by Kaylea Cross
Cold sweat gathered under his armpits. Why hadn’t the other team come in yet? With two teammates down they should have performed the breach immediately. Something was wrong.
The boy started to cry again and his father shook him so hard Rayne feared his little neck might snap.
“Goddamn you, I told you to shut up.”
“Hey, the kid’s just scared—” the second HT began.
“Shut the hell up.”
Rayne’s eyes followed the gunmen. His manic gaze flicked between the front door and the hole Rayne and his teammate had fallen through. The father was obviously high on something, probably meth. Stay calm, stay put or you’ll wind up with a bullet through your head.
The guy dumped his son on the floor. The boy shrank into the corner, drawing his knees up to his chest, wiping his runny nose with a filthy sleeve as he watched his father with fearful eyes.
The terror Rayne saw there made his heart pound harder. If the kid didn’t stay still and quiet, the father could snap. He gave the boy a reassuring smile and was met with the same wide-eyed gaze as before. The sniper team outside still had no eyes or ears so all he could do was wait until the entry team regrouped. His teammate beside him still hadn’t moved. Was he dead?
His captor prowled around the shack, loading weapons, eyes darting in anticipation of the tactical team bursting in at any moment. Rayne’s muscles began to ache, but still he didn’t move, throughout all the asshole’s taunting about how he would never leave alive, how they would all die if those pigs out there tried anything else. He ignored the threats screamed at the police trying to contact the HT from outside. Cold sweat dripped down his sides under his Kevlar vest, Christa’s St. Michael medallion warm against his chest. May this always keep you safe from any dangers you face...
He’d promised to come home to her, had promised to keep her safe. He had to get back to her.
The boy shifted against the wall, drawing his father’s attention. Rayne held his breath as the bloodshot eyes snapped to the son.
“You want those pigs out there to shoot me?”
The boy’s eyes widened. “No, Daddy. No, I—”
“Anybody’s going to get shot, it’s you, little fucker.”
He stalked over to tower above the boy. “Your ma’d be real sorry then, wouldn’t she? Her poor little baby bleeding all over the place. Dead.” The young face crumpled and Rayne’s rage soared. “Be better off that way. Things were fine until you came along.” He shoved him with his boot, sending him sprawling him face down. The weeping cut into Rayne.
“Shut up,” the father barked, but the boy only cried harder, cowering, gazing at Rayne with such anguish he almost couldn’t hold that stare. The kid couldn’t seem to get hold of himself after that. Every time he tried to stop crying a sob would tear free, each one making Rayne wince.
“I said shut the fuck up, boy. Goddamn you.” He took a lunging step with Rayne’s pistol raised, aiming it at his son’s head.
Rayne nearly stopped breathing. The boy screamed and covered his head with his arms. “Jesus, put that thing down,” the second HT wheezed. “Kid’s scared to death.”
“Shut him up. Make him shut up or I’ll kill him.” He hadn’t moved his finger from the trigger.
The other man sent the boy a desperate glance. “Be quiet, Danny. Just be quiet, okay? Everything’s going to be all right.” He looked at Rayne then, and when Rayne recognized the stark fear in the other man’s eyes, he felt even colder inside. The father was a ticking time bomb, holding a loaded pistol at his own child.
When Daniel cast a pleading glance at him, Rayne saw the idea to run forming in the boy’s eyes. Don’t, he prayed silently, giving a minute shake of his head. Don’t move. Please God, don’t let him move.
But Daniel did move. With all the strength he could muster from his little legs he pushed to his feet.
It all happened in slow motion. Rayne saw Daniel get up, heard the father’s warning snarl. Praying his Kevlar vest would protect them both, Rayne dove forward and caught Daniel in a flying tackle just as the pistol shot cracked. He felt the little body jerk, saw the spasm of pain that crossed Daniel’s face an instant before they hit the floor. A second bullet smashed into Rayne’s side as he shielded Daniel’s body beneath his. The third bullet hit almost instantaneously, ripping through his upper arm, then a fourth center mass. Pain exploded in bright red pulses, blinding him as the entry team finally executed the breach.
