by Jaycee Clark
“Oh, Jesus.”
Rori leapt over the couch, even as she heard the rip of tape from across the room.
“Ian hit?” John yelled.
Rori turned him over. No exit wound. Bloody hell. He moaned and glared up at her. “If you ever, ever do anything so fucking stupid again, I swear I will have your ass.” He hissed an inhale through gritted teeth.
She was so relieved tears stung her eyes. “Stay still.”
“Rori!” John yelled.
“Yeah, Ian’s hit, but I don’t think too bad.” She prayed it wasn’t lodged in his lung or worse. Bloody hell, she couldn’t think.
The sound of a helicopter chopped through the air. Thank God.
“Detonator,” Ian muttered.
She looked in his hand; he’d caught it and still held it cradled in his palm.
Jock pulled himself up and knelt over his son.
John came over and looked for himself. He helped roll Ian onto his back, felt his vitals.
Mrs. Kinncaid was looking at Rori from Quinlan’s side, where’d she’d already tied off his wound with . . . a curtain cord?
Rori smiled slightly. “I think Ian’ll be all right.”
For a second, Kaitlyn’s eyes dropped to Ian on the floor, before focusing on Quinlan again. Her hands slapped his face. “Come on, Quin! Damn it! Damn it! Someone get this damn thing off my son!”
“Mrs. Kinncaid,” John said. “A bomb squad is coming. I’m not touching that until one arrives. I don’t care for anything to go wrong. When help arrives, tell them Quinlan’s overdosed on a type of ecstasy and roofies. A chemical blend of both. He’s your more critical, especially since the bitch put a bullet in him as well.” He slapped Ian’s good arm. “This bloke here will be just fine.” To Ian he said, “I won the bet.”
“What bet?” Ian’s mouth was white-lined and hard, his lips thinned.
“Which of us would get shot next.” John looked at Elianya, his eyes hard. “Roth is bad. I think one of the bullets caught his lung.” Leaning over Ian, he said, “I’ve got to go.”
Ian nodded. “Call me.”
Rori glanced over her shoulder to see Darya scamper off the couch and wedge her way to Ian. She put her hand on his and said, “Papa.”
Chapter 31
Elianya Hellinski looked at the man who was slipping into a wet suit. He slung the scuba tanks onto his back.
“Let’s talk about this.”
He stopped and looked at her, his dark brown eyes devoid of mercy. “I’ve dreamed for years what I’d do to you. But I thought this was fitting. Unfortunately, I don’t have time for more.”
She pulled against her bound wrists, looked down at the bomb strapped to her chest. “I didn’t mean—”
He whirled and leaned down low into her face. “You meant exactly that, Elianya. You murdered children. You’ve hidden that fact. You profit from their pain.”
“You don’t want to do this,” she said, lowering her voice.
His eyes were hard and unforgiving, as she’d never seen them. “I’ve never wanted anything more.”
Somehow she’d get out of this. Without another word, he walked out of the cabin and up the steps.
She had no idea where they were, only that they were on a boat. He’d told her she could scream all she wanted and no one would hear her.
Something banged on the deck and she wiggled again. She was not about to die. Not now.
She heard the splash.
God. Her heart slammed in her ribs. He wouldn’t really do it. He wouldn’t.
She didn’t know how long she sat there. That was all it was. Just a terror tactic. Tell her it was a bomb and horrify her.
He’d loved her once too. He wouldn’t kill her.
More time ticked away. Elianya strained against her bonds, but there was no give.
She took a deep breath.
The world exploded.
• • •
Jock paced the confines of the waiting room. Kaitlyn was down the hall lying down in one of the empty rooms. It was either that or he and the boys were going to have her admitted. She had been acting off all damn evening, not that he could blame her.
When Aiden said they wanted the nurse to check his blood pressure, Jock had said fine, worried himself. His blood pressure was fine, surprisingly. Kaitlyn’s, on the other hand, was up. She was stressed and more upset than he’d ever seen her. The doctor finally just administered a sedative. Jock knew he and the boys would pay hell when she woke up in the morning. So be it. There was too much right now, he couldn’t worry about her too. If she wasn’t going to rest on her own, then they’d simply force her body to rest for her.
