The Viper

by Velvet Vaughn

  “Oh my God, oh my God,” Annabelle chanted under her breath. “That was close. Thank you.”

  He’d have answered, but he landed on the backpack, temporarily knocking the air from his lungs. Her face was inches from him. Not having any breath was a bad thing because he really wanted to close the space and taste her pink lips.

  She levered herself off and he sucked in much-needed air. When he could breathe again, he pushed upright, arranged the pack on his back and glanced over his shoulder. They were finally above the balcony.

  “I’m going to climb down and make sure it’s clear. Then I want you to lay on your stomach and swing your legs down first. I’ll help you down.”

  Her chest expanded with a deep breath. “Okay.”

  He’d expected an argument, especially since she almost took a header off the roof, but her resilience impressed him. He was prepared to jump down when she called his name stopping him. He turned, a brow raised in question. She closed the space between them, grabbed his face between her hands and did what he wanted to do moments earlier. She kissed him. It was sweet and beautiful and too damn brief. But it served the purpose of forging a bond between them. They were in this mess together and they’d get out of it together.

  “Be careful.”

  He smiled and nodded before tossing himself off the roof.

  #

  Annabelle’s legs were shaking so bad, she didn’t think they’d hold her up much longer. She’d told Kellan the truth earlier. She wasn’t afraid of heights, per se, but she tried not to put herself in situations that required them. Take for example the Grand Canyon Skywalk, a horseshoe-shaped cantilever bridge jutting seventy feet over the rim of the rock walls. The entire floor was constructed of glass, allowing you to peer down over four thousand feet to the Colorado River below. She couldn’t do it. It didn’t matter that it was built to withstand the weight of seventy 747 passenger jets. It wasn’t something she had the desire to attempt.

  She’d been okay traversing the roof, mostly because she focused on Kellan and not the ground below. But when she almost went tumbling over the side, things started to get real. If Kellan hadn’t caught her…she couldn’t even finish the thought. She’d have either hit the wood deck or the concrete around the pool. Her life would’ve been reduced to blood spatter. That had to be why she kissed him, right? It was spur-of-the-moment, and over before it started, but she’d been bombarded by heat, the soft yet firm pressure of his lips, and the overwhelming desire to keep on kissing him.

  “Annabelle.”

  Kellan’s whispered summons jerked her from her thoughts. He was waiting for her. That meant she had to make her way around the turret and down to the balcony off Rob’s room. She could do this. She had to do this. There wasn’t any choice. Bixby had set her house on fire. She swallowed hard, sorrow threatening to overwhelm her. Her childhood home. Rob’s house. She couldn’t focus on that right now. They needed to get to safety. Then she’d fall apart.

  Shuffling carefully around the edge of the round roof, she peered down to where Kellan was waiting for her on the balcony, arms raised to catch her.

  “It’s clear,” he mouthed.

  Remembering his instructions, she slid down and rolled to her stomach. It was easier to do this backwards, she was learning. She couldn’t see the ground this way. She lowered herself until her legs dangled in the air. Kellan’s big hands clamped on one ankle, then the other, and he lowered her the rest of the way. She breathed a sigh of relief.

  “One down,” he whispered in her ear.

  She spun around. “What do you mean one?”

  He pointed to the deck below. “We can’t go through the house. It’s our only option.”

  She glanced over the side of the railing, her heart stuttering. The drop looked farther down than the last one.

  “We’ll do it the same way,” he assured her. “I go first and then I want you to climb over the railing, feet first. You may have to drop a bit but I will catch you.”

  She could do this. “Okay.”

  This time, he slid his hands around her face and initiated the kiss. This one was longer and oh, God, the man could kiss. She wanted to sink into him, absorb his strength and feel his skin against hers. All too soon, he eased back, brushed his thumb over her lips and then disappeared over the side of the balcony. He really needed to stop doing that. She was going to have nightmares of him falling.

  There was a sharp thud and she winced, afraid to look over the side. But, what if he was hurt? She had to help him. Grabbing the iron bar, she stuck her head over. He was alive and well and holding his hands out for her to join him again.

