Embattled Hearts 1

by J. M. Madden

  John cleared his throat and tilted his head to meet her eyes. “Are you okay?”

  She smiled, and raised a brow. “You mean after my ravishing? I can’t walk straight yet, but I think I’ll be okay.”

  Even in the dim light, she could see his face turn ruddy, but he grinned. “I don’t think I can do much right now either, but I feel fantastic. Actually, I feel like I did when I was fifteen and lost my virginity with Ellen Nichols.”

  She grinned with him, proud to be a part of his reawakening. “I’m happy for you. I didn’t know what to expect, but I have to say, I’ve never been so thoroughly sexed. You’ve blown me away.”

  He relaxed back and closed his eyes, looking more content than she’d ever seen him, his mouth open as he breathed. Now that the excitement was over, her body was pulling her into sleep. Tugging the comforter up over them, she adjusted a bit and settled into sleep.

  Chapter Seven

  John pulled away from Shannon, careful not to wake her. She slept deeply, her mouth curved in a slight smile. He hoped she was dreaming of their loving earlier, but he didn’t want to bet much on it.

  He adjusted the chair beside the bed and locked the brake. It held steady as he fell down into it. He glanced back at Shannon, but she was still asleep. Shifting his ass center, he pulled his feet up on the bar and rolled out of the bedroom. The hallway bath was his first stop, and he took the time for a quick wipe-down with a wet washcloth. Shannon’s fragrance was suddenly all around him, and it made his heart clench. She’d been freaking phenomenal last night, no judgment, no impatience. More than he could have ever hoped for.

  Had he been enough for her, though?

  If her reaction had been any indication, then hopefully yes. She’d come several times, and that kind of response was hard to fake. At least, he thought it was. Hell, I don’t know.

  Rolling down the hallway gave him a chance to distance himself, physically and mentally. There were other things to worry about than his sex life. He stopped in the guestroom long enough to grab a fresh t-shirt, then headed to the living room.

  Preston watched one of the security monitors intently, and the attention was enough to alarm John.

  “What’s going on?”

  The big man shook his head and shifted on the chair. “I’m not sure. Something.” He stood up abruptly. “Are you going to stay up? I might run outside.”

  John nodded once. “I will.” The clock on the mantle ticked just past three o’clock. He reached into a box beside the table and pulled out a headset. “Put this on.”

  Preston didn’t argue, just fitted it to his big head and pulled a black skullcap over top. John liked the headsets because they were so similar to what they used to use in combat.

  “If I’m not back in twenty, call for backup.”

  John nodded, and checked the Beretta. “Will do.”

  Preston faded out the back.

  John scanned the cameras, but nothing stood out to him as being out of place. He flicked the monitor on for Shannon’s bedroom. She was still curled up in the center of the bed.

  As the minutes ticked away, and Preston didn’t break radio silence, John’s anxiety level increased. He didn’t know what Preston had seen, but the man was not known for dramatizing a situation. Calm, cool, deadly described him better, exactly what a sniper needed to be. If something was important enough for him to leave tracks in the fresh snow, John would have to trust his judgment.

  Nineteen and a half minutes later, the big man padded silently back into the room.

  “What did you find?”

  Preston stripped off the cap and mic, as well as his black fleece jacket, and tossed them onto a chair. “Nothing. Not a goddamn thing.”

  “What did you think you saw?”

  Preston shifted his shoulders. Something cagey slid through his eyes. “I just had a feeling.”

  John didn’t laugh. He’d been with guys who “just had a feeling” and lived to tell about the experience. Hell, he’d had a feeling like that just last night before the power had gone out. Gut instinct was the most important thing a soldier could have. “Well, if you get another feeling, let me know.”

  Preston gave him a nod and settled back into the chair, glancing at John. “Looks like you had a good night.”

  John fought not to grin like a motherfucker, but he didn’t think he was very successful. “It was all right.”

