Forged in Fire

by Trish McCallan

  “One of the nurses came for her. Her son insisted on accompanying her.”

  “Hell,” Rawls frowned. “She’s not going to want him in there when they do the exam.” He glanced at Zane’s bloody chest. “Clean up. I’ll get him when you return.”

  Zane showered in record time, dressed in the surgical scrubs he’d been given, and checked the caller ID on his phone. Nothing.

  “Anything?” he asked the minute he rejoined Rawls.

  “One of the docs came out.” Rawls turned his head toward Zane, grief a livid bruise in his blue eyes. “They’ve used twenty units so far on the stubborn bastard.”

  Twenty bags of blood? Jesus. “He’s still alive?”

  “For now. He’s bleeding it out as fast as they’re dumping it in.” With a baffled shake of his head, Rawls turned to stare down the blindingly white hall. “With all the blood he lost before, how the hell he’s managed….” He trailed off with another head shake. Squared his shoulders. “Mac arrived. Went straight into surgery. The stupid son of a bitch took a round to the shoulder. But instead of calling for an ambulance, he insisted on driving in.”

  “How the hell—”

  Rawls cut into Zane’s rising voice. “Apparently, Tattoo hadn’t checked out, as we assumed. Surprised them in the woods.”

  “Jesus.” Zane ran a hand down his face. “What’s the damage?”

  “In and out through the shoulder. Dislocated socket.”

  Zane relaxed. No doubt they hurt like a son of a bitch, but both injuries were survivable.

  “Tattoo?”

  “Chastain’s wife took him out.”

  Zane paused to reflect on the poetic justice of that, and then turned to check on the three kids camped on the dark benches. “Where is she?”

  Brendan hadn’t moved from his position on the bench, although he now had his free arm around Kyle Clancy’s frail shoulders in an embrace as protective as the one he had wrapped around his own sibling.

  “In with the docs.” Rawls followed Zane’s gaze to the silent, redheaded child. “One of the nurses brought him back.”

  “My mom’s okay,” Brendan suddenly said, his dark eyes fixed on Zane’s face. He phrased it as a statement, but there was a question in the tone of his voice.

  “She will be,” Zane said. “It won’t happen overnight, but she will be.”

  A slight nod dipped the boy’s chin. The tense curl in his stocky shoulders eased and Zane knew he’d called it right by giving the kid the truth. He wouldn’t have believed platitudes.

  Suddenly, something feral slipped into those dark, ancient eyes lifted to Zane’s face. Something vicious. “I’m glad they’re dead,” he said, his flat intonation at odds with the fierce rage gleaming from his eyes. “I wish I’d killed them all.”

  Zane exchanged glances with Rawls. Christ, how did you respond to that? The kid had every right to his rage.

  Apparently, Brendan didn’t need a response, because he leaned his head back on his bench and closed his eyes—effectively shutting them out.

  Zane glanced toward the ER’s entrance as the steel and glass doors whooshed open. Beth walked in. She had her left arm around Marion’s shoulder. From the wobble in Cosky’s mother’s stride, the support was as much physical as emotional. Mrs. Simcosky looked like she’d aged two decades since they’d left the house. Deep lines bracketed her mouth and her skin stretched tight and shiny across her cheekbones.

  One moment Zane was standing beside Rawls, the next he had Beth in his arms. Christ, she felt so good against him. Warm and soft. Her body heat warming him from the inside out. He crushed her against him, craving her fresh, clean strawberry scent—and frowned.

  Fragrant was right. But not fresh or clean or smelling of strawberries.

  What the hell? She smelled of stale sweat, like she’d finished a hard-core workout, but hadn’t showered yet.

  He thrust her out at arm’s length and got his first good look at her scratched and bruised arms. Ice trickled down his spine. Slowly, he turned his head. Marion’s arms sported the same bloody scratches and mottled bruises.

  “What happened?” he asked, surprised at the calmness of the question.

  “Marcus?” Marion’s gray eyes locked blindly on Zane’s face. Her throat trembled as she swallowed.

