Bring Me to Life

by Kira Sinclair

  “I just...sometimes those instincts kick in and I can’t stop them. Like that first night in your guest bedroom. Or tonight.”

  “You didn’t do anything either time, Evan.”

  “I could have.”

  “You didn’t.”

  His fingertips slipped along the slope of her cheeks. “Because you were there.”

  Before the words were out, Tatum was already shaking her head.

  “I had nothing to do with that. It was all you.”

  “I think you underestimate your calming influence.” His mouth twisted into a smile, and it felt a little rusty and stiff, but somehow good. Great, actually.

  She snorted. “No one has ever accused me of being a calming influence. Are you sure you didn’t get hit in the head by a bottle rocket and have your brain rattled?”

  Working his fingers deep into the silky strands of her hair, Evan tilted her head and held her still.

  “No. You’re exactly what I need, Tatum. You’ve always been what I need. Hoping I’d come back to you was the only thing that got me through that hell.”

  He expected...something. Joy, happiness, maybe a touch of humble pride. What he didn’t expect was a frown to tug at the edges of her mouth.

  But almost before it registered, her expression was smooth again.

  “I saw you tonight, Evan. You knew exactly how tight to hold to inflict a healthy dose of fear into those boys without actually hurting. And you were doing that long before I jumped in. You were in control—of yourself and the situation.”

  Wrapping her hands around his wrists, Tatum held on to him.

  “Just like that first night. I had the wind knocked out of me because you surprised me, but I was never in danger.”

  She leaned forward, punctuating her words with a drilling stare. “I was never in any danger and my body and brain knew it.”

  “Your body just liked being pinned beneath mine. I might have been half out of it for most of the experience, but I was awake enough at the end to remember the aftermath of that kiss. And the way your nipples puckered.”

  He allowed a playful smile to dance across his lips and dropped his gaze to her chest. Yep, the tight buds of her nipples tempted him to bend down and suck one deep inside his mouth. With a single raised eyebrow, he silently drove home what he meant.

  Tatum huffed. “You’re missing the point.”

  No, he wasn’t, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to accept it.

  She might trust him, but he didn’t trust himself. Yet. But maybe she was right and all he needed was time. Distance away from the experience that had sent his life spinning irrevocably off course.

  And he knew exactly how he wanted to spend that time.

  Scooping her into his arms, Evan headed for the back door.

  “What are you doing?”

  Flipping off the lights, he plunged Petals into the dark, and took advantage of the cover for a sneak attack, claiming her mouth in a deep, drugging kiss.

  “I’m taking my wife home.”

  13

  FOR THE FIRST time since he had walked out of the jungle in Colombia, Evan finally felt on solid ground. And it was all because of Tatum.

  He had his wife back. The ever-present knot in his stomach had eased.

  There were no more secrets. He’d shared everything, and she hadn’t turned away from him in disgust. He’d felt the difference last night as they’d made love. The way it had been before. As if they were connected, knew each other from the inside out in a way only a husband and wife could.

  He’d missed that connection so damn much.

  It felt unbelievably good to have it back.

  Of course, it didn’t hurt that Tatum was walking around with a perpetual smile tugging at her lips. She wasn’t the kind of woman who mooned about; she was action and fire. It did something to him to know he was the reason she’d gone all soft, that he had put that dreamy expression on her face.

  It made him feel special and strong.

  The same contentment and happiness bubbled up in his chest. He was invincible today. Nothing could dampen his spirits.

  Snagging Tatum’s waist as she walked past the counter, he pulled her to his chest, nuzzling at the warm, fragrant curve of her neck.

  “Stop,” she scolded, pushing halfheartedly at his hands.

  He heard a snicker from the display area, but ignored it.

  “We have customers, Evan.”

  He liked the way she’d said we, without even thinking about it. In her mind, Petals had become theirs, not just hers.

  He wanted that.

  Surprisingly, he’d enjoyed the last week running the store with her. Who would have expected him to enjoy the low-key, gently paced world of selling flowers?

  Although, if any of the guys, especially Lock, ever saw him here...he’d never hear the end of it.

  But maybe it was time to consider a career change. Something a little quieter.

  He had to admit, he’d been skeptical at first, but Sweetheart had grown on him. He could see staying here, settling down.

  And he really liked Tatum’s friends.

  It was too soon to throw all of this at her, but maybe tonight, over candlelight and wine, he’d nonchalantly mention his thoughts on retiring from the military and gauge her response. Ask her again about returning his ring to her finger.

  Taking a teasing nip at her throat, he said, “Surely, our customers have seen a man kiss his wife before. If not, I’m happy to give them an education.”

  An exasperated sigh escaped her lips, but her body relaxed in his arms and she stopped trying to push him away.

  He’d only meant to tease her a bit, but the moment she melted against him, instinct took over. His mouth roamed, filling up on the salty-sweet taste of her skin.

  “I don’t suppose he has a brother?” an amused female voice asked from their left.

  “Nope,” Tatum sang.

  Evan stopped his roaming long enough to say, “They broke the mold when they made me.”

  Tatum groaned. “Thank God. Could you imagine two of him?”

