“You deserved to know the truth.”
“Big of you to concede that fact now.”
“Syd, I tried to tell you before we made love the first time, remember?”
The sorrow in her eyes was eating a hole right through him. “You didn’t try very hard, did you?”
“I know you’re a little angry and upset right now—”
“Upset? You think I’m just a little upset?”
“Take it easy. You probably won’t believe me, but I’m sorry.”
“You’re right, I don’t. All this time we’ve been together. You made love to me—twice. Yet you couldn’t tell me until now?”
His heart sank another notch. “I’ve been trying to tell you from the start. What do you want me to say, Sydney? I’m sorry.” He held out his hand to touch her, but she backed away, her bottom lip quivering dangerously.
“No wonder you asked me to marry you. A good little soldier to the last, right, Major? Take care of your mistakes.”
Her words lanced him. “You know better than that.”
“Do I?” She shook her head, her damp hair swinging softly against her stricken face. Each word was a whiplash on his conscience, her expression so wounded it made him ache.
“I don’t think I do, Major. But don’t worry. As I told you all along, I can take care of myself. And I give you my word, I’ll take very good care of my child.”
She began picking up her clothes, trying awkwardly to dress with her one good hand, all the while shaking like a leaf in a gale. The strength of her anger surprised him. He knew she’d be upset, but he hadn’t expected her to react so strongly. “Sydney, please. Calm down so we can talk.”
“Leave me alone, Major. Just leave me alone.”
Anger, hurt, betrayal. Her eyes swam with the mix of emotions swirling in their depths.
“Is that what you really want?”
“Yes.”
“All right, Syd. I’ll make up the bed next door. We’ll talk after you calm down.”
She clutched her clothing to her chest. A tear broke free and glided down her cheek but she raised her chin defiantly, anger sheeting from every muscle of her rigid body.
“Call me if you need anything,” he said softly.
“Don’t hold your breath.”
IT WAS EARLY MORNING when Sydney heard the muted sound of breaking glass somewhere in the depths of the house. She’d spent hours crying into the pillow, and more hours struggling to come to terms with her emotions. In her calmer, more rational moments, she was enormously relieved that the child she carried wasn’t Jerome’s. But that Noah had taken part in the deception, however accidentally, with such casual disinterest hurt almost as much as the fact that he’d kept the truth from her for so long.
Her eyes burned from too much crying and too little sleep. She lay in the dark, silent bedroom and listened as another storm approached the house.
What was she going to do? There was no point lying to herself. She was in love with Noah, despite everything. But she could never marry him now, knowing she was just another obligation.
Without warning, the bedroom door opened soundlessly. A tall, dark figure slipped inside. Instantly, she tried to roll from the bed but before she could get free or scream he was across the room.
“Sydney!”
Her name hissed out of the darkness.
“Noah?” Relief surged through her followed by fresh anger. “What do you think you’re do—?”
His hand clamped over her mouth. “No noise,” he breathed in her ear. “Something’s wrong.”
The breaking glass, she realized. She would have thought her fear quotient had been used up for a lifetime by now. She would have thought wrong.
“Get dressed,” he whispered, “but don’t make a sound.”
She wanted to yell and scream. To demand to know what was wrong. There were FBI agents downstairs. What could be wrong? But she obeyed him without question. Because she trusted Noah. He helped her pull on her shorts and top from the previous day.
“Someone was watching the house,” he said so low she had to strain to hear him. “I started downstairs to alert the agents when I realized the lights were off down there. It feels wrong. I think he’s inside, Sydney.”
Horror threatened to give way to panic. “The agents?”
Noah shook his head. “I don’t know what happened. Stay behind me and try not to make a sound. I’m getting you out of here.”
Shivers racked her. She strained to hear the slightest sound, but all she could hear was the groaning wind, driving rain against the house.
A distant flash of lightning offered a small amount of illumination. Enough to orient her as they started down the steps. If they could make it down the stairs, they could go out the door before the intruder even knew they were on to him.