  Zane took a deep breath, shook his head to clear the freezing fog from his mind and turned to envelop Cosky’s mother in a hard hug. “He’s still in surgery,” he told her roughly. “I’m so sorry, Marion. I should have—”

  He broke off. Should have what? Taken the bullet himself? He glanced toward Beth, toward the future she represented. A wife. Children. A home. All lost if that gun had turned to the right, instead of the left.

  “He’ll be fine.” Mrs. Simcosky pulled out of his embrace and patted his arm. “You wait. My boy’s strong. Stubborn. He’ll get through this.”

  Zane worked his jaw and thought about warning her of the gravity of the wound, of the sheer impossibility of anyone surviving this kind of massive blood loss. But he couldn’t do it, couldn’t rip the blinders from her eyes. The hope from her face.

  Instead, he turned to Beth. “What happened?”

  She followed his gaze down to her scratched and bloody arms. “Remember the fifth and sixth hijackers from my dream? The two we didn’t see at the airport? They paid Marion a visit.”

  Every muscle in Zane’s body seized. Jesus Christ! The hijackers had gone after Beth? His mind flashed back to the images that had reeled through his mind during the shootout. The kitchen window. An MP5 cradled in muscled arms. The wild flight down a narrow hall.

  Christ. He had connected with her. He’d picked up what she was seeing. What she was feeling. She’d been terrified, as he’d originally sensed, but when she hadn’t said a damn word about it on the phone….

  “They broke into the house, but we climbed out a bedroom window and hid in the bushes.”

  His hands shook as he realized how close he’d come to losing her. A blast of fury incinerated the fear. “What the hell were you thinking?” His voice climbed with each word. “You should have waited for me to come get you.”

  Her shoulders stiffened. “What I was thinking,” she said in a glacial tone, her chin tilting toward the ceiling, “was that Marion needed to get to her son ASAP. What I was thinking, was that you needed to stay with your friend.”

  Zane barely heard her; he was too busy piecing the puzzle together. She’d called from a different number and said something about visiting one of Marion’s neighbors. They must have hid there. Chills swept him. Christ, those bastards had proved they didn’t hold back when innocent lives were at stake. They’d been willing to slaughter an entire plane of civilians, hadn’t blinked at killing children. They’d probably swept the neighborhood looking for the escaped women. Beth could have been taken the moment she hit the street.

  “You should have told me what was happening,” he told her, his voice as calm as he could manage when every inclination was to yell. “They could have been trolling the streets. One bullet to the tires and you’d have been at their mercy.”

  Which they’d proved they didn’t possess.

  Instead of looking contrite, she scowled and stepped back. “They weren’t looking for us. End of discussion.”

  “Goddamn it, Beth—” He broke off, realizing his mistake the moment the words burst from his mouth. But it was too late. She shot him a dirty look and turned her back on him.

  “Come on, Marion.” She took hold of the other woman’s arm and led her toward the benches. “Let’s go wait among more pleasant company.”

  Zane braced his hands on his hips and scowled after her.

  Kyle stirred, lifted his head and caught sight of Beth. With a shout, he erupted from beneath Brendan’s arm.

  “Aunt Beth!”

  Beth swooped and caught him when he launched himself at her. Lifting the frail body, she smothered his face with kisses, then pushed him back and scanned his face. Kyle wrapped his legs aroun
d her waist and held on tight.

  “Hey, Bugaboo. I am so glad to see you.” A quaver trembled in her voice.

  In response, the boy wrapped thin arms around her neck and smothered her beneath the strength of his grasp. He shot an uncertain glance toward Zane and Rawls and leaned forward until his mouth was right next to Beth’s ear. “They won’t let me see Mommy.”

  Beth turned with the boy in her arms, her moist gaze seeking Zane’s face.

  Zane gave a slight shake of his head. “The doctors are with her.”

  She looked so natural holding the child, at ease, as though she’d held him like that hundreds of times before. An image abruptly rose in his mind. Another child. This one a little girl, with his dark hair and Beth’s lavender eyes. The image fractured and dissipated.

  “Where’s Daddy?” Kyle asked when her attention returned to him. “I want Daddy.”

  Zane watched her catch her breath. Her arms tightened around the boy’s frail body and her gaze flew back up to Zane’s face. He shook his head. They hadn’t had a chance to break the news to Ginny Clancy.

