He grazed her naked stomach with his fingertips. “We have a five bedroom house. Minus our room, that leaves four. If we were to purchase bunk beds, that would be eight.”
Abbey’s eyes flew open wide. “You want eight children?”
“You don’t? I thought we would have a large family.”
Abbey gazed into Sloan’s eyes. She sighed softly as a smile spread across her face. “Yes, but you don’t have carry them.”
“But I can assure you that conceiving them will be mind-blowing.”
Abbey trailed her fingers down his chest across his stomach until she wrapped her fingers around his cock. “Maybe we should get back to practicing baby making.”
Sloan pressed a deep, devouring, triumphant kiss against Abbey’s lips. She curved her body into Sloan’s and then rose to her knees to settle herself between his legs. She left a hot trail of kisses around his belly button before descending between his thighs.
»»•««
Michael stood in the shadow of the barren oak tree as he watched the couple on the corner. That junkie Joe knew what he was talking about. There was Abbey, his ticket back to the sunny beaches and margaritas. In the lamplight there was no doubt she was pregnant.
Hovering over her was the Irishman, the one she was paired up with by the publisher. Michael rolled his hands into fists. The son of a bitch was in it from the beginning. From the start he wanted Abbey. And by what was going on between them, he got her.
Sloan lifted Abbey up and pinned her against the lamp post. He devoured her as his hands slowly undressed her. She squirmed in protest and held him closer, begging for more. Finally he relented and set her down. By the way they raced after each other laughing, he could tell they weren’t finished with each other. They were running for warmer spaces. He slowly followed them, watching as they scrambled up the porch steps and into the house.
It took nothing to jimmy the window. Just a little elbow grease and a crow bar and the old pane slid open silently. Michael leaned over the rail of the wraparound porch to drop the metal tool into the bushes and then stepped through the opening. He waited for a second for the alarm to announce his arrival. Nothing happened. The control for the system blinked beside the door waiting to be programmed. Someone was in a hurry.
He glanced around the living room. It was deceptive when looking at the exterior of the house. The house was decades old, yet the interior was exceptionally modern. Fresh burgundy paint blended perfectly with the chocolate brown sofas and armchairs. A richly stained oak coffee table and matching end tables were covered with books, magazines, and photographs displayed in expensive silver frames.
Michael picked up the photo nearest to him and studied it. There they were, Sloan and Abbey, laughing with their arms wrapped tightly around each other as they sat on a perfect white beach. Even though they were looking at the camera and not each other, it was obvious they were deeply in love.
Michael clenched the frame in his grip and raised it over his head. He forgot just where he was along with the fact that the sound of shattering glass would bring unwanted attention. The hate, the fury, blinded him. He stopped as noises from upstairs caught his attention. He tossed the frame on the sofa.
Like a siren’s song, the sounds led Michael to the bottom of the staircase. He stood silently as he listened. There were moans followed by a sharp cry of ecstasy. Then another. It was followed by the rumbling of a male brogue cursing as he released.
Michael felt molten hate flow through his veins at the Irishman’s voice. His dream come true is threatening mine. That’s going to stop. Now. Softly he turned back toward the window and climbed out. He had to get things arranged as soon as possible. If he wasn’t going to leave Mount Vernon to go back to Mexico, Sloan O’Riley wouldn’t leave the small town alive.
»»•««
The grocery store was oddly empty for a Saturday afternoon. Abbey wandered aimlessly down the aisle as she pushed the shopping cart. She couldn’t concentrate on the groceries she needed.
She couldn’t push past the picture frame on the sofa. After finding out that Violet, Dani, and Sami had broken into their house, she was a little paranoid. She had smiled for a moment as the memory of the day flooded her mind. It had been the day before they left St. Thomas. Gordon, Bartholomew, and Robert had met them for a day at the beach.
Gordon had taken the photo. Abbey had giggled as Sloan pulled her on his lap and wrapped his big, powerful arms around her. She had actually thought she heard a sigh come from Gordon as he first reviewed the picture in the camera’s view screen and then showed it to them. They were a couple perfectly in love.
