Solid Heart (Unseen Enemy Book 7)

by Marysol James

  He unlocked the back door, eased Alexandra in gently. She moaned as he stretched her out across the seat, and he gritted his teeth, hating to hurt her more than she already was.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “You doing OK?”

  She nodded. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” He covered her with another blanket, then shut her door. He went to the driver’s side, started the engine, turned the heat on to high. He leaned over the seat, and took her hand. She looked dazed now, lost and confused, and he wondered how much longer she’d be able to hang on. “Alexandra? Can you hear me?”

  “Yes.”

  “OK, listen to me, hon. I need to go back to the house for a minute.”

  Panic flashed in her brown eyes. “Why?”

  “I have to go and get something. I want you to just stay here, alright? Stay down, stay quiet. I’ll be right back.”

  “Wait.” Her voice was weak, full of hurt, but it had an awareness that hadn’t been there before. “Where’s Francine?”

  “I’m going to get her now.”

  Her eyes widened. “You mean she’s – she’s with him?”

  “She’s fine,” Mark said soothingly. “You just lie still, relax.”

  “But – but –”

  “Everything’s fine,” Mark said. “Just fine.”

  And with everything in his large, lethal body, he hoped that it really, truly was. Because if Rick Mayer had laid a finger on even one hair on Francine’s head, Mark was going to rip him apart, limb for limb, with his goddamn bare hands.

  **

  Rick Mayer gazed down at the blonde with the amazing tits, listening intently. Fuck, he loved French women. They were sexy without being trashy.

  He took in her wide blue eyes, her sweet little pink lips – so perfect for sucking my cock – and imagined her naked, on her knees, in front of him. He’d tie her hands behind her back so she couldn’t pull away when he fucked her mouth, hard and brutal.

  She was shorter and fatter than his usual type, but that was OK. She had an eager-to-please vibe about her, and that was way more arousing and important to him than dark hair and eyes, and long, slim legs.

  “So does Alexandra ever talk about me?” he asked the airhead now, trying to sound non-threatening about it. “In your sessions?”

  “Oh.” She looked uncertain, and he gave her a reassuring smile. “I can’t – I mean, I shouldn’t really talk about what she says. It should be private.”

  “You can trust me,” he said, going all charming. He knew how to get women to do exactly what he wanted them to do; it wasn’t hard, really, seeing as they were all dumb cunts. “I want to help Alexandra as much as you do. Maybe together we can make her better?”

  She stood there, seemed to be thinking. He resisted the urge to sneer at her attempts to be semi-intelligent. No sense giving the whole game away, though, since he needed to know exactly what she knew. He supposed it wasn’t much, really, since no woman in her right mind would show up at his house at eight o’clock at night, all alone, if she thought he’d slap her around. Not even a patently stupid one.

  “You really want to help her, don’t you?” blondie breathed. “You really care.”

  “Of course I do,” Rick said. “I’m her husband.”

  “Yes.” She sighed. “OK, then.”

  He leaned forward, almost imperceptibly. So she was going to spill the beans. Twit.

  “Alexandra told me that she’s a great disappointment to you,” she said. “That she tries and tries to be the wife that you deserve, but she just can’t seem to do it.”

  Rick nodded, fascinated despite his annoyance at his wife’s failings.

  “I know she wants to be more for you, Mr. Mayer, but the truth is…” She hesitated.

  “What?” he said. “And call me Rick, honey.”

  “Rick,” she repeated softly, and his cock hardened at the way that she said his name in that sexy accent. “I like that… it’s a strong name. You know?”

  “Ummm-hmmm,” he murmured, liking the way that she was looking him up and down. “So, what were you saying? About Alexandra?”

  “Oh! Oh, yes.” She tore her eyes away from his mouth with a visible effort. “Well, the truth is that some women just can’t get better. They just can’t change, or learn, or retain important information. It’s not their fault, you understand. They just – it’s not in them to do any of those things.”

  “And you think that Alexandra is like that?” Rick said, contemplating that this explained quite a bit, actually. “That she’ll just never learn or change? No matter how hard I try with her?”

