International Guy: Volume 4

by Carlan, Audrey

  “Park, the police want to speak with you and Skyler. It’s time we give the entire load to them. This latest threat was premeditated and could have hurt a lot of people. It’s arson with an intent to harm.” Nate’s voice is low, because what I didn’t notice before but do now is that the paparazzi have rolled up and are taking picture after picture of us standing in a huddle while the firemen and cops clear the building.

  “Sky, Sky, what happened? That’s your penthouse, right?” one says, breaking into my thoughts.

  “Was the fire an accident?” another calls out.

  “Is someone trying to hurt you, Skyler? Parker!” A female this time.

  “Parker, is she in trouble?” One of the males tries to appeal to my guy, but Parker expertly ignores him.

  Nate takes the phone when Parker holds it out.

  “More?” Nate’s low rumble is as heavy and thunderous as a summer storm.

  “This time, they gave us an ultimatum with a very clear threat,” Parker says, hooking his arm around my shoulder. I snuggle Zeus and go with him toward the group of cops who are waiting for us. I glance over my shoulder at Wendy and Kendra, who are comforting Annie.

  The letters, our response, it was all a misunderstanding but one I know Annie will never forget and maybe never recover from.

  Silently I swear to myself that I’ll fix things with Annie. She never threatened me. She’s fragile, sweet, and innocent, but she was swept up in all this crap and got hurt in the process. My mother always told me to make amends if I harmed another, and my behavior and Parker’s toward Annie just crawled to the top of that list. Right after we deal with the current threats to our safety.

  I let out a long sigh and stay close to my guy as we make our way to the cops.

  This entire thing is right out of one of my fictional movies.

  When will it stop?

  When is enough going to be enough?

  What can we expect next?

  12

  PARKER

  Longest. Day. In. History.

  I curl my arm around Skyler’s sloped shoulders when she gets out of the SUV in front of my apartment complex. The paparazzi have already figured out that we’d be here since her apartment caught on fire and is unavailable.

  Rachel moseys over to them and whispers a bunch of words. Shockingly, they look properly chastised, and all of them put down their cameras. I don’t spare them a further glance, focused only on getting my girl and my dogs properly fed and put to bed.

  For a week.

  The cops and arson investigators said they’d be going through Skyler’s penthouse for a few days, taking evidence, before we are allowed to go and see if anything is salvageable. Skyler is mostly worried about some mementos and pictures she had of her parents. Many of them were in her private quarters, her bedroom, but a lot of them were also in the living room. There’s hope that she’ll have some of the past to take with her. The good news is that a lot of her stuff hadn’t been moved from her home in New York, so the most valuable pieces are secure in the penthouse she hasn’t sold yet.

  Briefly that reminds me to ask what her plans are for that place, though now is definitely not the time. Once we’ve gotten deeper into my complex and around the corner, out of view of the paparazzi, I try to grab her hand. Skyler stumbles, but I react fast and get a good lock on her and am able to keep her standing. She stops where she stands, her body vibrating with barely controlled anger, her face a tight mask of unfiltered rage.

  “I’m so fucking tired of all of this!” she screeches like a banshee, her arms flailing in the air as though she’s pretending to fly, but she’s mostly just waving them frantically.

  I stop her movements by placing my hands on her shoulders and dip toward her face. “I am too. The cops have a lot to go on with all of our texts and the notes. When we left, they were heading to Benny’s address. They’ll find him. Question him, and God willing, he’ll admit to it all.”

  She frowns. “And in the process, we destroyed Annie. A sweet girl who never did anyone any harm. All she did was think we were friends, and without knowing it, I perpetuated that scenario with the fan response mail I sent over the years and recently with our lunches. But what’s worse, I was really beginning to think of her as a friend. Sure, she’s strange, socially awkward, but when you’ve spent years taking care of a woman who beat the shit out of you, I imagine that’s got to do some damage to your confidence.”

  I run my hands up and down her arms and settle them against her neck. “We’ll fix it. I fucked up more than you. One and one added up to three, and I . . .” An exhausted breath slips past my lips. “I didn’t want to see the mistake in the logic. It’s my fault.”