  She squirmed out of his arms and went to help the customer, ringing up the gorgeous arrangement of white roses, lilies—and several other things he still couldn’t identify—in a red glass vase.

  As soon as the woman walked out the door, Tatum turned to him, preemptively striking down his intention to pick back up where they’d left off.

  Hands held out in front of her, Tatum said, “You’re going to take me to lunch. But before you do, we’re going to run by the bank. I haven’t made a deposit in a couple of days.”

  Disappointment swamped him. But he didn’t let it get him down long. He could be persuasive...his lunchtime plans were much more enjoyable than hers.

  Unfortunately, he’d barely made a move toward her before she was derailing that plan.

  “Don’t even think about it, mister.” Tatum moved around to the other side of the table, pointing a finger at the front of the store. “Flip the sign and lock the door. I’ll meet you at the car.”

  Evan sized up the distance between them and Tatum’s clear path to the back door. She was fast, but he was faster. He’d bet he could get around the table before she made it out the door.

  “Uh-uh,” she said, shaking her head slowly in a warning his body was desperately urging him to ignore. “Later. I promise. If you’re good.”

  Giving her a wolfish smile, Evan’s voice went husky with dark promise. “You know you don’t want me to be good, Tatum.”

  She couldn’t suppress the shiver that rocked her body, but still she didn’t cave. Instead, she walked backward with small, deliberate steps, closing the distance between her and the door.

  He couldn’t win.

  Raking her with a heated gaze, Evan watched her movements, enjoying the view since it looked as though that was all he was going to get. When her back hit the door, he finally turned and went to close up the front.

  Tatum was already sitting in the passen
ger seat waiting for him when he jogged out. The key was in the ignition, the car idling.

  She was flipping through the deposit tucked into the dark blue bank bag, although he wasn’t certain why. She’d meticulously prepared it last night so he knew it was perfect.

  There were a couple of banks in Sweetheart, but according to Tatum, most of the original families used the one at the end of Main Street. It had been there over a hundred years, the building itself one of the oldest in the city.

  It was an institution, and since Petal’s previous owner had kept all her accounts there, Tatum had chosen to do the same.

  “You can stay in the car if you want,” she offered as he pulled into a spot.

  Last night might not have ended in his worst nightmare—the guys from Colombia finding him and putting a bullet through Tatum’s heart as payback—but he was still reluctant to let her out of his sight.

  “No, I’ll come in.”

  She shrugged, gathered her purse and tucked the bank bag beneath her arm. Without waiting for him, she strode ahead. And he couldn’t help but watch the way her hips swayed. She was trying to kill him. The question was, was she doing it on purpose?

  Three steps inside the front door, Evan slammed into Tatum’s body. She rocked on her feet. His arm flashed out around her waist to steady her.

  It took only a few seconds to register that her body had gone completely stiff. “What are you...?” he started to ask, but the words died in his throat as his gaze finally moved to take in the room in front of them.

  People lying face-first on the floor.

  A masked man stood five feet away, the yawning mouth of a gun pointed straight at Tatum’s chest.

  Instinct kicked in. His first concern was Tatum. His gaze racing around the bank, Evan realized the guy was alone.

  In a single blur of motion, he pushed her out of the way, in the direction of a desk that would provide a barrier between her and any flying bullets. Stepping forward, he used his body to give her cover and made himself a target instead.

  His teeth clacked together so hard the reverberation rattled through his head, but he didn’t register the pain.

  “Down on the ground,” the guy ordered, the mask covering his face muffling his words.

  All Evan could see were the man’s eyes, cold and dead. He was covered from head to toe, wearing a long-sleeved plaid flannel shirt, pants that bagged around his waist and sneakers so old Evan would bet there was at least one hole in the sole.

  In a quick moment of assessment, Evan realized this guy was done. With rules. With life. He didn’t care, had nothing else to live for.

  And that made him dangerous.

  Evan had stared down men like this before. Rules like “thou shalt not kill” only worked if the person threatening murder cared what society thought. Or what the repercussions would be—now and later.

  Once the veneer of civility was stripped away, the only thing left was survival. And this guy had clearly been surviving on his own for a while.

  He didn’t have any morals left.

  Evan had seen men pushed to that point. He’d seen men born that way. It didn’t matter how they had gotten there, only that the only ones who could stop them from doing something horrible were men like Evan.

  Men who still knew right from wrong.

  In a flash, Evan realized all the fears he’d been holding on to—that deep down his three years in Colombia had pushed him to become a man just like this one—were unfounded.

  He’d never wave a gun in a room full of innocent men, women and children. The men he’d killed had been malicious and dangerous. Killing them had probably saved countless lives.

  Knowing that didn’t quite wash the blood from his hands, but it certainly made it easier to live with.

  He took a single step forward, trying to make himself as big a target as possible.

  From his left, Tatum whispered his name, but he didn’t move his focus off the man in front of him.

  He didn’t even glance at the gun. Didn’t have to in order to know it was pointed straight at him. The gun wasn’t what would hurt him. It was the man holding it that would decide whether the trigger was pulled.

