"You have my word," he said.
Lewis undid one cuff long enough to release him from the pole, then snapped it shut over his wrist again and roughly pulled him to his feet. "Let's go."
* * *
The warehouse door in Kate's scope opened, and every fiber of her being snapped to attention. Jonas emerged first, framed in the doorway for a split second before someone shoved him forward, into the alley. Kate's rifle scope followed, and for a moment, both time and her heart ground to a halt.
Jonas might have been standing right in front of her, he seemed so close. Close enough to see the shadow of stubble along his jawline, the thick fringe of dark lashes around his brilliant blue eyes, the tug of pain at the corner of his mouth, the livid purple bruise that highlighted one cheekbone.
"You have a green light, Kate," Grant's voice came through her earpiece, yanking her back to the task at hand. "I repeat, green light."
"Ten four," she acknowledged. This was it. Time to get Jonas the hell out of there and end this thing. She shifted her scope away from him, seeking her target. She found the pistol pressed to the base of his skull, the hand holding it, the brown sleeve that covered the arm attached to the hand...
And then, nothing. Jonas's superior height and breadth all but made the person behind him invisible. She had no shot.
"Shit!" She jerked back from the rifle scope. "No confidence, Grant. I repeat, no confidence! Get me another window. I can't even see the target from here!"
"No time, Kate," Grant said, his tone even. "The windows are all sealed in their frames. Even if we could get one out fast enough, they'd hear us."
Freaking hell. Kate dipped her head back down and swept the scope over the little group below. Carmen Ramirez and Hal Peters stood to each side of Jonas, their weapons drawn as they scanned the alley intently. That meant the brown sleeve belonged to Lewis—for all the good the knowledge did her.
"Just do your best," Grant's voice advised in her ear.
"There's no such thing as 'best'," Kate snapped. "I either make the shot or I don't, and right now there's no damned shot to make!"
Sweat trickled down her back, and her shoulder quivered with the strain of holding the rifle barrel aloft. She pushed away the ache forming along the edges of her consciousness. She pressed her lips together. Later, she could hurt. Right now, she had no time. Couldn't allow the distraction.
Tipping her head to one side, she peered past the scope at the bigger picture as Hal Peters walked around the front of the SUV to the passenger door. Time was running out. If she couldn't make the shot, Jonas would get in the vehicle with them, and they would drive away with him, and—
She suppressed a shudder. And she didn't need to think further than that, because it wasn't going to happen. Regardless of what Jonas did or didn't want for them, she wouldn't be another in a long line of people who had let him down.
Jonas stepped forward, and Kate returned to following his progress through the scope. The edge of the SUV's black roof entered the bottom of her circle of vision. Jonas shifted to his right, and for a split-second, Lewis's full arm came into view. Kate caught her breath. The arm disappeared again behind Jonas. Despair slammed into her gut.
"Damn it!" she growled. "How much time do I have left?"
"Ramirez is in the car, rear seat, passenger side," Dave responded. His voice was controlled and even, but tight. "Her door is closed. Peters is standing by the front passenger door, not open yet."
"Come on, come on," she murmured, willing her target into view. Still nothing but that damned brown—
And then it was there. In view. A sliver of Lewis's face, just beside Jonas’s head as he reached to open the SUV's back passenger door on the other side of the vehicle. Kate tightened her finger against the rifle's trigger, slowly, infinitesimally. But no more of Lewis appeared, and she eased off again. It wasn't enough.
"Kate?" Grant's voice in her earpiece, taut, questioning, prompting.
"Still no confidence. It’s an unfamiliar weapon. I need a wider margin." Her voice was a bare thread of a whisper. She waited, willing herself to patience. She shut out the room behind, the world around, the turmoil within. Her focus became absolute. Unwavering. In the scope, Jonas's head lowered for his descent into the vehicle, and part of Lewis became visible—forehead, eyes, the bridge of his nose. It wasn't much, but it was enough.
She had a viable target.
Kate stilled the tremble in her shoulder.
She stopped breathing.
