There was no way he survived.

Anne’s tears were hot on her cheeks as more images of Danny came to her, the weight of the loss increasing as the sediment layers of what they had shared grew higher and higher. Moose’s wedding was the worst. When they had danced. When they had . . . done what they did later.

It was impossible not to view the series of memories as her brain’s version of phantom limb pain, her yearning emotions like nerves now servicing that which no longer existed. Danny was gone. Whatever they had had together, those currents of connection and bolts of passion were now tied to a void. For the rest of her life, be it long or short, all of that potential would never be answered, no Polo for the Marco.

“Danny,” she moaned. “It’s my fault—”

And right on cue, there he was, opening the door.

Not Danny Maguire, no. Her brother, Chief Thomas Ashburn, the legend himself.

Tom was so tall and so broad that as he came in, the hospital room shrunk down to a shoebox, the ceiling shortening to mere inches, the walls crowding in until she couldn’t breathe. He looked the same, with that prematurely gray hair, and the hard, handsome face, and the aura of power and authority—and yet he was not the same, at all.

For once, his eyes were not narrowed with suspicion. Far from it.

“Oh, God, Anne,” he said hoarsely. “You’re awake.”

She looked away from his sympathy. There was a temptation to lean on him, use his strength to help herself, rely on her big brother to make all this better. But that was a getaway car with no brakes and a kidnapper behind the wheel.

“You never call me by my real name.”

“Tonight’s different.”

Closing her lids, she braced herself. “Did they find Danny’s body? Be honest. I’d rather know now.”

“They got him out. He’s in surgery.”

“What?” She sat up so fast, she went faint. “Danny? Danny—they got him out?”

“Yeah. They did.”

The trembling came on quick and with violence, and as she sank back down onto the pillows, Tom took a step forward like he was thinking of helping her. He stopped that before she could tell him to back off.

“Anne.”

For once, his eyes were sad, and that was far from a comfort. The sympathy from him made her realize how there was no one in her life that she could trust.

“When can I see him?” she asked.

The door swung open, an annoyed millennial in a nursing uniform bursting in.

“Not now,” Tom snapped.

The young woman stopped short and looked at him like he was suggesting she’d voted for Trump. “Excuse me?”

“I’m talking to my sister. I’ll tell you when you can come in.”

The nurse glared up at the mountain in front of her. “I’m here to check on the patient’s vitals—”

“Her blood pressure spiked and is normalizing. Same with her pulse. No change on oxygen stats. IV lines running clear and her urine bag does not need to be emptied. Good-bye.”

“I’m getting my superior.”

“Do that.” He pulled the door open and nodded to the corridor. “And I’ll throw them out, too.”

“I don’t know who you think you are, but you’re not in charge here—”

Tom leaned down and spoke slow, like he’d made a call about her IQ level and it was not a compliment. “I’m telling my sister about the man who nearly died saving her life. Who is currently being operated on for an internal bleed that, if it doesn’t kill him from blood loss, will probably make him stroke out and leave him a fucking vegetable. So yeah, get your goddamn superior, get the hospital president, call the fucking pope—and I will throw every single one of you out of this room. Are we clear, or do I need to draw you a diagram.”

The nurse stared at him with such shock, it was clearly the first time anyone had not provided her with a safe, supported, emotionally aware and nurturing, microaggression-free educational platform.

And also, Tom was being a total dick.

As the nurse tripped over her Crocs to get out, Anne closed her eyes. “You have such a way with people.”

“I’m not apologizing.”

“Yeah, why would you break with tradition.” She lifted heavy lids. “How long did it take them to get him out? And where’s he being treated? Here?”

“Why don’t we take care of you right now?” When she just looked at him, his lips thinned. “Fine. They found him at the bottom of a ten-foot pile of beams and debris. He had a dislocated shoulder, ruptured spleen, lacerated liver, and the blood pressure of a corpse when they brought him in.”

As a trained EMT with a lot of experience, she ran the profile on a patient like that. “He’ll make it,” she lied. “He’s going to be okay.”

Tom shook his head and stared across at the window. Things were pitch-black on the far side of the glass, and his mood matched the night’s dense darkness.

“Why do you hate him so much?” she muttered, aware that she was too weak for any kind of confrontation. Especially against someone like her brother.

“It’s you I care about.”

“Well, I’m going to be fine, too. Give me a week and I’ll be back at the firehouse.”

“Doing what,” he said tightly.

“My job.” When her brother went quiet, she glared at him. “Don’t start.”

“Then don’t lie to yourself.”

“About what.”

“Your career is over.” Her brother looked at her. “You’re done.”

For a moment, she thought of the shocked expression on that nurse’s face. Yup, her brother’s timing was terrific as his delivery: By all means, when someone was in a hospital bed missing part of a limb, let’s bring up the job situation.

It would be rude not to.

“Christ, Tom,” she said. “Could you have at least waited until I was released? And screw you, I can do anything.”

“Are you even kidding me. Anne. Seriously.”

“Then why are you so pissed off? This is what you’ve been waiting for, right? Me on the sidelines, like a good little girl, letting the real men do the work. These last three years, you’ve just been waiting for me to—”

“To get killed.” He leaned forward. “You got it exactly right, Anne. I’ve been waiting for the night when I have to go to our mother and tell her that you’re dead because—”

“I’m alive!”

“You lost a limb!”

“My hand! And I can still fight after this—”

“No,” he ground out as he lashed his arm through the air. “You’re med’d out. Permanently. And you know what? You deserve it.”

Anne recoiled. “You fucking bastard.”

“You never follow orders, Anne. Never. You violated safety protocol by sending Chavez up to the second floor instead of proceeding in your pairing—”

“So I saved his life. Otherwise he would have been trapped with me—”

“Or maybe he could have gotten you free before Maguire appeared with a goddamn chain saw in his hand.” Tom shook his head. “You want to know why I don’t like him? Fine. It’s because he’s just like you. He doesn’t listen, and he thinks he’s better than the rules. And that’s how people get hurt.”

“Guess you’ve done your homework. Did you interview everyone before coming in here just so you could stand there in your cloak of superiority and beat me over the head with the rule book?”

“No, I waited until I could talk to Maguire’s surgeon personally. Because I knew that was going to be the first thing you wanted to know.”

“Well, now you’ve reported your intel. So you can go.”

“Don’t get your back up with me. You were in the wrong. Maguire was insane. And both of you are in the hospital. The fact that it only cost you—”

“A place to put a wedding band,” she snapped as she lifted what was left of her arm. “Right? You want me stuck inside and knocked up with some man’s kid, being just like Mom, waiting for my husband to come home and justify my existence. That was the fucking fifties, Tom. People like me don’t have to be barefoot and pregnant anymore—hey, have you heard they let us drive cars and even vote now, too?”