True Shot

by Joyce Lamb

  “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay. I’ve got you. Cavalry is here.”

  “Get it out of me,” she moaned, straining against her bonds. “Please get it out.”

  Mac looked at Noah, who glanced down toward her sheet-covered knees and appeared just as horror-stricken as Mac felt. “Get her wrists,” Mac said.

  Noah bent over the buckle on her right wrist and squeezed her shoulder with a gentle hand. “It’s okay, Sam. You’re safe now. We’ll have you out of here in no time.”

  Mac went to the end of the table, his heart slamming harder and harder at the terror of what he would find. Had Toby finished what he’d started? Please, God, please.

  The speculum was still in place, and Mac winced at the absolute horror of what Toby and Ford had forced on her. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered under his breath. “Son of a fucking bitch.”

  “Please, get it out,” Sam begged. “Get it out.”

  Mac hesitated, as terrified of touching her skin-on-skin as letting her violation continue another instant.

  “Use gloves,” Noah told him. “There, on the tray.”

  Mac got it right away. Gloves would shield her from an empathic flash. He snatched up a pair and shoved a shaking hand into one. Hurry, hurry, hurry.

  When he had both gloves on, his stomach pitched as he fumbled with the release on the metal device, conscious that every clumsy second he wasted extended Sam’s suffering. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

  Finally, he hit the release and the blasted thing collapsed on itself. Mac removed it as gently as he could and dropped it on the floor before going to work on the straps around her ankles. Frustration ate at him as his fingers fumbled. Impotent rage vibrated in every cell for what those assholes had done to her. “Almost there. We’re almost there.”

  He had to fight the growing fury as he freed her right ankle, revealing the raw skin where she’d fought the bonds.

  Once he released her other ankle and Noah popped her remaining wrist free, she immediately curled onto her side and drew her knees, sheet and all, up to her chest.

  “Thanks,” Mac said to Noah, voice low and shaking as he rested a hand on Sam’s side. He didn’t know what to do for her, didn’t know what to say. He just knew she needed to feel his presence. The trembling of her body under his palm just added to his fury. Those bastards. Those fucking bastards.

  Noah exchanged a long look with him, his expression painfully concerned. “What the hell were they—”

  Mac choked up. “Not now.”

  “You gonna make it?” Noah asked softly, so Sam wouldn’t hear.

  “I’m fine,” Mac ground out. Praying his knees wouldn’t betray him, he tightened his fingers on Sam’s quaking hip. I’m here, baby. I’m right here.

  She wasn’t crying, but the tremors shuddering through her worried the hell out of him. Probably shock. Even so, she peered intently at him, her fingers grasping the hem of his shirt as if she feared he would slip away from her. Worry for him shone through her distress and the haze of drugs in her eyes. “Are you—”

  “I’m fine, Sam. I promise.”

  Paramedics bustled in then, laden with medical equipment. As they swarmed around Sam, pushing Mac and Noah aside, another man in riot gear approached. He held his automatic weapon with both hands, crossways close to his torso. A trained soldier.

  “Area is secured, Mr. Lassiter,” he said. “We’re getting ready to clear out.”

  “Thanks for everything,” Noah said. “Your men did good work.”

  Mac watched the medics quietly talking to Sam. His worry eased at her answering nods, sluggish as they were. By the time the guy talking to Noah walked away, the paramedics had wrapped her in a blanket and slipped an oxygen mask over her face.

  Mac, gaze still fixed on Sam, asked Noah, “Who are these guys?”

  Noah, also watching the medics with Sam, rubbed at the back of his neck. “They’re part of an FBI tactical team called in by Andrea Leigh. A friend with the feds put me in contact with her. Charlie and I were meeting with her in Lake Avalon when an N3 operative named Sloan Decker called and tipped her off that Sam had been taken. Decker had been shot during the confrontation, but he’s going to be fine. Meanwhile, Leigh had already tracked down Flinn Ford’s operation here. One of his people used Ford’s American Express to pay for a plane ticket to Fort Myers for his suspected partner, Dr. Toby Ames. Leigh put some agents on Ames who tracked him to the makeshift clinic. It’s been under surveillance since yesterday.”

