by Jaycee Clark
From somewhere deep inside him, laughter rumbled out. He framed her long heart-shaped face that had become so dear to him. When he’d fallen through the door and seen David Hewett poised above her, he hadn’t even thought, just picked up the poker and lanced it through the air. Aiden didn’t realize John had shot the bastard until he started to get up and saw the man lower his gun.
“I swear I am never, never, never letting you out of my sight, woman.” He leaned forward and kissed her with all the emotions raging within him, and felt them answered in the return of love between their lips and tongues.
The kiss broke. “That’s fine with me,” she whispered against his mouth.
Garrison laid a hand on his shoulder, jerked his head towards the door. “Get her out of here. We’ll be by later to get her statement.”
Aiden nodded and helped Jesslyn to her feet. He leaned down and swept her up in his arms.
“I am perfectly capable of walking, you know.” Her arms twined around his neck and her fingers raked the ends of his hair.
“I know, but you’re not.” Without a backward glance, Aiden carried her through the door and out into the hallway. There he took the private exit and let the fresh air soothe them both.
• • •
The shower felt good. It washed away the blood, the fears, and the horror. Jesslyn’s arms wrapped around his neck, her muscular legs around his waist, as he drove into her.
So hot, so right. Her back arched against the tiles. He leaned forwards and kissed the smooth column of her neck, arched her more and pulled her breast into his mouth, her moan driving him on.
She was his, and she was alive. The need to confirm their love, their breath, their beating hearts raged through him.
Her moan bounced off the walls. He loved the sounds she made in the back of her throat when they made love.
Jesslyn speared her fingers through his hair, jerking his head to hers and kissed him with all the happiness, joy and love she could. Her teeth bit at his lips, pressed against his. She raked her nails across his shoulders and smiled when he squeezed her hips even tighter.
He was driving her wild. Water sluiced over them, carried the terror of the past few weeks away down the drain. Her tongue countered his, danced to the age-old tune of love. Her body tightened, coiled.
Aiden pumped into her, deeper and deeper still. “Jessie . . .”
She shattered. He pulsed within her.
He felt like his self had just been ripped from him, given to another.
Somehow, without too much trouble, he got them out of the shower and into the bed.
The sheets were cool and dampened where their wet bodies melded. She was beautiful. Her small, toned and pale body glistened with moisture. She tasted sweet as nectar. Never before had he met a woman he needed as he did this one, like water to a thirsting man.
Aiden rose over her, claimed her mouth in a possessive kiss, even as he slowly claimed her body. First with his fingers, roaming, caressing, branding where he chose and she let him. Then he conquered her slowly with his mouth, bit by bit, inch by inch until she sobbed his name. The hunger and need in him roared through his veins, fought for urgency. But he held back.
Aiden stripped away every layer she had until all that was left was raw nerves. Their kisses and caresses were hurried, demanding, driven out of the need to reassure, to confirm. He was moving so torturously slow, and the contrast between their wants and Aiden’s control was too much. Their hands clasped, fingers entwined and held fast.
He looked at her, his features hard, his eyes dark. “You’re mine.”
Slowly, he slid into her and she watched as his eyes slid closed and a muscle bunched in his jaw.
Aiden loved her slow and deep, his strokes measured and controlled until she couldn’t stand it anymore. Treasured and cherished. Sobbing, Jesslyn spiraled towards the stars, towards the sun, towards life. Aiden thrust deep and she cried out, flying . . .
Aiden threw his head back, groaned his release as he gave his soul to her.
“I love you,” he whispered in her ear.
“I love you, too.”
Their hearts beat as one, melded, bonded, promised.
Epilogue
Austin, Texas
Aiden rubbed his hand over his wife’s distended stomach. At eight and a half months pregnant, Jessie tired easily. Tomorrow they were scheduled for her cesarean section to meet their twins.
He smiled into the darkness and wrapped his arms around her. Things were perfect. It had taken them a long time to get here, but they were perfect.
After the nightmare in Colorado, he’d proposed to Jesslyn, only to have her reject him and leave for Texas, where she wouldn’t talk with him for almost six weeks.
Longest damn six weeks of his life.
Then one day she called, in tears.
Idiot woman had needed to settle her past. He understood that. What he still didn’t understand was why she’d never mentioned her chance of not having children before. She thought that would change his mind about their relationship.
It hadn’t. God, he’d been so enraged at her shouldering all her worries alone. Again. He had of course called the airport and had been in Austin that night at her hotel learning everything. How she had been scared she couldn’t have kids because she’d been pregnant in the accident and there had been scarring to her uterus. How she’d wanted to know for certain before she accepted his proposal.
He’d wanted to strangle her. Instead he’d listened to how she’d learned instead at her doctor’s visit that she was pregnant with twins and extremely high-risk.
The months had worn on her. But she’d finally stopped worrying. Bed rest and no excitement.
No sex on their wedding night. No traveling and the list went on.
But he didn’t care. He had the woman he loved safe in his arms and she was happy and finally at peace.
“I love you,” she said, turning.
“I love you, too.” He kissed her softly. “Go to sleep, tomorrow will be a big a day.”