She glanced around the store shelves as her smile faded. It still didn’t explain the picture frame. She didn’t put it there. Sloan didn’t put it there. Did it get up and walk there?
Sloan called the security company to review the camera footage just before they left for the store. It would be at least an hour before they called back. A trip to Iowa City to see Bartholomew and Maggie sounds fun. And safe.
Abbey startled as she felt the sensation of powerful fingers brush against her hip. She looked up into the eyes of her husband. She loved their tender glow.
“What do you think of hamburgers on the grill for dinner?” he asked.
“I think it’s the middle of November.”
“So?”
Abbey suppressed a giggle. Sloan was the only man she knew who would stand outside and grill in the beginning of winter. “Burgers sound fabulous.”
“I’ll go get hamburger, then. Do you need anything from the meat counter?”
“A beef roast for dinner tomorrow night. I invited Mom and Gordon for dinner. Those two have been spending quite a bit of time together.”
“Just spending time? Have you been missing the kissing? They’re doing more than just enjoying each other’s company.”
“Sweetheart, she’s my mom. I don’t want to think about that.”
“I’ve spent most of my life with Gordon. I’ve never seen him happier. So whatever they’re doing, I hope they keep it up.” He kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll get one.” He pressed a gentle kiss against her lips and then turned in the direction of the meat counter. Abbey sighed dreamily as she watched him go. After all this time, I still can’t believe that incredible man is my husband.
She turned the cart as she slowly crept up the aisle looking for maple syrup. She glanced to her other side at the shelves lined with an endless assortment of cookies. She groaned. They all looked so delicious. She didn’t need them. Really, would it hurt to get a package or two?
She grasped the handle of the cart to retreat from the temptation. Suddenly, she stopped and glanced up as she sensed the obstacle blocking her way.
“Hey, Abbey.”
Abbey felt her blood turn to ice at the sound of Michael’s voice. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“Looking for you,” he answered coldly.
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“You don’t? Last I knew, you were my fiancée. Explain that to me.” He pointed accusingly at her pregnant belly.
“You sort of forfeited the fiancé title when you and Jenny ran off with my money.”
Abbey noticed Michael bristle as he folded his arms over his chest. A moment later, she felt a strong arm wrap around her. She laced her fingers in his. Sloan tossed the meat packages he held in his hand into the cart. “Leave the groceries,” he commanded.
She held Sloan’s hand as he led her down the aisle, using his body as a human shield between Michael and her. Abbey watched Sloan glare Michael down as he nudged her protectively through the tight corridor between his rock hard body and the end cap of canned goods. Then he shepherded Abbey through the store’s automatic doors into the parking lot.
Abbey pulled free from him to open the passenger door. Sloan stormed to the driver’s side and flung the door open. Through the open doors, she watched Michael race to his car and open the trunk. His glare was molten hate
as he pulled out a pistol.
“Abigail, get in the truck,” Sloan demanded.
Abbey stared at him with wide eyes. Her body was frozen in place. “Sloan, run.”
“What do you mean run? What the bloody hell?” He slammed the driver’s door shut and then strode around the tail of the truck. “Abigail…”
The blast of the gun echoed through the parking lot. Sloan’s body slammed into the tailgate from the force. He slumped to the ground.
A scream erupted from Abbey’s throat as she sprinted to her husband’s side. Sloan stared at her with dazed eyes. A crimson stain bloomed against the chest of his thin, gray T-shirt. The tailgate of the truck and the asphalt of the parking lot were spattered with drops of the same red. She touched his face as she pressed her other hand against the gunshot wound. “Sloan.”
A hand snaked around her bicep and ripped her violently to her feet. Michael tossed her against the trunk of his rental car, his other hand still gripping the pistol. She could hear a weak growl come from the pavement.
She roared as she launched herself at Michael, pounding her small fists against his chest. “You son of a bitch!”
Michael restrained her wrists in his large hand and slammed her against the truck. He pinned her with his body.
