It was starting to feel real to her. Her, him, Ruthie, together. She had to come up with another solution. She couldn’t stay at Malachi’s too much longer or it would just be harder for her and Ruthie to leave.
Jules didn’t know if she’d have the strength to leave if she got too much deeper with him.
He was waiting for her in the living room, and she straightened her spine before she turned off the television. “This was a mistake.”
He looked at her. “What was? The movie? I think Ruthie enjoyed it.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t. I’ve heard what you’ve said, but you’ve done the exact opposite. Have you always struggled with making up your own mind? Or is it because of me?”
“Everything is because of you!” She waved her arms around. “I can’t think because of you!”
He grabbed her hand. Turned it toward the light. His words were low, soft, serious. “I think it’s because of him, rather than me.”
Him? What him?
Then her eyes landed on what encircled her finger.
Her rings.
Oh, God. She’d made love to Malachi while wearing the rings another man had given her.
She’d made love to Malachi.
When had things shifted in her thoughts from just a quiet affair to making love?
It must hurt him. It would have hurt him. She had hurt him. Unthinking.
She hadn’t even realized. How could she have been so thoughtless? “I…”
“You see, Julia. I get it. I know he’s a part of you. A big part of you, and I know he loved you. How could he not? But just because he’s gone doesn’t mean you can’t love another man. Can’t build a life, a future, with someone else.”
She toyed with the ring that matched her wedding set. Rick had given her the third ring on their first anniversary. It was so precious to her.
But to Malachi, it was a symbol. A barrier.
Did she truly want to keep that barrier between them any longer?
She must have taken too long to answer. “Honey, I won’t lie to you. I want what Hell and Georgia have. And I think deep down, you do, too.”
“I…”
“I’m just asking you to give us a try.” He kissed her, hard. “I’m going to bed. You’re free to join me in my room, tonight and every night. The decision is yours.”
God, she wanted that. She did. The biggest part of her did.
She twisted the rings around her finger again. “I…can’t.”
“No. You just won’t. Good night, sweetheart. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She watched him walk up the stairs, Clark on his heels.
Lois stayed at Jules’ side.
It was then Jules saw the box in the middle of the coffee table, right on the sweatshirt she’d taken off during the movie. He must have placed it there while she was upstairs with Ruthie. And she’d chased him away before he could give it to her, could explain. Damn it. She opened the intricate little box, and pulled out the note.
She’d recognize his bold scrawl anywhere.
Sweetheart, I thought you might like something to keep the rings Rick gave you close to your heart. This was my grandmother’s—my mother’s mother. You remind me of her. She’d smack me for being too ‘perfect’, too.
The gold necklace was an antique chain, intricate and delicate all at once. It complimented the rings almost by design. She wrapped it around her fingers and stared at it for the longest time.
Damn the Fates, again. Why did they keep doing stuff like this to her?
She grabbed a pen from the holder on the side table and scribbled her response on the back of the note, though what she really wanted to do was tuck the note somewhere in her things where she could look at it again and again.
I’m sorry. It’s beautiful. But I just can’t, yet. I’m sorry.
She tucked the note and the necklace back in the antique box, and placed the box carefully on top of his stack of files on the kitchen table. Then she hurried up the stairs to her borrowed room, knowing she’d done the exact wrong thing.
For all of them.
Damn him. And damn her.
Damn her most of all.
Chapter Fifty-Five
* * *
Malachi compared the men on the list, running over and over the names for most of the morning. He’d locked himself in his office, with orders not to disturb unless it was extremely important. He needed the time alone to think. To work things out for himself—both with the UNSUB and with how he had pushed too far Julia last night.
He should have kept the necklace, not offered it. She hadn’t been ready for that, and he understood it. Intellectually. How could she? She was a reluctant houseguest, in a situation where he was her main safety. She was bound to feel unbalanced. It wasn’t fair to put that kind of pressure on her. So he’d made a decision long after he’d gone to bed. He’d focus on the threat to them both, then later, when she was ready, he’d focus on them.
He forced his attention back to the list in his hand. Twenty men, men he’d known, had coffee or a beer with, played baseball with, or worked with. Friends, people he’d known for at minimum five years. And here he was having his people delve into those men’s lives, pick apart their histories and their triumphs and failures.
All because of him.
Would he ever forget that whoever had orchestrated this bizarre and macabre game was responsible for so many lost lives—and it was because the man had some grudge against him. Why?
Was it someone who Malachi had put away years ago, and was back out on the streets? With a grudge strong enough to create such hate?
Somehow he didn’t think so.
No, this was someone a hell of a lot closer.
He read the list again. Rocky Hurt, Quin Bowman, Nate Collins, Greg Stout, Aaron Hubler, James Bedford, Allan Knight, Jimmy Kedril, and a dozen others. Men he considered friends.
How was he supposed to narrow it down?
His phone beeped, indicating a text.
Allan Knight, one of the men on the list. Was it him? How was Malachi to talk to the other man, knowing he suspected Allan? He read the text.
