Capture Me

by Amber Thielman

  This book is dedicated to my son, Aidyn, for making me the person I never thought I could be.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Covering the Quarterback Sneak Peek

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  “Bane, he’s not breathing.” Kass Harding’s fingers moved from the man’s carotid artery and down to his chest where a trail of blood protruded from his abdomen.

  Kass bunched up her hand and rubbed the man’s chest, praying for some reaction from the guy, but he did not respond to pain stimuli.

  “Start compressions,” Bane said, dropping to his knees next to her to yank the non-re-breather out of the trauma bag. Kass laced her hands over the man’s chest and pumped.

  “Come on,” she muttered. Her gloved hands soaked with crimson blood, an alarming sight for anyone else, but a familiar one for her. “Come back to us.”

  “Hold it,” Bane said, and he pumped three breaths of oxygen into the man’s lungs, fingers steady on the man’s neck as he checked, hopeful, for a pulse. There was none.

  “Don’t you die on us,” Kass said between clenched teeth. She continued with compressions, a bead of sweat forming on her brow, escaped strands of flyaway hairs from her braid sticking to the dampness on her neck.

  One, two, three…

  Bane pumped more oxygen and rechecked the man’s pulse, shaking his head at her. Trying to catch her breath, Kass unconsciously pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and chewed until she tasted copper blood on her tongue. Her compressions never wavered.

  Dammit.

  One, two, three…

  “Kass.”

  One, two, three…

  “What?”

  “We have a pulse.”

  She jumped to her feet to unload the stretcher from the back of the ambulance, a relief so intense washing over her she felt weak at the knees. She and Bane loaded the man onto the stretcher and into the back of the ambulance. She ripped off her blood-soaked gloves and tossed them into the biohazard container, legs still weak with liberation.

  “Pulse is weak and thready, but we might have a chance,” Bane said. “Drive fast.”

  Kass didn’t hesitate. She shut the door behind Bane and slid into the driver’s seat of the bus, flipping on lights and sirens. “Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  The drive to Harborview Medical in Seattle was a fast one, but Kass still wasted no time. By the time they pulled into the ER bay, her sweaty handprint had marked the steering wheel, and a team of trauma nurses and physicians met them at the door, ready to jump into action.

  “Male gunshot victim, approximate age late forties,” Kass said, breathless. “The suspect was apprehended by Seattle PD. This guy coded in the field but we got a pulse back.”

  “Great work, guys,” said Dr. Johnson. He clapped her on the shoulder and winked, and she beamed, proud. Any encouraging words from Harlan Johnson were gold. “We can take it from here.”

  Kass and Bane watched the trauma team wheel the patient through the ER doors. She sighed, taking a seat on the bumper of the bus, and allowed her head to rest in her hands.

  “Good save over there, kid,” Bane said, taking a seat next to her. “Who would have thought a young girl like you could compete with a seasoned paramedic like me?”

  “Hmmm,” Kass mused. “Everyone did, I think.”

  “You’re a good EMT,” Bane said. “We will miss you when you stop running with EMS and start working inside those hospital doors.”

  “That’s not for sure yet.” She grabbed bleach cleaning solution from the back of the ambulance and sprayed down the interior, scrubbing the drying blood from the floors and bench. “I haven’t even heard one way or the other.”

  “Don’t underestimate yourself, Kass,” Bane said, collecting the dirty towels to dump them in the ER bin. “Medicine is your passion. They’d be idiots not to accept you.”

  “Thanks, Bane.”

  “No, problem. Now go home before the station has to pay you overtime.”

  Chapter Two

  Logan Ryder walked through the rain with his shoulders hunched and the hood of his sweatshirt drawn over his head. The pelting rain soaked into his clothes and froze his skin, drawing in the bitter cold of the night. But even then, even when all he wanted to do was stop, he kept going. Logan kept going because he had no other choice, not if he wanted to make this right.

  He had to make it right; had to.

  If not for him, for Ashley.

  Behind Logan, the city lights of Seattle grew dim. As he walked, feet throbbing and muscles aching with every step, he glanced at the watch on his wrist. In ten minutes, they’d be waiting for him to check into the halfway house for curfew. When he didn’t show immediately, the counselor might give him a little leeway; five, ten minutes max. After ten minutes, they’d alert his parole officer. Logan’s phone would ring, messages left, and soon after that, all hell would break loose.

  When that happened, Logan planned to be as far away from Seattle as possible.

  He had only the clothes on his back and a small pack with a few essentials. Mere hours ago, he’d stepped out of the prison gates and welcomed freedom with open arms. It had been a moment of relief and clarity, such fleeting happiness he’d almost forgotten his plan for revenge. The moment he’d stepped out of those gates, he wanted nothing more than a nice meal and a real bed.

