by LENA DIAZ,
“Jace, don’t—”
“I’ll take your gun in a few seconds. When I tell you to, dive down, to the right. I’ll cover you.”
Cover her? Tarek already had his gun out. How could Jace possibly cover her without getting shot himself while using his body as a shield?
They reached the portico. Twenty feet to the door.
What could she do? Think. Think! How could she stop this?
Fifteen. The sound of Jace’s breathing changed, as if he were tensing up, getting ready to make his move. To sacrifice himself.
Ten feet.
He edged closer to her and slid her gun out of her pocket.
Nine.
Closer, closer.
“Now, Mel,” he whispered harshly.
He gave her a little shove. She whirled around, just as he did. His gun came up. Tarek’s did, too. She dove, not to the right, but at Jace. A gunshot rang out, and the two of them fell to the ground. She slammed down on top of his chest, clutching at his shoulders, looking into his beautiful gray eyes, wide with shock.
She blinked in surprise, then lifted her head and looked past him. Tarek lay unmoving on the bricks, blood pooling beneath his head. “You got him,” she said. “I can’t believe you got him.”
“And I can’t believe you got yourself shot. Damn it to hell, Melissa. What were you thinking?”
“Shot?” She looked down and saw the blood spattered on her shirt, seeping from her shoulder. White-hot agony seemed to suddenly spread everywhere at once, arching her backward. “Jace?”
He swore savagely, scooping her up in his arms. “Don’t you dare die on me, Mel. Don’t you dare.” He clasped her against his chest and ran. She squeezed her eyes shut, sucking in a breath as each step sent a jolt of pain through her.
When they reached the door, he gave the doorknob a savage kick. The wood frame splintered, and the door sagged open. So much for her father’s impenetrable security. She laughed, then sucked in another breath at the fresh wave of pain.
“What are you doing here? What happened?” Her father. “Melissa?” His voice cracked.
“Out of the way,” Jace growled. He carried her through the house. More jarring pain. But not as bad as before. Was she going numb? Was she . . . dying? She swallowed and clutched Jace’s shirt.
He looked down at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling with tension. “I’ve got you, Mel.”
“Put her here. I’ll grab a pillow from the couch. What happened?” her father demanded.
“Don’t bother with the fake surprise,” Jace snarled. “Your minion, Tarek, shot her. Presumably on your orders. He’s dead, by the way.”
Her father stiffened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t tell Tarek to . . . I didn’t even know you were on my property.”
“Well, now you do. And if you try pulling a gun on me while I’m checking on your daughter, I swear to God I’ll kill you.”
“Jace,” Melissa whispered through the pain. “Don’t.”
“Save your strength, Mel. Don’t try to talk.” He lowered her onto something hard. The desk? A pillow was shoved beneath her head. The muted sound of a zipper, then tugging, lifting. Her coat was gone. And then Jace’s strong, warm hands pressed against her skin, running up beneath her shirt, down her belly, searching, probing, gently lifting. She sighed and closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of his hands far more than seemed appropriate given the circumstances. The pain wasn’t even that bad anymore.
“Mel? Can you hear me, sweetheart?”
Sweetheart? Jace calling her sweetheart was the kind of heaven she’d take any day.
He shook her, and she opened her eyes, blinking until he came into focus.
“Jace? Where am I?”
“On the desk, in your father’s office. I need to stop the bleeding. This is going to hurt.” He pressed down on her upper left shoulder.
She gasped and let out a ragged moan at the searing pain.
Jace looked past her. “Call 911.”
“No.” Her father’s voice.
Jace snarled. “She’s your daughter, man. She needs medical attention.”
“Yes. She’s my daughter. And I love her dearly. But there are things in play here that you don’t understand.”
Oh, Daddy. What are you doing?
“Spare me the lies and cover-ups,” Jace snapped. “I’ll save us both some time. I know all about EXIT, the Council, and the enforcers. And so does your daughter.”