She laughed. “I know, but I’m not tired. I can’t wait to hold our boys, Aiden.”
He grinned down into her eyes and knew again how lucky he really was.
Acknowledgments
The critique gang, you know who you are.
A huge thanks to J., for answering questions she’d probably rather not have. George for the same, and Aunt T., thanks for answering all the medical and ER questions.
I’d like to thank Officer Kenny Bryson of the Metro Police Department for patiently answering my long list of questions.
This is for family,
for teaching me that blood is never everything
and love heals all
Prologue
Travis County Correctional Center, Austin, Texas, December
How dare they! Who in the hell did that bitch Shepard think she was? Nina Fisher would make them all pay.
“The appeal to reinstate parental rights has been denied. Ruling stands,” the lawyer said, sitting across from her.
No! They couldn’t do this to her. He was hers, damn it. Ryan was her flesh and blood. It wasn’t Nina’s fault the eight-year-old kid didn’t listen. The little shit had never listened. It was her right to discipline him any way she saw fit. Ryan was to blame for this mess. If he’d only behaved she wouldn’t have had to hurt him. And what was the big deal? Nina still didn’t know why they had charged her with Ryan’s attempted murder. He’d lived hadn’t he? So he’d spent a while in the hospital and had a broken arm and some bruises. What was the fuss about?
Damn, what she wouldn’t give for a fix. Just one quick fix. A bump, yeah, a bump would be great to get over this freakin’ jonesing.
“Ms. Fisher, did you hear what I said?” the slick lawyer—she had forgotten his name—asked. Probably fresh out of law school.
Nina stared at the brick behind Mr. I’m-cool-because-I’m-a-lawyer’s head.
“Yeah, I heard you.”
She
shifted and stared at the man across from her with his perfectly groomed blond hair, starched shirt and neatly knotted tie. Probably never worried about things like paying for child care or whatever the hell.
“I bet you drive an SUV. Or no, one of those perfect law firm cars in either gray or black, like a Lexus or maybe a BMW? No, you’re too new. Like gourmet coffee, don’tcha?” Anger rose up in her, clawing to get out.
The lawyer ignored her.
Just one fix. She leaned up, tapping her fingers, bouncing her legs on the balls of her feet. “Ryan’s mine.”
The lawyer sighed. “Ms. Fisher, it’s over. You lost. I have to say, I warned you. Going in with the attempted murder charge against you, we really didn’t have a chance to win.”
“And I bet you just tried your ever living damnedest, didn’t you, sport?”
He stiffened. Then stuffed the file into his briefcase and clicked it shut.
“No judge was going to give you your rights back after you nearly killed your son.”
She slapped her hands on the tabletop. “That’s right! Mine! My son! Not that social worker, Taylor Shepard, bitch.”
He took a deep breath. “As far as the courts are concerned, you have no child and Ryan Shepard’s mother is Taylor Shepard.”
Nina wanted to tear the idiot to shreds. She lunged across the table, grabbing the man’s tie and jerking him over the edge of the table to her. “Never. I’ll never let him go. He’s mine. Mine! A piece of paper doesn’t make him anyone else’s. My blood flows through his veins.”
The guard jerked her back, muttering to the lawyer to leave.
“He’s mine!” she screamed. Another guard pinned her to the table.
“Good day, Ms. Fisher.” The door clicked shut behind him.
Prison sentence or no, Nina would find a way to take what was hers. Attempted murder, my ass.
Thinking of Ryan with Mrs. Shepard stormed rage through her veins. “I’ll make you pay, bitch. Before long you’ll wish you never heard of me. I’ll make your life hell,” she whispered.
“Come on, Fisher,” one guard said, jerking her up and slapping the cuffs on her.
She walked out, the guard, a large ebony-skinned man twice her size, pushed her down the hall.
Her chest heaved up and down with emotion, and she stumbled along the corridor. All this because Ryan had fallen through a plate glass window. She really hadn’t meant to throw him that hard. If he’d only listened, she never would have thrown him in the first place. Stupid brat.
“You’re gonna have fun where you’re going, Fisher.” The other guard was a woman with pale blonde hair, who looked too much like a doll to be sporting a uniform.
“Go to hell,” she spat back.
“No, I’ll wait and let you tell me what it’s like,” answered the guard. “Most inmates don’t look well on those who hurt kids, especially their own. It’s lower than low. In the pen, it’s almost as bad as being a cop. Yeah, you’re gonna have lots of fun.”
Nina opted for silence. The rage boiled and rolled through her, a strong black cloud eating everything in its path. Time. She needed time. Time to think, to calm down, to plan. Damn it, if she only had some goods, she could focus enough to figure out what the hell to do next. Her laceless shoes squeaked on the linoleum. She’d have plenty of time for that once she reached Gatesville. Nothing like a maximum-security prison for lots of thinking time.
Damn Ryan and his do-gooder savior.
It might take her a while, but she’d figure out a plan. She always did. Always.
And when she did, those who wronged her, paid. They paid dearly.
Chapter 1
Washington, D.C., June
Blllleeeeeepppppp. The high-pitched whine of the flatlined EKG echoed against the confines of the operating room.
