Unleash Me
Vol. 3
by Christina Ross
For my dear friends.
And my family.
And especially for my readers. Thank you for following Lisa and Tank’s story.
This is the last volume in the Unleash Me series.
Copyright and Legal Notice: This publication is protected under the US Copyright Act of 1976 and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws, and all rights are reserved, including resale rights.
Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if we use one of these terms. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means (including photocopying, recording, or information storage and retrieval) without permission in writing from the author.
First ebook edition © 2014.
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to persons living or dead (unless explicitly noted) is merely coincidental. Copyright © 2014 Christina Ross. All rights reserved worldwide.
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Coming Next from Christina Ross
Unleash Me
Vol. 3
CHAPTER ONE
New York City
January
When Cutter, Alex, and I arrived at Lennox Hill after the shooting, Tank was brought inside, assessed, and immediately admitted into surgery.
Two long, painfully unnerving hours later, during which Alex tried his best to console me, the surgeon met with us. She told us that the bullet had come close to hitting Tank’s heart, but that it had missed it. The reason for the sheer amount of blood Tank had lost was because the bullet had nicked an artery.
“The bullet didn’t cut clean through him,” the doctor said. “Which is good for you.” The doctor looked at me. “You were standing just behind him, weren’t you?” she asked.
“I was. He saw the shooter after the first shot hit the Frick, and then he stood in front of me before the man could shoot again. He took that bullet for me.”
“You’re a lucky woman.”
“I know I am. But will he be all right?”
“It could have been worse. I had to repair a fair amount of damage. But he’s a strong man—that’s obvious—and he’s in fantastic physical shape. With some rest, he’ll be himself in a couple of weeks. He should make a complete recovery. There’s no need to worry.”
“When can we see him?”
“He’s in post-op now. Give us an hour or so to make sure that he’s stabilized, and then you can see him. A nurse will come for you when we’re ready. Meanwhile, two detectives are here to talk with all of you. I had one of the nurses ask that they wait until the operation was over so that you wouldn’t be distracted. You should see them now. I’ll send for someone to take you to them—they’re in one of our private conference rooms. Do you have any other questions?”
“No questions. Just gratitude for all that you’ve done.” I stood up and shook her hand, and then, on impulse, I gave her a hug. She was a middle-aged woman of Asian descent, and was practically as tiny as me.
“It’s my pleasure,” she said.
“We just got engaged tonight—and then this.”
She released me, but then took hold of one of my hands. She had a kind face framed by beautiful brown eyes. “You’ll have a long life together. When the nurse comes for you, talk with the detectives. Tell them what you know. I’m going to go and check on your fiancé now and make sure that he’s resting comfortably. OK?”
“OK.”
“Thank you,” Alex said.
“You’re welcome,” the woman said. And then she went back through the swinging set of doors, and was gone.
* * *
Before the nurse came to collect us for the detectives, and while we were still alone, Cutter advised Alex on next steps.
“I understand that Tank wanted to deal with this himself,” he said. “But after the martini, the rose, the notes, and now the shooting, I recommend that we give the police everything we have so we can enlist their help. Your thoughts?”
“Agreed.”
Ninety minutes of questioning later, that’s exactly what we accomplished.
When we left the conference room and said goodbye to the detectives, I felt a sense of trepidation. Cutter had given a copy of Kevin’s composite to the detectives, so they now knew about Kevin and his threats. They said that they would look for him. Then there was Marco Boss, whom we’d identified as the person we thought was most likely behind this.
“He was escorted out of the Frick tonight,” Alex said. “He was Lisa’s first editor, and he had a physical altercation with her that likely was fueled by alcohol. I fired him for it. Tonight, he came with a date, and I’m fairly certain he came to cause trouble. Did he think I’d throw him out? Unlikely. Was he furious that I did? Yes. Was he the person who shot Tank? No. But he could have afforded to hire it out.”
“That’s a strong accusation,” one of the detectives said.
“It’s all that I’ve got that makes any sense,” Alex said. “Kevin or Marco. Those are the best leads I can give you.”
One of the detectives recognized me. “I’ve seen your billboard in Times Square,” she said. “Could this be someone else from your past? Someone who is jealous of you now? Someone you betrayed or angered before your success?”
“I can’t think of anyone who would do this to me. Do this to Tank.”
“Could it be a fan?”
“I can’t imagine that it is. Nobody knows who I am.”
“I did,” she said.
And that gave me pause.
“I also think I read a story about you recently. So, you see. While you may still see yourself as nobody of importance, the press and any kind of advertising that has been done to elevate you have changed that for you. I would recommend that you start taking your new notoriety seriously.”