  “I do,” she said quietly. “I also don’t think therapy will help her. Not at all. I can’t help her with her problem. Nobody can, really. She’s just – she can’t be fixed. Not as a woman, and certainly not as a wife.”

  “Well, honey. This was a very enlightening conversation.” Rick stared down at her, thinking that once he’d gotten rid of his pathetic waste-of-space wife, he’d be catching up with this hot little doctor, for damn sure. After Alexandra’s small-town dime-stripper trashiness, he deserved a woman with sophistication. “I’ll talk to her, let her know your concerns.”

  “Thank you, Rick,” she said. “And – and –”

  “What?”

  “Can I leave you my card? Just so you can call me after, tell me how it all went?”

  Bingo! He fought down his triumphant grin. The little slut was practically begging for him to put his dick inside her… she was just like all the others.

  “Sure,” he said. “Give me your card, honey.”

  She gave him a brilliant smile now, rummaged around in her bag. He was so absorbed in watching her and imagining all the things that he was going to do to her, he never saw or heard the blow to the back of his head that knocked him out cold, right there where he stood.

  Francine looked down at Rick, then up at Mark. He was standing there, and he was so enraged, it was coming off him in waves. She suspected that he’d quite probably hit Rick with the butt of his gun far, far harder than he’d actually needed to… and she wasn’t even a little bit sorry about that.

  “Francine,” he rasped now. “You OK, babe?”

  She started at the endearment. She’d never heard such a sweet, soft word growled at her like that. Mark made the word sound dangerous, dark, dirty. The way that he said it made her stomach flutter, since he made it sound like her name… like it was how he thought of her. Like he thought of her as his. His.

  Ridiculous. Stop it, Francine. Immédiatement.

  “Yes,” she said. “I’m fine.”

  “Did he touch you?” Mark’s eyes were all over her, as blazing and intense as a rough caress. He didn’t move an inch towards her, but holy Lord, she felt him. “Did he fucking touch you anywhere?”

  “No.” She took a shuddering breath, realizing that it was OK, at least for her. Not that it mattered how she felt, since none of this was about her. “How’s Alexandra?”

  “Bad.” Mark forced his gaze away from her gorgeous face, started to drag Rick inside. “I’ll tie him up, call some of the people that I work with to get over here, and they can stay with him until the police arrive. We need to get Alexandra to the hospital.”

  Francine nodded. “I’ll go sit with her.”

  “You do that. I won’t be even five minutes.”

  She hurried to the SUV, and slid in to the back with Alexandra, cradling her limp head on her lap. The other woman was unconscious again, and maybe that was for the best. Francine pressed her scarf to a particularly nasty cut on Alexandra’s forehead, and she didn’t even flutter an eyelash. Yeah, she was out all the way. Merde.

  Francine glanced up when Mark opened her door.

  “How is she?” he said, putting on her seatbelt.

  “She’s been out ever since I got here.” Fra
ncine stroked Alexandra’s hair carefully. “She may have some kind of head injury, Mark.”

  Mark’s jaw tensed. Yeah, he thought that too, and he’d already decided to call in a friend of his to examine her. The man owed him a favor, and Mark was going to collect on it tonight.

  He slammed the door, jumped in to the driver’s seat. He had his hands-free headset on and the car in gear even before he’d snapped his belt in to place. He looked in the mirror, met Francine’s incredible blue eyes.

  “We’ll be at the hospital in twenty minutes,” Mark said to her. “And Dallas will have somebody here in less than that, believe me. You just hang on. Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” She had to get away from the heat in that hard, green stare, and so she looked down at Alexandra again, kept her fingers firmly on the other woman’s pulse in her throat. It was faint and sluggish, but it was there. “I will.”

  We both will.

  Chapter Three

  Hunter ‘Sully’ Sullivan set down his fork, pushed his chair back from the table. Cordelia Sullivan, née Patton – his wife, and the blood of his heart – watched him go with a worried expression. The woman read micro-expressions and body language the way that other people read menus, and Sully didn’t even bother trying to hide anything from her. Not anymore.

  “Say again?” Sully said, voice low and harsh. “Mark did what?”

