Diesel held me while I wept, my knees going weak and body trembling. He placed his arm behind my knees and scooped me up. He cradling me to his chest and carried me down the hall to a quiet corner away from the waiting room. He set me on my feet and steadied me, keeping an arm at my back.

"Hey sweetheart," he said, his voice warm and soft. "You alright?"

I shook my head no and struggled to find my voice.

"What… How… How did you find me?" I asked.

"I was in the area looking for someone," he said with a grim set to his mouth.

I gave him a questioning look wondering if he meant me, and he shook his head no.

"An unmentionable someone," he explained.

I nodded, knowing better than to ask questions about Diesel's work. He was a nice guy, but his job of "hunting unmentionables" was beyond weird. I also knew better than to ask how he found me. The guy had crazy abilities that defied human nature.

I had met Diesel several years previously. We've hunted some bad guys together, most recently taking down a drug cooker making Zombas in Trenton. Mostly, Diesel pops in and out of my life in Trenton like a thief in the night. One week he was there, then he'd disappear for months at a time. I never knew when, or even if, I'd catch Diesel sleeping in my bed like Goldilocks.

"Your pants…" he acknowledged, then opened his messenger bag. He dug out a fresh pair of blue jeans and a long sleeved, light blue stretchy girly cut t-shirt. He also fished out a hairbrush. I recognized them as mine, but I hadn't packed them for this job in Atlanta.

"How did you get those?" I asked, my voice faltering.

He shook his head, looking amused. He flashed me a wide grin and ushered me towards a family bathroom.

Ten minutes later, I emerged wearing the fresh clothes. I had stuck my head under the faucet in the bathroom and washed out my hair with hand soap in an effort to get the caked blood out of my hair, towel drying it using my trashed shirt. I had squatted under the hand dryer for six cycles to blast some of the moisture out of my hair before giving up, tying it back into a loose knot. I had thrown out my wasted clothes.

Diesel guided me back to the waiting room and pushed me into a chair. He took the seat next to mine, settling his arm behind me on the chair back. I leaned into him, resting my cheek on his chest. I let the silent tears trail down my face, crying myself into an exhausted sleep.

I woke up to Diesel shaking me lightly. I glanced at him, then the clock.

9:49 AM.

Then I heard why Diesel had woke me.

"Manoso?" a red haired woman asked. She was wearing seafoam green scrubs. Her skin was fair and freckled, and the color of her scrubs accented her green eyes. She was young, probably early twenties. She looked a bit shell shocked.

I lumbered clumsily to my feet and crossed to her. Diesel followed.

"Is he okay?" I asked, fear filling every pore of my body.

She gave a quick, polite smile. "I don't have that information, ma'am. I was asked to collect his family and take you to the surgical suite waiting room. Please follow me," she said, turning and walking down the hallway.

Diesel and I followed her through a maze of hallways and elevators before we were deposited in another waiting room. This room was painted grey with cherry wood trim and doors. The chairs matched the trim and were upholstered with tan fabric. The room had a large fish tank that consumed most of one wall, holding a variety of brightly colored fish.

"Someone will be with you shortly," the red haired woman said before disappearing down a hall.

Diesel flopped into a chair and opened his messenger bag. He fished around and pulled out a Snickers bar, handing it to me.

"Sorry, no Tastykakes in my bag today, sunshine" he joked with a smile.

I thanked him and ate the candy bar quietly, waiting for news on Ranger.

More families were escorted into the waiting room. The tension in the room was palpable. Families were waiting for news on their injured loved ones. No one had expected the day to turn to tragedy.

"Manoso?" A woman in light blue scrubs was standing in the room holding a chart. Her hair was under a blue net, and she wore a mask over her face.

Diesel waved to signal our location, and the woman crossed the room to us. She sat in a chair directly across from ours, extending her hand to us to shake.

"My name is Doctor Anne Marie Sullen, and I was Mr. Manoso's surgeon today," she said. "We were able to stop the bleeding in his leg and repair most of the damage. We also removed fragments from his torso and arms. He's received numerous blood transfusions, but he's still incredibly fragile. We're monitoring him for signs of internal bleeding from the impact of the blast."