He dimly heard more shouting, the scramble of feet, the explosion of the flash bangs and more shots before his strength gave out and he collapsed on top of the boy. He smelled the blood, felt the warm stickiness as it pooled around them. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think of anything but Christa.
Suddenly everything was so clear. Everything important seemed to crystallize. An image flashed through his mind, of Christa standing over his grave, grieving. The coldness of it seeped into his soul. Why the hell hadn’t he told her he loved her?
Chapter Eighteen
Christa stood by the picture window in Rayne’s apartment, gazing down at Patrick helping Jake into his battered Chevy pickup. He was going to stay with the Flannerys until this situation with Seth was resolved one way or another. As they drove away, the loneliness hit her.
The sky was leaden, the bay restless with choppy gray waves under a light drizzle. The weather matched her mood perfectly. Now even her beloved pet had been stripped from her life. Cut off from the outside world while a monster prowled the streets freely, she was trapped in Rayne’s condo alone until he came back from the op he’d been called to. So far she’d refrained from watching the news. All she had to do was hang in there a few more hours and Rayne would be home, and then she would be okay again.
Her phone rang, and Nate’s number on the call display. “Nate?”
“Hi, Chris. How are you holding up?”
“Pretty well, thanks. It was sweet of you to call and check on—”
“It’s Rayne.”
The blood drained from her face and she grabbed the edge of the couch to steady herself. She’d known. Dammit, she’d known... “What happened?”
“He was on a call this afternoon when things went a little haywire, and well...he was shot.”
Her knees buckled. “What?” She sank onto the couch and snapped up the remote.
Nate’s voice seemed to float somewhere in the distance. Images of Rayne flashed through her mind. Shot. Bleeding through the bandages. His still body being lifted into an ambulance. She made a sound in the back of her throat, every drop of blood in her body freezing. Panic welled inside her and she hardly heard Nate’s attempts to calm her. Rayne had been shot. She needed to get to him right away.
“Christa, can you hear me? Are you listening? He’s being treated right now. He’s okay, honey, I saw him myself.”
She gulped air, trying to stop shaking, her teeth chattering as she nodded. He wasn’t dead or dying. He was okay.
“I’m sending a uniformed officer over to get you. Stay inside with the door locked and make sure you check his ID before you let him into the building or opening your door.”
“Okay.” The fear was almost paralyzing. “Hurry.”
“Hang in there.”
What choice did she have? She grabbed her purse and waited at the door, heart pounding as the seconds ticked by.
****
Rayne heard her calling his name and took a painful, bracing breath before pushing into a sitting position. He was still in shock, but the fear was starting to creep in at the edge of his mind and he wanted to make sure he held it together in front of her. She rushed into the room, eyes wide at the sight of the sling securing his wounded left arm across his chest. “Hey, darlin’.”
He held out his good arm and she clung tight, fingers clenched on the fabric stretched across his shoulder blades. “Rayne, I—”
“Shh. I’m okay.” She felt like heaven in his arms. He squeezed her closer as she covered his face in sweet, desperate k
isses, wincing at the pain in his chest but not caring. He never wanted to let go of her again. “Just let me hold you.” She obeyed, slipping her arms around his waist, being careful of his arm and bruised ribs. For a few minutes she stayed that way, cheek pressed against his heart, as if absorbing the feel of him.
He pulled back and cupped the back of her neck with his good hand. “I need tell you something, but I want you to look at me when I do.” She raised her blue eyes to his, held his gaze, and the words he’d been holding onto for the past few hours burst out of him. “I love you, Chris. More than anything.” It felt damned good to have the chance to tell her so.
She gave him a watery smile, her face alight. “I love you too.”
He leaned down and kissed her, his hand buried in her hair. He almost hadn’t made it home today, had been reminded how fragile life was, and he didn’t like how it felt one damn bit.
“I haven’t been that scared since...you know,” she told him hoarsely.