  “What took you guys so long to come in? Sam could have used some rescuing a little earlier, don’t you think?”

  “The surveillance was handled by two tech guys. They needed to mobilize a tactical team for the rescue. I kind of insisted on helping out. Logan’s here, too, somewhere. Hopefully kicking the shit out of that fuckhole Ford.”

  At the mention of Logan, Mac flinched. “Oh, God, Alex. Is she okay?”

  “She’s good. She called Logan as soon as Ford left AnnaCoreen’s with you.”

  Mac released a sigh of relief. Now he could focus on venting his building rage. “Speaking of that fuckhole Ford, where is he?”

  “Outside.”

  “Will you keep an eye on Sam for a sec?”

  Noah nodded sharply. “I won’t budge.”

  Mac gave her one last long look, satisfied she was in good hands, before turning on his heel and striding outside into a gray, rainy day. He no longer felt any pain—only fury—as he spotted Flinn Ford standing next to a federal-looking black Suburban. His hands were cuffed behind his back, his lips set in a grim line as raindrops dribbled over the smooth skin of his scalp. Toby stood next to him, looking as pissed as a drenched cat.

  Mac reached the two men in three long strides and threw the two biggest punches of his life.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  Sam surfaced, groggy and confused, to an incessant, steady beep. She blinked against the light and tried to get oriented. Pain flared in various areas of her body, most prominently in her jaw and head. She moistened her lips and swallowed against her dry throat. She knew she was no longer in that dingy excuse for a medical facility. The bed she lay on was soft, warm blankets tucked all around her.

  Mac.

  The last time she’d seen him, he’d been bloody and choking on a punctured lung. The beeping started to race.

  “Hey.”

  She had to turn her head to the side to see Mac, wearing a hospital gown, struggle up out of the chair by the bed, grabbing hold of the IV pole that snaked a slim tube into the back of his hand. He perched on the bed beside her and rested his hand on her covered shoulder and squeezed. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

  She smiled up at him and didn’t bother to tell him she hadn’t feared for her safety.

  He was a mess. One eye was swollen shut. The whole left side of his face was black and blue. And he held himself as if every breath hurt. He was absolutely beautiful.

  “Hi,” she replied.

  She lifted her hand off the bed, intending to wrap her fingers around his forearm where his hand rested on her shoulder. She wanted to feel his warm skin, feel for herself that he lived and breathed.

  Before she could touch him, he tensed and drew back. “You probably shouldn’t do that.”

  She didn’t understand what he meant at first, but then she smiled, loving him all the more. “It’s okay. I can block your memories.”

  “You can? Really?”

  She nodded. “Really.”

  A smile spread across his face, and he leaned down to cup her face with one hand while he kissed her, gently and tenderly. Afterward, he nuzzled his nose alongside hers.

  “I love you,” she whispered. “More than anything. Kind of amazing, considering we just met.”

  She felt his grin against her cheek. “And we can’t even say it was love at first sight, considering how badly you wanted to kick my ass.”

  She laughed softly, sifting her fingers through the hair at his nape, reluctant to
release him. “Are you okay?”

  “Yep,” he said as he eased back. “Worst thing is a busted rib. It punctured a lung. I’ve got a super sexy chest tube sticking out of my side. In fact, the doctor’s irked that I insisted on sitting in here with you, but he was no match for my alpha tendencies.”

  She smiled as she tangled her fingers with his. “So you’re risking your life all over again for me?”

  “Like I said, you’re worth it.”

  Tears burned her eyes. She loved hearing him say that. If only it were true.

  He cocked his head, expression turning serious, as though he’d read her mind. “You believe me, don’t you? You believe that you’re worth it?”

  “I’ve spent most of my life messing up.”

  “Join the crowd.”

  “I hurt my family.”

  “They’re the forgiving kind. Trust me. In fact, Charlie and Alex have been pacing the waiting room since we got here.”

