by Lori Foster
He took the final step, a low growl emerging.
Shadow didn't delude herself into thinking she was a physical match for him, even in his weakened condition. She wondered if she could make it into the house, to the phone. Chad read her intent and lurched forward, wanting to reach her.
But he was too weak. He hit a patch of ice, flailed about, then stumbled off the top step. His legs budded beneath him and he screamed. As Shadow watched in horror, he tumbled, his body limp, crashing several times into the railing before landing with a sickening thud at the bottom of the porch steps. His head cracked hard against the icy walkway and a small patch of blood appeared.
He moaned softly, galvanizing Shadow into action. Rushing toward him, she cried, "Chad? Are you all right?"
He grabbed her hand, his grip surprisingly strong, his flesh burning with fever. "I'm so damn cold," he whimpered. His eyes rolled into his head and he quieted, his body going still.
* * *
Brent was more than a little distracted when his secretary buzzed him. "Yeah, Micky, what is it?"
"You have a personal call on line two."
Brent tensed, a typical reaction for him. Wherever Shadow was concerned he suffered from extremes, both sexual and emotional. "I'll take it. Thanks, Micky."
Releasing the intercom button, Brent hesitated. He'd been thinking about her all morning, wanting to call her, wishing he'd admitted his love this morning rather than putting it off. He'd been ridiculous and he knew it. Shadow felt hurt over his attitude, thinking him ambivalent to her. It pained him every time he remembered the look on her face, her admission that it would be too much to see him regularly, knowing he didn't love her.
It was past time to set things right with her. He picked up the receiver and settled back in his chair. "Hello, sweetheart. Done with your shopping so soon?"
"Uh. I hope the sweetheart you're referring to is Shadow. But I'm not her. I'm her friend Annie."
Brent went still. "I'm sorry, I just assumed … is anything wrong? Where's Shadow?"
"That's just it. I have no idea. I was afraid something was wrong because she's never stood me up before."
"Stood you up?" He shot forward in his seat again. "What the hell do you mean? Where is she?"
"I already told you, I don't know. She was supposed to meet me at the mall. I waited and waited, but she didn't show and now I'm worried."
"She never called?"
"No. I tried phoning her house, but there was no answer. She gave me your name and number awhile back, so … I tried you." There was a heavy pause, filled with worry. "You really don't know where she is?"
"Go back to your place in case she tries to call you. I'm going home to check there right now."
As if his urgency alarmed her even more, Annie said hurriedly, "Please, let me know if you find her! She told me about that guy who's been calling—"
"Yeah." Brent cursed low, then forced himself to be calm. Trying to convince himself as much as Annie, he said, "I'm sure everything's okay. Don't worry. I'll find her."
He hung up and was out of his seat in the same movement. As he passed his secretary, he said, "If Ms. Callahan calls, let me know immediately. I'll be at home." He started out, then thought to clarify, "Not my house, but—"
"Yes, sir. I know."
"Thanks, Micky."
Brent made it home in record time. His heart pounded heavily, his teeth were clenched in fear. If anything happened to her… He couldn't, wouldn't finish that thought. His palms were sweaty by the time he pulled into the driveway.
He ran up the walkway, then came to a staggering halt. "Oh, God, no." A patch of dark blood made a stark contrast to the white snow at the bottom of the steps. He stared at it, his insides twisting, his heart knocking in his chest. In that moment, he suffered a fear he'd never known before, a blackness that obliterated every other sensation. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think.
It hit him—a desperate hope that she might have merely hurt herself, then gone inside.
Praying, he went up the steps in one jump, jerked the door open and shouted her name. No answer. He went through the house at a dead run, again calling out for her. He stopped, not knowing what to do.
He squeezed his eyes shut, then jerked around when the phone gave a shrill ring. He grabbed it up, his voice gruff with emotion. "Shadow?"
"It's Micky, Mr. Bramwell. I—"
"Where is she, Micky?" The words were choked, raw.
Very gently, Micky said, "She's fine, sir. She just called. She's at Memorial Hospital—"
Brent dropped the phone. Memorial was only a short drive away, but at the moment, it seemed like the span of a continent. All his good intentions, the alarm system, his constant reminders for caution—they hadn't been enough. He hadn't done enough.
He drove like a madman, alternating between silent threats and thoughts of retribution, to heartfelt prayers that she'd be all right, that she would eventually forgive him his stupidity.
She was a part of him, the most important part. The part that made him smile and filled him with happiness and security.
He loved her. And there was a very good chance he'd waited too long to tell her.
* * *
Shadow paced the hallway, exhausted from all the questions the police had asked her. She wished Brent would come, just to hold her hand if nothing else.
She didn't know if Chad was going to live. He'd seemed so sick, and the doctor had come out to tell her he had a bad case of pneumonia and a concussion. He'd spent so much time outside, spying on her, rather than seeking a doctor when he became ill. He'd gone into a coma shortly after Shadow had gotten him to the hospital, and he hadn't opened his eyes since. His condition was critical. Shadow, unbelievably, felt responsible for him. She couldn't leave without first finding out if he'd be okay.
But she would have appreciated Brent's support. She had, after all, been through a lot. It wasn't every day that you had a near delirious madman bleeding all over your car, reciting in great, babbling detail all the ways he loved you.
