by Mallory Kane
“Don’t move, Cara Lynn,” Paul said. He recovered his balance immediately and held the gun on her. “Don’t!”
She froze, shuddering at the idea of the gun’s barrel pointed straight at the top of her head. “Jack—?” she said.
At her words, Jack moved and groaned. He was on his side, his arms still behind his back. His face was smeared with blood, but when Cara Lynn looked closer, she saw that all the blood was coming from a cut on his chin.
He lifted his head, shook it, moaned, and let it drop.
Paul walked around him and approached him from the far side, so he could still keep Cara Lynn in his sights. “I told you not to mess with me, Broussard,” he said and lifted his leg to kick Jack over onto his stomach.
At that point, for Cara Lynn, everything became a blur. She saw Jack whirl, saw more blood as his legs slammed into Paul’s calves. Paul staggered as one leg went out from under him.
Jack’s left hand came free and he used it to grab at the gun as Paul hopped on one leg, trying to hold on to his balance. Jack used his right arm, from which the flex ties dangled to push himself into a crouch. He latched onto Paul’s right wrist with his left arm and was doing his best to wrest or knock the gun from Paul’s hand.
As Jack got his legs securely under him and vaulted upward, Paul swung his gun arm around toward Cara Lynn.
“Cara, down!” Jack cried.
She’d already seen the barrel of the gun point toward her and dove behind the kitchen table, covering her head with her hands. A gunshot rang out and something stung her on the arm. Then another shot exploded, then a third.
Then quiet. Cara Lynn’s ears were ringing, but there were no more explosions. She dared to look up. Paul and Jack were rolling on the floor. Paul still had the gun, but Jack had both hands around Paul’s wrist.
She watched, cringing every time the gun moved. But something wasn’t quite right. The two of them must have been getting tired, because they were slowing down. A lot.
Then the gun fired again. She ducked, but she was apparently tired, too, because she was moving too slowly. Slow as molasses as her grandmother always said.
The bullet plowed a furrow in the table leg in front of her, and she toppled over onto the floor and lay there, wondering why she was so exhausted all of a sudden.
In her line of vision, Paul’s ridiculously dyed hair and Jack’s dark brown head bounced around and around. Then, just as Cara Lynn decided she was too tired to watch any more, another explosion filled the air, someone yelped in pain and something heavy thudded to the ground.
Cara Lynn closed her eyes. She couldn’t remember why she’d thought it was so important to keep them open. Her last thought was that whatever kind of bee or wasp had stung her arm must have been huge.
* * *
CARA LYNN SQUINTED at what she figured had to be the sun. It was huge and bright. The only thing that wasn’t sunlike about it was that it was long and skinny—kind of like a big fluorescent light, and it wasn’t hot.
She opened her eyes to a narrow slit and suddenly the light was blocked by faces. She opened her eyes a little more and the faces started spinning, so she closed them again, really fast.
“Cara Lynn, it’s your mom.” She felt a soft, cool hand on her forehead. “Wake up, baby. Are you okay?”
She heard her mother’s voice quiver. What was the problem and why were there so many people hovering over her? She lifted her hand to shade her eyes—or at least she tried to. It felt like her hand was tied down. She tried again and again, it wouldn’t lift.
“Hold on, kiddo.” A big, warm hand touched hers.
“Lucas?” she said, hearing how hoarse her voice was. “What’s—?”
“Stay still, or the nurse will make us leave,” Lucas said, patting her hand. “Everything’s fine. You just ran into a little trouble. Mom, turn the overhead light out. I think it’s bothering her eyes.”
The world beyond her eyelids got a lot less bright.
“That better, Care-Care?” It was Harte.
Cara Lynn opened her eyes. They felt heavy and sticky, but after a few blinks she could see out of them. And she’d been right. There were a bunch of faces. Her whole family, it looked like. She focused on the most familiar of all the familiar faces. Her mother’s. “Mom? What’s going on?”
Her mother smiled down at her. “Cara Lynn, honey. We were so worried.” Her mother’s eyes filled with tears.
“What’s going on?” she said, louder, and tried to push herself up in the—bed. It was a bed. A hospital bed.
“Hey, Cara Lynn,” Christy said, leaning in and smiling at her. “Reilly, press that blue button down there. She wants to sit up.” Christy put her hand on Cara Lynn’s—the one that wouldn’t move like she wanted it to.
“You’re in the hospital,” Christy said, patting her hand.
Cara Lynn nodded. That much she’d figured out.
“Your hand has an IV in it, just for a little while. You’re okay. Your arm was nicked by a bullet and you hit your head. But you’re doing fine. They bandaged your arm and we’re just going to stay here overnight to make sure you don’t have a concussion or any bleeding from that little bump. Okay?”
“Come on, Chris,” Cara Lynn said, not quite as clearly as she’d have liked. “I know you’re a pediatrician, but I’m an adult, okay?”
“Hey, Care-Care,” Harte jumped in. “Be nice, okay? Christy’s only trying to help.”
