Marcus studied the vessel for a minute. Lower hatch open. Nothing showed inside. No noises. And he knew anything and anyone might be stashed in there.
With a growing sense of despair, he headed back.
A man in overalls, pushing a box on a hand trolley, veered around him.
Marcus nodded to him and stopped after a few steps. That’s a very big box. He turned.
The man from the fishing boat stepped forward to greet the delivery man. As they shook hands, the box on the trolley rocked slightly, and one side dented outward.
The man cursed and slapped his hand on the box.
Fury raged through Marcus, searing the blood in his veins. He hesitated—if he yelled, the boat would get away. But he couldn"t risk them loading whoever was in the box…
“Here!” he roared, the sound echoing across the water. “Vance, here!”
As the men turned, he slammed into both, knocking them away from the box.
They staggered back. The hand trolley tipped over, landing right on the edge of the dock. A cart wheel caught, hung for a second, and the weight of the box dragged it toward the water below.
God. Marcus made a frantic grab for the wheel, seized it, and yanked the trolley and the strapped-on box back. The cart clanged onto the concrete dock. From the corner of his eyes, he saw a pipe swinging straight for his head. He jerked back.
The metal grazed his skull. Pain exploded in his head, and his vision sheeted to red.
He lurched sideways.
From instinct alone, he managed to block the next blow, spotted another incoming, and kicked the man in overalls to his knees.
* * *
“Here! Vance here!” Zachary spun toward Marcus"s shouts. Hope outraced the rush of adrenaline. A man near the end of the parking lot stepped out of a van to stare at the docks. Tank top—tattooed arms. Zachary broke into a run.
The man spotted him. He swung back into the cab and slammed the door shut.
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Zachary tore across the lot. “Galen! Over here!” Too far, dammit, too far. The van started with a roar and backed out of the parking space. Tires squealed as the truck accelerated toward the exit lane at the end.
Zachary cursed. He"d never catch it. Sirens wailed in the distance—too far away.
Nearing the end, the van swerved sharply, skidded, and rammed into a parked car. And stalled.
What the hell? Zachary raced toward the van. He heard the rrrr of an attempt to start the engine. Through the side window, he saw the driver. Blood trickled from his nose.
A foot materialized out of nowhere and booted the man in the face. Two people.
One in the passenger seat.
Zachary slid into the side of the van with a hard thud. He pulled open the driver"s door.
The driver struck at him backhanded.
Grabbing the arm, Zachary yanked him out onto the pavement. The man staggered, caught himself. Spinning around, he punched.
Zachary blocked the incompetent blow, seized his arm, twisted up and back. A crunch of bone and gristle—dislocated.
Screaming in pain, the guy swung blindly. Taking a quick side step, Zachary buried his fist in a soft belly. With an explosive grunt, the driver folded in half.
Zachary rammed his knee into the guy"s face.
Another crunch. Another scream. And not nearly enough.
His knee had straightened the bastard up sufficiently for another punch.
Zachary was happy to oblige. He channeled his rage in a fist to the ribs. The satisfying crackle of bones breaking, caving in—and the way the man"s eyes rolled back in his head—dissipated Zachary"s fury.
The bastard fell. Out cold.
The harsh snapping of gunfire coming from the docks tightened his gut.
Marcus hadn"t been armed. But Zachary"s job was here.
He stepped toward the driver"s side. Cautiously. He"d recognized those feet, and his kitten would be pretty upset.
Blonde hair in a tangle, Jessica lay half-sprawled across the passenger seat.
Hands behind her back. Duct tape over her mouth. Green eyes blazing. Legs up, ready to kick a man into hell and beyond.
Damn, he loved her.
She saw him, and her eyes widened. The look she gave him—fury and relief and love…oh yes, there was love there—made his world right again.
He inclined his head and smiled. “Rough day, huh?”
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She choked on a hysterical-sounding laugh, obviously recognizing the question from the night they"d first met.