  She shakes her head, wraps her arms around my waist, and presses her cheek against my chest. “It’s not your fault. You can’t take on the blame for the world. There is someone seriously jacked up in the head doing all of this. And I just . . .” She sighs against my shirt. “I want it to be over, honey. I want to make my movie with Geneva, go home to my beautiful house where my man meets me after a day in his office and I can play Frisbee in my yard with our dogs. We should be able to have that life. We work hard. God, I just want to be fucking normal for once!” She pushes away from me and runs her hands through her hair, holding the lot of it against her nape before curling it over to one side.

  “One day, we’ll be past this, and we’ll have exactly what you’re dreaming of. I swear it.” And I will do everything in my power to make it happen.

  Nate comes up with the dogs and passes the leashes to Sky. She kneels down and coos at our dogs, rubbing their heads, then leads them over to a patch of grass and bushes.

  “I’m going to go in first, check everything out, do a walk-through,” Nate says, moving toward the entrance to the hallway of my apartment.

  “Thanks, man.”

  “It’s my job,” he says in response, and walks with a purpose toward my door.

  Rachel comes up behind us.

  “We need a moment,” I tell her, and she nods, moving in the direction her husband went, eyes shifting around the area, but there’s nothing to see. We’re in a gated complex, and this section leaves nowhere for a person to hide.

  “It’s going to be okay.” I go over and take Skyler’s hand and lead her toward my apartment.

  Skyler interlaces our fingers as the dogs straggle behind us, sniffing the grass and doing their thing.

  Once we’re about thirty feet from my door, I hear Nate scream and see him coming our way at a dead run. It’s like watching an action hero, only his face is a twisted grimace.

  “Go back!” he roars.

  His wife turns around, everything moving so fast. She runs at a mighty clip and literally jumps into the air, bum-rushing Skyler and knocking her down to the ground at the same time I watch in horror as Nate’s six-foot-plus form catapults into the air and an explosion pierces my eardrums. A wave of fire rolls toward me, and I’m tossed back by a wall of heat so intense I smell the scent of burning hair before my back and head smash to the concrete in a powerful blow.

  Alarms are blaring, and I think I hear a woman screaming as I blink in the black smoke and taste ash on my tongue. Nope, not a woman. My ears are ringing, screaming inside my head, but then I see an angel. My angel. Skyler runs her fingers along my face, her mouth moving, but I can’t hear anything except the ringing.

  I try to sit up, but my entire chest feels as though I’ve been hit by a car. I grit my teeth as Skyler helps me to a seated position. Fresh air stings my lungs. I look around and note the burning hole that was the front of my apartment, fire and smoke still seeping out of the open wound at the front of the hall.

  Neighbors I barely recognize are scuttling around, but it’s the still form about fifteen feet from me that has me struggling to stand. Skyler’s hands are all over me, her hair a mess, soot on her face, but she looks no worse for the wear.

  Nate’s form is unmoving on the concrete, Rachel at his side, performing CPR.
r />   Oh Jesus, no.

  Fuck no.

  Absolutely not.

  I roar out a war cry, but I can’t hear it. I can’t hear anything but the incessant ringing in my ears. A sticky substance is running down the side of my face from somewhere at my temple. Skyler is trying to press her sweater to it, but I push her arm away and limp toward Nate’s body. She follows, her mouth moving, no sound reaching my ears.

  Rachel continues compressions as I move to the top of Nate’s head. I tip his head back and hold it straight so Rachel can work. Her powerful muscles undulate with her efforts as she performs CPR on her unresponsive husband. His massive, muscular chest looks odd, one side sunken in, and I fear he has a collapsed lung. I press my fingers against his neck and find a tiny pulse. It’s weak, very weak, but he’s alive.

  “He’s alive. I can feel his pulse.” I say the words but don’t hear them. “Keep doing what you’re doing. I think he’s got a collapsed lung.” Again, I say words I cannot hear as the alarm in my ears doesn’t stop, and a pounding in my head picks up the tune. It feels as though my thoughts are moving slower, sluggish. I blink a few times, trying to clear the extreme exhaustion I feel threatening to take me out.