She squeezed the trigger.
* * *
Jonas felt the hairs on his head lift in the wake of the bullet a millisecond before the report of a rifle cracked through the alley and echoed between the buildings. Chaos followed on its heels. Shouts, another shot, the thunder of heavily booted feet.
His head snapped up long enough to register the presence of armed agents coming at them from seemingly everywhere, and then instinct kicked in. He dropped to the ground and rolled away from Lewis’s body and the vehicle until the brick wall of the warehouse brought him up short. More shouts from many voices all muddled together, filling the narrow alleyway.
"Drop your weapon! Now!"
"On your knees!"
"Hands in the air—in the air!"
Jonas struggled to sit and wedged himself into a gap between the wall and a Dumpster. Only then, out of the immediate way of too many adrenaline-driven people waving guns, did he dare take stock of the situation.
The SUV blocked most of the activity from his view, but there was no mistaking the bright yellow FBI emblazoned across the chests and backs of the heavily armed and armored agents swarming the scene. No mistaking, either, the prone figure of Hal Peters, face down in a puddle with four of those agents pointing their weapons at him.
Or, a half-dozen feet away, the unmoving figure of Lewis on the pavement, a spreading pool of crimson beneath his head, a small hole punched neatly between his brows.
Jonas stared into the vacant, unseeing eyes of his former colleague. He waited for the expected sense of satisfaction to rise in him, but it didn't come. Nothing came. No anger. No relief. No anything, really, except a hollowness in the center of his chest where Kate's head had rested one last time that morning when she'd said goodbye at the elevator and told him to be safe.
Booted feet came between him and Lewis's corpse, and Jonas blinked as an FBI agent kicked the pistol away from Lewis's limp hand. The agent looked down at Jonas.
"Are you injured?" he asked.
Jonas hadn't thought to check, but there seemed to be no critical damage, and so he shook his head. "I'm fine."
"Good." The agent nodded. "Stay put. I'll send someone to get you in a minute."
Jonas watched him stride over to where Peters was being cuffed, and then he returned to staring at Lewis. So that was it, then. After all that had happened in the eternity since he’d been shot, it was over. Lewis was dead, the others were in custody, their operation would be blown wide open, and Jonas would have his life back. Except...
Except.
Except after spending these days with Kate—after having her be such an integral part of his every waking moment, his every thought—the life he'd had before her seemed beyond empty, felt like it had belonged to someone else. Someone he'd known a long time ago, but couldn't really remember anymore. He didn't think he wanted to remember. And he sure as hell didn't want to go back to being that person.
He scanned the blank windows in the building opposite, looking for her. She was up there somewhere, his beautiful, maddeningly stubborn Kate, who'd had his back throughout this whole ordeal, refused to let him shut her out, and shown him just what he'd been missing all these years.
But all the windows looked empty, and a chill that had nothing to do with rain or temperature shivered down his spine. She was up there, wasn't she? What if she'd—
A door banged open on the other side of the alley. He dropped his gaze to it as Grant Douglas emerged, followed by four more people Jonas di
dn't recognize, and then Dave Jennings.
Jonas blinked. Jennings? Where the hell had he come from?
The lanky RCMP officer sauntered across to him and, grinning from ear to ear, grasped him under one arm to haul him to his feet. Then, to Jonas's everlasting shock, Jennings pulled him into a hug and slapped him heartily on the back.
"Damn, but it's good to see you still breathing." Jennings set him away again but kept hold of his shoulders as he grinned some more. "You have no idea how close that was, my friend. No freaking idea."
Jonas's scalp tingled with the remembered passage of the bullet. "On the contrary," he said, "I think I do. We're sure that whoever took that shot meant to miss me, right?"
Jennings chuckled, turning him so that he could undo the cuffs. "Oh, I'm pretty sure she meant to miss, all right."
Rubbing at the marks on his wrists, Jonas turned back to him. "She?"
Jennings's grin grew, threatening to split his face in half. "I told you she was better than you thought. You did ask her about the shoulder, right?"
