Wounded: Dying For Diamonds, #2

By Kiley Beckett

Someone in this desert town killed my brother, and I'm going to find them. My brother was a bad man, but an angel compared to me.

 

One person I crossed off my suspect list is the nurse who tried to save him.

 

This girl is setting me on fire. The most perfect creature I've ever seen. She's kind and smart and so off-the-charts beautiful I can't stop thinking about her.

 

But she's a wounded bird. A girl who deserves more than a scumbag ex-commando and jewel thief looking for revenge.

 

I can't stay away.

 

I vowed I would leave her alone but I can't quit her. I'm thinking of her when I'm supposed to be hunting a killer. She's a beautiful distraction.

 

She's the reason I never saw the bad men coming. And now everything is blown up and this girl was standing beside me. She's in my dangerous world now and it's all my fault.

 

But I'm going to lock her up for her own protection. I'm going to keep her safe while I hunt.

 

And if anyone comes near my captive angel, I'll make them pay with their lives.

 

One standalone book, 85,000 words. Gritty and oh-so-steamy. Intensity and suspense not meant for the faint of heart!

This is Book 2 of the Dying For Diamonds series. It's not required to read the series in order of release, but it's highly recommended for the full experience! These are interconnected HEA stories about a group of hard military men and a bag of liberated diamonds . . .

• Language: English
• Publisher: Licorice Books
• Release date: Jun 5, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201479268

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

ROOT HOG OR DIE

Y ou’re gonna be okay, Stevie Boy, Rick said, but his tight clutch on Ava’s arm betrayed Rick’s worry.

Stevie Thornton’s horse kicked him in the stomach. Stevie’s brother, Rick, was the one who called 911. Both of them worked on the High Hog Ranch with their father, Rick Sr. A good-size ranch, the High Hog tended almost five-hundred head. Riding out after a campfire lunch, Stevie took the hoof in the sternum and walked it off like it was nothing, even got back on his horse. But his brother worried something was wrong, and sure enough, a couple minutes later Stevie fell unconscious off his horse. They were way out at Antler Creek and it took almost twenty minutes for the ambulance to get there.

Kurt West and Billy Lowe—the volunteer EMTs on duty—brought Stevie to the hospital in the back of the old Root Hog ambulance. Kurt and Billy both worked at the hardware store, convenient for them to run across to the ambulance shed if a 911 call came in the afternoon.

All right, Rick, you gotta let me go, hon, Ava said, easing Rick’s grip on her forearm. Stevie came awake now but was unresponsive, and Kurt and Billy trundled him on a squeaking gurney to find a bed in the trauma room. Ava cinched a cuff on Stevie’s arm and worked to get his blood pressure.

Rick backed off, hands recoiling and gathering around his heart, worried gaze lowering to his wheezing brother. Stevie’s blood pressure read a little low, his heart rate as well, but that didn’t seem as troubling as the rasp to his breath. A horse kick could be fatal, and while she was pretty sure old Stevie Boy would make it, what might be going on under his ribs concerned her. Sometimes a force like that ruptured a cowboy’s aorta.

The boys wheeled him into trauma, and she told Stevie she would cut his shirt off. Stevie grunted and his head lolled on the thin pillow. She took the shears and slipped them up the front of his dirty flannel, bits of chaff floating up in the air. When she unbuckled his pants, Rick, Billy, and Kurt backed off and gave her some space. She snipped his pants away and ran an IV into his arm while Kurt pulled a curtain around them.

The trauma room was empty. It was a narrow, unglamorous place with puce walls and a low ceiling in regimented tiles that showed stains in rings of brown and yellow, depending in which decade they originated. Ten beds total, and the last time they’d needed them all at once was thirty-five years ago when a bull got loose at the Root Hog Bicentennial Rodeo. The room they all called ‘trauma’ might not have been pretty, but it got the job done for a town of only two thousand, and a county of about ten thousand.

Behind her she heard Billy say to Rick, Just an old horse kick, Rick. Stevie’s a tough kid.

It’d be nice if Billy also assured Rick that his brother was in excellent hands. Tell him there wasn’t a better nurse here in Root Hog than Ava Monroe. But she wouldn’t hold her breath. Ava had, until two years ago, been Ava Lowe. She’d married Billy’s younger brother, Hartley. That lasted almost four years, and not for lack of trying, the marriage fell apart, and she’d been excited to get her old name back. 