“But no fan of mine knows where I live,” I said. “To follow us to JoJo the other night, which is a completely random spot to dine, they would have had to follow me there from my apartment. Wouldn’t they? And how could they if they didn’t know where I lived? It’s not public information. I know that it was publicized that I was going to be at the Frick tonight. I get that part—any stranger could have figured that out. But not JoJo.”
“I disagree. Anyone in this city can find out where any celebrity lives if they’re determined to do so. Sorry, but this isn’t new to us. It’s happened before.”
“I’m not a—”
“Yes, you are. From what I’ve seen—and I haven’t even been looking for your name or your face—more people than you can even fathom now know or recognize you, so own it. And be mindful of it. I don’t know what your life was like before all of this happened to you, Ms. Ward, but I can tell you with certainty, that life is gone foreve
r.”
CHAPTER TWO
Two weeks later
In the two weeks that passed before Tank was ready—and eager—to get out of his apartment and back to work, much happened, not the least of which was me playing nursemaid to one difficult patient. I’d yet to move in with him officially, but I’d nevertheless been living with him since his release from the hospital, so it was unofficially official.
What I learned during those two weeks was that Tank hated to be ‘mothered,’ as he put it. So after awhile, I took a step back, and simply was there for him when he needed me to be there for him, and that wasn’t often.
Otherwise, if I crossed those boundaries and began to hover, he just became grumpy.
“It’s not you,” he explained to me one day. “It’s just that growing up on the farm the way that I did, my own mother was too busy to take care of me unless I was really sick. She did what she could when she could, but because of all of the work she had to do—and because what we produced on the farm was how we paid the bills—I was left on my own unless I was pretty much on my deathbed.”
“Which I’m guessing at this point was never.”
“I’m just not used to it.”
“I get it,” I said. “But I’m not going anywhere. I’ve started to write the new book. I’ll be writing in the spare bedroom. You relax—if that’s even possible, which I’m fairly certain isn’t. If you need me, call me.”
He cocked his head at me. He was sitting on the sofa in a black terry cloth robe and reading a book when he called me over. I went over to him with my hands on my hips. “Yes?”
“I would like a kiss.”
“Will that make you feel better?”
“It would.”
When I kissed him that afternoon, just a week into his recovery, it was a loving, lingering kiss. When our lips parted, he reached for my left hand, fingered the diamond ring on my ring finger, and smiled at me. “Thank you for understanding. You’ve been wonderful. I know I haven’t been in the best of moods, but I’m trying. I hate being down like this. I’m not used to this. I’m of no help to you or to anyone else like this.”
Sometimes, the best thing I could do for him was to change the subject. So I sat beside him and held out my hand in front of us. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I said of the ring.
“I hope you like it.”
“I love it. And I love you. I can’t wait to be married to you. But just so you know where I’m coming from—why I’ve been ‘mothering’ you as I have—it’s because of how much I love you, and because of what you did for me. Tank, you took a damned bullet for me. Who does that?”
“I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
“I know that you would. That’s why I’ve been trying to make certain that you’re comfortable. What you did was beyond brave and humbling. But I understand—sometimes, we just need to be left alone with our own thoughts, to heal on our own terms. I promise that I’ll back off a bit, OK? But you need to promise me that you won’t strain yourself if you need anything. That’s what I’m here for. I’ll get you whatever you need. You just need to ask for it.”
He smirked at me. “You know what I really want?”
I shook my head.
“To make love to you.”
“That’s not happening until the doctor gives us the green light, but I have to admit, I wouldn’t mind the same.”
“There are things we can do, you know?”
I patted his thigh and kissed his stubbly cheek before standing. “Not on my watch. The doctor said two weeks. Externally, the bullet wound is healing, which is good. But you also need to heal inside. That will take longer. When your doctor confirms that you’re Superman again, then we’ll take it slow. You can just lie back on the bed and relax, and I’ll give you a special treat that you won’t soon forget.”
“Promise?”
“You can count on it,” I said.
* * *
During those two weeks, Jennifer, Alex, Cutter, and Blackwell stopped by for brief visits. Jennifer brought homemade chocolate chip cookies, and spent an hour talking with Tank before it became clear that he was becoming tired. Alex and Cutter came by for a game of cards and a beer, which Tank’s doctor said he could have, but only one per day. And then there was Blackwell. She came by on a Sunday afternoon when Tank had only been home for three days.
She was his first visitor.