Gavin’s latex-covered hands gripped the paddles again, blood smearing on the handles. The metal plates slid smoothly together. “Clear.”
The medical team stepped back from the table.
Just for a moment the EKG graphed a slight fibrillation as the heart muscles attempted to once again live. The heart beat again, but then flatlined. It was useless. Shit.
“Dr. Kinncaid?” asked one of the surgical nurses.
“Damn it.” He handed the paddles to another assistant. He hated calling time of death. He wiped his forehead with his arm before he looked at the large black-and-white clock. “Asystole. 12:32 p.m.”
Hellfire and bloody damnation. Gavin could only look down at the young beaten face lying relaxed and lifeless on the operating table. Bruised and swollen it pleaded for help. Help that never came. Or when it had, it had been too damn late. Clear tubes ran out of her. IVs hung suspended from metal hooks. The black plastic of the ventilator stood still and silent now, no longer pumping air into her lungs.
He fisted his hands on his hips. Pointless. It was all so damned pointless. Everything about this situation could have been prevented. Everything from the teen being pregnant in the first place, to her abuse, to her death. If only someone had taken the time to run an ultrasound down in the ER, they would have seen the internal bleeding. Someone might have caught onto the fact that the young girl was hemorrhaging to death. And by the time he had discovered the mistake up in the maternity ward, it had been too late.
His sigh heated his face against the clinical mask he wore. People shuffled quietly around him. The coppery scent of blood mingled with the stringent smells of antiseptic and disinfectants.
“Dr. Kinncaid?” He glanced up to see the anesthesiologist, Dr. Rita Farganio, holding the door. Most of the others had filed out.
“I’ll be along in a moment.”
The door swooshed behind her as it swung closed.
Gavin gently laid his hand on the girl’s forehead. “I’m sorry, honey. I’m so damn sorry.”
On another sigh, he turned, jerking off his bloodied surgical uniform, and left the OR. He didn’t care what others thought. Distance was all well and good, and a necessary part of the job. But sometimes certain cases and certain patients grabbed you by the throat.
Cold water gushed over his hands, the fruity scent of the antibacterial soap tingled his nose. Was there even anyone to notify? The girl’s parents? He’d learned they were in custody, since the father was the one who’d beaten his pregnant daughter. And who would notify them? Him? Their lawyer? Or the cops?
Gavin tried to remember if he’d ever been in such a situation before and couldn’t think of a single one. The closest he’d come was when he’d been called in to help with a molestation case and needed the parents’ permission to do the exam, only to find out the father was the bastard behind it.
The excess water sprinkled on the stainless steel as he turned off the faucet and reached for a paper towel. He tossed the towel angrily into the trash bin.
“Dr. Kinncaid?” asked a gray-haired nurse in the maternity ward’s pastel uniforms.
What now? He turned. “Yes?”
“There is a woman inquiring about Miss Gibbons. I just heard what happened. She’s been pacing the floor for the last hour or so. She said she was the girl’s social worker.”
Hell, the social worker. Great. Wonderful. “Thank you, Bess. I’ll take care of it.”
He held open the door for Bess and stepped into the hall.
“I didn’t think you were on call today, Doc,” she said briskly.
“I wasn’t. But they called me in for this. I was supposed to help my brother move into his new house today, and the whole family is having some lawn party or something at the place. I need to get up there.”
“You look like you need some sleep.”
He grinned. “That, too.”
“Well, doctors need their rest too.” She opened the nurses’ station door and disappeared inside.
His most hated part of the job. The pale green walls did not soothe him. Pastel colors on the maternity floor seemed to mock him. There was nothing he hated more than losing a patient, mother or child, exce
pt having to explain it to family or friends, to shatter worlds. Well, putting it off wasn’t going to make it the least bit easier. Gavin walked down the hallway towards the waiting room.
At the double doors, he looked through the window. Yes, indeed. There she was pacing down the distance to the doors opposite him that led to the recovery rooms.
The waiting room, along with the nurses’ station and nursery—set between the recovery rooms on one side and labor/delivery and the ORs on his side—appeared mostly empty, save for a few people clustered around the glass wall of the nursery. Miss Social Worker turned just short of the group and started back towards him. Her jeans and T-shirt, with white sneakers and a ponytail, made her look like an undergrad. What kind of social worker was she? Wasn’t her job to protect those children in her care? She looked too young to be a social worker with her reddish blonde hair pulled back. On a resigned sigh, he pushed through the door.
She looked up and her gaze locked with his. He saw the question in her light brown eyes.
“Miss . . . ?” What was her name? Had she told him?
Her stride stopped a few feet from him.
“Dr. Kinncaid, isn’t it? How’s Amy?” Her voice was soft, gentle.
Her expectant expression pulled his attention back to her question. He gestured to the chairs beside them, lining the wall. She looked so fresh, so full of life, so young. Anger at what had happened to the young girl in the OR simmered over.
“Why don’t you have a seat?”
Her head shook back and forth. “No. I don’t need to sit down. Just tell me. How is Amy Gibbons?” Her eyes narrowed on his.