  Snorting, the other man rocked back in the chair. “Just all right, huh?”

  He couldn’t hold Preston’s too-knowing gaze. “Yep.”

  The other man didn’t say anything, just turned back to the monitors.

  “I can relieve you, now.”

  Preston waved a hand. “Nah, I won’t be able to sleep tonight anyway. Too tense.”

  John understood. Your body just wouldn’t allow you to relax after a false alarm like they just had.

  At loose ends, he rolled into the kitchen to find something to drink. In spite of the situation they were in, he felt very light inside, like a weight had been lifted. The feeling made him uncomfortable, because he wasn’t normally that way. He wanted to go in and wake Shannon up, and look at her, and touch her. Some imaginary barrier had been broken inside him, some reserve, and he wanted intimacy. He wanted to be with her.

  Snatching a Diet Sprite from the fridge, he chugged it in a few heavy swallows, and tossed the can. The he paced the house, going from window to window, peering out between the cracks of the curtains. The street was quiet, and the roads were once again covered in snow. A couple of heavy pines bordered her driveway, their limbs hanging heavy with snow. His eyes zeroed in on something out of place.

  “Preston!”

  Preston joined him at the big picture window where he was parked.

  “Did you walk to the end of the driveway?”

  “No.”

  John pointed. “I need you to go check that out. Those limbs have no snow, like somebody brushed against them.”

  The ex-sniper didn’t even question, just gathered the headset and went out the back.

  There was no way to be stealthy working under the glow of a streetlight, but Preston managed. He was a shadow, working along the line of trees until he got to the last one. The radio crackled. “Definite sign. Male boot, size ten and a half. Looks like a Bates imprint. Definitely military or police type. Looks like he rested against the tree for a while. Tracks go over the snowdrift and onto the road, but I lose them there. I’ll track down the street a bit.”

  There was click over the air, and Preston was gone out of John’s sight.

  John was relieved, though, that something had been found. This cat-and-mouse game was getting old.

  Preston returned ten minutes later, shaking his head. “Didn’t pick up the sign anywhere within a three-block radius. He had to have gotten into a vehicle.”

  John nodded, and sent Duncan a text message on what they’d found. Duncan called back almost immediately.

  “What do you have?”

  John related what Preston had found, and his “feeling” from earlier.

  “Sounds like we have military or cop. You sure it wasn’t one of the uniforms patrolling?”

  John repeated the message to Preston, but the man shook his head.

  “Preston does not believe so.”

  “Hmm…well, the problem is, if it is a Bates shoe, they sell to everybody. Hell, cops, guards, food service people, sanitation. Anybody can buy them, so I don’t know that that really limits our suspect pool.”

  John grimaced, because he knew Duncan was right. They even offered them to their guys if they wanted them. The faint glimmer of excitement died.

  “I’ll send somebody out to get a plaster cast,” Duncan continued, “but I wouldn’t expect anything from it.”

  John appreciated the call so late at night, even though the news was not promising. “Thanks Duncan. Why are you up, actually? It’s almost four in the morning.”

  There was a long silence on the other end of the line
. “Same old, same old. Why are you up?”

  John was suddenly uncomfortable with the conversation. He didn’t know if he wanted everybody to know what he and Shannon had done together. Especially right now, with what was going on with Gerbowski. “Ah, same thing. I better go. I’ll watch for the tech.”

  Zipping his finger across the touch screen, he released a sigh. Later, he’d tell his partner what was going on. Face to face. Losing his “cherry” wasn’t something to be mentioned in passing. If anybody would understand how momentous it was, Duncan would be the man. When he’d returned from Iraq, he’d been in a wheelchair as well. Through therapy and multiple surgeries, he’d recovered enough to walk with a cane. He still had a heavy limp, but he was at least mobile.

  Turning his chair back to Preston, he related what Duncan had said.