When she arrived, she was wearing a fitted red suit, her hair and makeup were done as if she was going to the office, and she clicked into the foyer with a bright red cloth bag held in her hand.
“What’s that?” I asked her.
“Bring me to him.”
“He’s in the living room.”
“Then take me to the living room.”
I took her matching, full-length cashmere coat, and draped it over a chair. We went inside, and she held up the bag for Tank when he turned to her. He wasn’t quite himself at that point—he still was on his pain medication, and it showed on his drowsy-looking face. But what also showed was that he was happy to see her.
“Chicken soup,” she said. “And I made it from scratch. It’s one of that fat contessa’s recipes. She didn’t fail me over Christmas, when I stuffed that bird for everyone—one of my life’s greatest triumphs—and she didn’t fail me this time either. I tasted it. It’s good. Some might say, ‘remarkable.’”
“You don’t say?” Tank said.
“I do say.”
“Thank you for going to that kind of trouble for me.”
She gave me the bag and went over to him. “Oh, you poor boy,” she said. “You scared the hell out of all of us.” She bent down and kissed him on the forehead before sitting down on the sofa opposite him. “How are you feeling?”
“Out of it.”
“Pain meds?”
“Yes. But after today, I’m taking myself off them.”
“Only if you don’t need them.”
He looked at her. “I’m taking myself off them.”
“Well, that’s fine,” she said. “Whatever you like—you know your body better than anyone else, with the possible exception of Lisa over there. Look, I’m not going to stay long—in these circumstances, visits should be brief. But I wanted you to know that I was thinking of you, and I also wanted to tell you something. Are you listening to me? Yes? Why are your eyes crossing? That’s better. Are you here with me now? Good. What you did for that girl was heroic, and I’m proud of you. I’m proud to say that I know you. And that I consider you a treasured colleague and friend. Have you talked with your parents?”
“I’ve talked with them.”
“Do they know all of it?”
“Not all of it.”
“Do they know about the surgery?”
“No.”
“Well,” she said. “There’s nothing to be done about that, I suppose. You’re a grown man. You told them whatever it is that you wanted to tell them. That’s your choice. And I have a feeling you abbreviated everything because you didn’t want to worry them. That’s innately you.” She stood up to leave. “And that’s just another reason why we all admire and love you.”
“Barbara,” he said before she left.
“Yes?”
“Today’s the first day that I can think reasonably clearly. Or come close to it, anyway. I haven’t been able to talk with Cutter yet, but I think you’ll know the answer to what I want to ask him. Who fired those shots?”
“We don’t know yet. Max shot the man dead. He had no identification on him, but Max is working on it. In time, Cutter will know more, but from what I understand, the police will run a profile on the man’s face and see if he shows up in their system. If he has a record, we’ll know. If he has a license, we’ll find out. If he has neither—which is possible—we’re out of luck. I would imagine we’ll know shortly.”
“I see.”
“I understand that Alex and Cutter are coming over in a couple of days,” she said. “I hear you’re about to get involve
d in some sort of card shark ring.”
He grinned at her.
“Ask them what they know then.”
His face became serious again. “What about Boss?”
“The police interrogated him. So far, nothing. At least as far as I know. But that could have changed by now. Again, talk to Alex and Cutter when they come. I wish I had more for you, but I don’t. Those two might.”
But when Alex and Cutter came to play cards two days later, there still were no answers to any of Tank’s questions. The man who shot him had no prior record with the police and worse—no license or anything else to help them to identify him. As for Boss, they were still watching him, but he had insisted on taking a lie detector test when challenged to take one, and had apparently passed with ease. So, as far as the police were concerned, unless Marco Boss was a cool, masterful liar who could actually beat a lie detector test, he was not their man.
So, who was?
* * *
Tank was cleared to go back to work precisely two weeks to the day after he’d been shot. It was as if he’d willed himself to fully heel by the day his doctor had initially suggested he’d be ready to tackle his job. A trip to his doctor the day before confirmed that he was. Tank received the go-ahead to resume life as usual, and, for him, that meant taking me to the bedroom when we got home and having his way with me while I had my own way with him.
When we made love, we weren’t as rough or as playful as we usually were in bed. The dynamic between us had changed. Instead, our lovemaking seemed more profound than ever to me. Since the shooting, we’d reached a deeper level in our relationship. It was as raw as it was palpable and tender. Both of us knew how lucky we were that the bastard who had shot him hadn’t won in the end.
Now, when he stepped into the kitchen to grab a last cup of coffee, I just looked at him. “Well, don’t you look smart in your suit.” I said.
Unleash Me: Vol. 3 Page 1