If they could make it down the stairs.
Noah reached the landing. The door leading to the back steps suddenly smacked his shoulder as it opened. She flattened herself against the wall as she caught a glimpse of a gun with a long barrel. Silencer, her mind supplied. There was a noise like a cough. Flame spouted from the barrel. Something thudded into the wall. Noah rammed the door against that arm. Then he flung it open, charging at the figure on the other side.
Locked together in a violent struggle, they fell down the back stairs into the kitchen. There was a grunt of pain and the gun coughed again. Her mind cried Noah’s name. She bit her bottom lip to keep the sound inside. If he was okay, Noah would call out to her.
The house remained eerily silent.
Sydney knew what she had to do. She sprinted down the front stairs, running for the door.
“Sydney! Stop! I’ll kill him!” The graveled voice held all the menace of a nightmare. “Right now! I mean it. He’s dead if you don’t stop.”
He was on the back stairway, probably creeping back up to locate her. And she didn’t doubt his words, not even for a minute. She hesitated, heart hammering wildly. She was three steps from the door and safety.
“All I want is the tape, Sydney. You and your lover can go free.”
His voice was closer to the top of the landing. She had seconds to decide a course of action. Run or stay?
Every instinct said run. If Noah couldn’t take out an armed man, she had no chance at all. She came down the last three steps, silently.
Noah might already be dead. She cringed from that possibility. Noah mustn’t be dead. But he hadn’t made a sound. She knew in her soul that he’d do anything he could to protect her. Therefore he couldn’t.
She ran to the front door, fumbling with the dead bolt.
Feet pounded up the remaining back stairs. She flung open the door, but instead of running onto the porch, she dodged into the blackness of the living room. She stumbled and nearly fell when her foot struck something on the floor.
Lightning flared. Thunder trumpeted. She prayed it had blotted out the sounds she’d made.
As the footsteps pounded down the front stairs, she stood perfectly still, praying that no lightning flash would betray her.
He ran past, close enough to touch. As he went out the door, she bent, feeling for the object she’d just stumbled over. The cast-iron duck met her groping fingers. She clutched it, running for the kitchen. She nearly fell over Noah. He was sprawled on the kitchen floor at the foot of the staircase.
Her body clenched in horror as she reached for him in the darkness, desperately searching for a pulse. His hand snaked out and grabbed her arm. She gasped in startled horror, nearly dropping the cast-iron duck on his face.
“Sydney?”
“I thought you were dead.”
Noah groaned. “Not quite. Where is he?”
“He thinks I ran out the front door.”
“That won’t fool him for long. Help me up.”
“How bad are you hurt?”
“I’m still alive. Shhh.”
She didn’t know what he heard, but dread gripped her. He pulled her face down near his mo
uth. “Go to the cellar. Hide. Now!” And he pushed her away. The shove nearly toppled her.
Sydney didn’t waste time arguing. She wasn’t about to descend into some dark, unknown basement. Besides, she didn’t even know which door led to the basement. She stood and moved to the wall beside the opening that led to the dining room.
Holding her breath, she strained to hear. The intruder bumped into something in the living room. The sound was small, but enough to fix his position.
She had never been so terrified in all her life. She sensed Noah’s frustration that she hadn’t obeyed him, but she couldn’t. Instead, she flattened herself against the smooth surface of the wall and waited. The cast-iron duck became an unbearable weight in her shaking hand, but she gripped it all the tighter, knowing it was the only chance they had. She had to hit him, and hit him hard enough to knock the gun out of his hand or she and Noah would die.
She actually smelled him before she heard him again. He stank of sweat and rain and turpentine. His wet shoes squished as he crept closer to the kitchen. He couldn’t know for sure that she was still inside. More likely, he’d decided to check on Noah. To be sure of at least one of them.
Noah didn’t move. Sydney didn’t even breathe. She sensed the intruder standing just short of the opening. Terrified to the point of passing out, she willed him to take that last step that would bring him into range.