“You’re mine, Abbey,” Michael warned. “I’ll kill anyone who tries to take you away from me.” He pointed the gun at Sloan. “And there’s your proof. Do you understand me?”
Abbey fought against his grip. “Let me go, you asshole.” She wrenched a hand free and brought it across his cheek as hard as she could. A red welt formed in the shape of her fingers. Michael dropped the gun and rolled his hand in a fist.
“That’s the last mistake you’ll ever make, bitch.”
The piercing wail of sirens belonging to the approaching emergency vehicles rang in her ears. Michael slowly let her go and backed away from her. He glanced toward the highway. With one final cold glare at Abbey, he spun on his toe and sprinted for his escape between the neighboring houses.
Abbey crouched beside Sloan, caressing his face. His skin was cold and clammy. He lifted his eyes weakly to her. “A…Abigail,” he rasped.
“Shhh.” Abbey pressed her fingers against Sloan’s mouth to silence him.
“Luv…” His eyes fluttered shut.
Abbey never noticed the growing commotion around her until the paramedics nudged her aside to tend to Sloan. She barely noticed the neighbors bundled in their winter coats chattering to the fleet of police officers and sheriff’s deputies that arrived, pointing out the direction in which Michael had fled. She hardly saw the flashing lights of the ambulances, fire trucks, and squad cars.
She couldn’t breathe as she watched the ambulance doors fly open. For a split second Bartholomew just stared at Sloan’s limp body in disbelief. Then he flew into action, taking command of those around him. She watched him rip open Sloan’s shirt and begin CPR. His life was literally in Bartholomew’s hands.
There was a sudden painful tightening in her abdomen. She looked to the parking lot beneath her shoes. New red droplets began to form. They weren’t Sloan’s blood. They were hers.
Tears trickled down Abbey’s cheeks, freezing in the winter chill. She bit her lower lip. Her eyes met Bartholomew’s for a quick second. She couldn’t take his attention away, even if she was sure she was in premature labor.
Another wave of discomfort shuddered through Abbey. She leaned against the truck’s tailgate, grasping the bumper in her hands. Then she felt a hand brush her arm.
“Abbey?”
She looked up to find a firefighter beside her, staring at her with concern. Even though she couldn’t see his face clearly with the large helmet he wore, she knew the voice was Adam’s.
“Abbey, are you all right?” he pressed.
She gasped, struggling to suppress the ache as she watched Bartholomew and the other paramedics load her husband strapped to a stretcher into the ambulance. The vehicle squealed from the parking lot with its sirens blazing before the rear door was even closed.
“I…I think I’m in labor, Adam,” Abbey murmured.
“You need to get to the hospital,” he advised.
“Abbey!”
Abbey glanced up at the sound of her name. Mary ran across the parking lot, stepping carefully so she wouldn’t disturb those working the crime scene. She wrapped her arms tightly around her daughter.
“Mom,” Abbey sobbed. “Michael…shot Sloan. He’s…dying. Mom, I’m…having contractions.”
Mary grasped Abbey’s face in her hands, lifting it to look into Abbey’s eyes. “You need to get to that hospital. Now. Take care of that baby. Let the doctors take care of your husband.”
Abbey nodded and shuffled as fast as her body would allow toward the police car arranged to take her to the hospital, leaning on Adam’s arm as she stumbled. Abbey glanced back one last time as the car pulled out of the grocery store parking lot and raced after the speeding ambulance.
Chapter Seven
The monitor emitted a single high-pitched tone. “Shit. Not again,” Bartholomew breathed as he dove into chest compressions. His hands trembled as he shoved down into Sloan’s sternum. What the hell happened? They had no warning. Robert never called. There was no indicator of a threat from anyone they knew of. Those around had said it was a lone gunman who had run off.
“What’s our ETA?” he shouted.
“We’re seven minutes out,” the driver reported.
“Can you speed it up?”
“Not safely. Do you know this guy or something?”
Bartholomew breathed a sigh of relief at the blip on the screen. “He’s my best friend.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Bartholomew felt the ambulance lurch faster as it sped through the streets. He slumped back in his seat. His thoughts went to Maggie. This was the only member of her family still alive. And Abbey? She would be lost without Sloan, especially with a baby on the way.