  The acrid stench of smoke assailed her nose, spurring her into action. She climbed over the rail and grabbed the rungs as she slid down, feet first. When she was at the bottom, Kellan whispered, “Let go. I’ve got you.”

  She hadn’t known him long, but she trusted him. She released the rails and fell. Kellan caught her easily before her feet hit the deck.

  “You’re a rock star, Annabelle.” His praise had her heart doing all kinds of fluttery things in her chest. “Now let’s get out of here.”

  Grabbing her hand, he guided her to the steps leading down to the ground. He paused to scan the area before he started down.

  “There they are.”

  “Shit, run, Annabelle. Head for the SUV. I’ll cover you.”

  She didn’t need a second warning. She took off like the hounds of hell were after her. Maybe they were.

  Chapter Eight

  Kellan fired in the direction of Bixby’s men, who were approaching from the front of the house. They had to duck for cover, giving Annabelle the opening she needed to reach the safety of the SUV. As tempting as it was to jump inside and try to drive away, they’d have to abandon it and take off on foot. Bixby’s men were blocking the exit. Once she was crouched safely behind the vehicle, he darted after her, grunting when a searing pain stabbed his left hip. He dropped down beside her and fired off shots to keep the men at bay.

  “Are we driving out of here?”

  “They’ve got too much firepower. We wouldn’t stand a chance. Is there a back gate?”

  “Yes. That way.” She pointed behind her.

  He opened the door of the SUV and yanked out his backpack with his computer and extra ammo. The suitcase holding their clothes and toiletries would have to be left behind. “When I tell you, I want you to run to the gate. I’ll be right behind you.” He rearranged both backpacks so one was strapped over each shoulder.

  He popped up over the hood and fired at the man who’d gotten too close for comfort while he’d been distracted. The man dove head-first behind a concrete planter.

  “Now.”

  Annabelle took off at a sprint. He fired again and then he heard the most welcome sound: sirens. He caught up to her as she was punching numbers on a keypad. A gate that would’ve been hidden in the foliage to the casual observer opened and they darted through. He glanced over his shoulder, relieved to discover they weren’t being followed. The perps had their hands full trying to avoid the authorities.

  The rocky landscape made traversing the hillside overlooking the canyon and Los Angeles perilous. Normally, Kellan wouldn’t have a problem with the rugged terrain or the distance that seemed to be a thousand freaking miles, but his energy was waning, draining from his body with the blood pouring from the wound. He felt his stomach, glad to realize the bullet had gone all the way through, but an extra hole meant more opportunity for blood to escape. The bullet had been a lucky shot, slipping just beneath his bullet-proof vest. He didn’t think it hit anything vital, or else he wouldn’t be able to keep going. But it burned as if it were on fire and he didn’t know how long he’d be able to keep going. He was leaking from the front and the back. “We need to find transportation.”

  Annabelle turned. “Most of these houses have secure—oh my God! Kellan, you’re bleeding!”

  Like a stuck pig. “I’m fine. We need to keep going. We don’t wan
t the police or the perps to find us.” With the blood trail he was leaving, even an opossum would have no problem following their every move, and they were blind.

  “I know where we can borrow a car. I remember the code to a neighbor’s gate. It’s been years, but hopefully, they haven’t changed it. I used to play with their daughter when I was younger. We would always use the back entries when we visited each other. She’s moved away, but I’m pretty sure her parents are out of the country. They sent regrets that they couldn’t attend my stepfather’s funeral.”

  Kellan blinked, trying to follow the conversation. Something about alarms and gates. He wondered if Annabelle realized she rambled when she was nervous. He’d point it out, but he didn’t know which Annabelle to tell since there were now two. And both were surrounded by a white light. Hum. That couldn’t be good.

  He blinked and almost crashed into one of the Annabelle’s backs. She’d stopped in front of an ornate black iron gate.