He raked his hands through his hair and checked the clock again. He had stayed in the room with Kaitlyn until he knew she was out, then he’d started to walk the halls.
It had been hours. Hours and still he didn’t know for certain how either of his sons were doing. The doctors said they were both doing fine, but both were hooked to more machines and wires . . . Neither had awakened yet. Everyone was more worried about Quinlan. Without a doubt.
God. He sat in one of the chairs, glad no one else was around. The boys were somewhere, their wives . . . kids . . . Parents were supposed to protect their children.
His heart slammed in his chest.
Quinlan had coded when they’d reached the ER here. Jock’s hands shook. Goddamn it! He swiped his eyes and took a deep breath. But they’d managed to bring him back and flushed his system. Jock didn’t know how or care how, the fact his son was alive was all that mattered right now.
And Ian . . .
Jesus. When that bitch had come in and waved the gun around, the bomb strapped to Quin . . .
He propped his elbows on his knees and held his head in his hands. He knew that woman wouldn’t have thought twice about shooting any of them, hadn’t even blinked when she’d put a bullet in Quinlan and then Ian. Hell, she’d aimed at him. At him. Jock had seen the satisfaction in her demented eyes as she’d pulled the trigger and then . . .
Ian. Ian had slammed into him and he’d known, known the second that damn bullet hit his son, felt the thumping impact, heard Ian’s hiss of breath.
And fear had sucked all the air from his own lungs, all the feeling from his fingers. For seconds he couldn’t move. All he saw were those eyes he’d passed to his son, staring back into his own. All he could think of was Ian as a little boy and how he’d wasted so much time with his son because of pride.
Dad. Ian had called him Dad and it had been a long damn time since he’d heard that word from that boy.
It’s okay, Dad. It’ll be okay.
Well, it wasn’t okay. Okay was not kids taking bullets for their parents.
He took a deep breath and wondered where he’d gone so wrong. Why couldn’t his sons find happiness without pain and danger stalking them? He’d joked with Kaitlyn it was because of her grandmother’s curse on their children. But honestly, he’d never put stock in the old woman’s angry epithets. Though now he wondered if his children truly were cursed as she’d yelled all those years ago—that his and Kaitlyn’s children would have to fight hard to find peace and happiness in love. Whether or not the woman affected them all, his children fought hard for what they had.
He didn’t want them fighting this hard. God, not this hard. His fingers dug into his skull. One son shot trying to save him. And the other still unconscious.
Please, please, please, let them be all right, he prayed. Please. Please.
Jock startled at the touch on his wrist. He looked up and into Darya’s blue, worried eyes.
She smiled, her cheeks dimpling, and patted his hand. She held up her teddy bear to him.
He sniffed, leaned up and patted his lap. “You want to sit here with me, princess?”
Her head cocked to the side, then she climbed up into his lap. She was so small, so little.
He took another deep breath and laid his head atop her black curls. He glanced up at the movement i
n the doorway and saw Rori. The look of relief on her face when she saw Darya told him she’d been looking for her. Without another word, she turned and walked back down the hall.
Darya snuggled up to him, holding the bear tight between both of them. The tick of the clock echoed in the still room.
He kissed the top of her head.
“Papa,” she whispered.
He rocked her. “Yes, your papa is something else.”
Darya closed her eyes as the big man rocked her. He smelled like candies and spices. She turned her head and breathed deep.
She realized he was like her new papa. This man often seemed mean, but he really was a helper. She wondered if he ever rescued little girls like her new papa. Had this man been nice to someone he hadn’t needed to be nice to?
She frowned and stuck her thumb into her mouth. She wanted her papa. She hadn’t seen her new papa since all the ambulance people came and took him away. But he’d had blood on his back and she didn’t want him to die.
They told her he was fine.
So why couldn’t she see him?
