But Angel could ask nothing, do nothing, except tremble and fight for breath.

Derry had saved her life three years ago. She could not bear to think that he was hurt, needing her, and she wasn’t there.

Even in the Stein’s dim light, Angel’s sudden loss of color was obvious. Hawk heard her harsh intake of breath, saw her sway, felt the coldness of her skin as he grabbed her, steadying her.

“D-Derry?” asked Angel, forcing the word between gritted teeth.

“It’s just a broken leg,” Hawk said harshly.

As he spoke, he shook Angel to make sure that he had her attention. Then he saw the fear and pain in the depths of her eyes and his hands instinctively gentled.

“He’s all right, Angel.”

Angel stared at him. Hawk’s voice had been gentle, reassuring, sympathetic. It was surprising in a man who looked so ruthless.

“Just a broken leg,” Hawk repeated. “Derry’s all right.”

“Car wreck,” Angel said hoarsely. “All that glittering broken glass and twisted metal. And screams. Oh God, the screams…”

Hawk’s eyes narrowed as a chill moved over him. Angel sounded so positive that Derry had hurt himself in a car wreck. The certainty was there in her eyes. And the horror.

His hands tightened on Angel’s arms, drawing her attention back to him.

“Soccer, not a car wreck,” Hawk said distinctly.

“S-soc – ”

The word was impossible for Angel to form.

“Derry and some friends were playing soccer,” Hawk said clearly. “He went up to deflect the ball, came down wrong, and broke his ankle in two places.”

For an instant Angel sagged against Hawk. Then her head came up and her spine straightened. She looked up at him with eyes that were too large and too dark for her face, wondering if he had meant to be cruel with his first, brutal words describing what was wrong with Derry.