The irony of it had nearly choked her. She had an unwelcome and unhealthy declaration from Chad, yet Brent, the man she loved, wouldn't even hint at such words.
Damn, she wished Brent were here now.
As if summoned by her, he burst through the waiting room doors at that precise moment. He looked like a wild man, and Shadow automatically groped behind her for the nearest chair.
Brent saw her, and his expression shattered. His chest heaved and then, with a fast, purposeful stride, he started toward her.
No sooner did he take a step in her direction than two men standing nearby—one an orderly, by the looks of him, the other a guard—tried to stop him. Brent shrugged off their restraining hands, his gaze never leaving Shadow. He was gripped more firmly and promptly shoved against the wall.
Shadow's eyes widened. In a rush, she explained, "He's with me. He … he must have been worried?" It sounded like a question—it was a question! Whatever was the matter with him?
Brent reached her, then literally hauled her off her feet and into his arms. "Are you hurt?"
"No," she squeaked, still unsure of his mood.
He reared back, gently shaking her. "You're all right? You swear?"
"I'm fine."
All the rigidity left his body with one deep breath. He hugged her to him, treating her to a bone-crushing embrace, her feet still dangling off the floor. "God, you scared me," he mumbled into her neck, and Shadow could feel him trembling.
She stroked his back. "Brent, I'm fine. Didn't your secretary give you my message?"
He shook his head, unwilling to release her just to explain. He hadn't given Micky the chance to speak, he had been so overwhelmed with terror.
Aware of the curious glances from the other occupants of the waiting room, Shadow whispered, "Brent, put me down now. It's okay."
He lowered her into her seat, but he didn't release her, which meant he ended up kneeling in front of her, his head still
buried against her neck.
Shadow became worried. "Brent?"
"I love you, sweetheart. God, I love you so damned much it's killing me."
Stunned, Shadow took a moment to digest that bit of information, and then she grinned an enormous grin. "Well, for heaven's sake, don't die!" she exclaimed, then added more softly, "Just keep on loving me. Always."
Brent squeezed her closer. Shadow had to protest or end up in a faint because she positively couldn't breathe. At her first grunt, Brent loosened his arms, then leaned back, but not too far back. His hands came up to frame her face and he said again, "I love you. If you love me, too, even a little, you won't ever scare me like that again. Promise me."
Her eyes filled with tears and this time she didn't mind in the least. "I promise."
"Good." He stood suddenly, his hands fisted on his hips. "Where the hell is he?"
And Shadow saw the murderous intent in his eyes.
"He has pneumonia, and on top of that, he fell down the steps and gave himself a concussion. Right this minute, he isn't even conscious!"
Brent closed his eyes. "That was his blood, then, that I saw at the bottom of the steps?"
"Yes. You didn't think… Oh, Brent. I'm sorry."
"It doesn't matter now." Then he looked at her in disbelief. "Don't tell me you're feeling sorry for him!"
"In a way I am. He's so pitiful."
Brent clenched his jaw, a telling sign that he wasn't as forgiving.
"He put something on my cookies," she admitted. "That's why I fell asleep so suddenly. He wanted to keep us from making love. He's so sick, Brent. I mean, mentally. He needs help."
"I'll kill the bastard."
A young officer approached, the same one who had asked Shadow dozens of questions earlier. She gave him a wan smile, then introduced him to Brent.
Officer Grange nodded. "The doctor just spoke with me. They have him stabilized, but he hasn't regained consciousness. There's no need for you to stay. We'll need to know where to reach you, however."
Brent gave him his own address. "We'll be getting married, soon. Anytime you need her, try my number."
That got a smile from both Shadow and Officer Grange.
"I'm really sorry for what you've been through," Grange offered. "At least he got caught before either of you were hurt. You shouldn't have any more trouble from him. There are other officers at the house right now, looking over the scene, taking evidence. You can rest easy now."
Brent shook his head. "You must not know Ms. Callahan very well. You can never rest easy around her. You have to keep on your toes … or she'll stomp all over them."
Shadow punched playfully at Brent's shoulder. Then allowed him, with a small show of resistance, to lead her from the hospital. Despite everything that had happened, she felt good. Very, very good.
* * *
The morning sunshine was bright as Brent stretched awake. The snow was gone, and the May weather had turned mild. He smoothed his hand over Shadow's hip and rumbled, "G'morning, sweetheart."
"Hmm," she whispered back, wiggling her hips into his lap.
Brent's hand went to her belly and he asked, "Any morning sickness?"
"No. I guess the doctor was right," she said around a yawn and an elaborate stretch. "The second trimester isn't so bad."
"I'm glad the first was a false alarm. Your parents will like it better that the baby's born nine months after the wedding and not a day before."
"Maybe. But they would have been thrilled either way."
"I know. My mom was ecstatic over the idea of a grandchild. She was a little concerned, though, over what you might name the future Bramwell."
Grinning wickedly, Shadow said, "I told her I favored mythology over weather conditions. How do you like Zeus? Or Aphrodite?"
Brent bent to kiss her shoulder. "I love you, Shadow."
"You've gotten so good at saying that."
"Well, you see, this slightly goofy, unbelievably sexy woman I know insisted on showing me how much fun love can be."
"She convinced you, did she?"
"Yes, she surely did. And she'll be stuck with me now. Forever."
"Hey, she sounds like one lucky broad to me."
* * * * *