  So he kept his gaze trained solely on the two hard chips of the bank robber’s eyes and waited for the telltale sign.

  “Stop,” the gunman yelled, but Evan ignored him.

  The guy shifted, the gun moving with him. Evan saw his opening and took it.

  He leaped forward, slamming into the guy, grabbing at his wrist and pushing the gun up in an arc toward the ceiling.

  A loud crack filled his head and a sharp ache rocketed through his body. But he didn’t stop his forward momentum.

  Something snapped. Evan heard it and felt the echo of it jolt up his arm. The guy screamed. The gun clattered to the floor, skidding across the slippery tile. Evan’s weight and power drove them both to the ground, but that wasn’t enough.

  Rearing his arm back, Evan put every ounce of strength he had behind the blow he drove into the guy’s stomach. A strangled sound erupted from his parted lips. Another punch landed just under the sharp edge of his jaw. The gunman’s head snapped backward, banging against the hard floor.

  And he stopped struggling.

  Evan stilled, staring at the man spread limply across the floor. He was simply unconscious, his chest continuing to rise and fall with even breaths.

  Where was the rage he’d felt last night when he’d had those teenagers pinned against the alley fence? It had been overwhelming, almost more than he could fight against. Now, when Tatum had really been in serious trouble...nothing.

  Well, not nothing. Relief. Everyone was safe.

  Around him people stirred, finally standing up. Evan rolled the guy onto his stomach, wrenched his arms behind his back and used his belt to tie them in place.

  The manager, a man dressed in a suit and wearing a shell-shocked expression, rushed up beside him. Thank yous poured out. People slapped him on the back. A small child cried.

  And the world went a little gray around the edges.

  “Tatum,” he said, not sure if the word was a question or a statement.

  Sitting back on his heels, Evan let his gaze roam across the faces surrounding him until he finally found hers several feet away.

  She was staring at him. And the horror filling her beautiful emerald eyes had the panic he should have felt five minutes ago swelling hard inside him.

  The low drone of approaching sirens registered. His mouth opened, although he wasn’t sure what to say, not that it mattered. Before he could get a single word out, she whirled away.

  She left him there, sitting on his ass in the middle of the bank, an armed robber trussed up beside him and blood rolling down his side.

  14

  OH, GOD. TATUM stumbled out of the bank. Her palms scraped against something hard. Brick? No, the sidewalk. When had she fallen?

  Her knees smarted. But that pain was nothing compared to the gaping wound in the center of her chest.

  She couldn’t breathe.

  Reaching up, she tried to ease the pressure, pushing on her ribs. Maybe then her lungs would work.

  But they didn’t.

  Holy hell, the blood.

  It was all she could see. That river of bright red leaking down Evan’s side to pool in a puddle on the floor. In her head, there were twinkling Christmas lights, though logically she knew that couldn’t be right.

  But her brain was twisting things. Overlaying the memory of her father onto Evan as he’d crumpled to the floor.

  There was so much blood.

  She was going to lose him. She couldn’t lose him. Not again.

  Panic welled up inside her, forcing out everything else.

  The scene played over and over. Evan pushing her out of the way, stepping right in front of that gun. Right in front. Stupid, noble, self-sacrificing, goddamn man.

  Her chest hitched. A ragged sound leaked through her lips.

  The way he’d moved towa
rd the gunman, making himself an even bigger target.

  Tatum had never been so afraid in her entire life.

  But Evan, he’d been...calm. Accepting. He’d known there was a huge possibility he was going to get shot, killed, and he didn’t even stop to think twice about putting himself in that position.

  Because that’s the kind of man he was.

  And Tatum loved him for that.

  But...the blood.

  And the sound of the gun going off. She hadn’t heard the gun her father had used, not really, but in her nightmares...she’d seen the devastation left behind.

  The bullet may as well have ripped through her own body. It had certainly felt as if it had.

  She’d watched as all color had drained out of Evan’s face. And still he’d kept going, fighting until the man was on the ground and the threat contained.

  Only then had Evan dropped to the floor.

  Tatum’s first instinct had been to run to him.

  But she couldn’t. Couldn’t deal with cleaning up that kind of mess again. Closing her eyes, all she could see now was the deep crimson drops of his life spreading across the floor.

  “Ma’am, are you okay?”

  Tatum looked up to find a paramedic standing next to her, his gaze scanning her for visible signs of trauma.

  “Not me,” she said, climbing to her knees and pushing the man toward the front door.

  “Inside. My husband’s been shot. Please, help him.”

  The guy gave her one more lingering look before darting inside the building.

  She wanted to go back in there. And she didn’t. She was so afraid. What if he was already dead?

  God, she couldn’t bury him again. Not again.

  Another sob she couldn’t keep down strangled her throat. Tatum pressed her hands over her mouth to try and stem the tide, but it was no use. The sounds oozed around her fingers, animalistic and broken.

  Someone wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and led her to the back door of an open ambulance, sitting her down on the edge.

  There were other response vehicles, another ambulance, a fire engine and several police cars. Their lights flashed, revolving in a kaleidoscope of color that made her head hurt. Her brain told her there must be sirens, but she couldn’t hear them.