Cyprian sighed deeply. “I suspected as much. Well. That does save us time. I assume you’re working with them, the rogue enforcers who turned on me? You’ve been working with them all along?”
“I work alone.”
“Now who’s lying, Mr. Atwell?”
“Are you going to make that 911 call, or do I have to move my hands and risk her bleeding out to make the call myself?” Jace bit out.
The pressure of his hands on her arm made it throb. She blinked against the pain, trying to focus on what they were saying.
“If we call for help,” Cyprian said, “we’re signing her death warrant, if you haven’t already. You and I will be tied up with police interviews, and she’ll be alone in the hospital, vulnerable. I won’t be able to protect her. The Watcher—I’m assuming you know about that, too—may have already told Marsh that you killed Tarek. That makes you their enemy, and by association, since you’re obviously together, Melissa as well. They won’t waste time with an investigation to find out what she knows or doesn’t know. And as you just confirmed, she does know what’s going on. So an investigation wouldn’t help anyway. Regardless, if either of us makes that call, she dies.”
Melissa’s heart sank at her father’s words. Was he right? Would calling for help put her in more danger? Or was he just concerned about his own safety, about trying to explain why Tarek had been pointing a gun at them and why he was at the house? Had she ever really known this man? She blinked against the tears that burned at the backs of her eyes, threatening to spill down her cheeks.
Jace cursed beneath his breath. Since he didn’t go for the phone, he must have agreed with her father’s assessment of the danger. “Get my first-aid kit from my car. It’s a couple of hundred yards due south of here in the woods. And get me some towels to stop the bleeding.”
“I have a first-aid kit. I’ll have Silvia—”
“No. Get mine. It’s got everything I need for a field dressing, including anesthesia. And trust me, she’ll want anesthesia.”
Her father whirled around and left the room.
Melissa grabbed Jace’s hand.
He bent over her, looking more angry than concerned. “What were you thinking, jumping in front of me? You could have been killed.”
“I was trying to save you.”
“Bodyguard. Hello? It’s my job to save you.” He leaned in closer. “Don’t you ever do something like that again.”
“If you’re making threats, does that mean I’m going to live?”
He glanced toward the closed double doors before answering. “If you don’t, it will be the first time I’ve ever lost anyone to a flesh wound.” He lifted his hand. “Looks like the bleeding’s almost stopped.”
“Flesh wound?” She lifted her head. “There’s blood all over my shirt. Are you sure the bullet went all the way through?”
“Don’t sound so disappointed. You still get bragging rights when you’re old and gray and comparing scars in the old-folks home. The bullet barely touched you. A graze through the upper part of your arm, close to your shoulder but missing anything vital. You’re going to be fine.”
“So asking my father to call 911 was, what, a ploy? To make him feel guilty?”
“He damn well deserved it.” He smoothed her hair back from her face. “I swear to God, Mel, you scared the hell out of me.”
She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “My father would not approve of all of this foul language,” she teased.
“Frankly my dear, I don’t give a f
ucking damn.”
She laughed, then sucked in a breath. “Just a graze, huh? For all of this pain you’d think I’d at least earned a stitch or two to brag to my nursing-home friends. After all, it isn’t every day that I leap in front of a bullet.”
He cupped her face. “I could have lost you.” He kissed her, his lips achingly gentle, and sweet, and so full of angst and concern that those tears threatened to spill again.
“You wouldn’t have lost me,” she whispered. “You’re too strong and tough to let me die from a puny gunshot wound.”
He gave her a curt nod. “Damn straight I wouldn’t.”
One of the doors swung open and her father hurried inside with his arms full of thick, white towels and carrying what looked like a small suitcase.
“Jace,” she whispered, “I think we need to tell him I’m going to be okay.”
“He hasn’t suffered enough yet.”
“Jace,” she warned.
“It’s about time, Cyprian,” he called out, giving her an I-dare-you-to-say-otherwise look. “You’re lucky she hasn’t bled out by now.”