  “Knocked out some guy who was in the middle of beating the crap out of his wife.” Dallas Foreman’s voice was as measured as ever, but then again, not much ruffled his feathers. “Tied him up, threw him in the basement and locked the door, took the wife to the hospital. You’re closest to the house, so you need to get the hell over there, keep an eye on him. I’ll call the cops, and have them meet you there. And don’t worry about waiting outside in the cold, ‘cause Hayden kicked the front door down.”

  “And Mark did all of this in the guy’s home?” Sully put on his boots and coat, looked around for his car keys. “What was he doing in the house?”

  “Yeah. I’m not totally clear on that part, but I’m heading over to the hospital now. I’ll get the whole story, make sure Mark gives a police statement there.”

  “Ohhh-kay.” Sully checked his pockets again. Where the hell did he put the car keys? “What’s the address?”

  “I texted it to you already.”

  “OK, thanks, boss. I’ll call when the cops arrive.”

  “Good man.”

  Sully disconnected, stared around hopelessly again. Until about six months ago, he was never this disorganized, everything had always had its set place and time. But getting married and living with two kids had blown his established routines out of the water. Things moved around his two-storey house like magic, there was constant noise and activity above and below, and he was so sleep-deprived, he wondered if he wasn’t sleepwalking half the time.

  He loved it. He loved all of it.

  “Hunter?”

  He turned to the voice, smiled at Sean, Cordelia’s ten-year-old son from her first marriage. “Hey, man.”

  “You looking for these?” Sean held up his hand. The keys dangled from between his fingers. Sully took them with a grin.

  “Yeah. Thanks. Where were they?”

  “Iris.”

  “Again?”

  “Yep. You need to keep ‘em up high, Hunter. Anything shiny or colorful, she’s all over it.”

  Sully sighed. “Yeah. I keep forgetting that she can pull herself up now, and toddle around everywhere. I mean… how’d that happen? Wasn’t she as active as a loaf of bread just yesterday?”

  “A loaf of bread?” Sean said. “Really?”

  “A cute loaf of bread,” Sully amended. “Adorable, really, and all wrapped up in a blanket. But still… wasn’t she just lying on her back and watching the world go by this morning? But I know that ain’t right, ‘cause we had that birthday party for her. How is she one year old? How?”

  Sean grinned. “Right? Time flies.”

  Sully sighed. “Indeed.” He looked across the room now, saw Cordelia watching him.

  “What’s wrong?” she said.

  “I’ve got to go help Mark with something.”

  “He’s OK?”

  “Yeah. Totally. I’m just babysitting, sweetheart. All the trouble’s long over – Mark took care of it.”

  She studied him closely, those dark eyes bright and smart-as-hell. “Yeah?”

  “I promise you.”

  Cordelia relaxed now. “Alright. How long will you be? Our flight’s at eight a.m.”

  “I know, baby.” Sully shrugged on his coat. “No clue how long this’ll all take, I’m afraid. I’ll call when I know what’s going on, but I get the feeling you’ll be going to bed without me.”

  “Darn. I hate that.”

  She came to him now, slipped in to his strong embrace. Sean rolled his eyes as a matter of course and on principle, but secretly, he loved seeing his Mom and Hunter together. The guy made her happy, and Sean actually liked having a calm, steady man around. He’d also come to love Iris, and even though Hunter and Cordelia were still in the process of formally adopting her, Sean already considered her his baby sister. He had a whole, entire family, and he still woke up some days amazed at that.

  Sully gave Cordelia a light, lingering kiss. “Love you. I’ll call.”

  “I love you, too. Be careful.”

  “Always.” He lifted her hand to his lips, kissed her fingers. “Nothing’s gonna stop me from coming home to all of you.”

  “We know.” It was Sean who spoke, surprising the adults. “We’ll be waiting, Hunter.”

  “Take care of the ladies, Sean.” Sully gave him a little rub on his thin shoulder. “OK?”

  “Sure will.”

  Sully ruffled Sean’s dark hair – just a bit, since he knew the boy hated being babied, though he seemed to like being touched – then went out to his SUV. He checked his texts, and sure enough, he had the address.