  “Alex is here?”

  He nodded. “Your mom and dad, too. It’s a Trudeau family reunion out there.”

  A warmth she’d missed for more than a dozen years flowed through her.

  Mac’s fingers tightened around hers. “Sam.”

  She focused on his serious, green-tinged brown eyes, and her heart thudded.

  He took a steadying breath. “The baby’s okay. The doctor—Toby—didn’t get far enough to do any damage. You’re eight weeks pregnant.”

  She pressed her lips together to suppress the surge of relief and emotion. Worry at his reaction joined the chaos churning inside her, and she couldn’t say anything for fear of bursting into tears. Eight weeks.

  He swallowed, his tension transmitting itself through his grip on her hand. “I know you haven’t had much time to even think about what you’re going to do . . . but I . . . well, I just want you to know that whatever you decide, I love you. No matter what.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “You can count on me for whatever you need.”

  The thudding of her heart eased—he loved her no matter what. How amazing was that? She swiped at her eyes with her free hand, wanting to see his face unblurred. “The baby needs a daddy.”

  One brow arched, and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, threatening to send that adorable dimple of his into sharp relief once again. “Yeah?”

  She nodded, happiness expanding the muscles around her heart, because she could tell by the light in his eyes that he was thrilled with the idea. “You said I could count on you for whatever I need.”

  “Did I mention that there are strings attached?”

  “I don’t remember anything about strings.”

  “String, actually. Singular.”

  “I suppose we can negotiate, if you insist.”

  “I insist.” Grinning, he took her hand into both of his and gazed into her eyes for a long, long moment. “Samantha Trudeau, will you marry me?”

  Tears spilled over before she could stop them, and laughing and crying at the same time, she nodded, blurting out a soggy, “Yes,” before he kissed her, long and deep and wet.

  When they parted, he thumbed away her tears and said, “You’ll have to wait for a ring. The hospital gift shop is all out.”

  “I don’t need a ring. I just need you.”

  They kissed again, and it was sweet and breathless and warm.

  Afterward, they sat together for a long time while Sam drifted in and out of sleep. It felt good to sleep while Mac watched over her.

  And safe.

  Funny that a man who didn’t know rule one about handling firearms could make her feel that way.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  19 months later

  Sam dropped large gobs of vanilla cream cheese frosting onto the double-layer white cake and began distributing it with a spreader. Her hands held a slight tremble, and she paused to shake them out, berating herself for the nerves. Sure, she was anxious about hosting her entire family for the first time. But dinner—citrus-grilled grouper, Cuban black beans and rice and Mojitos—had gone even better than she’d hoped. Now, if she could just finish frosting the cake for dessert.

  The chatter of voices in the dining room grew louder, and she glanced over her shoulder as her mother pushed open the swinging door into the kitchen, an uncertain smile curving her lips. That smile surprised Sam. Her mother, who’d been as serious as a shark attack since the beginning of time, or at least since Sam’s earliest memories, was smiling?

  Elise’s gaze darted around the kitchen, as though searching for eavesdroppers, or enemy combatants, before stepping farther into the kitchen and letting the door swing shut behind her. She wore her customary pearls and sunshine yellow dress, her dark brown hair in an elegant French twist. Sam felt dowdy in bare feet, denim shorts, a red T-shirt and a loose ponytail, but she also felt comfortable. And happy. God, she was happy.

  “Do you need any help?” Elise asked.

  Sam returned her attention to the cake, a bit perplexed at the unexpected question. “Thanks, but I think I’ve got it.”

  Elise lingered behind her, and Sam could practically hear her mother’s thought gears grinding. Sam cast her a questioning look. “Did you need something?”

  Elise clasped her hands in front of her, diamond rings glittering in the kitchen light. “I, uh, there’s something I’ve been wanting to say to you.”

  Sam’s nerves twanged, but she set down the spreader and turned fully toward her. “Okay.”