Stevie’s chest was shades of blue in overlapping blobs, a patchwork of bleeding under the skin. A bloody crescent curved over his sternum in the shape of a horse’s hoof. It had dried and gone black, turned to a crust. His eyes were open, but glazed and blank, like a trout. His breathing came labored, drawing both in and out with a weak, wet sound.

A voice behind her: What do we got here?

The curtain parted and Dr. Rogers stepped into place across the gurney from her. She told him all she knew. 

Gary Rogers came from the city. Well-groomed and well-mannered, but she liked him because he was straightforward. He even had a bit of country in him. The man bought himself a ranch nearby. Only worked at Root Hog Hospital four days a week, but liked it so much he got himself a marvelous piece of property up on the Timber Dome with a hundred head of cattle. Only a hobby for him—he hired the two Garret brothers to look out for the cattle and he only toyed around at ranching—but there had to be something good in a man who found the land speaking to him enough he’d want to try.

Gary gave Stevie a dose of salmeterol, saying his hard breathing came from trauma-induced shock. Said his heart was fine, and if it had damage after all this time, they’d see his symptoms a lot worse. He added, And he’d most likely be dead.

Ava looked over her shoulder and saw Rick blanch. She said, But Stevie, he’s gonna be all right, wouldn’t you say, Dr. Rogers? His heart—

Gary said, Well, you never can tell. A horse kick delivers a one-ton force to a point the size of a baseball. There’s an Arab proverb: the grave yawns for the horseman.

Ava gripped Gary’s forearm, and he looked at her hand, puzzled.

She jerked her head to Rick, standing and watching with a pallid grin set in his shaggy beard, eyebrows tented with worry. Gary, this is Stevie’s brother, Rick. He came in with him.

Gary leaned close and whispered, Sheez, I’m sorry. I have no bedside manner, do I? To Rick he said, We’re going to run some tests and get your brother a CT, see what’s happening inside him—but I think I can rule out the worst-case scenario for the moment.

Rick said, For the moment?

That’s the best I can offer. Gary’s eyes glanced at Ava and he smiled, then added, That’s hopeful news, Rick.

Ava patted his arm and smiled back.

The hospital bounced paychecks for a spell, back before the town helped it return to its feet. Every payday came a mad dash to the bank to get it deposited quick before whatever money the hospital still had got used up. It was a tough time, and Hartley got laid up on disability and they only had the one good check coming in. When Hartley didn’t get his whiskey, he was hard to be around. Harder than when he had it.

Finances got so bad in the end that the town almost lost the hospital altogether. Rural hospitals had a tough go. Majority of the people left out these ways were elderly. They needed the most care because of their age and yet they had the worst coverage, most of them being on Medicaid. It made running a hospital in the middle of the desert a precarious proposition.

Right around the time when she split with Hartley was when it all came to a head. The hospital was in shambles. It made the front of the newspaper. She and Hartley had a house and they had obligations and they were splitting, and the topper? . . . Her j-o-b might dry up altogether and blow off into the mountains. 

At the zero hour, Root Hog Hospital got itself a walk-on savior. A young upstart CEO who came in and turned it all around.

Wasn’t easy, wasn’t perfect, but the hospital hadn’t bounced a check in two years, and yet somehow they could keep adding resources.

Jessie Watts and Ava wheeled Stevie Thornton on his gurney down to CT. A small-town hospital possessing a CT was a big deal. At the foot of the gurney, Jessie gripped one hand on the bottom rail, steering Stevie toward the end of ‘A’ hall. Stevie was alert. Someone had looped an oxygen mask around his neck, and he held the clear cup over his mouth and nose. While Stevie’s eyelids fluttered, there was a promising spark in there.

As they rolled Stevie down the hall, Ava peeked in open doorways they passed. Jessie caught her. What is it you’re looking for, Ava darling?

What? Ava smirked and lowered her eyebrows. There was nothing she could look for, Jessie.

Your boy toy, Jessie said.

I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Sure you don’t.

"I know who you mean, but you’re crazy."

Jessie looked away but Ava saw the smile pulling at Jessie’s cheek as she said, "Whatever, Ava, I see how that boy looks at you."

How does he look at me? Ava said, gaining a smile that wanted to tug at her own cheeks.

I’m just saying he’s about the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, and if I wasn’t married I’d pull him into the janitor closet with me.

Don’t be gross.