She rolled her eyes.
Her father dropped his armload of towels and the first-aid kit onto the desk and leaned over her, his face as white as the snow falling outside the window. “Melissa, are you going to . . .”
“Die?” Jace callously asked, as he pressed one of the towels over her arm.
She sucked in a sharp breath and glared at him.
He eased the pressure. “Mel, you don’t have to be so brave. You can close your eyes. I won’t think anything less of you if you faint. I know you’re strong.”
“Oh for Pete’s sake, I’m not going to—”
“No, no, no,” he assured her, smoothing her hair back again. “Of course you aren’t going to die.” He clucked his tongue. “I shouldn’t have said that in front of you.”
Her father’s eyes widened.
“Jace,” she warned. “If you don’t stop—”
“Get me a needle and thread,” Jace barked. “Quickly, so I can sew her up before she loses more blood than she can afford.”
It didn’t seem possible, but her father turned even more pale. “You’re going to stitch her wound? Do you have any medical training?”
“Isn’t it a little late to be asking that? Get the needle and thread. Hurry.”
Her father ran out of the room again.
Melissa pinned Jace with an accusing look. “Can I assume that monster-of-a-first-aid-kit is yours?”
“Yep.”
“It looks big enough to conceal a small child. And you don’t have needle and thread?”
“Hm.” He made a show of digging through it. “Oh, look. Needle and thread. My bad.” At her aggravated look, he said, “What? I’m just making sure the lesson soaks in.”
“I think you’ve tortured him enough.”
His eyes flashed with anger, and all signs of teasing disappeared. “No. He hasn’t suffered nearly enough. And he has a lot to answer for. Did you forget that someone tried to send us hurtling over a cliff on the way here? How do we know Cyprian isn’t the one behind that?”
“Someone tried to kill my daughter?” Cyprian’s choked voice sounded from the doorway.
Jace looked over his shoulder. “The banged-up side of my car didn’t give that away?”
“Richard didn’t mention the car when I sent him to get the kit.” His gaze dipped to Jace’s hand. “It appears that you already have what you need for the stitches.”
“Oops.”
Melissa tugged Jace’s free hand and pressed a soft kiss against his knuckles before letting go. “Please. Stop it.”
He gave her a defiant look, but he didn’t tease her father again while he cleaned her arm with an antiseptic.
“What happened?” Cyprian asked, directing his question to Melissa. “Someone tried to run you off the road?”
She gave him a quick version of their brush with death, including that someone had planted a small charge to make their tire blow out.
“I swear to you that I knew nothing about this,” he said, clutching her hand.
“What about Thomas?” she asked softly. “Did you know nothing about that?”
His eyes widened, and the truth was there for her to see. She tugged her hand out of his and turned her head away from him. “Jace, are you about done?”
“Just finished.” He smoothed a piece of tape into place on her arm and wiped his hands on a towel.
“Can I get up now?” she asked, avoiding her father’s eyes.
“You’ve lost a lot of blood. You might feel weak or nauseated. Maybe you should stay here,” Jace said.
“Yeah, well. The desk is kind of hard. Just saying.”
Before she realized what he was going to do, he’d lifted her in his arms and was halfway across the room.
“I thought she needed stitches?” her father called out from behind them.
“False alarm.” Jace carefully set her on one of the two recliners and propped her up with pillows. “Comfortable?”
She moved her arm, trying to ease the ache. “I’m fine.”
He didn’t look like he believed her. He snagged a bottle of water and some pills from his bottomless first-aid kit and made her drink them down. “Those should kick in fairly soon.”
“Thanks.”
Jace sat in the chair beside hers and swiveled to face her father, who’d followed them over and was sitting on the couch watching them.
