Prologue 2

She was determined to live, he saw now. Whatever had happened to her, whoever had done this to her – that thing and that person hadn’t broken her. Not even fucking close. In that smashed up, shattered body there was the spirit of an a****n, the heart of a lioness, the iron will of a warrior. Under all that damage was a woman who was holding on to life with both hands, holding on as tight and as hard as humanly possible. She was going to get through this – no fucking debate or discussion on this point. She was going to fight.

And in that moment and just like that, Mac determined to fight with her.

Fight for her.

She blinked, and her eye changed. Now Mac saw pain and confusion and a silent plea. His heart squeezed at her vulnerability, and before he quite knew where he was, he had her small hand held gently in his massive one.

“Hi,” he whispered, his voice low and husky. “Can you hear me?”

She nodded, a tiny movement. She winced.

“No,” he said. “Don’t move your head, OK?”

She blinked again, and he smiled at her instinctive knowledge to communicate through the eyes.

Those fucking incredible eyes.

“I’m Doctor Shane MacIntyre,” he said. “I’m a neurologist, and you’re in the hospital. We’re taking good care of you.”

She gazed at him, waiting.

“You’re hurt badly,” he said softly.

Blink. I know.

“Don’t you worry about anything right now,” Mac said. “You’re safe here. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you again. That’s all over, OK?”

Blink. Thank you.

“Can you sleep some more?” he asked. “You need lots of rest.”

In response, she shut her eye and sighed. That soft, lost sound was Mac’s undoing: the urge to curl up in that bed with her came crashing over him like a wave, and washed him away. He longed to hold her against him, to just stand between her and the big, bad, brutal world, to keep her safe from whatever monsters had done this to her. He wanted to protect her, and he wanted her to look to him for protection. For tenderness and care. He wasn’t a tender man or a careful man, not when it came to relationships, but for her, he knew he could and would be. Hell, he wanted to be.

She fell asleep almost immediately, which was no shock considering how pumped full of drugs she was. Mac was stunned that she’d come to at all, and chalked it up – yet again – to her fierce dedication to stay right the fuck here.

He waited until she was out completely, and then he left her. Sam was still out in the hallway, and Mac held out his hand for her chart. The younger man handed it over silently, and Mac walked down the hall a little ways, sat down on a sofa.

He skimmed over the medical notes, checked the x-rays and the CT scans. He felt his face go hard with anger. She was going to have a long road to recovery, no doubt about that, but he was going to be there next to her every step of the way. That wasn’t up for any debate or discussion, either.

The last thing that Mac looked at was her name: it was like he was keeping the only bit of sweetness in all of those pages of hell away from himself. Saving the best for last. When he finally read her name, he smiled.

Miranda Campbell. It’s very good to meet you.