  They hadn’t talked beyond formal pleasantries since Sam had returned to Lake Avalon, so this nervous, let’s-talk demeanor was new from her normally tight-lipped, I-have-no-emotions mother.

  A burst of laughter from the other room filled the silence before Elise took a shaky breath. “I’m sorry.”

  Sam widened her eyes. Huh?

  Elise rushed on, “I was . . . a terrible mother. I wasted so much time on fear of what the future would bring and what would happen if . . . if . . . and now I see you with your own child, with that sweet, adorable little boy, and it breaks my heart that I squandered so much time with my own girls. I don’t know what my problem was . . . is . . . and that’s not true, I do know, but I’m trying to work it out, trying to find a way to become the woman I want to be and I just want you to know that . . . I want you to know that I—” Her dark eyes began to shimmer. “You’ve shown me how to do that, Samantha.”

  Sam stared at her for a long moment, lips parted in shock. She’d never heard Elise Trudeau talk like this, about emotions and mistakes and the past.

  While Sam tried to think of something to say, Elise stepped forward and clasped her hands in both of hers. Closing her eyes, Elise shuddered in a way that told Sam that she was having an empathic flash into Sam’s past. The realization unsettled her at first, because it was the first time she’d known her mother to acknowledge, and use, her own psychic ability. At the same time, she feared what her mother would think of what she saw.

  In turn, Elise’s uncertainty and regret washed over Sam in a wave so intense that grief tightened the muscles around her heart. She couldn’t imagine living an entire life feeling such fear and guilt every instant of every day. No wonder their mother had been so inaccessible when she and her sisters were children. Fear had all but immobilized her.

  When Elise opened her eyes, tears slipped down her cheeks. “What you’ve been through, my dear child, and it’s all my fault. If I hadn’t been so—” She broke off, grasping for the appropriate word.

  Sam squeezed her mother’s hands and smiled through the tears blurring her own eyes. In this moment, she understood her mother in a way that she never had. “You were afraid, Mom. Fear is a great motivator.”

  “I should have been stronger. Mothers are supposed to be stronger than their children. They’re supposed to be the ones who teach their children how to love and nurture and be loved. Yet you and your sisters are the ones who’ve shown me those things the past two years. And while you all have every reason to shun me, to hate m
e, you haven’t. I don’t understand why you—”

  Sam cupped her mother’s cheek with one hand. “Because you’re Mom, and we’re a family. Dad gets some credit, too.”

  Pink flushed Elise’s face and neck. “I asked him last night why he puts up with me. Do you know what he said?”

  “He loves you.”

  Elise nodded, forehead wrinkling as if in disbelief. “After all the ways I’ve hurt him and you girls.”

  Sam cocked her head. “Does he know about me? That I’m not—”

  “You are his,” Elise said fiercely, with such emotion that Sam felt it in her heart. “In every way that counts. But, yes, he knows. I told him when you returned to us last year. It was long past time.” She paused, and her lips curved into a small, shaky smile. “Your father . . . is an amazing man. I don’t know why he still loves me, but—”

  “Love isn’t conditional.”

  “I realize that now. And seeing you with Mac and how he is with Little Reed . . . I wish I had made different choices.”

  Sam took her mother’s shoulders and looked into her red-rimmed eyes. “Listen to me, Mom. The best choice you ever made was leaving Ben Dillon. He was not a good man.”

  Elise’s damp eyes widened. “He was . . . does that mean . . .”

  Sam nodded. “I’m sorry, yes. He died after he tried to con the wrong man. You spared yourself, and me, what undoubtedly would have been a terrible, violent life when you left him and found Dad.”

  Elise pulled Sam into her arms and hugged her close. “I’m so proud of you, Sam. What an incredible woman you’ve become.”

  Sam hugged her back, surprised, and pleased, that her mother had finally called her “Sam” instead of “Samantha.” Not to mention the “I’m so proud of you” comment. Who knew?

  Elise drew away first, laughing softly as she swiped at her eyes. “All right then. I should let you get back to that cake. And I need to fix my makeup before your father realizes he hasn’t used the video camera in the past half hour.”