Swinging into the cab, he helped her sit up. His fury ignited again at the bruises on her cheek, the ripped skin on her wrists. But she was alive. Safe. He buried his face in her hair for a self-indulgent moment.
* * *
Gabi"d heard Marcus shouting before her box had gone crazy, toppling and spinning and swinging. Her head still whirled. Her shoulder sockets felt wrenched from landing on her cuffed hands. The box lay on its side, and cracks of light showed through the torn flaps. Was Marcus really here?
Must get out. She inched her fingers down the duct tape again. There, an intact edge. Fighting the handcuffs, she managed to get the tape between her fingertips and ripped. It tore— oh God, yes! The chain, looped around the cuffs and tape, came loose.
Frantic with the need to get free, she scissored her legs to peel the rest of the torn tape from her ankles. Her wrists were still cuffed behind her, but move, move, move. She squirmed to the end of the box and kicked the flaps. The top burst open, and Gabi rolled out.
Too much light. Her skull blared with pain. Rain splattered against her. On the wharf, men were yelling and running toward the docks. She turned her head.
Cesar sprawled on the dock near her. Farther away, men fighting. Grunts and curses. The figures blurred, cleared.
Marcus. A man in a slicker swung a thick metal pipe at him, and Gabi screamed behind the gag.
No, please, no. She struggled to rise. The blow missed Marcus somehow, and he hit the man, knocking him back.
In front of Gabi, Cesar pushed to his feet and drew the pistol from his overalls.
No! Gabi pulled her legs under her and dove at Cesar. Her shoulder slammed into the back of his knees. His legs buckled, and he yelled as he toppled backward.
A ton of weight landed on her back, almost yanking her arms from the sockets.
Her knees scraped the concrete. Mouth still taped, she struggled for air.
“Bitch.” Cesar rolled off, lunged for the pistol just out of his reach. Sucking in air, she twisted and kicked his leg, sending him to his knees. A moment of satisfaction.
Face contorted with rage, he lurched toward her. Oh God. She rolled frantically away, over her bound arms.
“Gabi!” Marcus yanked her to her feet and whirled her aside. A pipe flew past her head. A man turned and ran toward a boat slowly pulling out of the slip.
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Dizzy, Gabi staggered sideways. She caught her balance and turned back toward the men. Her breath stopped as Cesar pointed the pistol directly at her.
“You fucking cunt.”
―Fucking cunt.‖ Hands tearing her clothing, yelling horrible names… Gabi"s body froze as her brain went blank. Marcus"s yell, “Gabi, down!” hit the surface of her mind and bounced away.
A brutal shove knocked her to one side. She hit the ground hard, breaking the paralysis. Marcus blocked her view of Cesar.
The sharp crack of a pistol shattered the air. Marcus made a low, horrible sound and jolted back, turning slightly. Blood, terrifyingly red, stained his light shirt. Growing bigger.
Nooo.
Snapping sounds like a multitude of fireworks deafened her, and Cesar screamed. He fell.
Cursing and yelling. Men—many men—thudded down the dock.
Marcus. She tried to sit up, failed, tried again. Oh please.
Still standing, Marcus had his hand pressed to his shoulder, and blood in a nightmarish flood flowed between his fingers. He’s hurt. God no. Gabi choked, rolled onto her knees, trying frantically to stand with legs that had no strength.
Someone grabbed her shoulders, holding her. Hands touching her. No no no. A tidal wave of terror took her, and she fought blindly, yanking her wrists, unable to scream.
The hands released her. She was free…and Marcus was there, his face filling her vision. She blinked. Not dreaming. Rain ran down her cheeks like tears as his warm fingers curled around her bare shoulder.
“Easy, sugar. It"s over. You"re safe, sweetheart.” His voice, like no one else"s, convinced her.
Her heart still raced, but she could only stare at him. He’s alive. She tried to talk and choked on the gag.
