***

“Cory,” I heard a muffled voice in my ear.

I squinted through one eye.

Smoke was leaning over me. “They got him.”

Both eyes sprang open. “What do you mean?”

“Your clue hit pay dirt,” he said. “The feds scoped out all the local marinas and eventually found a cruiser anchored a few miles off the coast. Name on the side of the boat was My Slice of Heaven.”

“No shit?” I said.

“No shit,” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Jude—” I struggled to sit up but Smoke held my shoulder down.

“He’s being debriefed by the feds. He’ll be here in a couple of hours. You get some rest so you can be there for him when he returns.”

“Is he okay?”

“Yeah,” he said. “He’ll be fine.”

***

When I woke up it must’ve been hours later given the sliver of moonlight I now spotted through the thin curtains.

My throat felt itchy and raw and when I coughed, something heavy shifted at my feet. Ace readjusted himself at the end of the bed and then I felt Patch’s downy hair against my arm.

Vaughn must’ve brought my dogs to me. When the hell had that happened? And where was Chopper?

Though my head felt as if it were sitting in a pressure tank, I attempted to push up on my elbows. It was then that I heard someone stir in close proximity. Was I under guard or something?

It took me another moment to acclimate myself to the room and remember exactly what had gone on earlier in the day. Or was it yesterday?

“Oh God, Jude,” I said and bolted up, causing my muscles to revolt against me. My pulse roared in my ears wondering whether I had only dreamt that conversation with Smoke. “Fuck.”

“I’m here.” At hearing Jude’s voice I almost sprang out of my skin.

He was sitting in the chair across the room, the glimmer of a moonbeam washing across his cheeks. Chopper lay on the couch next to him.

“When did you . . . ?” When I tried to place my feet on the floor, the whole room swayed and I shut my eyes to regain my balance.

But I didn’t give a fuck about my head; I needed to get to Jude. “Are you . . . ?”

He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Elias is dead.”

Dead. As dead as Jude’s voice and maybe his eyes, if I could only see them from this distance. Would they be flat and inert pebbles, the way they looked when he shut the world out?

“How is he dead?” I asked, sinking one foot to the floor.

He shrugged. “He went for his gun but Alex was quicker.”

My pulse spiked imagining the ordeal Jude must’ve gone through in the past twenty-four hours.

“Why are you all the way over there?”

“Your head—” He blew out a breath and I noticed how weary his features looked. How his body was slumped in the cushion with exhaustion. “I . . . I was just . . . they said you needed to rest.”

“So do you,” I said.

“Alex said that you helped locate us,” he said. “Thank you.”

“Please, Jude,” I said. “I need you over here. In bed with me. Let me hold you.”

Gingerly he rose from the chair and staggered across the room, as if he’d sink through the floor at any moment. He discarded his pants and shirt and crawled in the sheets next to me. My face immediately nuzzled the side of his neck, my hands reaching for his shaved head, and I nearly wept from relief.

Still, my stomach was in my throat because something was definitely wrong.

Maybe he was in shock. Or numb. Maybe he needed time to process everything that had happened.

“Jude . . .”

“Shhh . . .” he said, laying his head on my chest. “Please don’t. We’ll talk later. Now I only want to sleep.”

“Okay,” I whispered. I weaved my fingers through his and he let out a soft breath. Within minutes we were both dozing.

Chapter Thirty-six

We slept for several hours twisted around each other. Smoke had arrived the following afternoon and told us that all was cool. He suggested we stay at the cabin for a couple more days to recover. In fact, he insisted we do so to allow all the dust to settle.

As a show of good faith, Malachi had still given Elias’s organization—what was left of them—proof that he had destroyed the evidence, so that they didn’t suspect the Disciples’ involvement with the feds. I’ll admit, that information stunned me.

And when I looked at Jude, at the intensity in his eyes, he also understood with far more gravity that lives were put on the line to not only take down his stepfather, but to save Jude as well.

Jude spoke to Alex while I called my boss, telling him I was sick and asking for a couple more days off. Then I talked to my grandmother and told her that Jude and I had gone out of town for the weekend and had taken the dogs. She could tell there was something more to my story but she didn’t push for information.

As the day lapsed into night, I felt better. My head was merely a dull ache and the painkillers were helping. Jude stayed quiet and remote, as if he had curled up inside of himself. I didn’t want to force him to talk because even though I saw no visible signs of injury besides his battered cheek, I knew that what he’d gone through must’ve been emotionally distressing.

The dogs played; we walked along the property to get some fresh air, and had barely spoken two words. It was like being back at square one with Jude. And I didn’t have the wherewithal or guts to drag anything out of him. Deep down I was terrified to know what was going on inside his head, because I could only imagine the posttraumatic feelings that Jude was facing. I heard when Alex had told him that he might feel down or anxious and then had given him a number to call should he need to speak with a trauma expert.