"Can I see him?" I interrupted.

"No, not yet. I'm sorry," she said apologetically. "He's being transferred down to CT scan. We're trying to get a handle on the trauma that was sustained to his brain. Once he's finished up there, he'll be transferred to the intensive care unit, room 452. The intensive care unit is in the Powell section of the hospital. Follow the signs to Powell, then take the elevator to the fourth floor," she instructed. "You can wait there if you'd like more privacy. Do you have any questions for me?"

I thought hard but could come up with no questions.

"Your husband isn't out of the woods yet, Mrs. Manoso," Dr. Sullen said, "but he's in good hands."

I didn't bother to correct her. I only nodded. I was afraid I would quit receiving updates on his condition if they thought otherwise. I thanked her, and she excused herself before disappearing down the hall.

Diesel navigated the hospital halls and found Ranger's room. He guided me into a soft recliner and put up my feet before standing in a corner. He slouched into the wall and watched me through his lashes.

I removed Ranger's phone from my pocket and dialed Tank. His phone went straight to voicemail, so I left a brief message with an update and our new location.

I called the control room next.

"Report," a familiar voice said.

"Lester?" I asked.

"Beautiful!" he exclaimed, sounding relieved. "You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm alright," I said. I filled him in with details on Ranger's condition, promising to call back when I knew more.

"I'm glad you're safe," I told Lester. "I couldn't spot you or Hal at the park, but I couldn't leave Ranger."

"We're all safe," Lester said. "The only reported injury besides scrapes and bruises is Ranger's. We're all holding our breath over here," he admitted. "We're working to secure the park and check for other explosive devices. Once the area is secure, a couple of us will head your way."

Lester and I disconnected, and I dialed my mother's number.

"Hello?" my grandma Mazur answered.

"Hi Grandma," I greeted, "its Steph."

"We'll I'll be," said grandma. "Are you alright? The news has national coverage about a terrorist attack at the marathon you were working in Atlanta. Your mother is in a state. She's been trying to call you, but you're not answering your phone."

I told grandma I was safe and described the events of the day. I told her I lost my phone, and I gave her Ranger's phone number in case she needed to reach me.

"I love you. Tell mom I'm alright," I coached grandma. "She can call me if she wants to put down the iron long enough to talk."

"She's way past the iron, girlie! She's half a bottle of hooch in, and she's toast. But I'll relay the message," she said before disconnecting.

At 10:44 AM, two orderlies rolled a bed into the room containing Ranger's still figure. He was hooked up to countless tubes, wires, and devices. A tube had been placed down his throat, and a machine was breathing for him. The whirr of machines was loud in the small, dimly lit room.

They rolled his bed into place, and I crossed to the bed, taking his hand in mine. His skin was cool to the touch, and his hand was limp as before. He had a large lump on his forehead, and he had numerous abrasions and cuts on his face. His lip was split, and his hair had been shaved from his head in several locations so adhesive electrodes could be attached to his scalp.

The men went about their business, placing machines and bags on poles in the room. They plugged in machines. They placed a chart in the bin on the wall.

"Someone will be in to give CT results once they've been reviewed," said one of the guys before they left.

Diesel slid a chair up to the bed and gently settled me into it. I stroked my thumb over the back of Ranger's muscular hand, his mocha latte skin perfect and untouched. I placed a soft kiss on the back of his hand and rested my hand on it, careful to avoid the tubes in his arm.

At 11:55 am, Tank walked into Ranger's room and stood at parade rest by my side. He glanced at Diesel, but he didn't acknowledge him.

"I caught the first flight out of Newark," Tank said to me. "I got your message. Any updates since?"

I shook my head no. Tank's eyes fell to Ranger, examining his still figure.

Tank placed his hand on my back. "You saved his life," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you."

I looked to Tank and shook my head. "He's not out of the woods yet," I said, words catching in my throat.

Tank straightened, backed against the wall, and stood at parade rest once again.

