Page 126 of Fatal Pattern

Blade was beside her, arm tucked in a sling. He sat close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body through the thin hospital air. Not touching. They hadn’t touched since Blade had been properly stitched up over an hour ago.

The trauma team had cleared her for shock an hour back. She’d given her statement to Marsha Bondi right there in the bay, hooked to a saline line, the bullet graze freshly packed. Two shots fired. Both clean. Self-defense and defense of others. Marsha had taken it down in that flat, careful voice she used when she already knew the case would hold, and then she’d left Tori with the fluorescent hum and the smell of iodine.

Stryker was stable. Still unconscious, but the doctors said that was normal. Expected. His body needed time to heal from whatever Barclay had done to him during those missing hours.

The adrenaline had burned off somewhere around midnight, leaving behind an ache that went deeper than muscle and bone. Everything hurt. Her forearm where the stalker’s knife had found its mark. The bullet graze. Shoot, even her eyelashes hurt.

She needed to move, needed air that didn’t taste like other people’s germs and bad decisions.

“I’m going outside,” she said, standing.

Blade was already rising. “Mind if I come?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

The automatic doors whispered open, and Florida humidity hit her like a wet blanket. Thick, muggy, soup-like atmosphere that clung to her skin and made her lungs work harder. But it was better than the recycled sterility inside.

The rumble of a motorcycle engine cut through the night. Harlee’s Kawasaki swept into the parking lot, headlight carving a bright arc across empty asphalt. She killed the engine, slid off, and jogged toward them, helmet tucked under one arm.

“How is he?” No preamble. Straight to the point.

“Stable,” Blade said. “CT came back clean. No new swelling. He’s unconscious, but—”

“I need to see him.”

“You can’t. Not yet,” Tori said. “ICU restrictions. We have to wait until they call us.”

Harlee’s face softened. “Right. Sorry. I just—” She shook her head, regrouping. “I have news. Had to deliver it in person.”

Tori’s stomach dropped. More bad news. Had to be. Nothing good ever required in-person delivery at two in the morning.

“Edwards called. He tried to reach you but—”

“I turned my phone off,” Blade said, reaching into his pocket to find it. The screen flashed white as it powered up, and he slid it into his sling.

“Mine’s dead,” Tori said.

“Anyway, when Edwards ran Hoult through the FDLE DNA investigative database, he popped. The file said Hoult had a forensic evaluation for a competency hearing performed by one Dr. Crew.”

Tori shook her head slowly. “I don’t remember that.”

“It was a while ago, and you’ve seen how many patients?”

“Countless,” Tori said.

“Edwards ran a rapid DNA and got the preliminary results.” Harlee paused.

The world tilted sideways. Tori braced herself against the brick wall. Did she want a brother like Hoult? A damaged, violent man who’d stalked her and tried to kill Blade? Maybe not, but she wanted answers.

“Is Jeremy Hoult my brother?”

Harlee’s lips flattened. “There’s zero percent probability that Jeremy Hoult is your biological brother.”

The hope Tori hadn’t even realized she’d been clinging to evaporated.

Gone. Truly gone.

She looked at Blade. He didn’t say I told you so. Didn’t offer empty platitudes about it being better this way. He just watched her with those blue eyes full of shared sorrow, understanding exactly what this lie had cost her.