Another body. Think it’s your guy.
Shit. Malachi grabbed his gun and badge and hit the bullpen. His team was hard at work on cold cases. Every unit had them, even PAVAD. It was the nature of the job; yes, Malachi’s team had an impressive solve rate, but there was always going to be cases that went unsolved.
This case was not going to be one of them.
Julia and that assistant that followed her everywhere were readying the M.E. van when Malachi and his team made it to the parking lot. Malachi wrapped his hand around Jules’ arm; she looked up at him with mild surprise and irritation. But that was better than the way she’d avoided him all morning, even while in the same vehicle. “What?”
“What are you doing?” The deal was she told him when she went anywhere, and that he went with her.
“Agent Knight called. He has a body for us. And last I checked, it was my job to collect the bodies.”
“Without letting me know?”
“I’m doing my job. That doesn’t always include staying in the lab.” Her look dared him to stay anything. He actually hesitated. This was territory they hadn’t covered. Why hadn’t they? “Do you have a problem with that?”
“Not as long as you don’t do anything stupid.” And he’d be staying at her side until she was safely returned to PAVAD. He wouldn’t be letting so much as a single honey-colored hair on her head be touched. Not on his watch. “You stay by my side.”
“Hey, my job is pretty much centered on the star of this show. Don’t you mean you’ll be by my side?” She shoved her bag behind her seat. She had a driver assigned to her van, and she usually rode in the passenger seat. He knew that from observing her on scene in the past.
“You’ll ride with me. I’ll send T.J. to ride with Mia.”
He waved Royal to the back seat, and Julia too
k the passenger. Malachi drove. “Royal, what do we know so far?”
“African American male. Early twenties. GSR. Chess piece in his mouth. His fingers were removed, as well.” Royal leaned up between the seats. “East St. Louis.” He rattled off the address, and Julia punched it into the GPS.
Royal knew the details of the case; Malachi had made sure that his second-in-command knew everything he knew. Just in case something happened and Malachi was killed or injured. Someone needed to stop this bastard.
He parked alongside the street where the crime scene was located. Flashing lights and several Bureau vehicles already waited. This was the place.
“Royal, you’re in charge of the rest of the team. I’m sticking with Dr. Bellows. He’s already indicated she’s a target. Have Knight meet me beside the victim.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
* * *
She appreciated his protection, but did he have to be so obvious about how he felt? Every time he looked at her she was reminded of the hurt on his face when he’d walked into the kitchen that morning and found that little blue box in the center of the table.
When she looked at him, gone was the professional superman team leader Malachi Brockman and in his place was a passionate, protective lover who was a bit sexist and a lot overprotective. A man who in any other reality, in any other lifetime would be hers. How was she supposed to deal with that?
By ignoring the relationship she’d never wanted in the first place and getting back to work, that was how. She took charge of the scene, and had Mia photographing as she started her initial inspection.
Malachi stayed at her side.
She listened to his conversation with Agent Knight with half an ear. Did he realize his words were stilted? He was friends with Agent Knight; she’d even seen Knight dancing with Alessandra at the Thanksgiving party.
Or was that the problem? Did Malachi suspect his friend? How could he not? How could he trust anyone ever again? Or was he just trying to close himself off in case it was Knight?
That hurt her. One of Malachi’s charms was his openness, his loyalty, and enjoyment of his friends. That someone had taken that away from him, even briefly, hurt her more than she’d have thought. She hated seeing him hurting.
She stood. There was nothing significant about where this body was found; if she had to hazard a guess she’d call it an ordinary body dump. She’d be able to find out more helpful information once she had the man on the autopsy table. “Let’s get him back to PAVAD.”
She turned toward the man at her side. Malachi was using his much bigger body to block hers from the crowd that had gathered. A rough, curious crowd that would make her nervous at any time, not just now with the threat to them. He was big and solid between her and the onlookers. His protection was natural. Instinctive. Because he cared about her. Oh, God.
When had she started to expect that caring?
Someone shouted, and Jules turned. The shouting, screaming increased. People were running.
A hard body tackled her, taking her straight down. Her knee hit the concrete, and she kicked the corpse.
Her cheek bounced off the pavement, gravel digging into her skin. Malachi’s body was crushing hers, his arm over her head. He rolled to one side, but didn’t stand.
Jules looked at him and bit back a scream.
Blood was spreading over his white shirt. Spreading rapidly. Too rapidly. She yelled, his name, something, she didn’t know. It might have been pleading to God, to the Fates, anyone or anything that was listening.
Jules pulled the shirt free from his pants, ripping the buttons in her haste. She didn’t give a damn. His blood coated her hands, but she persisted, finding the entrance wound and applying pressure.
“Dammit, why did you do that?” She was furious, so damned mad at him for taking such a foolish risk. Why did it always have to be him right in the middle of things? Didn’t he have more self-preservation than that?
His blood stained the snow, just like Rick’s had stained the sunbaked pavement so long ago.
Jules froze, as the image of another man she loved dying before her flashed into her mind.