Jonas stared at him, trying to absorb words that made no sense. Kate? He looked up at the windows of the building opposite. Kate had taken that shot? But how—
"Three years as a sniper with our emergency response team," Jennings answered as if Jonas had spoken aloud. "Until she took that bullet."
Jonas swallowed against a thickness in his throat. Kate had made it clear how she felt about him. To have made that shot, knowing the risk, knowing that if she missed...
He met the other man's calm gray gaze. Jennings's grin faded to a half smile, and he nodded.
"Hardest thing she's ever done," he agreed. "She could probably do with seeing you breathe in person. Thirteenth floor. Suite fourteen oh-six."
Jonas didn't need a second invitation.
Chapter 47
Jonas found the office halfway down the hall from the elevator. The door stood open, and the interior gave new meaning to the word chaos. Filing cabinets and bookcases had been shoved aside; radio equipment and an open rifle case littered the desktop. His gaze skimmed over it all and settled on the sole person in the room.
Kate.
She stood with a sniper's rifle in her hands, silhouetted against the gray daylight of the window out of which she gazed. Pausing in the doorway, he stared at her. At all of her: the woman, the cop, the partner. The full impact of the role she'd played in his rescue hit him square in the solar plexus. He owed her so much.
No. He owed her everything.
Kate turned her head, and her gaze locked with his. For an instant, unguarded warmth shone from amber depths, reaching out to envelop him. To hold him. Then a shutter dropped over her expression, turning it guarded—and Jonas's belly cold. His hands curled into fists at his sides. He'd done that to her. Hurt her. Betrayed her. Pushed her away so often...
Too often?
He hesitated. Then he closed the door behind him and threaded his way across the room to her side. Every fiber in his being ached to reach for her on the spot, to fold her against him and hold her close and never let her go. But the rifle and her reserve made him pause. Told him he needed to go slow.
He cleared the tightness from his throat and forced a half-smile, trying for a lightness he didn't feel. "That was a pretty good shot you made just now, Constable Dexter."
Kate raised an eyebrow. "Pretty good, Agent Burke? I'm pretty sure that shot just saved your life."
Jonas's smile faded. "You saved my life," he corrected, his voice turning gruff. "Thank you for that."
She looked away, not answering.
Keep it neutral, his inner voice prompted.
"Why didn't you tell me?" He indicated the rifle, then shoved his hands into his pockets.
"It never came up," she said, shrugging. She carried the rifle to the desk and began to dismantle it.
"You mean I never asked."
Kate set the scope into its spot in the case, and he saw her hands tremble. Delayed reaction? Pain from her shoulder? Both possibilities made his gut clench.
"You never asked," she agreed.
"Because I was an ass."
"No," she replied. Then she smiled a tiny smile. "Well. Maybe sometimes."
A chuckle formed in Jonas's chest, but before it could escape, Kate continued.
"You didn't ask because you didn't want to know," she said. "You didn't want to care."
The amber eyes lifted to his, making it his turn to look away as his throat tightened again. She knew him so well. Better than he knew himself. And he couldn't keep up the pretense anymore.
"It didn't work," he said. "Not wanting to care, I mean. It didn't work."
Kate's hands stilled. Then she finished putting the rifle pieces back in their case and secured the clasps, her movements measured and precise. But her hands still shook, and from the corner of his eye, Jonas saw her swallow and close her eyes.
"You don't have to do this," she said. "I knew what I was getting into."
He snorted, thinking back over the past weeks. "I highly doubt that."
"You know what I mean."
No more pretending, Jonas reminded himself. "Kate—"
"Jonas, please." Kate's weary gaze met his. "Don't make this harder than it already is. You made your position clear from the start. Me choosing to ignore it was—"
"Your problem, not mine?" he interrupted.
A flash of pain crossed her expression, but she squared her shoulders and didn't look away. "Yes."
"But it's not," he contradicted softly. "And I realize now that it never has been. Kate—"
The office door opened.
