by Anna Perrin
McKenna, kneeling on the driver’s seat, jerked his head around at the commotion. His surprised expression changed to one of fury. He yanked the steering wheel hard to the right. Brent tumbled sideways, his right shoulder slamming into the storage compartments. A dark cloud of agony blurred his vision. He must have dislocated his shoulder. He felt light-headed, but if he passed out, McKenna would make sure he never woke up.
Gritting his teeth, Brent lurched upright. The boat swerved violently again. The sudden movement sent a fresh wave of pain surging through his injured shoulder. Even so, he kept his footing by grabbing hold of the railing with his left hand.
Ahead of him, McKenna was groping for something on the floor near the passenger seat. Brent let go of the railing and retrieved the fishhook from his pocket. McKenna gave a triumphant cry and began to straighten.
Squeezing between the rear seats, Brent slipped his good arm around McKenna’s neck and pressed the point of the fishhook against the other man’s jugular vein. “Drop the knife.”
McKenna erupted with a stream of profanity.
His shoulder ached so much he didn’t know how long he could stay conscious—especially with the boat jarring him mercilessly as it plowed through the waves.
He nicked McKenna’s skin next to the vein hard enough to draw blood. “Lose the knife now or I’ll kill you.”
The knife clattered to the floor of the speedboat.
The pain in his shoulder pulsed like a strobe light. He had the upper hand, but the situation could reverse in a heartbeat. He gritted his teeth, willing himself to stay conscious. “Take us back to the dock.”
He kept the fishhook poised at McKenna’s neck as the other man took hold of the wheel, made an 180-degree turn and sped back the way they’d come. Neither he nor McKenna spoke during the trip. He had no inclination to ask questions, partly because he felt so lousy and partly because he wouldn’t trust any answers that McKenna gave him, anyway. But he wondered what thoughts preoccupied the other agent. Did McKenna feel guilt or remorse over anything he’d done? Or did he just regret getting caught?
McKenna would be charged and tried for the crimes he’d committed. But no matter what prison term the agent served, it wouldn’t bring back Pete.
The speedboat pulled alongside the dock where Claire stood with her arms clasped around her shivering body.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Brent called out.
She smiled at him. “No problem. I knew you were busy.”
As she climbed aboard, the speedboat bumped against the dock.
He bit back a curse. His shoulder felt as if it was on fire, and he was afraid he might black out at any moment. “Grab a mooring line…and tie him up.”
She eyed McKenna warily but moved quickly to bind their captive’s wrists and ankles.
Brent shoved the other man into the aft section. When he turned back to Claire, he saw her eyes glistening with moisture.
She’d held up amazingly well considering everything she’d been through. But now a combination of shock and relief had her body trembling and tears sliding down her cheeks. He lifted his good arm around her shoulders and hugged her to his side, trying to impart both comfort and warmth. His own body burned from the pain of his injury. Unable to stop himself, he slumped into the driver’s seat, pulling her down beside him.
“What’s wrong?” Claire asked, her eyes wide with worry.
He tried to reassure her with a smile, but all he could manage was a grimace. “My right shoulder is dislocated.”
He closed his eyes, sucked in a shallow breath.
Claire touched his cheek. “Is there anything I can do?”
He forced his eyes open. “Think you can pop my shoulder back in for me?”
She blanched.
“I guess not.” As an afterthought, he added, “Pete was squeamish, too, until he got the hang of it.”
“I’m sorry he’s not here for you,” she said in a low voice.
They exchanged a look of silent understanding.
“Can you drive the boat?” Brent asked.
“If you give me some pointers.”
“I can do that.”
They should have switched seats, but Claire wouldn’t let him move. Instead she reached across him to the steering wheel, insisting she had to be on her feet to see over the bow properly.
He was in no shape to argue. All his energy was focused on coping with the pain.
“Where to?” Claire prompted.
He checked the compass on the console, then looked out at the lake, trying to get his bearings.
He pointed eastward. “The closest marina is five miles that way.”
She reached over his shoulder and turned the key in the ignition. Nothing happened. She frowned and tried again.
“You need to set the choke,” he told her.
She followed his instructions to start the engine, then looked at him.
“The throttle’s over here,” he said.
“Oh, yeah.”
It was obvious she’d never operated a motorboat before, but with some coaching, she maneuvered the craft away from the dock and set off.
“Watch out for the marina’s blue flags,” he said, closing his eyes because keeping them open made him dizzy.
He couldn’t have done this alone. If Claire hadn’t been here to tie up McKenna and drive the boat, this day would be ending very differently. He and Claire made a great team. If only he could convince her to stay with him.
He came to when Claire’s soft voice announced Weir’s marina was ahead. He ground his teeth against the pain and opened his eyes to see the floating docks that formed the marina’s boundary less than two hundred feet ahead.
Claire cut back on the throttle, steered between the orange buoys that marked the entrance and sought out an empty mooring spot.
“Nice driving,” he murmured.
She sank down onto the passenger seat. “How are you feeling now?”
