“Ian?” she shouted. She ran her hands over him frantically. He lifted his head. She heard scuffling where Gerard had been and lifted her head as well, tensing in panic. She saw Kam leaning over Gerard’s motionless body. Relief swept through her.

“Ian? Are you okay?” she asked in a shaky voice.

He met her stare calmly, only his head moving, and nodded.

“Is he dead?” Ian asked Kam.

“No. Not yet anyway,” Kam added indifferently.

Kam stepped over Gerard. Using the bottom of his long coat, he flipped the lock on the gun and pried it out of Gerard’s loosening grip. Over Ian’s shoulder, she saw him set the weapon on the dresser, far from Gerard’s reach. She gasped for air, her lungs still having trouble expanding.

“Ian . . . I can’t breathe. Can you . . . can you . . .”

He rolled off her. With his weight off her, she inhaled with effort. Her relief and getting her lungs full of air lasted for as long as it took her to notice the blood on her right hand.

She sat up and stared in rising horror at Ian, who lay on his back, blinking as he stared up at the ceiling.

“He’s been shot,” Francesca said shrilly, scrambling up on her hands and knees and kneeling next to his body. “Call someone,” she said to Kam, pointing at Ian’s cell phone, which sat on a dresser not far from the gun. “Call emergency services.”

Kam lunged toward the dresser and snagged the phone. He walked over to her and handed her the phone. “You call. Dial 1-1-2,” he said roughly. He knelt on the other side of Ian. “I’m going to have to roll you on your side to have a look,” he said to Ian.

“Do you have a doctor’s license?” Ian asked sardonically, wincing slightly when Kam rolled him onto his left side. Francesca grimaced sympathetically as she dialed the phone.

“No,” Kam rasped. “But I graduated from medical school. Unfortunately for you, I never finished my residency.”

Ian gave a dry bark of laughter. Francesca had the strangest feeling Kam was serious, but she was too numb with shock to be surprised. Kam bent, examining the wound. The phone began ringing.

“What are you doing?” she asked anxiously when Kam stood and walked to the bathroom. He returned a second later with several folded towels. “Applying pressure to the wound.” He knelt again behind Ian, who was still conscious. Her eyes widened in panic when a woman answered the phone in French. She’d never mastered the language. Kam’s sharp gaze flickered to Francesca’s face. He grabbed the phone. He began to speak in rapid French, holding the towel tightly against Ian’s shoulder all the while.

A moment later, she jerked her gaze from Ian’s when Kam brushed her arm with a towel. She looked up. She realized he was off the phone.

“They’re coming,” Kam said. She glanced at the towel he was handing her in confusion, and for the first time in several moments realized she was nude. Her cheeks heated with embarrassment as she whipped the towel Kam offered around her, covering herself. She noticed Ian’s slightly raised brows and amused expression when she looked up again. Kam Reardon was clearly much, much more than the local wild man.

“Kam?” Ian muttered. “Maybe you should go and check on Lucien. He’s just down the hall, third door on the left.”

Kam nodded. He looked at Francesca. “You’ll have to apply the pressure,” he said, looking down at the towel pressed to Ian’s shoulder.

She nodded willingly, replacing Kam’s hand with hers. He rose and left the room.

“Francesca,” Ian said intently. “Listen to me. Erase the video from the computer and put the computer back in Gerard’s briefcase. Now.”

“What?” she asked, confused.

“Use something to cover your fingerprints and erase the files of Gerard’s surveillance on the computer.”

“But . . . won’t the police protest about me altering evidence at a crime scene? What about if Gerard lives? What if he goes on trial for attempted murder?”

His nostrils flared and his eyes flashed. “I don’t care what the hell the police think. Do you want other people seeing that video? A courtroom? It would kill you, and so it would kill me in turn. If the truth comes out that the tapes were erased, I’ll take the blame.”

A shudder went through her as the full impact of what he was saying hit. She nodded dazedly. “But I’m supposed to press on the wound.”

“I’ll do it while you’re gone,” he muttered, moving his left hand on top of hers, wincing at the movement. “Go on.”

She returned a minute later, having followed his instructions as best she could. They’d just have to deal with it if Gerard had other copies of the video somewhere and they came to light in the investigation.