  She made a sound of approval at the click. “It still works.” He followed Annabelle number one—or was it two?—through the opening and into a meticulously-kept garden, on to a five-car garage. He did crash into Annabelle’s back this time when she stopped abruptly and gasped.

  “Mr. Greeson?”

  Two older men wearing battered baseball caps and blue t-shirts with the name of some company turned at their approach. “Annabelle? Is that you?”

  “Yes, how are you?”

  “Same old. It’s good to see you.” The men’s eyes narrowed on Kellan, noting the blood soaking his shirt, no doubt. “What are you doing here?”

  “Mr. Greeson, we’re in trouble. Someone broke into Rob’s house—well, now my house—and set it on fire.” She pointed to where black smoke curled into the air. “Then they shot at us and hit my friend.”

  Since Annabelle only referenced a Mr. Greeson, it was entirely possible there was only one man in front of them. Kellan tried hard to focus.

  “I heard the sirens. Wondered what was happening.”

  “We need to get away as soon as possible. Can we borrow one of the Halstead’s vehicles? You have my word that it will be returned.”

  “I’ve known you since you moved in with Mr. Singleton, God rest his soul. I trust you.” He reached into his pocket and extracted a set of keys. “Take my truck. I can call one of my employees to pick me up. Return it when you can. It has GPS and I can track it if it’s not back in a few days. And get him some help.”

  Annabelle hugged the man. “Thank you, Mr. Greeson. I owe you.”

  “Just stay safe.”

  She grabbed the arm Kellan wasn’t using to staunch the flow of blood and led him to the crew cab pickup truck with Greeson Landscaping stenciled in green letters on the side.

  “Annabelle?”

  She turned at the man’s call. He rushed forward and handed her a stack of fresh white towels. “Thank you.” She opened the passenger door, placed one on the seat and helped Kellan inside. He hated the show of weakness, but his body was shutting down. She took his backpack from his hand and placed it behind the seat. Somewhere along the way, he lost the bag carrying all her prized possessions, the reason they had to go back to her house in the first place. He opened his mouth to tell her when he saw her shove it in the back seat beside his bag. He hadn’t even realized she’d removed it from his shoulders. Damn, he was worse off than he thought.

  He fumbled for his phone. He needed help. If he passed out, Annabelle would be unprotected, and that was unacceptable.

  “Hey, Kellan. How’s it going in Hollywood,” BeBe Davis asked in her jovial voice.

  “Bad. I’ve been shot and we’ve got killers on our tail. We need a place to crash.”

  “On it.” She was gone for only a second and then Logan Bradley came on the line. “How bad.”

  “Through and through, back to stomach, lower left side. Didn’t hit anything vital, but I’ve lost blood.”

  “I’ve got your location. Do you have access to GPS?”

  “Uh…”

  “Yes,” Annabelle answered, obviously having heard. He put the call on speaker.

  Logan recited an address and Annabelle entered it into the system on the dash. “You’re not too far away. I’ll text you two codes. Use the first at the gate and the second will be for the house alarm.” He told her where to find a hidden key to unlock the doors. “I’ll have a doctor there shortly,” Logan said before disconnecting.

  Annabelle drove the extended cab truck over the twisting roads with ease. Kellan might’ve blinked out for a second because the next thing he knew, she’d stopped in front of an impressive gate. Taking the cell from his hand—he didn’t realize he was still holding it—she entered the code and the gates opened.

  They drove down the blacktopped driveway that ended at Logan and Jade’s impressive California home. Annabelle had parked, jumped out and opened his door before he could unlock his belt. She reached over and punched the button to release it and he sucked in a breath when she bumped against his bullet wound.

  “Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”

  “S’okay.”

  She grabbed his hand and helped him out of the truck, and then threw his arm over her shoulder and led him up the stone steps. Once they reached the landing, she leaned him against a column, found the key where Logan instructed her to look, and then unlocked the door. Shrill beeps sounded as she steered him inside. Once the door closed, she checked the screen on the phone again and punched in a string of numbers on the alarm to disable it. He pressed the now-crimson towel harder against his stomach, not wanting to bleed all over the Bradley’s Carrera marble floor.