“Like someone’s holding a blowtorch to my shoulder.”
“I’ll get help,” she said, rising quickly.
“Good idea, sweetheart. But first—” he gave her a lopsided grin “—kiss me.”
She tenderly touched her lips to his.
He needed this woman in his life. Each and every day. Forever.
And as soon as he was sure he wouldn’t pass out in midsentence, he would tell her so.
Chapter Sixteen
Claire spent the next couple of hours exhausted and worried.
Gene arrived at the marina with half a dozen other FBI agents to take McKenna into custody, and Brent was hustled away for medical treatment.
She took a seat in the corner and waited while Gene showed two agents where to search for the canoe using the marina’s wall map of the lake. He sent the others to look for McKenna’s vehicle. Then he turned his attention to her—he wanted to know everything her attacker had said and done from the time he’d arrived at the cabin, yet found it hard to focus on the details. She knew that McKenna would be charged with attempted murder because he’d tried to drown her, but she almost didn’t care. All she cared about was Brent.
When they’d taken him away, his face had been gray, his eyes bleary with pain. She needed to see him again, to know that he’d been taken care of. Much more than that, she needed to tell him what was in her heart.
Gene’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Claire, I have to talk with the divers. Can I get you anything before I go? A warm drink? Something to eat?”
She shook her head, drawing the blanket she’d been given tighter around her body. “When do you expect Brent to be here?”
“I’m sure he won’t be too much longer,” he assured her.
She closed her eyes, relieved to be left alone. The blanket slipped down. Even though she was shivering, she didn’t bother to adjust it. Only Brent’s arms around her could ease the chill inside her. She tried to think positive thoughts, to remind herself that it was only a dislocated shoulder, and obviously n
ot the first one for him. But she wouldn’t be able to relax until she saw for herself that he was okay.
And then what? she wondered. When Brent got back, what would happen next?
She sighed, knowing that the answers to those questions would have to wait until she saw him again.
Then she opened her eyes, and he was there.
Her heart overflowing with relief, she dropped the blanket and ran to his side. She didn’t hug him because his right arm was in a sling. Brent still looked tired, but his eyes were no longer glazed with pain, and his lips curved in a smile that was only for her.
“I like you in red,” he said, his gaze sliding down to her T-shirt. “And no, I don’t have a head injury. I just promised myself I’d tell you that when I got the chance.”
She smiled. “How’s the shoulder?”
“Back in its proper place,” he said. “How are you?”
“Better, now that you’re here.”
She wanted to reach out to him, to touch him, but the presence of his colleagues made her hesitate.
Just then, Gene strolled over. “When can I expect your written report?”
Brent glanced down at the sling with a grimace. “That’s going to take a while, since I’ll be typing with one hand.”
Gene grinned. “You’re lucky you’ll be able to type at all. I doubt McKenna would have hesitated to kill you, too. And by the looks of the knife we confiscated, it would have been quick work.”
Claire shivered, remembering the cold metal blade pressed against her throat.
Brent wrapped his good arm around her and hugged her close. “Claire’s help was crucial to his capture. After I wrecked my shoulder, she was the one who tied up McKenna, drove the boat here and contacted you.”
Claire was surprised—both by his words of praise and the gesture of public affection.
“I’ve always said she was an asset to the Bureau,” Gene said.
The two men exchanged knowing smiles that made Claire wonder what she was missing.
Gene beckoned to a tall, lanky man, who had been pointed out to Claire earlier as the marina owner. “Mac Weir’s offered to give you both a ride back to the cabin.”
“It’s the least I can do for the people who brought my boat back in one piece,” the other man said gruffly.
Claire was glad to finally be leaving—and even happier that Brent was coming with her, not staying behind with the rest of the team from the Bureau.
Outside, rain was falling heavily, reducing visibility. The marina owner dropped them at the cabin. She and Brent thanked him for the ride and hurried through the rain to the door. As she stood inside the entry, brushing raindrops from her clothes, Claire caught sight of a long, white box on the coffee table in the living room.
“You brought me flowers?” she said, her heart swelling with pleasure at his thoughtful gift.
“Seems like a lifetime ago.” With his sling-wrapped arm cupped in his good hand, Brent slowly lowered himself onto the couch and stretched out his long legs.
Claire removed the lid to find a dozen long-stemmed red roses nestled in silver tissue. She inhaled their fragrance, then brushed a fingertip over a single velvety petal. She swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”
“I brought you something else, too,” he said. “Something even better than flowers.”
“Better than flowers?”
He pointed to an envelope partially obscured by the florist’s box.
“What is it?” she asked, bemused.
“Something I think you’ll find very enlightening.”
She shot him a quizzical look, but he wouldn’t say more, so she ripped open the envelope and scanned the first sheet of paper.
By the time she’d finished reading the fifth e-mail, she felt light-headed. The men who had authored these e-mails had praised her so enthusiastically that she kept forgetting to breathe. Prior to this, the most appreciation she’d received was an occasional thanks, muttered in a barely audible voice. But the threat of her dismissal had prompted these intensely private agents to document for the record all the ways that her counseling had helped them.