  Beth turned back to Kyle. “I tell you what, Bugaboo. We’ll go find your mom as soon as the nurses say it’s okay.”

  The reddish-gold head ducked shyly in affirmation. “Then can we go find Daddy?”

  Beth’s chin trembled. “Let’s find your mommy first, okay?”

  “Who’s that?” Kyle asked, staring at Marion.

  Rawls stepped toward Cosky’s mother, his face tight, a muscle twitching in his cheek. “Mrs. Simcosky—Marion—”

  Marion saved him the trouble of trying to express himself. She caught Rawls’ hand in a tight grip, squeezing his fingers, and then reached out to grab hold of Zane’s left hand, squeezing it just as hard.

  “You boys need to stop worrying. Marcus will surprise you. Just wait. He’ll pull through this. My boy’s a fighter.”

  The pneumatic whoosh of the clinic doors sounded. Zane glanced over and straightened as a pair of uniformed policemen headed toward them. Gunshot wounds were automatically reported, so he’d expected the cops to eventually show up. But he’d hoped to have Chastain’s backing by the time they arrived. Hell, he’d expected Chastain to beat the cops to the emergency room. After what the man had gone through to get his family back, you’d think he’d be the first to welcome them home. Where the fuck was the man?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Beth brushed a strand of fire-engine red hair off Kyle’s forehead, and shifted his weight in her lap. A nurse pushed open the swinging doors separating the ER from the waiting room. Zane and Rawls straightened against the wall, probably hoping for news of their teammates. Nobody had updated them on Cosky or Mac’s condition for almost an hour.

  The nurse cast a lingering glance over Zane’s athletic frame and a distinctly carnal glint warmed her watery blue eyes. Beth shifted Kyle’s weight again, a spurt of annoyance heating her belly. When the woman’s eyes drifted back up Zane’s tall, lean body instead of looking away—as good manners and professionalism dictated—the annoyance gained strength and velocity.

  Which was ridiculous. She had no claim on the man. No reason to feel so possessive.

  When Zane didn’t return the nurse’s interest, some of the irritation evaporated. The nurse herself noticed his lack of attention, and with a sigh clearly expressing regret, turned her head, scanning the benches.

  “Beth Brown? Kyle?” Her gaze skimmed Beth’s face, and moved on.

  “I’m Beth.” She stroked Kyle’s cheek. “This is Kyle.”

  The nurse’s pale eyes returned and she smiled—an aloof stretch of her lips. “Ginny Clancy has been admitted. She’s asking for you and her son.”

  Zane pushed away from the wall and headed in Beth’s direction with that wickedly lethal stride full of power and masculine grace. The twit of a nurse had her eyes glued to Zane’s approaching figure. Could she get any more obvious? Or annoying?

  “I’ll carry him.” Zane closed in on Beth’s bench. “He’s too heavy for you.”

  As he bent to slide his arms beneath the sleeping child, his neck was right next to Beth’s mouth. She had the unsettling urge to press her lips against that muscled column. To taste his warm, salty, oh-so-masculine skin.

  She took a deep breath, and his smoky, male scent hit her like a triple shot of espresso. Her nipples tingled. The blood pounded through her veins. His dark head jerked up. His gaze dropped to hers and an echoing hunger brightened the green eyes until they glittered.

  His attention dropped to her mouth, lingered.

  As he leaned closer, his scent intensified until it surrounded her, inundated her, lightened her head and moistened the soft cleft between her legs.

  Oh, God, he smelled so good. Like soap, and musk, and healthy male. Her muscles went lax. Her skin twitched. Her eyes latched on his face as it came closer. On his lips as they parted and aimed for hers.

  And then Kyle stirred in her arms. Lifting his head, he smacked Zane in the chin. “Daddy?” The sleepy question ruptured the cocoon of intimacy.

  She pulled back, her hunger splintering into grief. Kyle would never feel his father’s arms again, smell his father’s skin, hear his voice. Todd was lost to Kyle forever. To Ginny as well.

  Oh, God. How was she going to tell Ginny?

  A hot, aching pressure rose, washed away the tingles and chills. Zane shifted Kyle out of the way and pressed a soft kiss to Beth’s lips, but the caress held solace rather than lust. He straightened, lifting Kyle easily into his arms. The child fell asleep again, his face nuzzled into Zane’s throat, his frail body limp and utterly trusting as it slumped against Zane’s broad chest.

