do their job. And when you wake up—" My throat tightened. "When you wake up, I'll be here."
I sat back, still holding her hand, and let my head drop.
I'd never been a praying man. But in that moment, with Diana's pulse a fragile thread beneath my fingers, I found myself making silent bargains with a God I wasn't sure existed.
Let her live. Let her wake up. Let her be okay.
Please.
---
I stayed until a nurse gently informed me visiting hours were over.
When I returned to the waiting area, Rowan and Emily were attempting to convince Lena to go home. She sat rigid in her chair, arms wrapped around herself.
"I'm staying," she said flatly.
"Lena, you need rest—" Emily began.
"I'm. Staying."
Rowan met my eyes over Lena's head. I gave a small nod and took the chair beside her.
"Then I'm staying too," I said.
Lena turned to me, and for the first time since the accident, something other than shock showed in her expression. Recognition. Understanding.
We sat in silence for a long time.
Finally, she spoke: "She shouldn't have done it."
"No," I agreed. "But she did."
"I don't understand why."
I thought about the way Diana's face had set when she'd read Katya's file. The steel in her voice when she'd confronted Brett Morrison. The quiet determination in every case she took on.
"Because the world needs people who do the right thing," I said quietly. "Even when it costs them everything."
Lena's breath hitched. "It might cost her everything."
"It won't." I said it with more certainty than I felt. "Diana's stubborn. She doesn't quit."
A ghost of a smile crossed Lena's face. "No. She doesn't."
Another silence. Then Lena asked, "You care about her."
Not a question. An observation.
I could have deflected. Should have maintained professional distance.
Instead, I heard myself say: "Yeah. I do."
Lena nodded slowly. "She deserves someone who sees her. Really sees her."
"I know."
And I do. I see every sharp edge, every soft vulnerability she tries to hide. I see the woman who fights for strangers and won't fight for herself. Who believes in justice and doesn't believe she deserves any.
I see her.
But I didn't say any of that. Just sat beside Lena in the fluorescent-lit waiting room, both of us keeping vigil for someone who'd thrown herself between danger and someone else.
Both of us waiting to see if courage would be enough.