  She led him past the expansive living room with floor-to-ceiling windows offering an incredible view of the city to the steps leading to the second floor.

  “Are you able to climb the stairs?”

  “Yes.” He clenched his jaw and carefully made his way to the top with her assistance. She guided him to a room with a king-sized bed and tossed back the covers. He backed away. “Not in the master suite.” He didn’t want to ruin Logan and Jade’s no-doubt ridiculously expensive sheets.

  “It’s not. This is the room your boss told me to use.”

  He hadn’t realized she’d talked to Logan again. Dimly, he remembered hearing his phone ring, but it seemed so hazy. He eased to the mattress, wincing when the wounds protested. Annabelle undressed him, removing his ruined shirt first. Next, she unfastened the straps of his bullet-proof vest, muttering something about it being a waste, and then tugged the hem of his thin t-shirt from the cargo pants. The fabric pulled at both the entry and exit wounds where they stuck to the blood and it felt like she’d ripped off a strip of skin on each side. He bit back any reaction, not wanting to upset her.

  “Now lie down.”

  He hated this. Hated. It. He didn’t want to be the one being fussed over like an invalid. He should be the one looking over Annabelle, making sure she was safe and sound. He just needed to shut his eyes for a few minutes and then he’d regain his strength. His lids drifted closed and the world faded away.

  #

  “Kellan? Can you hear me? Kellan?”

  Annabelle’s heart pounded when she couldn’t wake him up. He’d lost so much blood. The white t-shirt he wore beneath the Kevlar vest was now stained crimson red, as were his khaki tactical pants. It was all her fault. If she hadn’t insisted on going back to her house, he wouldn’t have been shot. His chest was rising and falling—a good sign. She needed to clean the wounds, but first, she wanted to make him comfortable. She removed his shoes and socks and then moved to the button on his pants.

  It felt so intimate to be undressing him when she hardly knew him. She eased the zipper down and carefully peeled the blood-covered material from his legs, leaving him in only a pair of black boxer briefs. They were probably blood-saturated, too, but that was a step she didn’t feel comfortable taking yet. His boss said that he would send a doctor to the house, so she’d let him remove the underwear, but she did
ease the band down so it didn’t irritate the wound. She purposefully avoided looking at the bulge and gathered his clothes. With the amount of blood soaking the garments, they’d all have to be thrown out, especially the shirt with the two bullet holes.

  She dropped the clothes in a pile in the bathroom and grabbed a washcloth. At any other time, she’d pause to take in the grandeur of the room—the whole house—but her thoughts were consumed with Kellan. She ran the cloth under hot water and hurried back to his side. He hadn’t moved. The wound was still oozing blood. She wanted it to stop. Running the cloth over his—my gosh, amazing—washboard abs, her mouth tightened when it quickly turned red. She hustled back to the bathroom and found a bowl holding fragrant potpourri. She poured out the scented chips, rinsed the bowl and then filled it with warm water. She grabbed more washcloths and towels and carried the items to the bedside table. She proceeded to wipe off all the blood around both wounds, leaving the once clear water bright red.

  She’d aced basic first aid classes in college and she knew she needed to apply pressure to the wounds. Grabbing one of the remaining clean towels, she folded it and gently rolled Kellan to place it against the hole in his back and then eased him back down. It wasn’t bleeding as much as the one in front, or as ragged. She placed the last clean cloth against the wound and pressed down, tears springing to her eyes when he winced without waking up.

  Biting her lip, she debated on what to do. Kellan needed help right away. How much longer did he have before he bled out? She’d heard of exsanguination as a cause of death and her heart pounded harder.

  She jumped when chimes sounded before realizing it was the doorbell. It must be the doctor. “I’ll be right back, Kellan,” she whispered, not knowing if he could hear or not. She jogged down the steps and hurried to the door. She started to open it but her hand paused on the knob. She didn’t think there was any way her brother or Bixby would find them here, but she wasn’t taking chances. “Who’s there?”