Cara Lynn had only been awake for a couple of minutes, and she was already tired of her overprotective, suffocating family. She closed her eyes and turned her head away from Harte’s voice. “Could everybody leave please?” she said. “I need to think—” her voice broke and she felt hot tears slipping down her cheeks.
She heard a cacophony of voices, all speaking at once. Her family. Her wonderful, irritating family.
“Hey!” she cried hoarsely, feeling a raw ache in her throat. “Please! Go!” The tears were falling harder now. “All but Christy.”
The voices continued, but they began to fade as people left. Finally, she heard the door close with a quiet whoosh.
She sighed. “Chris?”
“Right here,” Christy said. “Baby doctor, at your service.” She sat on the edge of the bed near Cara Lynn’s left hand.
“What’s going—on?” Cara Lynn asked, still confused and wondering why she was suddenly sobbing.
“What do you remember?” Christy asked.
She shook her head. “Nothing. I—” but she did remember something. She remembered droplets of blood floating in the air. She remembered a sweet, secret smile that was just for her.
“Oh—oh my God, where’s Jack? Is he okay?” She got her hands pressed into the plastic-covered mattress on the hospital bed and pushed herself up as much as she could. “Christy, do you know where he is?”
Christy held out a hand as if to make sure Cara Lynn didn’t jump out of bed. “Shh. Hang on a minute. Everything’s okay. Jack’s okay. Paul is okay—mostly okay.”
“Jack’s okay? Are you sure? I saw a lot of blood. It was all Jack’s,” she said, her voice hoarse with emotion and drowsiness.
“Paul hit him on the chin with the gun barrel. He had four stitches in that beautiful face.”
“Oh,” Cara Lynn said, her eyes welling with tears that Jack had been hurt. Then she thought about Paul. “What happened to Paul?”
“He’s in jail. Remanded because he’s a flight risk. Reilly said he’ll probably have to serve time for something. Claire’s lawyers have found a bank account in his name in the Cayman Islands. Apparently there’s something over a million dollars in it. And then he’ll certainly be indicted for kidnapping, assault, attempted assault with a deadly weapon.” Christy shook her head. “The list goes on. I kind of feel sorry for him.”
Cara Lynn nodded. “I know,” she said thoughtfully. “Me, too.”
Christy looked up at the IV that was hanging from a pole, with clear tubing leading from it into the back of Cara Lynn’s right hand. Cara Lynn could tell that she was calculating something.
“You checking to see how much morphine I’ve had—or Valium or whatever?” she asked. “I’m fine. I can take it. Tell me what happened. Is Jack really okay?”
Christy raised her eyebrows and pinned Cara Lynn with a look. “I’m not going to tell you a thing until you calm down. I might have to report to your physician that you’re having symptoms of brain trauma.”
Cara Lynn laughed, but Christy looked completely sincere. She cleared her throat, which was feeling even more sore. “What is wrong with my throat?” she asked.
“When they went in to get the bullet out of your arm, they intubated you.”
“Intub—why?” Cara Lynn looked at her arm which was bandaged. “The bullet was still in there?”
“Not deep, but it was.”
“Okay. Can you just fill in the blanks for me?”
Just as she finished speaking there was a knock on the door. Christy raised a finger in the air, then stepped to the door and peeked out. When she turned around there was an enigmatic smile on her face. “I think there’s someone here who can answer your questions better than I can. I’m just going to slip out now. Why don’t you buzz the nurse’s station when you feel like you’re ready for visitors, or ready to go to sleep.” Christy’s smile grew larger. “Either one is okay. I’ll send the family home if that’s what you want.” Then she disappeared, pulling the door closed behind her.
Cara Lynn called out, “Christy—wait!”
The door opened to a crack, but it faced the wrong direction for Cara Lynn to be able to get a peek at who was there. “Christy?” she called.
No answer.
“Mom?”
Then the door opened wider and a dark figure stepped into the room. It took Cara Lynn a moment to focus on the battered face, and another moment for her to recognize it.
“Jack,” she breathed. “Oh—”
He was in the slacks and polo shirt he’d been in when he’d come into their apartment to confront Paul. Both the slacks and the shirt were streaked with blood. His hair was mussed and tousled, and his chin was red and purple and swollen and had a strip bandage on it.
“Oh, Jack—are you all—right?” she said, between sobs. “I saw a—lot of bl-blood.”
He moved a few steps closer. His eyes were dark as black holes, but that sweet smile was still on his face. Although it looked to her like it was wavering. “Hey, Cara. I’m fine. The question is—how are you?” He looked down at his feet, then back up. “I didn’t know you’d been shot.”
“Me, either,” she said.
His smile faded. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything that happened.” He looked down at the floor again, then at a place somewhere to the left of her eyes. His face was serious now, no trace of that beautiful smile. “I screwed things up so badly.”
She pushed herself up in the bed again. “These damn sheets are slippery,” she said, then held out her free hand. Jack stepped closer and took it in his. “You didn’t screw up,” she said, then gave him a small smile. “At least not everything.”
“Cara, hon, can you—” he stopped. He looked at her and raised his chin slightly, as if readying himself for a blow. He cleared his throat. “Could you—would you—marry me?”