Lightning and thunder exploded overhead. He took that final step forward. She brought the duck down with all the strength in her body, hitting his arm. Bone cracked with a loud snapping sound. He screamed in primal rage and pain. The duck fell from her nerveless fingers and landed on his foot. He yelled once more.
As he turned toward her with a bellow of sheer rage, Noah came to life. He lashed out with his legs, catching the man at the back of his knees. The gun flamed. Sydney would have sworn she felt the bullet tear past her face. It slammed into the wall at her back.
Then the gun fell to the floor, skittering across the linoleum as the two men began to struggle. Sydney tried to stay out of the way, unable to tell who was where in the tangle of arms and legs.
When she saw her way clear, she darted into the dining room. She hit the wall switch, bringing the ancient chandelier to life.
Gunnar Yosten slammed his left hand into Noah’s face. She recognized him instantly, even though she’d only seen him that one time from a distance.
He drew back his fist to strike again and she reached for the duck, intending to bring it down on his head. Noah, however, struck the arm she’d broken. Gunnar screamed and suddenly collapsed. He didn’t move.
A gust of wind shook the entire house.
“Is he dead?”
Noah shook his head. “I think he passed out.”
Thunder boomed overhead. Rain pelted the house. Sydney couldn’t stop the gut-wrenching shivers that ran through her body.
Gunnar’s arm lay at an impossible angle. Something white stuck out of the skin above his wrist. She realized it was the bone. For a moment, she thought she’d vomit. Then she got a good look at Noah. His chest was awash in red blood. It matted his chest hair and stained his arms. There was so much blood.
“Oh my God, Noah!”
He leaned back against the steps, his face stark with pain. She set the duck on the kitchen counter and hunted for the wall switch. The kitchen flooded with brilliant light. Noah’s face was pale as death in the bright illumination. There was a rattling sound when he drew in a breath. She looked around wildly and spotted the body slumped over the kitchen table, a shattered glass still in his hand.
“Get…the gun,” Noah said weakly. “If he moves, shoot him.”
Sydney swallowed hard against the nausea swelling in her throat. She was literally sick with fear. He was bleeding so badly. She reached for the gun, despite her horror of the weapon, and thrust the handle at Noah. He gripped it limply. He looked as if he were going to pass out any moment. He mustn’t pass out. She didn’t know enough first aid. He had to help her. Tell her what to do.
“Don’t you dare pass out, do you hear me, Noah Inglewood? Don’t you dare!”
“Syd—”
“Hold that damn gun! I mean it, Noah! I cannot do this. You hold that gun and you shoot him if he moves. I have to stop the bleeding. Do you understand? Don’t you move!”
Her voice was a shrill screech. The entire court should be able to hear her yell.
Noah managed a wry curl of his lips. “Always…knew…you were bossy.”
“That’s right. And don’t forget it. What kind of hero goes and gets himself shot?”
“Care…less one.”
She tore open drawers, yelling at him the entire time to keep him from passing out. Finally, she found the one with a stack of clean dish towels. She pulled them out, sticking several under the water to wet them down, then she knelt beside him, gently wiping at the blood until she found the open wound.
Noah’s breathing was getting worse. She was pretty sure he had a collapsed lung at the very least. He needed help and he needed it now. She had to go for a telephone. But she couldn’t leave him here. Especially not with Gunnar.
“Syd. I’m not…going to stay conscious much longer.”
“Yes, you are. You have to. Do you hear me?”
“I think…heaven’s…probably wearing earplugs.”
He tried to laugh and began to cough. Red spittle dotted his lips.
“Then they’d better listen harder. Don’t you dare die on me, Noah. I love you, you stupid foolish man. I’m going for help. Please don’t die, Noah.” She could feel the tears burning her eyes. “Please. I need you. Our baby needs you.”
His lips curved in a smile. His eyes closed and he didn’t move. Sheer unadulterated terror gripped her. She felt for a pulse. He was still alive. She took the gun from his limp hand and ran for the back door. Throwing it open, she raced outside and fell over the second agent. He was facedown on the porch and he wasn’t moving either.