  His parole officer had given him resources for his fresh start; employment information, rules, the address to the halfway house he’d be staying in until he could find a place of his own. His PO, Jason, had patted Logan on the back and nodded in a proud, fatherly way, expecting so much more now from him than anyone else ever had.

  This is your chance, kid, he’d said. I believe in you, so don’t screw this up.

  How beautiful it had been, for a moment, to be free from the chains of the prison walls, to take a breath of fresh air untainted with the foul odor of rotting prison food and a leaky sewer. Driving away from that prison building in the back of his Parole Officer’s car had been the most significant moment in years. He felt good, so good… for a second, anyway. But then Logan remembered the reason he’d just spent the last six years behind prison bars, and the anger and rage and hatred came back with a vengeance, the bottled emotions boiling over, burning him like a scalding hot iron. He knew what he had to do; he’d always known.

  Logan hadn’t gotten his nice meal or slept in a real bed. He’d bailed. Run. And now here he was, and he couldn’t turn back, not even if he wanted to.

  As he walked, rubbing his hands together for warmth, the woman responsible for this flashed in front of his eyes. He could see her in his mind, so gaudy and vivid that she could have been standing in front of him, her red lips curled in an arrogant snarl. He could almost smell her perfume in the air, mixed with the odor of rain and cold.

  Laurel. Sick, twisted, psycho Laurel.

 
; He hated her. He wanted to kill her, to make her suffer the way she had made him suffer all those years, and especially now.

  A car flashing their bright lights passed him on the road, not even bothering to slow as he stuck his thumb out and prayed for them to stop. He wasn't afraid of being picked up by a stranger.

  Although, he wasn't sure he would pick himself up.

  The tires raced through a puddle, spraying muddy water, soaking him. Logan raised his middle finger to the back window, his jaw clenched as puddle water trickled down the front of his jacket. He shivered but kept on walking. God, he needed a cigarette, something to take his mind off life, even just for a while. He was too anxious to stop, and he knew the rain had likely soaked the last pack of half-used Menthols in his bag. He didn't know what the plan was now; he had no plan.

  At least, not a good one. For now, though he needed to get away. Quickly.

  The rest would come later.

  Chapter Three

  It was almost midnight when Kass realized she'd need a lot more than a bottle of beer to soothe her nerves. She wasn’t even sure liquor would do her any good. A swift kick in her fiancé’s ass was what she really needed.

  “Ryan, don't do that.” She withdrew, her body rigid as his hands trailed down her chest, caressing the skin peeking through from where the shirt didn't cover her.

  “What's wrong?” He purred in her ear. The sharp scent of booze mingled with his breath, and Kass tried not to flinch. “It’s a celebration, baby, so let’s celebrate.”

  “I’m not in the celebrating kind of mood,” she said.

  “You just accepted into medical school, love, why wouldn’t you want to celebrate?”

  “Because the stupid party downstairs is over-the-top, and I wish Abby wouldn’t have thrown it.”

  “You know Abby,” Ryan said. “Everything has to be some huge extravaganza with your roommate. You know she’s just proud of you. We both are.”

  “And I appreciate that,” Kass insisted. “But I’m tired, Ryan, and I’m not in the mood for sex.”

  She struggled to catch her breath and ease her racing heart as Ryan pulled back. Irritation showed plainly on his face, and she wanted to run before things got worse; run away and never return, really.

  “C’mon, baby. You love me.”

  How cliché, she thought. She had to focus on not rolling her eyes clear back into her skull as Ryan’s fingers dropped from her breast.

  “Yes, I love you.” She sat up, reaching for the jacket on the edge of her bed to put it on, all the while fighting the urge to add that sometimes she also wanted to knock his fucking head off. “I wouldn't want to marry you if I didn't love you, but I am not in the mood.”

  Kass stood to leave, but Ryan caught her wrist in his fingers and pulled her back down. His hands were rough on her arm, squeezing, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of wincing in pain.

  “Just wait a minute,” he insisted. Her chest felt tight as she waited for him to fly off the handle. He didn’t though. He was smiling. That smile could fix everything, and Ryan knew it. Usually, that smile could make Kass feel better without him having to do anything. Sometimes that stupid, charismatic smile made it all better.

  Just not tonight.

  “I don’t want to fight with you. Not tonight, Ryan.”

  “I guess I don't understand what the problem is.” His tone didn’t match the cheesy grin on his face, and Kass pulled back again without even realizing it. She was treading on dangerous territory, and she knew it.

  “Please don’t drink any more.” She let herself to fall back into his arms, the familiar scent of her comforter beckoning her in. She should never have allowed Abby to throw such a ridiculous party for her. A mere hour in and all she wanted to do was hide under the covers and fall asleep.

  “You seem repelled by me or something,” Ryan said. His breath was hot on her face.