Hey, Jessie chastised with a look of gleeful admonishment. Ain’t nothing gross about it. . . . And, baby, after what you been through, tell me you don’t deserve a piece of that.

Ah, what she’d been through.

Seemed everyone knew about that. All her friends knew the man Hartley turned out to be. He was all fire and optimism when they got hitched, but Hartley declined. Success had some struggle finding Hartley’s way, and after a while he stopped trying to lure it. Worked at the hardware store before his brother Billy did, back seven years now. Got a back injury, and though she thought he might’ve played it up a little, Hartley wouldn’t confess it to her. He was adamant about the pain that struck him. Went on disability. Two years like that, then he developed a taste for painkillers. Who knew where he was getting them from, but she always worried if he got caught with all those pills, they’d blame Nurse Ava somehow. Took three years, but Hartley became somebody she didn’t recognize anymore. The new Hartley had it in for her. Never laid a hand on her (she’d have kicked a cowboy boot up his butthole) but the emotional drain became unbearable. Then they divorced. Then he sued her for the equity in the house. Guy who never paid on the mortgage wanted one-half the equity in the place he laid about and watched television and drank beer in while she was at work. He won it, too. 

But she didn’t run from the trouble. It was what it was.

Since the big breakup with Hartley, things had at least righted at the hospital. She worked six days a week, busting ass to make her payments to Hartley so she could stay in the house she bought. She had the mortgage plus Hartley’s payments. Thank God for the hospital’s turnaround.

Vic Tanner, the new CEO, asked a lot of the town and the town answered with their (almost empty) wallets. An extra fifteen bucks a month on the property taxes kept the town its hospital. That’s all it took to make payroll.

The community also held repair bees—weekend get-togethers where anyone could come pitch in. Cleaning, painting, carpenters working on fix-ups. It was amazing all the volunteers that would show up. A committee came together and made up a retail space they plugged into an empty storefront on the dwindling main street. The store sold secondhand goods, all the proceeds going to the hospital. Root Hog, like the term the town was coined for—turning a pig wild onto the land to fend on its own—prided itself on self-reliance.

At the next doorway, Jessie slowed, turned her head quick to face Ava and bounced her eyebrows. She came to a dead halt once Ava got parallel to the door.

Ava knew what Jessie stopped for, and was now pressured to act like looking into this hospital room was no big deal. But it was a big deal.

Connor faced away from her, tending to Martha Lively, who had diabetes and was recovering from a triple-toe amputation. Mrs. Lively had an appointment with the podiatrist tomorrow morning, the foot doctor coming in one day every two weeks, all the way from Boise.

She watched Connor’s back as he worked. This sexy fucking beast with an Irish accent who’d consumed her thoughts for the last month. He had long, thick blond hair pulled up into a bun on the back of his head, curled strands hanging loose, draping over the round muscles of his shoulders. He had a broad muscular back and powerful arms, but still slim and lean and long-legged. She knew what he had under those scrubs, and it killed her she had to call it off.

Connor Byrne was a temp nurse here only for a short spell. An Idaho State program meant to ease the burden on rural communities paid for his extra help for only eight weeks, then he’d be gone.

They’d been fucking for two of those weeks, though she swore the last time would be just that: the last time.

Connor turned and caught her looking, and a flush crossed her face. Like he could read her thoughts, had access to the dirty things slipping through her mind. Maybe he knew. Given all they’d engaged in during the last month, what else did he imagine she’d think?

He smirked, his emerald eyes sparkled, and she had to skedaddle before she gave away her feelings on the man.

CHAPTER 2

LIVELY

This thing with Ava was a mistake. The girl recognized it too, scampering away from the doorway when he’d caught her watching him. Probably because the other nurse, Jessie, the weird one, accompanied her and Ava didn’t want to get their secret relationship pinged. Though the term ‘relationship’ was a stretch. And that was what made this thing a mistake.

Ava was a good person and what they had together could be real, but there was one problem. He wasn’t real. He wasn’t real, and he was a liar.

Mrs. Lively said, Was that young Ava in the door? I don’t have my glasses on.

Connor looked back again at the empty doorway. I think it was, Mrs. Lively, but she didn’t have time to chat.

"Work, work, work with that one. I taught her English, grades nine to eleven. Smart as a whip, she was. Where’d you go to high school, Mr. Byrne?"

At the foot of the bed, he lifted her chart and riffled the pages. McGowan School for Boys.