  There’s blood pooling at Nate’s back, staining the concrete a deep, sickening red, flowing toward my knees. The puddle is getting larger too fast.

  “He’s bleeding somewhere!” I yell, but I’m not sure if they hear me. Still Rachel scans her husband’s body. She must have turned him over, because I can see little bits of rock and debris imbedded in his forehead and the tip of his nose and chin.

  The pool gets so big it paints my khakis red where I’m kneeling. I lift his body to the side and find the cause of the bleeding. There’s a metal spike of some sort that must have shot out with the explosion and is impaled in his lower back. The metal is wedged at an odd angle, leaving a gaping wound at the bottom half. I grab the sweater Skyler is holding and press it around the spike to stanch the flow of blood.

  Rachel reaches for the metal, and I shake my head, staying her hand.

  “Leave it; we don’t know if it’s pierced something vital or not.”

  She nods and puts her hand to his neck. Her eyes are wild but relieved when she must feel his pulse, though if he doesn’t get help soon he’s going to bleed out, not to mention that collapsed lung and concave chest are seriously problematic.

  I’m debating lifting him when another small explosion goes off, sending more debris flying and ash raining down.

  “We’ve got to get out of here,” I say, but right then the cavalry shows up, and first responders in blue uniforms come barreling around the corner with a stretcher. “Yes!” I scream, and Rachel’s eyes go toward the spot I’m looking at, and an expression of gratitude fills her face.

  It’s the last thing I see before I black out.

  The end . . . for now.

  RIO: INTERNATIONAL GUY BOOK 11

  To the team at Verus Editora.

  You brought me to the Christ,

  one of the most profound experiences of my life.

  You believed in my stories

  and shared them with your country.

  I cannot thank you enough

  for the passion you, your country, and the Brazilian readers

  have brought into my world.

  I hope this book brings some of the beauty of Brazil to life.

  1

  SKYLER

  “Please wake up, honey. Please, pleeeease. I need you . . . so much.” I lick my dry, cracked lips and focus with everything I have on Parker’s face. His striking bone structure, the cut of his chiseled jawline with two days’ scruff that abrades my hand, yet I can’t seem to stop touching him.

  I have to touch him. Losing that link now will ruin me. I’ll tumble into a twisted ball of despair on the spot. “You have to wake up. I-I can’t do this alone. And you prom—” I swallow down the emotion as tears flood my eyes and fall down my cheeks in a river of feelings I can no longer hold back.

  “Honey, you promised. It’s you, me, and the pups. They miss you, but they’re okay, no harm done from the explosion. Wendy’s got them at their house—Mick called in a vet to look them over. Wendy’s taking really good care of them. And baby . . .” I run my fingertips across his brow, noting the large bandage on the side of his head where he received eighteen stitches. That’s in addition to the giant egg on the back of his skull where his head slammed to the concrete, giving him a concussion. He fell the second time when he blacked out, and he’s yet to wake up six hours later. The local anesthetic and painkillers should be wearing off soon, and the doctors assure me it’s only a matter of time before he wakes up. His brain scans were excellent, but there’s always concern when a concussion is involved. His chest and ribs are seriously bruised, but internally, he’s fine. Rest and taking it easy are on the agenda for my guy.

  If he’d just wake up!

  I take his hand and pet his arm from elbow to fingers in what I hope is a soothing, comforting gesture. He needs to know that I’m right here, ready for him to open his eyes. Never leaving his side.

  The door behind me opens up, and Wendy enters. “Hey, how is he?” Concern and sadness mar her usually perky features.

  I shake my head. “No change. Why won’t he wake up, Wen?” I choke out, covering my mouth when the emotions overwhelm me, and a sob slips out.

  She rushes to my side and wraps an arm around my shoulders, easing into the chair next to me. “His body and mind have to be ready. He took two nasty hits. One to the temple and one to the back of his head. The brain and body are in protection mode. Just give it a little time. The doctors said he’d wake up, and you yourself said he was up and helping with Nate before he conked out. That’s a good sign.” She squeezes the ball of my shoulder. “It’s going to be okay.”