  “I heard. I’ll watch for him. Why don’t you head back to bed.” A slight smile eased the hardness of his face. “You have a warm woman waiting for you. Take advantage of that.”

  John didn’t need to be told twice. Trying to control his excitement, he powered down the hallway.

  *****

  Shannon felt a warm weight ease in behind her. She hummed in happiness, and snuggled her bottom into John’s lap. “You’re warm,” she whispered.

  John slid one arm underneath her head, and wrapped his other around her hips. Shannon thought he felt better than any bed she’d ever laid on.

  She was still comfortable when the alarm on her phone woke her several hours later. She tapped the screen, but was too blurry-eyed to actually turn it off. When it woke her five minutes later, she roused enough to focus. She tapped the button to turn the noise off, and noticed she had several text messages in her inbox. Who would be texting her in the middle of the night?

  She gasped as she scrolled through them.

  John leaned over her shoulder, immediately alert. “What?”

  Shannon handed him the phone. “Read them.”

  Nausea turned her stomach, and she rolled out of bed. John’s jaw was clenched in anger when he read them, and he sat up, flinging the blankets. “Has he texted you before?”

  “No, never.”

  This was a new invasion. She wrapped her arms around her waist and fought a shudder. If this was Gerbowski somehow, he had hit a new level. Granted, cell phones weren’t as prevalent years ago, but he’d never sent her messages like this. There were four text messages in the space of about two hours, and they escalated. The first “who’s the guy?”wasn’t bad, but the last one had been something about killing her “gimp lover” in front of her.

  “He has to have been watching us,” she whispered. “We only made love a few hours ago.”

  John shifted to his chair, and he looked livid. “Preston’s spidey senses went off earlier tonight, and we found an area where somebody stood out by the road. He must have a telephoto lense.”Or a fucking rifle scope. He set the phone on the bed and jerked his t-shirt over his head. “We need to go in to work today.”

  Shannon nodded. “I had already planned to go. The roads are clear and I can’t hide out here forever.”

  She hustled into the shower and scrubbed the night away. Even with the worry and fear dogging her, she still paused when she came to her tender breasts. Their first night together had been wonderful, more than she’d ever expected. She’d worried that John’s sexuality had been compromised from the injuries, but she’d never been so satisfied in her life. Hell, just thinking about it made her puss tingle.

  Breakfast was a quick pan of scrambled eggs and microwave bacon. Again, Preston stood against the wall, peering out the blinds as he shoveled food into his mouth.

  John was quiet, but he did touch her arm lightly as she set a plate in front of him. Shannon knew that was probably all the PDA she was going to get today, so she leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to the top of his head.

  “I need you to put your phone on the charger, but do not erase those messages.”

  Shannon nodded and hooked it up to the charger on the counter. The message icon was blinking again, but she didn’t want to read any more. She disappeared into the bathroom to finish getting ready.

  Preston slipped out the door a few minutes before they were ready to leave—to retrieve his truck, he said. John nodded and planted himself in front of the cameras until the other man came back in. The men nodded to each other and told her to get her stuff together.

  Grabbing her phone and purse, she was guided out to a huge black Humvee outfitted with spotlights and a black matte grill. it almost looked like a military vehicle. While she climbed into the back seat, John hoisted himself up into the truck using the “oh-shit” handles in front. He managed to make it look easy, even though he had to really reach. Preston folded the sport chair and placed it in the back beside Shannon.

  She caught his eye in the rearview mirror when he climbed behind the steering wheel. “This is a truck?”

  The forbidding former SEAL sent her an audacious wink, and backed out of the drive.

  It was difficult to believe that all the extra hoopla was needed, until she remembered Chris. He was in a chair for the rest of his life because of that crazed maniac. A cold chill shook her. She didn’t know what she would do if anything happened to John. Or any of the guys that worked at the agency. They’d all come to mean a great deal to her.

  Walking into the office building was almost surreal. So much had happened in the few days she’d been gone. She felt older, and wiser. More scared. Yet hopeful of what could happen with John.