  He sighed, wishing he could stay in his nice, warm house, and crawl in to bed with the softest, sweetest woman he’d known in forever. But Mark had been there for him in more ways than he could count, and he wasn’t letting the man down. Not ever, not if he could help it.

  He slid the car in to gear, reversed, headed to whatever trouble was waiting for him. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be long.

  Hopefully, it wouldn’t be too bad.

  **

  Dallas stood in the hospital waiting room, drinking a cup of vending machine coffee, and cursing the fact that they hadn’t seen fit to improve the product since his last visit to the E.R. when Griff and Selena had gotten stabbed.

  Considering how much time he seemed to spend at the hospital lately – like, the past two years, pretty much – he wondered if he shouldn’t just go on and donate a damn decent machine to the place. He was sure that thousands of visitors would thank him.

  He looked over at Francine again. She was sitting bolt upright in a chair, pale and still, waiting to hear any news about Alexandra. Dallas had been stunned to walk in here an hour earlier, and find her with Mark. Immediately, he’d bolted over to her, dropped to his knees in front of her, demanded to know if she was alright.

  She was, thank God. Shaken, no doubt; worried, for sure; furious, definitely. And now that he knew the whole story about Alexandra Mayer, Dallas was furious, too. If he could, he’d go over to Rick Mayer’s house and get a few punches in himself. Twisted, abusive asshole. Maybe it was a good thing that calm, level-headed Hunter Sullivan was guarding the pathetic little prick. Dallas wasn’t totally sure he could be trusted around the man – Dallas had met enough men who hurt women to last him a lifetime. Maybe two.

  He examined Francine more closely, really tried to get a sense of where she was mentally. He knew her well, of course, since she’d been his wife Olivia’s therapist, and now she worked at Olivia’s
safe house for abused women and kids.

  Francine had her own private therapy business, but she was taking on more and more hours at the safe house. Olivia’s in-house therapist, Emma Cartwright, was just over eight months pregnant now, and Francine had stepped in to cover her sessions with the women and kids. According to both Olivia and Emma, Francine was doing an incredible job.

  Dallas walked over to her, sat next to her. She looked up, her eyes a bit blank.

  “How you doing, darlin’?” he asked, exaggerating his Texan drawl a bit, since it always made her laugh. Sure enough, those blue eyes sparked to life.

  “Good, cher,” she responded, emphasizing her French-Canadian accent. He grinned, hugely relieved. “But this café is merde.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “This coffee is shit.”

  He laughed, totally sure that she was OK. “Sure is, darlin’.”

  Just then, Mark entered the waiting room with another man, and both Dallas and Francine shot to their feet. Anxious, afraid, they watched the two men approach.

  “Guys,” Mark said. “This is Doctor Shane MacIntyre. He’s a consulting neurologist, and a good friend of mine. Mac, this is Doctor Francine Cabot, and Dallas Foreman, my boss.”

  Francine shook Shane MacIntyre’s hand, taking in his long blond hair, numerous tattoos, and general bad-ass vibe. This guy was a neurologist? Well, why not? If there was one thing she knew, it was to never, ever judge a book by its cover.

  “Doctor MacIntyre,” she said.

  “Mac,” he responded. “Good to meet you, Doctor Cabot.”

  “Francine.”

  Dallas also shook Mac’s hand. “How is she, doc?”

  “Surprisingly OK,” Mac said, his deep voice soothing and calm. “Most of the damage to her head is structural. A broken cheekbone, some bad bruising. She needed thirty stitches to her forehead and skull, but the damage was amazingly superficial. Nothing too deep, just lots of cuts and abrasions.”

  “Really?” Francine said, disbelieving. “But she looked so bad.”

  “I know. And don’t get me wrong – she’ll need reconstructive surgery on her face, so she’s hurt bad enough, for all that. But in terms of brain damage? None.” He smiled at Francine. “Well, none that I can do anything about, I mean. She’ll definitely need you more than ever after this, since she’s so frightened and traumatized. She’ll need serious, intensive therapy.”