“Me either. I still can’t believe it happened at all.” She sniffed and wiped her eyes, scanned his injuries. “Only one bullet actually got me,” He gestured at his bandaged arm where a round had passed through his triceps and been stopped by the Kevlar vest, protecting his lung and heart. “The docs told me it missed anything real important, so it’s just soft tissue damage. The vest saved me from the other two.”
She shook her head, eyes haunted. “Do you need anything?”
“Just you,” he said quietly, bringing her gaze sharply to his. He knew she was feeling scared and helpless and wanted to take care of him, but he only wanted to hold on to her until he felt stable again. As though she sensed it, she laid her head against his good shoulder and closed her eyes, offering her love and reassurance without hesitation.
They sat in silence for a long time, savoring each other’s presence with a new appreciation. Life was so precious, so fleeting. He intended to savor every day to the fullest from now on, and cherish the things that were important to him. Starting with Christa.
****
“So,” she said against his shirt when they were back home on his couch, “what happened?”
He shifted to try and ease the aching in his ribs, but it lessened only slightly. The mere act of breathing was painful. “Murphy’s Law happened,” he muttered and told her everything he was legally allowed to, grateful for her warmth pressed against him, chasing away the chill that gripped him inside. “My teammate’s still in the ICU with a fractured skull but at least he’s conscious, and the little boy was taken into surgery before I was, so I haven’t heard anything.” When she didn’t reply he sighed and closed his eyes. “I want him to be okay, Chris. I’ll never forget the expression on his face when he tried to run to me.” His jaw clenched and his eyes stung. “He was looking at me as if I was going to save the day, like I was some kind of goddamn superhero.”
She murmured and rubbed his arm, but the lead weight in his chest didn’t go away. The guilt felt like an anvil pressed on his solar plexus. If he hadn’t fallen through the ceiling, Daniel would most likely be home with his mother, but instead she was sitting next to his intensive care bed, keeping vigil over the tenuous grip he had on life.
He pushed the image away and tightened his hold on Christa while she ran her fingers over his bandages as if her touch could heal him. And maybe it did, he thought, kissing her temple. Thank God she was being so brave about everything. He couldn’t take it if she cried right now. “I could use a shower,” he said. “I can still smell the hospital on me.”
“You shouldn’t get that sling wet,” she told him, all business as she stood and assessed him. “I’ll draw you a bath instead.”
He let her help him into the master bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub as she filled it. How beautiful she was, inside and out. “How did you do today?”
She gathered towels and soap. “Fine. I laid low here, like you said.”
She eased off his shirt, careful not to hurt him but the pain still made beads of sweat pop out on his brow. He stood and let her pull his pants and boxers off, too sore to even think about making love to her, and since he’d thought about little else the past few weeks, it said a lot for how seriously shitty he felt at the moment. When she helped him into the tub he winced at the hot water stinging the abrasions on his arms from where he’d fallen through and hit the floor. “I’m going to be one sore puppy in the morning.”
She ran a hand through his hair, then washed him down carefully, eyes tracking every bruise and welt on his chest and arm. “God, look at you.”
Truthfully, the pain wasn’t so bad at the moment. Her hands on his skin were prompting a reaction he hadn’t expected, as if his body knew how close it had come to dying and was doing everything it could to remind itself he was still alive. He made himself lie back and let her take care of him, comforted by her gentle touch and her calmness. She brought him such a sense of peace.
All too soon she rinsed him off and toweled him dry, then moved him into his bedroom where she undid the towel at his waist and let it puddle on the floor. His erection stood proud and ready to go against his stomach.
“Lie down,” she told him, watching him with hungry blue eyes, and he did. Leaning over him once he was sprawled out on his back on the king-size mattress, she grabbed a bottle of lotion she’d placed on the bedside table. “I want you to lie still while I do this,” she was saying, but the blood had rushed out of his brain to pool in a more important organ, so he missed whatever else she told him under the roaring in his ears.