He leaned toward Sloan’s head. “You need to fight, Sloan,” he whispered. “You can’t give up now. Fight this, brother. She needs you. Now more than ever, she needs you. Fight for Abbey.”
The ambulance skidded to a halt. Bartholomew threw open the doors to meet the medical team waiting for him. He looked at Laura. “Where’s Maggie?”
“Coming. Is this the gunshot victim?”
“Yes. Keep her away.”
“I’m right here.” Maggie all but hissed at him. “I don’t know what your problem is…”
“Evans, report,” Laura demanded.
Bartholomew’s eyes locked with Maggie’s as he yanked the gurney from the ambulance. “Thirty-eight-year-old male. Gunshot wound to the chest. Massive blood loss. Lost pulse twice en route to the hospital. CPR was administered. Currently, his pulse is thready at best. Who’s the physician available?”
“Jackson.”
“Fantastic. Where the hell is he? Page him.” Bartholomew joined the rest of the medical team as they shoved Sloan through the doors toward a room. He heard a sob as he passed. I can’t help you right now, sweetheart. I have to save your brother.
“We already did.”
Nearly a dozen doctors and nurses flocked to the trauma room as soon as the wheels of the gurney hit the ceramic tile floor. Bartholomew searched the faces frantically.
"Where’s Jackson?" he demanded.
"I don’t know," Ruth shouted over the chaos, irritation evident in her voice.
“Eric, take over.”
“Do you remember the last time I took over one of his cases?” Eric protested.
“Screw this.” Bartholomew ripped Sloan's T-shirt open. He glared at the nurse nearest to him. "Hook up the monitors. Restart an IV. Now."
“Evans, you’re a paramedic. You have no authorization…”
“Let him be, Eric,” Laura interrupted. “He probably has more medical experience than you do. If something happens, it’s on me.”
The nurse peeled off the backing an
d pressed them to Sloan's bare chest, hooking a wire to each as she went. Once she was finished, Bartholomew flipped the machine on. A weak blip traveled across the screen.
He glanced to another nurse, a petite blonde standing beside him. "Call Cardio. Tell them to get down here now."
The blonde nodded with a smile and then rushed off for the telephone. He grabbed a handful of bandages and pressed them against the gaping wound. He couldn't look at it. Where the hell was Gordon? Where the hell was I? I was here, tending to ungrateful brats, when I should have been doing my real job protecting Sloan, taking this bullet embedded in his chest…
Another high pitch tone of a flat line woke Bartholomew from his thoughts.
“What the hell is going on here?” Jackson demanded as he entered the room. A buxom brunette physician’s assistant with a flushed face hurried in behind him, straightening her top as she went.
"Get me the paddles!" Bartholomew demanded. He turned to find the defibrillator at his hip, the blonde nurse grinning happily at her own personal game of fetch. He smiled back at her briefly and then flipped the switch.
Picking up a paddle in each hand, he hollered, "Clear!"
He pushed the paddles against Sloan's chest. Sloan's still body leaped in response to the voltage running through it. The pulse on the screen did not change.
“Evans, get away from my patient!” Jackson ordered.
Bartholomew turned the current higher. "Come on, Sloan," he muttered. "You have to fight. You can't let go yet. We need you. Abbey needs you. You can't leave Abbey and your child behind. Come on, brother. Fight. Fight for your Abbey."
“Evans, I said now!”
“Be here when you’re paged next time, you asshole!” Bartholomew fired back.
He pressed the paddles against Sloan's chest one more time. Once again, Sloan's body leaped from the electrical current. This time the weak blip reappeared on the screen.
A small, bald man stormed into the trauma room. He glanced around at the chaos. "Is this the gunshot victim?"
"Yes," Bartholomew reported.
"Do you have a heart rhythm?"
"Yes."
"Then get him up to Cardio while I still have a chance to save him." The cardiologist turned to Jackson. "Why is an EMT working on this patient? What are you doing?"
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