“Now get dressed,” he said, his rigid jaw making her think he was in increasing pain.

She lowered next to him after she’d hastily dressed, taking over pressing on the wound and using the towel she’d discarded to cover him. She was glad to see the circle of blood on the towel on his shoulder hadn’t grown much in her absence. “It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be all right.”

“I know,” he said.

She stifled a bark of hysterical laughter. Arrogant even now. “How do you know?”

“Because I didn’t go through all this, only to die now,” he said dryly. “It’s just the shoulder,” he said, wincing as he moved slightly. “It burns like hell.”

“Keep still,” she scolded. She lowered her head, kissing his lips softly. Fervently. She raised her head until their faces were only inches apart.

“Do you want to know who you are, Ian?” she said, her voice vibrating with emotion. “This is who you are. This.”

His eyes glittered as their gazes locked. He didn’t speak, but she knew he’d understood. It might have been his last act on this earth, for all he’d known, covering her body with his to protect her, an act of selflessness.

Of love.

* * *

Francesca swam in a woozy dream world, aware of several people talking. Her exhaustion was such that she had to struggle for all she was worth to surface into consciousness.

It’s important. Wake up.

She blinked open her eyes at her own voice in her head. It took her a second to recall where she was—in the hospital in Cabourg where the ambulances had taken Ian, Lucien, and Gerard after they’d arrived on the scene. The images and horror of what had occurred—the blood seeping from Ian’s wound, the arrival of the emergency personnel, being questioned by police at the hospital while she was so distracted, worrying about Ian and Lucien. Ian had lost consciousness while they’d been in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, amplifying her anxiety and fear. She’d worried he was wounded more severely than his manner led her to believe just following the shooting. He stabilized quickly once at the hospital, however, and was soon declared ready for surgery to extract the bullet in his shoulder.

It was now the second morning after the whole bizarre nightmare. Ian was recovering well following surgery. Lucien was fine, and was discharged from the hospital last evening soon after Elise had arrived. Gerard, on the other hand, had not yet regained consciousness. The doctors had been struggling to stabilize him before attempting surgery, but his condition was severe. The bullet had entered his abdomen, causing a great deal of internal organ damage and bleeding, but the trajectory had been upward, hitting one of his lungs as well.

The nurse last night had taken pity on Francesca when she saw her slumped in an upright chair near Ian’s bed. She’d refused to leave his side, despite Anne and James’s arrival and insistence she should check in to a hotel and get a few hours sleep. The nurse had encouraged Francesca to sleep in the extra bed in Ian’s room at around three-thirty in the morning. Once Ian had awakened following his surgery and conversed with her a little, she’d been better prepared to rest. She’d staggered over to the empty bed and fallen into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

“No, of course I understand,” she heard Ian saying as she pushed herself off the mattress. She was heartened to hear that his voice sounded strong and rested, if concerned. “You needn’t have asked my permission. Of course you should go.”

“You’re sure?” Anne asked quietly.

“Because we won’t, if you don’t want it. After what Gerard did, I’d understand completely,” James said. Sadness swept through Francesca at hearing the weight in James’s voice. He’d been hurt the most by Gerard’s blatant treachery.

“I’m not the judge of whether or not Gerard should die alone,” Ian said. “Go. Sit with him. He’s family.”

“My sister’s son—” James broke off. Someone made a choking sound. Francesca walked around the curtain and saw James with his face in his hand, obviously undone. Her heart seized in anguish at the sight. Anne gave her a helpless glance. Francesca couldn’t think of what to say. Anne took her husband’s hand and led him from the room.

Francesca walked next to Ian’s bed. He looked at her bleakly from where he lay propped up in the hospital bed in order to take pressure off the surgical site. She touched his hairline and dropped a kiss on his temple, inhaling his scent greedily for reassurance. She was relieved to see his coloring was better than it’d been last night, when he was still groggy from the anesthesia.

“Gerard isn’t expected to last much longer,” he said. “My grandparents were asking permission to sit with him until the end.”

She closed her eyes. It’d been what she expected to hear, but she hated to think of James and Anne’s suffering. They’d already dealt with so much in their lives. The betrayal of Gerard, whom they considered as almost a son, seemed too cruel to consider.