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The hospital smell hit me before we even got through the doors. Antiseptic and something else. Something dying.
Locke's hand stayed on my lower back. Not gentle. Guiding.
"ICU's on four," he said.
I pulled away. "I can walk."
"Can you?" He didn't grab me again. Just watched. Like he knew I'd run and wanted to see if I was stupid enough to try.
The elevator doors opened. A nurse stepped out, saw Locke, and went still. Her badge said St. Mercy Staff but her eyes said she knew exactly who he was.
We got in. Locke hit four.
The doors closed and I couldn't breathe right. My dad was up there. Maybe. Alive. Maybe. And I didn't know if I wanted him to be.
"You're scared," Locke said.
I stared at the floor numbers ticking up. "No."
"You are." He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "You're scared he'll be dead. You're scared he'll be alive. You're scared I'm lying."
"All of the above."
He smiled. Not the fake kind. The real kind that made him look almost human. "Good. Fear keeps you smart."
The elevator dinged. Fourth floor.
ICU was at the end of a long hallway. White walls. White lights. Everything white and clean and wrong. Locke walked ahead. I followed because I didn't have another option.
Then I saw him.
Devin.
Standing outside a room at the end of the hall. Suit and tie. Badge clipped to his belt. He looked up and his whole face went from work-mode to something else.
Relief. Anger. Both.
"Ivy."
I stopped walking.
Locke didn't.
Devin's eyes tracked to Locke, then back to me. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Visiting," Locke said. He stopped a few feet away from Devin. Too close. "You?"
Devin ignored him. "Ivy, I've been calling you for two days."
"I know."
"You know." He stepped toward me. "Your phone's off. You're not at your apartment. I thought—"
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You're with him." Devin looked at Locke like he was trying to decide if he could arrest him right now. "Locke Gates. Irongate Family. I know who you are."
Locke smiled. "Then you know I'm not impressed by your badge."
Devin's jaw tightened. He looked at me again. "Ivy. Come with me. Right now."
I didn't move.
"Ivy."
"I can't."
His eyes went to my hand. The ring. I'd shoved it in my pocket before we got out of the car but my hand was still red where I'd tried to pull it off.
No. Wait.
I looked down.
The ring was back on my finger.
I don't remember putting it back on.
"What is that?" Devin's voice dropped. Quiet. The kind of quiet that came before he arrested someone.
Locke answered before I could. "Engagement ring."
Devin stared at him. Then at me. "You're joking."
"I'm not," Locke said.
Devin took another step toward me. "Ivy. Tell me this is a joke."
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.
"She's wearing my ring," Locke said. "She's living in my house. She's mine for the next three months. After that, we'll see."
Devin's hand went to his belt. Not his gun. His cuffs. "You're under arrest."
Locke laughed. Actually laughed. "For what?"
"Coercion. Kidnapping. I'll figure out the rest."
"She came willingly."
"Ivy." Devin looked at me. Really looked. "Did he threaten you?"
Yes.
I should've said yes.
But I thought about the photo. My dad in that hospital bed. The silver-haired man. The text. He's listening.
If Devin arrested Locke, I'd never find out who that man was. I'd never know why my dad was still alive. I'd never know if the person who shot him was standing in this hallway right now.
"No," I said.
Devin's face went blank. "What?"
"He didn't threaten me."
"Ivy—"
"I said no."
Locke didn't say anything. Just watched.
Devin put the cuffs back on his belt. Slowly. Like he was trying not to break something. "You're lying."
"I'm not."
"You don't even know your own last name and you expect me to believe you're engaged to a mob heir?"
I froze.
Devin saw it. His eyes narrowed. "Yeah. I know. Cash isn't real. Your social's flagged. Witness protection. I've known for six months."
My stomach dropped. "You knew."
"I knew."
"And you didn't tell me."
"I was protecting you."
"By lying?"
"By keeping you out of a file." He stepped closer. Close enough I could smell his cologne. The same one he always wore. "I kept your name out of every report. I kept you off every warrant. I kept you safe."
"My dad got shot two days ago."
Devin went quiet.
"So maybe," I said, "your protection doesn't work."
He looked at Locke. Then back at me. "Is that what he told you?"
"He didn't have to."
"Ivy. Listen to me." Devin's voice softened. The voice he used when he thought I was scared. "Whatever he promised you, it's a lie. The Irongate Family doesn't protect people. They use them. And when they're done, they disappear you."
Locke finally spoke. "She's still standing here."
"For now."
"For three months. After that, she walks."
Devin laughed. It wasn't a nice sound. "You really think he's going to let you walk?"
I didn't answer.
Devin pulled something out of his jacket. A business card. He pressed it into my hand. "When he doesn't. Call me. I'll come get you."
I looked at the card. Just his name and a number. No FBI logo. No office address.
"Is that your personal line?" I asked.
"Yeah."
"Why?"
He didn't answer. Just looked at me like I should already know.
Locke's hand was back on my arm. Not rough. Just there. "We're done here."
Devin's eyes went to Locke's hand. "Take your hand off her."
"No."
They stared at each other. I could feel the air tighten. One of them was going to move first and it wasn't going to be pretty.
I stepped between them. "Devin. Go."
He looked at me. "Ivy—"
"Go."
He didn't move for a long time. Then he did. Turned and walked back down the hallway. Stopped at the elevator. Looked back once.
The doors closed.
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.
Locke was already walking toward the room Devin had been guarding. I followed.
The door was open. Inside, machines beeped. An old man lay in the bed. Tubes everywhere. Face half-covered by a ventilator mask.
I stopped in the doorway.
That wasn't my dad.
Locke looked at me. "Wrong room."
We moved to the next one. Locked. Locke pulled something out of his pocket. A key card. He swiped it and the door clicked open.
This room was different. No windows. One bed. One chair. And in the bed—
My dad.
Alive.
Barely.
I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Just stared.
He looked smaller than I remembered. Older. The machines around him beeped in rhythm. Steady. Not dying. Not yet.
Locke closed the door behind us. "He's been here since the shooting. Stable. Sedated. Someone's been paying his bills."
"Who?"
"That's what we're here to find out."
He walked to the other side of the bed. Picked up a clipboard. Flipped through it. Stopped.
"There," he said. He turned the clipboard toward me. "Visitor log."
I looked.
One name. One visit. Two days ago. Same day as the shooting.
No signature. Just initials.
L.G.
I looked at Locke. "That's you."
"No," he said. "It's not."
He pulled his phone out. Tapped the screen. Held it up.
A photo. My dad. Younger. Standing next to a woman. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Smiling.
Behind them, a building. Half-collapsed. Smoke rising.
I knew that building. Everyone in the city knew that building.
The Irongate Bombing. Fifteen years ago. Twenty-three dead.
Locke's voice was quiet. "That's my mother."
I stared at the photo. At my dad's face. At the woman's smile. At the wreckage behind them.
"This was taken the night of the bombing," Locke said. "Three hours before it happened."
I looked up at him. "What are you saying?"
He turned the phone around. Zoomed in on the back of the photo. Someone had written a date. A time. And two words.
Get out.
Locke's eyes met mine. "I'm saying your dad knew."