A man entered the room wearing black slacks, a crisp white shirt, a maroon tie, and a white lab coat. He looked to be of Asian descent with almond shaped eyes and dark hair cut short.

"Hello, my name is Doctor Tso," he said politely, extending his hand to shake mine. "I'm a neurologist that practices in this hospital."

His eyes landed on Tank first, then Diesel. He looked a little uneasy at the sight of two huge men in the room, but he acknowledged them both with a polite nod.

"I have the radiology report to share with you. Ideally, we would have performed a MRI. They show considerably more detail, but they take significantly more time to perform and read. We wanted to see a quick picture of what was going on in Mr. Manoso's brain, so we opted for a CT scan" the doctor said. "The CT scan indicates there is some minor bleeding and minor swelling in the brain, but nothing that concerns me to the point to take more invasive action at this time. Mr. Manoso has a significant concussion. My best guess would be that the blast threw him some distance, and his head made impact with a barrier or concrete. This impact likely knocked him unconscious. He's got quite a goose egg on his forehead."

I glanced at Tank, and the look on his face was serious and unreadable. I chanced a glance at Diesel. He was still slouched against the wall, but he was scrolling through his smart phone looking disinterested.

"We'll keep monitoring his brain activity and we'll rescan in the morning to make sure there are no changes to his condition," the doctor continued. "Once Mr. Manoso regains consciousness, we can evaluate him for any sort of lasting neurological trauma."

"When will he wake up?" I asked the doctor.

"He's still somewhat sedated from the surgical procedures, but I anticipate he could regain consciousness at any time. If he wakes restless, they may have to sedate him until we're able to remove his breathing tube and machine. He was very fragile when he was brought in, and he's still fighting," the doctor explained. "We need to get another bag of blood in him. The machine is simply to help him conserve some energy by helping him breathe. I anticipate it will come off in a few hours to be replaced by an oxygen mask or nasal prongs."

I nodded and thanked the doctor.

Tank asked a few questions, then the doctor left.

Diesel pocketed his phone and crossed to Tank and I.

"I'm going to scoot out of here for a little bit," said Diesel, playfully ruffling my out of control hair.

I sucked in some air and tensed. My head was still aching, and Diesel's hand sent a searing pain through the back of my head.

I felt Tank's assessing eyes on me, and I tried to straighten, playing it off like it was nothing.

"You need to get that looked at, sweetheart," Diesel said, giving me a serious look.

Before I could protest, Tank had his phone out of his pocket, dialing.

I grimaced.

Diesel gave me a soft peck on the forehead. "I'll be back in a couple hours. I'll bring food," he said with a blinding white smile. And he was gone.

Twenty minutes later, Ximena strolled into Ranger's ICU room. Her Rangeman uniform was covered in dirt and debris, but it was intact. She had a black Under Armor backpack on her shoulders with "Rangeman Medic" embroidered on it. She looked exhausted.

She crossed to the opposite side of Ranger's bed and quickly examined him. She lifted the sheet, examining sutures, tubes, and bruises. She dug in her bag and removed a small flashlight, which she used to examine his pupils when she lifted his eyelids. She gave Ranger a gentle kiss on the cheek, said something in Spanish into his ear, then crossed to me.

"Hiya, Chica. I hear you have injuries that need tending," she said with a tight-lipped smile that didn't make it to her eyes.

I gave Tank a look that could freeze water.

"I'm fine," I told Ximena. "Tank is just filling in as Mr. Overprotective while Ranger sleeps."

"Let me be the judge of that," she said, her accent thick.

She dug out black medical gloves in her backpack and pulled them on. She first examined the cut through my eyebrow. I winced when she touched it.

"This really should have had stitches hours ago," she said flatly. She extracted alcohol wipes, liquid bandage, and butterfly bandages from her bag, and in a few minutes, my wound was pulled closed.

"Where else, Chica?" she asked.

I shook my head no, but Ximena didn't look like she believed me.

"Check the back of her head," Tank said, looking exasperated.

I sighed and leaned forward, placing my forearms on my thighs. Ximena removed my hair elastic and separated my hair to examine my scalp.