And where was that?

Not far outside Belfast. He checked off boxes with a pen and returned the chart.

Northern Ireland. You still have an accent. Have you been here in Idaho long?

Not long at all, Mrs. Lively, he said, tucking the pen into his scrubs’ chest pocket and leaning elbows on the foot of the bed. I got here a month ago.

Well, you’ll like it. Young, good-looking man like you—polite, too—you’ll have a lot of options here in Idaho. You know the name Idaho is a made-up word?

Painkillers softened Mrs. Lively’s ordeal, loaded up with her IV bag, hanging above her at the bedside. Really?

Her eyelids fluttered, and she lost her train of thought for a moment. He smiled and came to her side. Would ye like some water?

Mrs. Lively came to again, looked for him at the foot of the bed, turned her head on the propped up pillows to locate him. That’d be nice, thank you so much.

In the washroom, he filled her water glass and got a fresh paper straw. Here you are, Mrs. Lively, just how you like it. Room temperature.

You’re such a kind soul, Mr. Byrne. Would you sit with me a minute?

He laughed and passed her the glass of water, rolling the over-bed tray table closer so she could set the glass down between sips. He pulled over the chair by the wall and set it next to her. How are you feeling, anyway?

"I told you. I’m not feeling anything, she said, taking small sips of water and holding the glass between two hands. Thanks to that. She nodded her head sideways to the IV bag with its morphine drip. I better not get hooked."

I’ve got faith in ye. What’s this about Idaho?

She reached for his hand and he took it. What about Idaho?

The name.

Oh yeah, the name. The name’s made up. Man who tried naming the state made up the word Idaho—some say he fell in love with a woman named Ida—

Hm, interesting. Was she a . . .? He wriggled his eyebrows.

Mrs. Lively pinched his fingers hard. Oh, you’re terrible. This woman Ida may never have existed, but when Congress found out Idaho wasn’t a Shoshoni word like the man claimed—Shoshoni’s a tribe of Native Americans—they named this land Colorado Territory. Anyway, point is, Idaho might be a made-up name.

How come it’s called Idaho now?

It kind of stuck.

He patted the top of her hand. I can’t tell if you’re putting me on or not.

I taught school for forty-five years, Mr. Byrne.

Doesn’t mean you’re not a trickster. What if you’re trying to make a fool of me, getting me to repeat this joke of yours in front of all my new Idaho friends?

Mrs. Lively laughed, and it was great to see her smile. The woman had been through a lot over the last few days and she handled it like a champ, but he hadn’t seen her laugh yet.

She said, Who knows if it’s really true. I’m old, but I wasn’t around back then.

"Tell us something you were around for."

What do you want to know? The grip on his fingers tightened, and she bounced her eyebrows, like she was eager to hand out gossip if he wanted to hear it. Perhaps Mr. Byrne has an interest in Nurse Ava.

Aren’t you a nosy one.

Don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody, she whispered conspiratorially. Pass my purse over.

Mrs. Lively’s purse hung over the back of the chair by a strap, and he retrieved it for her. She laid it at her side and clawed through the contents until what she found crinkled in her hand and brought her a satisfied smile. She produced a cellophane-wrapped candy.

He winked and said, Is that wise?

Mrs. Lively scowled with a smirk. It’s for you. Suck on that and sit awhile. I’ll tell you all about your Nurse Ava. She passed him the candy and he took it.

I didn’t ask about her, Mrs. Lively, he said.

Sure, I know you didn’t, she said, and this time it was her turn to wink.

He rolled his eyes and unwrapped the candy then popped it in his mouth. Mm, wintergreen, he said. Go on and tell me about— Sorry, what’s this woman’s name again?

Listen. You know it’s Ava. She’s not married, not anymore—

You don’t have to whisper.

It’s more exciting when I do. See, Ava’s a hard worker, always has been, but her husband—she looked past his shoulder to make sure no one overheard them—"her husband wasn’t."

Wasn’t a hard worker.

Right. Quite the opposite. Her husband claimed disability and developed a pill habit. When it came time to divorce, her louse of a husband had no qualms going after the house they had together.

You don’t say.

Mrs. Lively paused and narrowed her eyes. You’ve heard this already.

I might’ve, he said.

You’ve been snooping.