  I close my eyes and nod, saying a silent prayer to God that he’ll take care of Parker. I’ve lost so much already; I can’t bear to lose him too.

  “Any news on Nate?” Wendy asks.

  An intense wave of sorrow crashes over me, forcing me to buck in her arms, the sobs wracking my frame. “I don’t know. He’s in surgery. And it’s all my fault. He was protecting me . . .”

  Wendy cups my cheeks. “Look at me. What happened is not your fault. He was doing his job. He knows the risks. You had no idea this demented person was going to set fire to your home or set a device to explode in Parker’s.”

  “Is that what happened?” I narrow my gaze and focus on Wendy’s crystal-blue eyes and fiery-red hair against her pearlescent skin tone.

  Wendy bites into her bottom lip and looks over at the door as if she’s making sure no one else can hear.

  “I did a little hacking of the police department’s computers. The fire in your penthouse was set using an accelerant on the center of your bed. Parker’s apartment was far more complex. In layman’s terms, according to the bomb squad’s report and evaluation, the person who set the bomb was very knowledgeable. And for some reason, they’re theorizing that the person has government experience. Apparently, the configuration of the bomb is something that’s taught in black ops training with soldiers and a division of the CIA.”

  “CIA? Black ops?” I press my hand to my forehead. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I don’t know anyone in the government, nor do I have any idea why someone in a special operations position would want me or my boyfriend dead!” My voice rises as the panic sets in. My heart is pounding; the blood rushing through my veins feels ice cold, and my entire body starts to shake.

  “Oh no, no you don’t! No freaking out on my watch!” Wendy rubs my arms and back. “We’re going to figure this out. I’ve uh, actually called Paul, Park’s brother, to review the information. He’s the one who figured out the police talk regarding the black ops, and that the person involved has government or high-level-military connections.”

  “Is it . . .”

  “A hit? Maybe. Paul says he can’t be sure, but it’s not looking good. As a matter of
fact, he’s so concerned, he’s outside watching Parker’s door. I gotta say it: that boy is fiiiine. He’s wearing camo pants, combat boots, and a black T-shirt that fits like a second skin, with his dog tags hanging down his chest.” Wendy bites on her knuckle. “I would eat that boy for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. My goodness, he’s hot.” She waves a hand at her flushed face.

  “Are you kidding me? You’re talking about how fine Parker’s brother is right now? When everything is ass up? My life is crumbling around me; everyone I love is either dead, at risk, hurt, or fighting for their lives.” My voice cracks. “The fucking CIA spooks are after me; someone possibly put a hit out on me or Parker or the both of us . . .” I start to lose it. Straight up. Lose. My. Shit. I stand up and screech, my hands in fists at my sides, and I’m so blazing mad I can hardly see straight. “And you’re talking about how hot Parker’s brother is!”

  Wendy smiles huge. “All right!” She smacks her thigh. “Now there’s my fighter.” She wipes at her brow dramatically. “Whew! I thought I was going to have to bring in reinforcements to get you out of your pity party and back into fighting Irish form!” She fist pumps the air, then puts her hand out for me to high-five.

  “I’m not Irish!” I tunnel my fingers through my hair and tug on the ends as I spin around in a circle to move away from the bed so I can pace. It works for Parker, so maybe it will work for me. “Okay, okay. Who do I know in the government?” I lift my hand up and point at Wendy. “We know Kendra!” I fire off, as though I’ve just won the jackpot in a million-dollar lotto.

  Wendy frowns. “Nope. Quizzed her. She doesn’t have any connections to the CIA.”

  “The CIA. Does Parker’s brother?”

  Her mouth contorts into a funny expression. “Uh, yeah. He was special ops for years.”

  “Could the bomb be related to Parker and not me?”

  Wendy’s shoulders fall. “We don’t think so. All signs point to your freaky texter. The cops have a profiler on staff who reviewed the texts and gave his assessment.”