She spun, seeking lights to guide her. Wind and rain whipped at her hair and clothing. The lights were on in the house next door so she plunged across the sodden grass, slipping once and skinning her knee. Then she was up and running again, scrambling on their back porch, pounding on the door and screaming for help as loud as she could.
A porch light went on over her head. A man opened the door and gaped at her.
“I need an ambulance! Next door. The Inglewood house. Tell them Noah’s been shot. The FBI men were shot and I think they’re both dead. Noah’s bleeding to death. Hurry! The gunman could wake any minute. They have to hurry!”
She waved her arms, only then realizing she still held the gun.
“John? What is it? Who’s at the door?”
The man called John turned toward the woman’s voice and Sydney took off, back across the grass that separated the two properties. She paused beside the fallen agent, but in a flash of light she saw he was beyond her help. Sydney charged into the kitchen and came to a stop. The man at the table hadn’t moved either, but Noah was slumped over, his face practically in his lap—and Gunnar Yosten was gone.
“Oh, God!”
She took two faltering steps forward, rain streaming down her face, and the door to the left of her swung open. Gunnar stood there, pointing another gun at her head. His broken arm dangled uselessly at his side. Beads of moisture dotted his face, which was contorted in pain. His hair was wet and flat to his head and his eyes were filled with hate.
“Where is the tape?” he demanded.
Was it possible he didn’t know the FBI had his partner and the tape? Almost, she told him the truth. “It’s in the safety deposit box at the bank. You’ll never get it without me, and if you kill me, the police will find it along with the money.”
“What money?”
“There’s thousands of hundred-dollar bills in the box along with the tape.”
His eyes glowed with beady intensity. “That bastard.”
“Yes. Jerome was definitely that.”
“Put the gun down,” Gunnar ordered.
“No.”
His cold eyes narrowed. His finger rested on the trigger. Sydney hadn’t known it was possible to be this scared and not faint. But she knew if she obeyed Gunnar now, he’d kill her. He had to know the whole thing was coming apart. He had nothing to lose by killing the only eyewitness, and he just might figure her death would buy him some time. She brought the barrel up, pointing it at the middle of his chest.
“Do you think you can pull that trigger, Sydney?”
“I know I can,” she told him. And she realized she meant it. She would do whatever it took to try and save Noah and her child. “I told the next-door neighbor to call the police. I used your name and Noah’s when I spoke to him. By now, he’s already called it in. The police station is right down the road. You’ve got one chance. Run and keep running.”
“And maybe you’re lying.”
“You know I’m not.”
They both heard the sound of the siren. He looked from her to the open door. The thunder was moving away, but it was still loud enough to make her jump. She saw in his cold blue eyes, the moment he made his decision. He was going to shoot her.
She squeezed the trigger. The gun jerked in her hand. Simultaneously, his smaller gun spat a stream of flame in her direction. Something thudded into the wall behind her, and a small round hole appeared in his forehead. Gunnar Yosten looked right at her. Then his eyes went blank and he pitched forward.
Sydney screamed. She thought she glimpsed someone on the back porch, but feet were running through the house toward her and a voice yelled, “Police! Drop your weapon!”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Okay, Sydney. You can sit up and get dressed now,” Dr. Leslie Martin told her. “Everything is progressing nicely. For now.”
“What do you mean, for now? What’s wrong?” Sydney sat up on the examining table and pushed the hair back from her face.
The doctor eyed her critically. “I have seriously ill patients who look better than you do. I spoke with your surgeon the other day and he says you’ve started physical therapy. He thinks you’ll make a full recovery. The baby is fine. So I can think of only two problems causing those bags under your eyes. You aren’t sleeping because you had to kill Gunnar Yosten, or you aren’t sleeping because you haven’t seen Noah since they moved him to Walter Reed. Do you want to talk about it?”
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