  John had put himself between the street and her body as they entered, squeezing her hand as they rode up in the elevator.

  Shannon unloaded her crap on her desk and sat in the chair. Memos and notes were stacked on her blotter, waiting for attention she wasn’t sure she could pay them. She switched her computer on and listened to the hum as it booted up. John disappeared down the hallway with her cell phone on his lap, and Duncan headed that way as well. If anybody could track the caller down she honestly believed it was the men who worked here. She’d seen them do amazing things.

  The computer beeped for her password, and Shannon grabbed a stack of papers. She had work to do. She shoved the worry about Gerbowski to the side.

  *****

  “I don’t like it. It’s too easy.”

  Duncan shrugged. “I know. But Quillen confirmed it.” He had the phone to his ear, and was on hold. He shifted his stance as he leaned against the corner of John’s heavy desk.

  John gritted his teeth in frustration. The phone number had traced back to a criminal by the name of Reginald Barnes, currently incarcerated in the Colorado State Penitentiary in Canon City, a hundred miles away.

  Mr. Barnes was enjoying prison life for twenty-five years, after he’d raped and murdered a woman in Colorado Springs. Patrick Quillen, the Denver PD police chief, had tracked the information down for them. They had called the number to see if anybody would pick up. A confused intake clerk in Denver PD booking had answered.

  Duncan explained who they were, and requested to be hooked up to a supervisor. They had eventually been connected to Quillen, who was just as confused as they were.

  Duncan’s gaze focused as somebody obviously came on the line. He fumbled the phone a bit, and found a speaker button.

  “Can you say that again Chief? I have somebody in the room that needs to hear that.”

  “Mr. Barnes left our facility two weeks ago. All his belongings went with him. I’m looking at the sheet now. The phone is listed and he signed off on it.”

  Duncan was quiet for several long seconds. “When was he originally arrested?”

  The other man sighed. “He’s been in and out all his life, but the rape he was convicted of happened about two years ago. He was arrested in June of oh-nine. Been incarcerated ever since.”

  John motioned to the phone, and Duncan turned it toward him. “Who was the arresting officer?”

  “Mmm, it’s listed as Detective Angela Halloway, but I know
SWAT actually apprehended him.”

  Frustration tightened his fists on the wheels of his chair. “Can you do us a big favor, and confirm that Barnes is still in prison? Have a guard confirm by sight.”

  “Can do. Give me a call-back number.”

  It took the better part of half an hour, but Quillen called back and confirmed that the warden herself had verified his body was still in her prison. Quillen promised that he would submit the found cell phone to evidence and dust for prints, and he’d call no matter what they found.

  John slammed his fist into a box on the desk, knocking it to the floor and scattering packing peanuts all over the floor. “Fuck!”

  Duncan watched him shrewdly, as if he knew there was a reason for John’s reaction. “You okay there, buddy?”

  “I’m fine,” John snarled.

  Duncan chuckled and knocked a peanut away from his foot with the tip of his cane.

  John felt ridiculous. It wasn’t like him to act this way. He was known as Mr. Cool, unflappable, nothing bothered him. But the thought of Shannon being in danger set his teeth on edge. The thought of not being able to do anything about it was even more infuriating. His hands clenched around the wheels of his chair and took a deep breath. This anger shit wasn’t getting them anywhere.

  “I think I’ve lost my objectivity,” he admitted. “Shannon and I are involved.”

  Duncan didn’t even blink. “About time. Maybe you’ll quit moping around now.”

  John sat back in his chair, offended. “I don’t mope.”

  Duncan chuckled, which made John all the more frustrated. “I don’t,” he snapped.

  His best friend squeezed his shoulder as he headed toward the door. “You’re right John, you don’t mope. You just get…moody. I’m glad for you, though. Shannon is really a great girl. I think she’ll be good for you. If you let her.”