  Beth stared up at them. The muscled warrior and the little boy.

  Suddenly, her head spun, and she could swear the child cradled so gently in those muscular arms was no longer Kyle, but a girl—her dark hair captured in untidy pony tails, staring back at her with sleepy lavender eyes.

  “Are you okay?” Zane asked quietly.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, waited a heartbeat and opened them again, relaxing at the sight of the redheaded child nestled in his arms.

  “I’m fine.” She rose to her feet.

  He hesitated and scanned her face, before joining the nurse at the steel doors. They followed the woman’s periwinkle clad figure across an open stretch of ER and down a hall to the left.

  “This is the observation wing.” The nurse half-turned, darting a flirtatious look in Zane’s direction. “You’re very good with him.” Her gaze lingered on the muscled biceps rather than the child they cradled. “Do you have any of your own?”

  “Not yet,” Zane said in that deep, calm voice that played like electricity across Beth’s nerves. And then he turned his head, snaring Beth’s gaze with gleaming, hungry eyes.

  Eventually, the nurse stopped beside an open door on the right. A blue curtain was pulled across the middle of the room, providing privacy for the bed behind it. Zane waited until Beth stepped into the room, before following her inside.

  “She’s awake,” the nurse said quietly as Beth hesitated in front of the fabric curtain. “She’s expecting you.”

  “Beth? Is that you? Do you have Kyle?” a thin, strained voice asked—one only vaguely resembling Ginny’s rich, warm tone.

  Her chest tight, Beth pushed the fabric aside.

  Ginny’s hair looked vibrantly red against the hospital white of the pillows, but her face was wan. The skin stretched tight and translucent in places- splotched with ugly bruises in others.

  Tears stung at the haunted darkness in those normally cheerful blue eyes.

  “Hey.” Beth’s voice was thick, uncertain. For the first time ever, an awkward silence stretched between them.

  “Hey.” Ginny’s voice emerged as dull as her eyes. Empty.

  Beth took a deep breath, and stepped forward, reaching past the uncertainty and awkwardness. “Oh, God, Ginny. I’m so sorry.”

  Which was apparently the wrong thing to say since Ginn
y flinched, her gaze recoiling from Beth’s face.

  Suddenly, Ginny froze, her attention focused to Beth’s right and something flashed across her face. Flared in her shadowed gaze. Something molten and violent.

  Startled, Beth turned. Zane was standing behind her. Maybe Ginny hadn’t recognized him and was reacting to the sight of her child in the arms of a strange man.

  “Ginny, this is Zane Winters.” She lifted an uneasy hand. “He was one of the—”

  “I remember,” Ginny broke in, her gaze still fixed on the strong arms cradling her son, but that volcanic burn glowed brighter.

  Zane shot Beth a frowning look. Ginny’s attention shifted to Zane’s face and the odd ferocity vanished. “How is your friend?”

  “Still in surgery.” Zane stepped up to the bed. When Ginny scooted to the left and patted the mattress in front of her, he leaned over and gently deposited Kyle’s sleeping form beside her. “He wouldn’t have made it to the ambulance without your help,” he added.

  “It was the least I could do.” But the words were vacant, rather than heartfelt.

  After a moment, Zane turned to Beth and raised his eyebrows, and she knew he was asking if she wanted him to break the news of Todd’s death.

  Nausea swelled. The offer was tempting. Oh, so tempting, but Beth shook her head. Such devastating news should come from someone who loved her, not a virtual stranger.

  Zane nodded slightly, as though he understood and agreed. “I’ll wait outside.”

  He stopped long enough to stroke of the back of his hand against her cheek, and then left the room. The door closed quietly behind him.

  Beth turned to stare at the woman lying so silent in the bed, her hand stroking her son’s bright head in a repetitious motion that looked robotic rather than tender. Silence swelled, until it throbbed in the air between them.

  “Why didn’t Todd come?” Ginny’s fingers never faltering in their stroking. “No. Let me guess. Something came up at work and he can’t get away, but he’ll be here as soon as he can.” Bitterness sharpened each word.