She stared at him in shock. “Jack? We—we are married.” Then she narrowed her gaze. “Aren’t we?”
He sat down on the bed, still holding her hand, looking down at it. “I just want it to be for the right reasons this time,” he said softly.
She smiled at him and shook her head. “I’ll be happy to marry you again, for the right reasons. Just don’t tell my mother, or we’ll have to do the big North Shore wedding.”
“Well,” he said, playing with the ring on her left ring finger. “I sort of already did,” he said without looking up. “So we have to do the North Shore wedding now.”
She pulled her hand away from his grasp and reached out to cradle his cheek in her palm.
He raised his gaze to hers.
She sighed and shook her head. “Why did you tell her?” she whispered.
“Why? To get in good with her of course,” he said. “By the way, she wants you to wear her wedding dress, although according to the doctors, you’ll have to get it let out.”
“Let out? What are you talking about?” Behind Jack, the hospital door opened and her whole family flowed into the room, acting as though they were trying to be quiet and unobtrusive, but every single one of them had a huge grin on his or her face, and giggles and chuckles kept erupting.
Jack leaned forward and kissed her gently, then pulled away until he could gaze into her eyes. “Apparently, you’re pregnant.”
“I’m—what?”
He nodded. “About four weeks.” He smiled, but his eyes looked wary. “Cara, I love you,” he said. “Kiss me?”
“I’m pregnant?” Cara Lynn felt stunned. “And—and you want to kiss me?”
“When we kiss, I find myself wanting to confess everything to you. It made it really hard to lie to you.”
Cara Lynn’s grin broadened, and behind Jack, her family was grinning and beaming as well.
“Then we will definitely be kissing a lot,” she declared. She lifted her good hand. “Everybody, come in. Apparently there are going to be two babies coming soon!”
As Cara Lynn’s family gathered around the bed, all talking and smiling, Jack felt something he had never felt before. He understood, for the first time, what it meant to be part of a family. He’d had a mother and for a short time, a father. And of course his grandfather, his Papi, had been his family. But this was a lot different. The Delancey clan was dozens of people, who seemed to be accepting him into their large extended family.
It was kind of strange, but it also warmed a place inside him that had never been warm before.
“Jacques,” Cara Lynn said, laughing. “Je t’aime.”
Jack kissed her—on the mouth.
Epilogue
Several weeks later, Jack and Cara Lynn walked out of the courtroom. Harte Delancey walked with them.
“I don’t understand,” Jack said, cringing inside. “None of the rest of the family wanted to be here? Was it just too hard for them?”
Harte smiled as he shook his head. “Not at all. We all agreed that I’d come, just because I represent the entire family, and the media would be out in droves if a dozen or more Delanceys showed up.
“But every one of them is happy that the truth has finally come out and justice has been served,” Cara Lynn added.
Jack opened the passenger-side door for her and watched as she got in. Her baby bump was barely visible, but she was more beautiful than ever. He would swear in a court of law that she had an ethereal glow that he knew had to come from carrying her precious cargo. As he closed the door, she reached for her seat belt.
When he turned, Harte was standing there with his hand extended. “Congratulations, Jack. Armand Broussard has been cleared of all charges related to the death of Con Delancey.”
Jack couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks,” he said, then sobered. “But are you sure the family is okay with this?”
Harte shrugged. “All I can say is that Mom is having a cookout this afternoon and I’m scheduled to cook the steaks. The whole clan is planning to come. Even Hannah and Mack.”
Cara Lynn, who had let the passenger window down, chimed in. “Let’s go. I’m starving,” she said. “I need protein.”
Jack looked at her and then back at Harte. Finally, he nodded. “Okay. Let’s go get this pregnant woman some protein.”
&nb
sp; Harte cleared his throat. When Jack turned, Cara Lynn’s brother’s face was bright red.
Behind him, she said, “Harte? What is it?”
“Well,” he said, his mouth spreading into a huge grin. “It looks like there are three, not just two pregnant Delancey women.”
“Harte!” Cara Lynn cried, opening the car door and jumping out to hug her brother.
Jack put an arm around Harte’s shoulder and gave him a quick hug, too.
“Dani’s pregnant? That’s wonderful!” Cara Lynn said as tears streamed down her face. “Oh, no! Everything makes me cry these days.”
Jack let go of Harte and took Cara Lynn in his arms. “I think you’re gorgeous when you cry. Let’s go,” he said, sending Harte a congratulatory nod over Cara’s shoulder. “The family’s waiting for us.”
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from KCPD PROTECTOR by Julie Miller.
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Chapter One
“Elise? I need—”
“Right here.” As soon as the lacquered black door between their offices opened, Elise Brown was on her feet, carrying the file from the corner of her desk over to her boss, KCPD Deputy Commissioner George Madigan. “Crime rate statistics for the downtown area over the past three years. I also checked the Farmers’ Almanac for the last time Kansas City had record temperatures like this and forwarded stats on the dramatic rise in reported crime incidents for that summer to your laptop. I pulled up similar stats on the increased number of 9-1-1 calls during power outages.”