  Shocked as she should have been to hear that, Kass wasn’t surprised by those words. She knew as well as he did that their sex life was blah, and she wanted to tell him that the reason there wasn’t more sex was because it was hard to enjoy something that was supposed to be so intimate when there was no feeling, no emotion, and no pleasure. Sex had become a chore for her, a meaningless act that merely evolved from the desperation of allowing Ryan to get his kicks so he wouldn’t turn to drinking instead. That little plan had succeeded for a while; so long as she sexually pleased him, his drive to drink wasn’t as high.

  “It’s not you,” she said, and that wasn’t entirely unbelievable. Ryan was great in bed, a well-known womanizer in high school. It was all she’d heard in the hallways of her school before they’d dated. So, no, it wasn’t him, it was her. Kass did not doubt she was defective because it was common knowledge that a man like Ryan could please any woman. But while it wasn’t a problem for him or about him, this somehow didn’t make her feel better about it.

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  For a brief second, she almost up and let him have at it just so she could get on with the night, but she reminded herself that she couldn’t always be the first one to admit defeat. He could try, too. He could fight for her as she did for him every day.

  “The problem is, I don’t want to be having this fight right now,” Kass said. A drunk Ryan was a Ryan she didn’t want to be around. He was ruining this; a scholarly celebration of her accomplishments had turned into another nightmare. “Can you please stop drinking? I think you’ve had enough.”

  “You think I’ve had enough?”

  The tone of his voice made her freeze where she was. The ice-cold, mocking pitch that was all too familiar.

  “I think you could slow down.” She kept her voice steady, angry with herself for wanting to curl into a little ball and cry. There were many things in her life she could control, and that kept her content. Unfortunately, Ryan was not one of those things.

  Kass reached over to touch his face, feeling the light stubble under her fingers, but he slapped her hand away. His eyes flashed red-hot with drunken rage, the vibrant hazel shade she loved so much echoing with disgust. She pulled back, her skin and her pride stinging with pain. She hated nights like this, nights where she had to be a parent to Ryan and not his fiancée. A few beers in and he could be fun, relax a little, and have a good time. Two shots of whiskey and he'd become handsy. (Not just with her but with every walking human possessing breasts.) A few more after that and he'd be an asshole, and suddenly Kass was not only his caregiver but the object of his wrath.

  “Don’t tell me what to do.” Ryan stood from the bed and ran a hand through his short blond hair. His movements were stiff, jaw tense, veins in his arms popping. A Navy recruit fresh out of high school, Ryan certainly didn’t lack the soldier physique. While this was usually something Kass could appreciate, his physical strength became an issue when alcohol came into play.

  “I’m just concerned for you,” she said, but that was bullshit. The concern she held was for herself, but she’d never tell him that. She was self-sufficient and driven, a girl who did what she wanted to do and took no shit along the way. But sometimes love was a tricky thing, messy and damaged and twisted… and always in more ways than one. “I can have Abby wrap up the party downstairs, and you and I can go get something to eat—”

  “I’m not hungry,” he said and reached for his shirt. Without thinking twice about it, Kass stuck her hand out to stop him. Her fingers brushed his arm, and Ryan wheeled around, the heel of one hand slamming her hard in the chest. “I said no!”

  She stumbled back, gasping for air. The pain he inflicted this time was much more than a sting, and she doubled over as agony rocketed through her upper body. She steadied herself on the bed, one hand over her pounding heart, eyes on the man standing in front of her with his fist raised. She closed her eyes, expecting another blow, but it didn’t come. When she forced herself to open them again, Ryan was staring at her, swaying drunkenly. He opened his mouth as if to say something to her, and the
n changed his mind, pulled on his shirt, and walked away.

  Kass watched Ryan walk away from her as he’d done so often before. When he was safely out of view, she sunk to the floor, arms around herself, ashamed and guilty. She hadn’t expected an apology from him. That would come tomorrow during the hangover when he remembered what he’d done to her again. It was always again.

  Ryan always apologized later, after the fact, with a bouquet of beautiful flowers or a nice date. He’d take her in his arms and stroke her hair and whisper sweet nothings in her ear. He’d tell her how sorry he was that he’d hurt her and that it wouldn’t happen again, not on his watch, because he loved her, and when you loved someone, you couldn’t keep hurting them like that.

  Taking a deep breath to pull herself together, Kass stood up. She winced as she lifted her arm to smooth back her hair. As she leaned down to double check herself in the vanity mirror of her bedroom, her eyes caught sight of the lovely bouquet of red roses near the window. Hanging from the vase was a heartfelt congratulations card from Ryan, handwritten with the same love and admiration he had for her in his sober moments. Hanging from the glossy vase was a diamond necklace; expensive, brilliant, flashy. It was one she’d had her eye on for months, a piece of jewelry she’d seen displayed in the window of a charming shop in downtown Seattle. There had been no affording it then, not as a pre-med student who lived off ramen noodles and coffee. Ryan had come through, as always, because Ryan was the perfect man.

  Sober, anyway.