"Oh, good. You're still here." Grant Douglas's voice cut between them, and Jonas flashed an irritated glance at the other man, who stood framed in the doorway. Douglas looked askance at Kate. "Am I interrupting?"
"No," she said.
"Yes," Jonas said simultaneously. A tiny spark of warmth flared in Kate's eyes.
"Uh—well, I just wanted to remind you about doing up a report, Kate," said Douglas. "And Jonas, we'll need a statement from you."
"Later," Jonas told him.
"It should be done as soon as possible, while everything is still fresh in..." Douglas's voice trailed off. His gaze narrowed on Jonas, weighing and assessing him in the same way he'd done at their first meeting. Then he smiled. "Later is good. Just make sure you see me before either of you goes anywhere."
The door closed behind him, and Jonas turned his attention back to Kate. She'd leaned against the desk, her arms braced on either side of her, waiting for him to continue. He took a deep breath.
The office door opened again.
"Kate? Oh, good. You're still here," said Dave Jennings. "I was wondering what your plans were for heading back to Ottawa. I'm booked on a flight tomorrow afternoon. Do you want me to see if I can get you a seat on the same one?"
Jonas muttered an expletive under his breath. He scowled at Jennings. "She's not going back tomorrow," he snapped. "She's not going anywhere until she listens to me, damn it!"
Kate stared at him for a second before looking at Jennings. "Can we figure it out later?" she asked. "I'll be out in a few minutes."
"Of course." Jennings shook his head at Jonas. "You've been up here for almost five minutes, Burke. What are you waiting for?"
"Peace and quiet," Jonas retorted.
Jennings chuckled. "Leaving now. I'll see you downstairs, Kate."
* * *
Kate thought she nodded, but she couldn't be sure, because Dave's words to Jonas had unlocked something in her that she'd given up on. A hope she thought had died. The door closed behind her old partner, leaving her and Jonas alone. Silence descended. The flicker of hope in her breast struggled to become more. To remember Jonas's words. To maybe begin believing them.
"Not wanting to care...it didn't work."
She curled her hands around the edge of the desk, trying to remember the fine art of breathing. She raised her gaze to the brilliant blue waiting for her. The
office door opened again and several FBI agents filed into the room, chatting and laughing, oblivious to the two occupants already there. The flash of annoyance in Jonas's eyes found an echo inside her; his impatience became hers. Whatever he wanted to say to her, she suddenly—desperately—needed to hear it. She opened her mouth to ask the agents to leave, but Jonas beat her to it.
"Damn it!" he roared. Conversation ceased, and the agents turned as one to stare at them. Jonas glared back at them. "Can we please have an uninterrupted five minutes?"
Uncomprehending looks gave way to dawning awareness; awareness to knowing smirks. The group shuffled out again, their whispers interspersed with chuckles and sly looks, and the door closed once more.
Anticipation curled through Kate's belly and spread through her chest. The tension in the room soared to new heights. Jonas stood almost a dozen feet away, but his warm strength reached across the space between them to envelop her. To hold her. She thought that if she closed her eyes and listened, she might hear his heart beating.
In three long strides, he closed the gap between them to mere inches. His broad, muscled chest filled her vision. His warmth pulsated against her.
"Kate."
She tried, but she couldn't bring herself to lift her gaze to his. Couldn't face the possibility she might be wrong after all. Couldn't put her heart on the line again. Gentle fingers tipped her chin up. Somber eyes met hers.
"I hurt you this morning," Jonas said, "And I'm sorry. I never meant to. I hope you know that."
She did know. She'd known it even as she eavesdropped on the conversation she’d never been meant to hear this morning. Jonas might be a mass of conflicting emotions, but cruel he was not.
His deep voice continued, quiet and rich, vibrating with promise. "All along, I think I was afraid that if I touched you, really touched you, and if we made love, I would lose myself in you forever. That scared the hell out of me, because I didn't think I could live up to the responsibility of it. When I woke up beside you today, I panicked. I convinced myself you were better off without me, and that if I could just get you out of my life, things would be normal again. The phone call to Val was to prove to myself that was possible."
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