What if he went away too? What if the monsters took him away like they did Zoy? She knew, even as her heartbeat fluttered in her chest, that she’d never see Zoy again.
“Papa,” she whispered, leaning back and looking at this big man who held her, another who would keep her safe.
He smiled down at her, reached over and picked up a book.
The pictures in this one weren’t nearly as pretty as the one he read her at home, but it was still nice to listen to him talk, even if she couldn’t understand him. The deep rumble from his chest lulled her to peace.
Please let her new papa be all right, she prayed.
She wanted her papa. She wanted to go swimming again with him.
Darya tried not to think of Papa or that he was behind that one big door where Rori kept going in and out of.
Instead she focused on the big man’s voice, listened to the calming rumble and wondered what he was saying. When he sniffed again, she pulled back.
Tears glistened on his old weathered cheeks.
She frowned, reached up, and wiped them off. Maybe even big people got scared too.
• • •
The shrill notes of his cell phone woke him. He blinked and smelled the stringent smells of the hospital. He looked to his right and saw Rori and Pete.
He blinked, looked around, looked to the side of the bed and lifted his hand. God, how long had he been out?
“’Bout time you woke up.”
He tried to lift his other hand and realized it was taped to his chest. A crackle against his chest between his fingers made him look down. A crinkled photograph lay there. He smiled.
“She left it,” Rori said. “You want a drink?”
He licked his lips. God, he hated anesthesia. She held a cup and straw to his lips, her long fingers wrapped around it, the light glinting off her wedding ring. He closed his eyes.
Ian swallowed, shook his head, then settled back into the pillow. He looked at Pete. “What are you doing here?”
Pete glanced to Rori, who patted him, said something to Pete and walked out of the room. Pete stood by the bedside shaking his head. “Hell, I let you quit and still you cause trouble.”
Ian waited, then remembered. “Quinlan?”
Pete frowned. “Holding his own. She’d OD’d him. He was crashing by the time we got him in, his brain so hot . . .” He shook his head. “Coded in the ER here. But they got him back. Still unconscious, had to do extensive surgery on his leg, bullet messed up his knee, but your mother and brother seem confident.”
Fuck. “He’s okay though?”
“Far as anyone can tell. They won’t know the extent of any damage until he wakes up.”
He looked around. “Where are we?”
“Naval hospital. Seemed the best way to keep it quiet.”
Ian snorted. “Is Darya all right?” Images flashed in his brain. The shot, the pain, his father’s eyes. “My father?”
Pete nodded. “Yeah. Both fine. Tired. Everyone seems worried about your mom. Had some dizzy spells and the doctors told her to lie down or they’d admit her. She didn’t listen, they learned her blood pressure was up, so Gavin bribed one of the docs here to give her a sedative that first night and they poured her into one of the empty beds. She’s still pissed. But she’s better, pressure’s down. Your dad is fine.”
Ian took a deep breath and winced, the oxygen dry in his nose. He still hadn’t asked about Roth. “Roth?”
“Roth is still in surgery. Took a bullet to the lung. Gar was unconscious at the penthouse, but the sedative she injected in him has worn off. He’s outside still apologizing to your parents.”
Ian closed his eyes. Damn. Thoughts and images, disjointed, jagged, sharp and blurred, danced endlessly through his brain.
Pete cleared his throat. “Thought you might be interested to know that all loose ends are now tied, knotted and snipped.”
“When?” he asked, not bothering to open his eyes.
“I have no idea. But, considering Brasher’s history, for him to call and tell me it was done was enough.”
Ian felt Pete thump the railing on the bed. “Get better fast. The longer you’re in here, the harder it is to keep things quiet.”
He didn’t open his eyes as he heard Pete leave, heard the door shut. The squeaks and rolling of a cart out in the hall carried into the room. God, he’d failed them. The entire situation . . .
He heard the door open, heard the whisper of voices and then felt the bed give.
The small hand on his face had him opening his eyes. Rori held Darya on the edge of the bed. “Hey, pumpkin,” he said in Russian.
She leaned over and kissed his cheek.