This was straight out of his fantasies—him lying helpless while Christa rubbed him all over with her oiled hands... Except he hadn’t been shot up and bruised to hell in his fantasies. The look in her eyes was exactly right, though. Hungry and focused, staring at him as if he was the most magnificent thing she’d ever seen. At odds with the incredibly soothing touch she was using. The woman looked like she wanted to eat him alive. He squirmed. As he shifted on the mattress her cool hands stroked over his shoulders and chest, her gaze trailing down to devour the sight of his cock.
God. He lay back against the pillow, body throbbing. Closing his eyes, he absorbed the tingle of her hands wandering down his chest and stomach, her lips trailing wet kisses in their wake, moving lower. He sucked in a breath and slid his right hand into her hair as she gripped his cock in her slippery fists, wincing at the pain in his ribs. He didn’t know if he could take the feel of her mouth on him right now without thrashing around. “Chris—”
She teased his navel with her warm tongue. “Are you too sore for this?”
“It might kill me,” he admitted hoarsely, “but it’s a hell of a way to die.”
Only an idiot would stop her, so he lay there dying of anticipation of the moment when she closed her mouth around him. He nearly came up off the bed when she did, grabbing a fistful of her hair. Maybe it was because he’d almost died, maybe it was because he was wounded and at her mercy...whatever it was, he’d never felt anything so intense as her hot little mouth closing around him.
His hand held her close as he moaned and dug his head into the pillows, his body going up in flames. Her tongue flicked over that incredibly sensitive spot just beneath the head and...fuck. “Chris—” he warned again in a rough whisper, but she kept going, sucking slowly, as if she was enjoying his pleasure as much as he was and was in no rush to finish. He stood it for as long as he could, letting it build and build until he was fighting to contain it. “I’m going to come,” he whispered hoarsely, giving her a last chance to release him. But she only sucked him deeper and made a soft sound of enjoyment that destroyed him. He threw his head back with a deep groan, and exploded.
He collapsed onto the bed, as weak as a newborn, his heart thundering in his chest. His ribs were killing him and his arm throbbed, but it had been worth it. When he summoned the strength to open his eyes he found Christa lying with her cheek pillowed on his thigh, looking up at him with a satisfied glow in her eyes.
�
��Come here,” he murmured, holding out a hand to draw her up beside him. The feel of her soothed him.
“I love you,” she told him softly in the darkness.
“I love you too, darlin’.” Each time it was easier to say the words out loud.
****
Early the next morning Christa was already busy in the kitchen when Rayne’s phone rang. She set the steaming cinnamon buns on the stovetop to cool and wiped her hands on a tea towel to answer. “Hi, Nate.”
“Morning. How’s our boy doing?”
“Still sleeping.”
He grunted. “Good. Sleep’s the best thing for him right now. The ribs giving him much trouble?”
“His chest looks like a tie-dyed T-shirt.” Every time she imagined the bullets hitting his Kevlar vest she felt sick.
“I’ll bet. Listen, I’ve dug up some more info on our suspect.”
She stilled. “Okay.”
“He has a sealed juvenile record, so we eventually got a warrant to look at it. Seems when Sutherland was fourteen he offed his stepfather. Sliced him up like a ripe tomato, then strangled him.”
Her spine went rigid. She placed a hand on the counter to steady herself, thinking of that silver blade as it slashed toward her. Sliced up like a ripe tomato...
He let out a weary breath. “We’re following a tip that might lead to where he’s been holed up, so I’ll keep you posted. Tell Rayne to call me if I can do anything, okay?”
She hoped Seth could feel the net tightening around him. “Thanks, Nate.”
So her stalker was a double murderer. Gee, nice to know. What might he be able to do with his technological expertise? Track her through her cell phone records? The national team website where her name was still listed as a possible candidate? It detailed the program’s itinerary, right down to travel days, camp locations. If she somehow made the final cut, he’d know where she was on those dates.
The phone rang again and she jumped. The call display said it was the hospital. She answered, told the woman asking for Rayne that he was unavailable. “Can I take a message?” She reached for a pen but froze in mid motion. “Oh, no... no, I’m so sorry... yes, I’ll tell him. Thank you for letting us know.” She hung up, her throat aching. How should she break this news to him?