Over the past few months, her confidence had taken a huge nosedive. Yet here in her hands was proof that she hadn’t wasted her efforts, that she had, in fact, made a significant difference to her patients.
Brent was right. This was much better than flowers.
She blinked away the moisture that blurred her vision. “Why didn’t Gene tell me?” she asked softly.
“He planned to do that at your next performance review, but then you told him you were quitting the Bureau.”
She held the envelope against her chest. Did she really want to leave these agents whose wonderful words of support she would never forget? Did she really want to turn her back on a supervisor who would rally his troops to save her job?
“Gene also mentioned that it was your advice that saved his marriage.”
She curled up next to Brent on the couch. “He really said that?”
“I’ll take a polygraph if you want,” he said solemnly.
She smiled. “That won’t be necessary.”
He reached for her hand. “I haven’t thanked you properly for helping me. In light of all your other accolades, I guess one more hardly matters, but I wanted you to know.”
“What you think matters a great deal to me.”
He gazed at her in silence for a long time. Then, just as she sensed he was about to speak, his cell phone rang. He made no move to answer it.
“It might be important,” she pointed out.
“This is important,” he said.
She nodded. “And we’ll finish it after your call.”
He released her hand and pulled out his cell phone.
While he spoke in a low voice, her thoughts wandered. Starting a new job had lost its appeal now that she felt validated in her current position. And tonight’s short separation from Brent had shown her how much she wanted to be with him. Because she loved him.
She was going to tell him how she felt, confident they had a chance at a real relationship.
As for Balanced Life Consulting Group, they would just have to find somebody else to teach stress-management courses to executives.
Brent set down his cell phone. “That was Gene,” he told her. “They found McKenna’s car and have already torn it apart. Hidden inside the passenger seat, they found a gun that looks like the one that was used to kill Pete and shoot through your front window.”
She shuddered. “I’m surprised McKenna didn’t bring it when he came to the cabin. It would’ve been simpler—and quicker—than renting a speedboat and paddling to that dock.”
“I think he wanted Forrester to take the blame for what happened before today. So your death had to look accidental—as if you’d paddled to the dock, then slipped and hit your head as you stepped out of the canoe.”
“I hope he has a long time in prison to think about everything he’s done,” she said vehemently.
“He will. I’m sure the gun is only the first piece of evidence we’ll find. He killed Pete and Harris—no one’s going to let him get away with any of it.”
“Pete would approve of everything you’ve done to bring McKenna to justice.”
“I think so, too,” Brent agreed. “But when I went after McKenna today, I wasn’t thinking of Pete. I was only thinking of you. I wanted to kill him for trying to hurt you.”
“You saved my life today.”
He smiled. “And you saved mine.”
Beyond the living-room windows, lightning streaked toward the lake in a jagged flash of brilliance, and the wind whipped the trees.
“Do you remember the night Gene sent you to get me—after Forrester had escaped from Ridsdale?”
He rubbed his nose. “How could I forget?”
She smiled. “There was a storm that night, too.” But the terror she’d felt was gone. She was with Brent, safe and secure in his arms.
“I hope we’ll see many more together,” Brent said.
She glanced up at him and held her breath, almost afraid to hope.
He looked back at her, his eyes filled with an emotion she hadn’t seen in them before.
“I think you know,” he continued, “that I’ve never had a problem putting my life on the line. But putting my heart on the line? That’s an entirely different story. No serious relationships means no way to get hurt, right?”
His mouth twisted in a grimace. “I don’t want to play it safe by limiting myself to work—and nothing else—anymore.”
“What do you want?” Claire asked.
“I want you.” He stroked her cheek with a gentle finger. “My heart nearly stopped when I saw McKenna overturn that canoe. In that moment, I finally realized how much I loved you. I’d have known it sooner if I hadn’t been blinded by stubbornness, but nearly losing you made my feelings crystal clear. I love you, Claire, and I don’t ever want to let you go.”
Her heart expanded until she could feel it pressing against her ribs. “I love you, too, Brent. So much.”
At last, he kissed her. He kissed her deeply, thoroughly, endlessly until her head was spinning. As always, she tasted passion on his lips, but this time there was a tenderness that warmed her soul.
She drew back to catch her breath. “Does this mean I can look forward to something more than a few dates in our future?”
“Definitely more than a few dates,” he promised. “Maybe even marriage and children—if that’s still what you want.”
She was too overwhelmed to speak.
He leaned his forehead against hers. “I want to make a life with you, Claire. I want us to share our best and worst moments and be together always.” He drew back and searched her eyes, his gaze reflecting the love his words had just expressed. “My gut tells me we can make that happen.”
She gave him a tremulous smile. “My heart agrees.”
“What about the Bureau?”
She realized she hadn’t told him she’d changed her mind about leaving. Everything had happened so fast, she hadn’t had a chance. “Do you think Gene will take me back?”