“Bastards,” he said under his breath, as he peeled the duct tape off her lips ever so slowly.
“Sir, you"re hurt.” A man bobbed at his elbow.
“In a minute.” Marcus pulled the rag out of her mouth. When she sucked in air, his eyes crinkled at the edges. “There, now you can sass all you want.”
As he touched her face with gentle fingers, someone knelt behind her and gripped her arms. She jerked, trying to escape, but Marcus held her shoulders, murmuring, “Easy, Gabi.”
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Handcuffs. The man was unlocking her handcuffs. She held still, barely breathing, ignoring the pain as he pulled away the metal that had dug into her flesh. “There you go, sweetie.” She knew that voice.
As she brought her arms forward, the wrench of agony in her shoulders mattered not at all. Free.
Vance stepped out from behind her. “I want a blanket for this woman, and get this man to the hospital,” he shouted. “You asshole,” he said to Marcus. “Sit down before you fall down.”
* * *
He looked so white. Gabi sat next to Marcus"s bed with her arm pushed through the side rails so she could hold his hand. He had intravenous lines in his arm, and wires ran to a monitor showing his heart rate. She tried not to stare at the display, terrified the lines would suddenly go straight like they did in the movies.
But he"d made it through surgery, right? If he was in danger, the doctor"d have sent him to the ICU, not a surgical unit. Right?
“God, I hate hospitals,” she whispered to him. “Wake up, dammit. They said you woke up in recovery. Do it again.”
It had been a long, long day. When Marcus had been wheeled out of the emergency room, she"d pulled out her IV and followed. Sitting in the surgery waiting room, she"d stared at the television set and had seen horror instead. The gun. “Gabi, down!” Marcus stepping in front of her. Staggering back. The blood.
My fault.
When his grandparents had arrived, the nurses had freely offered up information about the progress of the surgery, so Gabi had moved closer to eavesdrop. She"d regretted it when the older couple started discussing the girlfriend they"d met in June, Celine, and arguing whether to call her. Thank God, the grandfather had said no.
The waiting had been interminable. Unable to sit still, she"d cuddled a teenage girl whose mother was in surgery after a car accident, then comforted an old woman whose husband wasn"t likely to survive.
After Marcus left the recovery room, his grandparents had sat with him for a while, then gone to make calls and get something to eat…and Gabi had slipped in.
Would he ever wake up?
Voices in the hallway caught her attention. Galen"s clipped New England accent and Vance"s rumbling baritone. Damn them. They were undoubtedly looking for her and would drag her back to the emergency room to finish getting treated.
But she couldn"t leave Marcus. Not yet. Not until she saw him awake.
So maybe she wasn"t firing on all cylinders right now, but she didn"t care. He had to wake up. She had to say she was sorry.
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She limped into the tiny bathroom to hide. Too dizzy to stand long, she sat on the toilet and waited.
Once they left, she resumed her vigil. She stayed upright, afraid of falling asleep. Her head felt like someone was pounding on it with a mallet. Her jaw didn"t want to open. She fingered it and winced. With every movement, her shoulders screamed as if they were hinges that had rusted shut after a decade in the rain. And her ribs… Well, although the X-rays said cracked, not broken, she sure couldn"t tell the difference. Damn Jang anyway.
None of her injuries compared to a bullet in the shoulder. “I"m sorry, Marcus.
So, so sorry.”
If she hadn"t frozen, if she"d jumped away, he wouldn"t have stepped in front of her and gotten shot. She put her head into her hands and moaned. Be all right, please. Just be all right. Once she saw him awake, she"d leave and do whatever Galen and Vance needed. She wouldn"t stay—he wouldn"t want to see her.
She was just another trainee. One he"d felt he had to protect. He could have died.
More minutes ticked by.
Marcus groaned.
Gabi jerked upright and moaned as pain battered her nerves. She leaned forward, her hand clamping around his.
His eyelids fluttered. He looked at her, his gaze unfocused. But awake. Alive.