"Oh Steph," she said on a whoosh of air. "You've got a massive bump, and several sizable abrasions. It looks like you've got gravel embedded in one abrasion. We've got to take care of this. We need to run concussion protocol."

I shook my head no. "I'm fine," I said. "I've had concussions before. I don't think this is one. I haven't thrown up or been light headed. I feel totally fine, it just hurts."

"I've got to get the gravel out. We're going to need to go back to Rangeman to get some local anesthetic," she said.

"I'm not leaving," I said, holding Ranger's hand tighter. "I'm here 'til he walks out of here."

Ximena looked at me apologetically. "We've got to get that gravel out and clean up the abrasions, Steph."

"Go ahead," I said, acting braver than I felt.

Ximena hesitated before rummaging in her bag, coming up with tweezers and a bottle of sterile saline. She parted my hair with one hand, holding tweezers in the other.

"This might hurt a little," she said. "I'm sorry."

I felt the sharp point of the tweezers dig into my scalp but resisted the urge to cry out. I gritted my teeth together and exhaled sharply. After several prods, she declared she got all the gravel pieces. She crossed to Ranger's on suite bathroom and came back holding a white towel.

"I need to flush the area with saline to get out any dirt," she said. "Tip your head back."

I tipped my head back, and she squirted saline on the abrasions, letting the spent saline run onto the towel. Once she was satisfied the area was clean, she patted it dry and applied ointment that she retrieved from her bag.

"It's not ideal, but at least it's clean," Ximena said, packing up her equipment. "We can't do much to sutchre it unless you want me to shave your head." She winked at me. "Any other problem areas?"

"No, I just hurt," I admitted, relaxing back into my chair.

Ximena dug around in her bag and came up with several bottles.

"Ibuprofen or hydrocodone?" she asked.

I weighed my options, deciding to opt for the ibuprofen. I didn't think now was a good time to be knocked out by pain killers.

I went to the bathroom and swallowed three of the pills with water I scooped into my hand.

"Have a seat," I said to Ximena, gesturing to the chair I'd been sitting in. "You look beat."

"Thanks, Chica," she said, collapsing into the chair. Within minutes, she had fallen asleep.

I stood at Ranger's bedside for some time, holding his hand. I felt his hand twitch in mine, and I sucked in some air.

"Ranger?" I asked quietly, taking a step closer to the head of his bed. I cupped his face in my hand and stroked my thumb across his cheek. I felt his hand twitch in mine again, and I squeezed his hand in return.

Tank was studying Ranger but stayed in position by the wall.

Ranger's eyelids fluttered open halfway. His eyes registered confusion first, then panic. The beeping machine that kept pace with his heart increased sharply.

He began to struggle in the bed, and I felt panic settle low in my belly.

"Ranger," I said more firmly. "It's Stephanie. You're okay, try to relax."

I placed my hands on each side of his face stroking his cheeks. I stood directly over him so he could see my face with all the tubes and wires blocking his view. I locked eyes with him.

"Just breathe, Ranger. You're alright. You're in Emory University Medical Center. I'm here. Tank's here. Ximena's here. None of your men are hurt. You're going to be okay," I coached, trying to soothe him.

Ximena had stirred with the commotion. She pushed the call button on the bed and clasped Ranger's hand in hers.

I placed a soft kiss on Ranger's cheek. "They're going to remove the breathing tube soon," I promised.

Ranger's eyes still registered fear, and it left me feeling uneasy. He blinked twice at me, and I took it to mean he understood what I was saying. I squeezed his hand in return.

"Do you hurt?" I asked him. "Blink once for no and twice for yes."

I watched as Ranger blinked once, then watched as his eyes rolled back unseeing. His entire body began to stiffen and shake uncontrollably.

I sucked in air. Ximena was already on her feet heading out the door for the nurse's station.

I looked to Tank. His body language registered fear. His jaw was set, and he was holding his breath.

"Ranger!" I cried, holding his hand tightly as he convulsed. Tears welled up in my eyes, and the lump was back in my throat. I cried out to God, or anyone else who was listening. "Please, no!"