He looked at Rori, noted the exhaustion in her eyes, the taut pull of her face. She was worried and he didn’t like it. Smiling at her, he reached his good hand up and laid it on top of hers. “You make a damn good Kinncaid.”
She smiled. “Your father said the same thing, then quoted some family motto or something.” She shook her head, and tried to pull her hand free.
He didn’t want to let her go. “No, stay. Both of you.” He was tired. So tired.
“I want to take a trip,” he said.
Her chuckle warmed him. “Another one?”
He opened his eyes and looked at her. “I was thinking something more family-oriented. Like the theme parks in Orlando, Florida.”
Her grin grew. “Really? I’ve never been there.”
He nodded and hoped. Hoped she wouldn’t walk out of his life one day as unexpectedly as she’d strolled into it. “We could all practice being a family.”
Darya leaned over, kissed his cheek, then squirmed off the bed and ran to the doorway. Jock stood on the other side staring in. He nodded to Ian and took Darya’s hand, pulling the door closed again. Ian relaxed in the quiet, closed his eyes and just held Rori’s hand.
Neither spoke for a while. The occasional beep of the IV machine pierced the quiet.
“I love you,” she whispered.
He sighed, felt his heart relax, and grinned. “I love you too.”
“There’s just one thing we need to discuss,” she said, her voice edged on a tease.
“What?”
“You ordering me about.”
Still he didn’t open his eyes. “Well, before we talk about it, I should go ahead and give you this one last order. Then we’ll talk about it.”
She sniffed.
“I think you make a great mom and you have to keep doing it.” He opened his eyes. “I won’t let you leave. You’re mine. A Kinncaid, and by all that I hold dear, I’ll keep you in my life. Period. You’re my other half, the balance I’ve looked for, and I’ll be damned if I have to live without that.”
She didn’t say anything for a long time, just stared at him. Finally, she scoffed. “Well, I think there are some unsettled issues there, at least with Darya. We need to close her past so we can all
move forward.”
He narrowed his eyes. “So you’re staying with us?”
Her eyes narrowed back. “She’s my bloody daughter as well, and why the bloody hell would I tell you I loved you, then turn around and walk away?” She took a deep breath, as if getting ready to battle. Then she exhaled, the breath hot in his face and faintly minty. “I’m going to write this off as your brain’s still fogged from your injuries, boyo.” She sniffed. “Now, as I was saying, before I was interrupted. We need to close Darya’s past.”
He narrowed his eyes at her again and tightened his hold on her hand. “You’re not going after them. They’re mine.”
She jutted her chin up. “I can if I want and she’s mine as well, so I’ll do as I please.”
“No, you won’t.” He closed his eyes.
“You can’t stop me if you’re in bed, here in the hospital.”
He shook his head. “Rori, wait until they release me, then we’ll argue over which of us will or won’t kill the bastards.”
• • •
December 1, 3:45 p.m.
Ian sat beside his brother’s hospital bed. He’d been here for two hours. Everyone else had something to do today, but he knew they’d all be by later.
Roth was released last week and had to go through rehab. The chest wound had not been nearly as severe as it could have been, thank goodness. He was on the mend and on paid leave, which the stubborn ass had argued about.
Ian leaned up and grabbed his brother’s hand.
Quinlan had awakened from his semi-coma state earlier this week. But he still had long episodes of sleep, with only brief spurts of alertness.
Why, Ian didn’t understand. Since she’d used a new combination of chemicals, no one really knew what the outcome would be.
But Quin, when awake, knew them all and spoke a bit. So that was a good sign.
He knew his brother wasn’t awake now, but still he talked. He had to. The guilt was eating him up inside. No one blamed him.
But he did.
“Hey, buddy. You really should wake up. You know we’ve done this before when you were like what? Seven? Wasn’t cool then. Isn’t cool now.” Nothing. “Your schedules and time sheets and what all are going all to hell.” He waited, but Quin didn’t wake up. “And I went by your office. Place is a wreck. With you gone this long, the whole place is just going to hell.”