She closed her eyes, trying to erase Rick’s face, to replace it with Malachi’s. The dunderhead’s. Why had he been so stupid?
He was still breathing. Which meant there was a chance for him. She wouldn’t let him die, she wouldn’t. She snapped out of her damned fog, and barked orders at the nearest agents surrounding them.
She’d get him to the hospital, but in the meantime she’d do whatever she had to in order to stop the bleeding.
And then she’d clobber him herself.
He opened his eyes while she was barking out orders, and she knew she’d never forget the look he shot her. “Guess I should have jumped instead of ducked.”
“You should have gotten out of the way entirely. Not everyone needs a damned superhero. The body is already dead, he wasn’t going anywhere. And an extra bullet or two wouldn’t have hurt him. What were you thinking?”
His hand wrapped around her forearm and he tried to sit up. She snapped a no! at him and he laid back down. He brushed at her hair, where it had fallen loose from her knit cap when he’d pushed her to the ground. “I was thinking that you were too damned close to the shooter for my comfort. And that I was wearing a vest, and you weren’t.”
“I was fine. You were just playing hero again. And news flash, it missed your vest.” She pulled the strap from the Kevlar open. The bullet had missed the edge of the Kevlar by less than a quarter of an inch, slicing right through the leather belt holding up his pants. A lucky shot for the shooter? Or just a really good shooter? “I didn’t need you to save me! Don’t need you to save me all the time.”
“But maybe I need to save you. Or maybe I just need you.” He coughed and the blood in her veins turned to ice.
“You need to lay still. I’ve got to keep pressure on this. We’re going to have to sew you back together again.”
“Like Humpty, huh?” He gave her a weak grin and Jules fought the tears pooling behind her eyes. She would not cry over him. Not now, not when she was so damned mad. “It’s not that bad.”
“How do you know? I’m the doctor here.” And she’d seen so many deaths by bullets to the abdomen. It was too damned dark out here for her to see the damage completely. Too dark, too far from the hospital, and too much blood for her to see. The broken street lights made it nearly impossible. They’d need to get him to the hospital before she would know for certain. “I’ll tell you when it’s bad or not.”
“Bus will be here in less than two minutes; I can hear the sirens. How are you doin’, boss?” Chalmers asked, kneeling beside Jules. “What can I do to help?”
“Simple. You don’t leave Dr. Bellows’ side, for anything. And send Djorn and Jones to my parents’ house. Dr. Bellows’ daughter is there now. They are to stay with my parents and Ruthie—without mentioning this little scrape—until you or I tell them differently.” He coughed again, then leaned back. But he remained conscious, and that was a good sign.
The bullet could have injured him in so many different ways, different patterns. Anything could be going on inside him at that moment, and without decent light and better equipment—equipment meant for working on living patients, rather than dead specimens—she felt as helpless as a child.
But she would not let him see that. She couldn’t. “I want you to keep talking to me as long as you can. If you start to feel faint, let me know.” How much blood had he lost? The wet snow and low light made it difficult to tell.
“Begin to? I’m feeling a bit lightheaded, my love. But this is just a little scratch. Nothing to concern yourself with.” His faint British accent, similar to his English-born mother’s came out when he was tired, weak—she’d noticed before.
“Of course you’re lightheaded! You’re bleeding…you’re bleeding, you idiot!”
“Do you really think it’s appropriate to call me an idiot when I’m injured?” His hand covered he
rs where she applied pressure. “Julia, look at me, please?”
Jules did.
“I’ll be fine. The ambulance is here. I’m talking, breathing, and in full possession of my faculties. I’m not going to die like he did. I can promise you that.”
“You can’t promise that. No one can. And someone in your line of work, with your particular Galahad tendencies—you’re at a higher risk than most. And you know that.”
“Yes. I am. But that doesn’t mean it will happen. Just that it could. But everyone faces risks, Julia. Everyone. You just have to decide what is stronger—love or fear. It’s up to you.”
He said nothing else. The paramedics surrounded them and Jules was shouldered aside. She gave a few orders as he was loaded into the ambulance, and then jumped in beside him as soon as she could. The paramedics had better equipment and from the competent way they moved around him, they were skilled at what they did.
And he was still awake and talking. Laughing with the attendants.
But he never let go of her hand.
And she never pulled away.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
* * *
He hurt like the blazes of hell but he’d never tell her that. Did she know what she was revealing to him by sitting over there staring at him with those big worried eyes of hers? Did she know that every fear and feeling she had was running over her face? She was pale—probably paler than he was, despite the blood he’d lost—and he had no difficulty seeing how she shook.
She wasn’t a trained federal agent or a seasoned medical professional right now. Now she was just a worried lover. Worried for him.
Did she understand how he had felt, knowing the sound of bullets, knowing she was in the path? How could he not have done what he had?
And he’d been right to. He’d covered her, and the bullet had struck him. What if it had been her hit? How would he have handled it? How would Ruthie? Did she realize just how much she meant to the two of them now?
HUNTING (PAVAD) Page 20