Even though the accusation was comical and unserious, the words made his scalp crawl. Yes, he’d snooped on Ava. He’d snooped on Ava in ways this woman would never fathom. He’d snooped on everyone who worked in the Root Hog Hospital. It was the whole reason he was here. He smiled at Mrs. Lively despite the discomfort of her accurate quip.

But the woman’s expression slackened. She looked solemn, like a passing cloud graying a sunny day. "There’re things you might not know. And I hate to say them, but I really do think the world of that young woman."

You don’t have to tell me if it’s bad.

"It’s not bad about her. It’s about the bad hand she’s always been dealt, despite being a lovely and diligent human."

D’ye care about all your old students like this?

She chuckled. Not all of them. But a lot of them. Ava’s special, though. You know her mother died when she was eight?

I didn’t know it, he said. But he did know it, and suffered guilt hearing personal information from an altruistic source when he wasn’t even who he said he was.

Workplace accident, the poor woman. Worked at the sugar warehouse and . . . And Ava was an only child and her dad was already in a wheelchair. Multiple sclerosis.

His heart grew weight in his chest, sinking hard on top of his other organs. These were things he shouldn’t know about Ava Monroe. Ava was an innocent, reeling from a heartache, and trying to get her life back on track. And he was a thief and a liar.

So, with her mother gone, it was little Ava and her aunt taking care of her daddy. Then her daddy passed, oh, right after high school graduation, I think. Then married at the tender age of twenty-two, and it was just another man to take care of. Even now she’s divorced, she’s still taking care of that husband. That girl will work a million shifts, she’ll pay that Hartley what the court said she owed him ‘cause that’s the way she is. She’s strong, but she deserves better.

In the silence afterward, he realized Mrs. Lively regarded him with sly intent. This nice old woman thought he was the better Ava deserved.

He showed her a rakish smile. You know it can’t be me. I’m going to be gone in a few weeks.

"You’re the one that’ll miss out, Mr. Byrne. A young and unattached man such as yourself, good-looking and charming, would do well with a woman like Ava. She’s a diamond in the rough. The rough being Root Hog."

A deep and booming voice behind him: What have I walked into here?

Even without her glasses, Mrs. Lively knew who the voice belonged to. Irving!

The man everyone knew as Connor jolted out of his chair and acted like they’d been caught in an intimate transgression. In a hushed and guilty tone, he said, Mr. Lively, we didn’t expect you home so soon.

Mrs. Lively’s husband stood in the hospital room doorway, smiling, a bouquet for his wife held at his chest. Mrs. Lively held out both arms for him to come to her.

There’s my girl. Mr. Lively growled a happy sound and went to his wife, passing off the bouquet to Connor, who held it for him while the big man hugged Martha. Irving hefted his bulk onto the bed to sit with her. Connor passed back the bouquet.

These are for you, little darling, Irving said. How’re your tootsies?

Connor said, I’m going to get going. Leave you two with some alone time. Remember these doors don’t lock, so don’t take your reunion too far.

He’s terrible, isn’t he, Irving?

Irving winked at Connor, saying, Get your own girl, Connor. This one here’s mine.

Mrs. Lively said, I think he might have an eye for Ava.

Mr. Lively raised his eyebrows and grinned like it was a good idea. Long as it’s not my honey-bunch Martha, he can cast eyes whichever way the boy wants.

I’m not casting eyes anywhere, he said, tipping an imaginary hat as he backed his way to the door. Your wife has an overactive imagination.

Tell me about it, he said.

"He’s fooling with you, Irving. The man sat with me here pumping me for information about Ava, and I didn’t learn a single thing about his story."

I told you where I went to school, Mrs. Lively—and at least that was true—and besides, I like people thinking I’m a man of mystery. Who knows, maybe I’m really a world-famous jewel thief.

Out in the hall and continuing his rounds, the weight on his heart strengthened. This mission was supposed to be a lot easier. A lot more straightforward. But Ava complicated things.

And he was a man who knew better.

What he was supposed to be in Root Hog for was to find a killer and a diamond. His own bloody diamond.

His own bloody diamond that his brother stole from him.

His brother had come to Root Hog with a ten-million-dollar diamond. He came to deal guns.

And someone here murdered him.

His brother died in the Root Hog Hospital five months ago.

Now that dead man’s brother was in Root Hog for vengeance. And to reclaim his diamond.

He’d arranged his own fake paperwork, hacked into Idaho State’s computer systems, and assigned his fake nurse identity to work in the Root Hog Hospital, the place