Suddenly, jagged claws tore her open. The pain was so blinding that Lacey couldn’t hear any more, couldn’t see any more. Everything vanished behind a red haze of agony.
She bent over double and sank to the floor with a cry.
Chapter Twelve
Dev closed the distance in one long stride, pulling Lacey close. Her arms clutched her stomach; her whole body locked in a spasm. “Is it your stomach? Talk to me, damn it. Who’s your doctor?”
“I—I’ll be fine,” she answered, her face ash-white, her jaw locked against the pain.
“Tell me your doctor’s name. This has gone on long enough. Don’t you know how dangerous it is to play around with an ulcer?”
“It’s not an ulcer. It’ll go away,” she whispered through clenched teeth. But she curled into him, and a tiny moan escaped.
“Fine. Don’t tell me. You’re going to let someone look at you.” Dev picked her up and headed for the door.
Two minutes later, Lacey was lying in the back seat, curled up in a ball. He’d gotten her doctor’s name from Murphy and they were racing toward Methodist Hospital. Her doctor would meet them there. Murphy had promised not to tell the DeMilles yet—not until Lacey could decide if she wanted to see them. The last thing she needed was something else to upset her. In return, Dev had promised to call the old man the minute he knew anything.
“Hold on, sweetheart,” Dev said, reaching back between the seats to clasp her hand.
Lacey gripped his hand with a strength he didn’t know she had.
I’m sorry, he wanted to say. Sorry I upset you, sorry I involved you, sorry I—
The list was too long and time might be too short. Please, he begged whatever forces might be listening. Give me the chance to make it up to her. Let her be okay.
Then they were there at the hospital. Dev pulled in close to the emergency entrance, out of the way of emergency vehicles but not caring what happened to his car. All that mattered was Lacey, getting her help. Now.
Gathering her up in his arms, he ran for the door, steeling himself not to let his fear for her keep him from thinking straight.
But she was so fragile. So wounded.
They had to pry her out of his arms, but Dev drew the line at waiting outside when Lacey gripped his hand, looking frightened. “I’ll stay out of the way, but I’m not leaving. Go ahead and call security—just get ready for the guard to be your next patient.”
“Are you family?” the nurse asked.
Impotent fury kept him barely civil. “I’m all she’s got right now.”
“Sir, you’ve got to move away. Please, we need you to give us some answers. And the patient needs privacy.”
Her face stark with pain, Lacey gripped his fingers while she turned to the emergency room physician. “Please let him stay.”
Dev’s heart thumped once, hard. “I’ve got to stand back so they can take care of you, sweetheart, but I’ll be right over there.” He gestured with his head. “All you have to do is call out. I am not leaving you, do you hear me?”
Her eyes were huge and glassy with fear, but she nodded.
“Everything’s going to be fine.” Dev kissed her knuckles, then let her hand go. It was the hardest thing he’d ever done to step away.
It wasn’t easy finding a spot to be out of the way but still be within her sight, but Dev managed the dance. Every time Lacey’s eyes darted toward him, it was all he could do not to shove everyone out of his path. His reaction was primitive, he knew. He kept a rein on it, just barely.
“Sir, please, I need some information,” a clerk requested.
“Shoot.” Dev never gave her a glance, his eyes focused only on Lacey.
He’d pushed her to this point, and he’d have to live with knowing that. She might never forgive him, but right now his only concern was getting her through this.
If only she didn’t look so frail, gripped so hard by agony. He should have forced her to do something about it sooner. Shouldn’t have let her pass it off as nothing.
Shouldn’t have gotten her involved in this nightmare in the first place—how about that, Devlin? She’s the innocent, and she’s the one writhing in pain. She’s the one whose world you blew apart.
Dev rubbed his eyes, gritty with exhaustion, and asked the clerk to repeat the question.
A few hours later, Dev strode toward her room. They’d given her something that made her drowsy, then admitted her for observation. She’d fallen asleep holding his hand, and he’d slipped out to make some calls. Tomorrow they’d run more tests, but her doctor had already confirmed what Dev had suspected.
Close. Too close. The years of pressure to live up to the DeMille’s impossible standards and her own had taken its toll. Lacey had an ulcer—the only question was how bad. If she let it go too far, it could kill her.