Thank you, God. Oh thank you.
She managed to stand. Bracing herself on the side rail, she touched his face.
Warm. She ran her finger over the scratchy beard stubble, slightly darker than his hair, and traced a darkening bruise on his forehead. Beat-up…but alive.
His eyes cleared, and he frowned at the room, the IV stand, and the monitors.
“You"re in the hospital,” she told him, her guilt so heavy she had trouble speaking. “You got shot—because of me. But you"re going to be fine.”
When she released his fingers, his hand turned over to capture hers. He tried to speak, then cleared his throat. His voice rasped, the smoothness gone. “Are you all right?”
She choked. “Oh yeah. You"re the one who got shot.” Her throat constricted until her voice sounded as rough as his. “It should have been me. I"m sorry, so sorry.”
He tried to say something, but she couldn"t take more. She brushed a kiss to his cheek. “Good-bye, Marcus,” she whispered.
She limped out of the room as fast as she could. With relief, she spotted his grandparents coming down the hall. He wouldn"t be alone. Averting her gaze, she made for the elevators. A wave of dizziness crashed over her, and blackness edged the corners of her vision. No. Passing out not allowed, Gabi.
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Everything was finished now. The case. Her stay in Tampa. Her time with Marcus.
She wanted to go home.
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Chapter Twenty-two
The sound of songbirds in the garden drifted in through the open window of Zachary"s bedroom, and he smiled at the peaceful melodies.
Snuggled in the bedding, Jessica breathed slowly, still deep in sleep. One half-curled hand nestled under a round cheek. Her long golden hair spilled over the pillow, the light strands glowing against the dark fabric.
Just as she glowed like a beacon in his dark life. He pulled his chair closer and wrapped his hand around her delicate fingers. Did she have any clue how much she meant to him? He worked with children, sad, broken, abused children who"d seen more horror in their short lives than most adults. Sometimes to heal, they needed to know someone—anyone—understood their sorrow and rage and confusion. He"d listen. He"d take in their pain and release them of some of the burden.
But pain accumulated, and even the love of friends and family hadn"t been able to lift his increasing sadness. Then Jessica erupted like a small hurricane into his life. Her keen intelligence and logical mind was balanced by her spirit, her courag
e—and her love. She reminded him that the world held as much good as it did evil.
God, he"d almost lost her today. His shoulders tightened. Leaning forward, he pushed her hair away from her face. Silky hair—soft, soft cheek.
When she blinked, he cursed himself for his lack of discipline. She needed the sleep.
Her hands fisted, and she stiffened. He felt her fear, saw it overwhelm her.
“Jessica,” he said in a level, clear voice.
Her eyes focused on his face, and he saw—felt—relief flood through her.
“You"re safe, kitten,” he said, affirming it verbally.
She pulled in a breath, looked at the room, the bed, the window. When her eyes met his again, her smile blossomed. “You saved me.”
“I think you might have managed to save yourself.”
She considered it, his logical sub, and shook her head. “No. If you hadn"t come, he"d have won eventually. I was cuffed. Even if I"d gotten out of the van, I couldn"t run. Not after hurting my ankle.” She pouted. “I"d like to think I sprained it when I kicked his face, but I think the steering wheel did it.”
“Bloodthirsty little sub,” Zachary murmured.
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“Oh sure. I saw Jang after you got through. I didn"t do nearly as much damage.”
Zachary"s hands closed as if he had the man"s neck in his grasp. He should have bloodied him a little more.
She smiled at him, her green eyes glinting with laughter. “I"m afraid you"re going to have to be a hero. Saving the subs like a proper dom.”
Saving. He frowned. “You shouldn"t have needed saving or been anywhere near those men. Jessica, why did you leave last night without speaking to me?”
He caught a flash of oh shit before she stalled. “Well.” Obviously needing to be on a more equal level, she pushed up in the bed and winced.
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