“All right, Cyprian,” Jace said. “This is where you get to prove what kind of a father you really are. Someone is trying to kill your daughter. If you give a damn about her, you’re going to help me figure out who they are. And you won’t stall or lie. Because if you’re right, and the Watcher knows we’re here, and that Tarek has been killed, he’s already told the Council. And even though the Council is supposed to be a voice of reason for your little fiefdom, I’m not trusting anyone with Melissa’s life.”
“You think someone’s after her because they tried to run your car off the road. Are you sure they weren’t after you? And didn’t know she was in the car?” her father accused.
The hatred that flared in her father’s eyes had Melissa straightening in her chair. Jace must have caught the same look because he narrowed his eyes and swore.
“Who’d you send to kill me then?” he demanded.
“Jace, I don’t think he—”
“Stefano. And I can assure you, he won’t make a mistake like this again.”
Melissa’s mouth dropped open. “Wait. You’re saying you ordered Stefano to kill Jace?”
He nodded. “But he wasn’t supposed to hurt you. I’ll take care of Stefano.”
“What? No, no. You won’t. You can’t just take care of someone. Not the way you’re implying. I don’t understand. How did Stefano get involved in all of this?”
“I’m guessing he’s an enforcer,” Jace said.
Her father nodded in confirmation.
Melissa gasped. “Oh no.” She looked toward the double doors. “Does Silvia know?”
“That her son works for me instead of you? No. Stefano and I agreed to protect her by not telling her from the beginning. She knows nothing about any of this. And that’s the way it shall remain. I don’t want her hurt.”
The emotion in his voice had Melissa staring at him in shock. “You’re in love with her.”
“No. I’m in love with your mother. But I care about Silvia. I must protect her.”
“Too bad you didn’t care enough about your own daughter to protect her, too,” Jace gritted out.
Her father turned his brooding gaze on Melissa. “I’ve lived my entire life protecting you. And how do you repay me? You break into my office, into my private files. I can only assume you were snooping around this evening as well, or Tarek wouldn’t have gone after you.”
Not the speech full of regret and apologies that she would have expected, begging her forgiveness for all the lies and terrible things he’d do
ne. Instead, he sounded almost . . . accusing.
“How did you know we broke into your office?” Jace asked.
“A little blue thread. I found it on the stairs. And after seeing Melissa in jeans, I knew who’d left that thread.”
“When I stumbled on the stairs,” she said. “The hem must have snagged.”
“I’d have known anyway. My office window was unlocked, apparently from when the two of you escaped through it this afternoon. I never leave it unlocked. Once I was over my disgust at your behavior in the greenhouse, I put it all together. But I suspected much earlier than that.”
“What do you mean?” Jace asked.
“For the past few months, my daughter has been acting very curious and has been asking a lot of questions. Then I found that blue thread. Knowing your background, Mr. Atwell, and having been suspicious of you from the start, I assumed the worst might have happened, that the rogue enforcers who’ve plagued me had used my very own flesh and blood to betray me.”
“Betray you?” Melissa clutched the arm of her chair. “I was trying to find the truth! You had Thomas killed.”
“Which I regret, but only because it obviously disturbs you. And because it was the catalyst for everything else that has happened.” He pointed his finger at her. “That man used you, lied to you. I couldn’t allow that to go unpunished.”
She pressed a hand to her throat. “Disturbs me? Unpunished? He had an affair. And yes, he lied to me. But he didn’t deserve to die for that. You talk about killing like it’s nothing.”
“This is why I had to protect you all these years,” he accused. “Because you were too young to understand, to suffer like I did when those terrorist bastards took Isabella, Marco, and Marcello. You don’t live with the pain that I do. You have no understanding of the importance of my work, of keeping this country and its people safe from the kind of loss that I’ve endured. To keep others from suffering that same loss. You’re too soft, too weak, too judgmental to appreciate the sacrifices that I’ve made.”
He thought her weak? Too judgmental? Because she didn’t want him to kill people? In all her nightmares, she never could have imagined this conversation, or her father sitting there so calmly, so composed, without a trace of guilt over anything he’d done.