Various hospital employees, including an unarmed security guard, stood in a semicircle around Britt, cradling a baby against her shoulder.
A man stood beside her, a gun to her head.
“Anyone make a move, this woman dies. Let us by, and I take woman out and let her go.”
Alexei’s nostrils flared. Yeah, right.
Alexei shoved his hand in his jacket pocket and caressed his gun as he moved silently toward the reception desk. He didn’t want the man to see him with a weapon. If he did, he’d shoot Britt and take the baby. He might even do that now, but he probably didn’t want to cause panic among the hospital workers.
Better to walk Britt out of here with the baby, kill her later and take Tatyana’s baby—and then kill the baby to destroy all evidence of Olav Belkin’s disgusting crime.
As Alexei edged around the reception desk, he met Britt’s eyes.
She immediately removed one hand from the baby’s back and twirled her hair around her finger. The signal they’d established earlier.
Little late for that. He knew she was in trouble.
When she released her hair, she flicked her hand out to her left side. Then she tipped her head in the same direction.
Alexei’s gaze tracked to her left. He swept past a doctor, an orderly and a new mother still in her hospital gown. Then he backtracked to the old orderly and his heart slammed against his chest.
Olav Belkin himself, making sure his baby daughter wouldn’t incriminate him.
Alexei had him.
If he took the shot now, who could blame him? Alexei could say he saw Belkin’s weapon. He must have one on him. He figured him as a risk to the hospital workers and the baby. DNA tests would soon determine he was the father of Tatyana’s baby. Alexei would be exonerated for killing Belkin.
Alexei shuffled behind the reception desk. His eye twitched. A muscle at the corner of his mouth jumped. He pulled out his gun.
Then his gaze shifted back to Britt, snuggling that baby against her chest.
If he took the shot and killed Belkin, the man holding Britt would take his shot and kill Britt...or the baby.
If he didn’t take the shot, he’d allow Olav Belkin to defy death again. His crime family would cease to exist—for a while. He’d wind up incarcerated with three hots and a cot and the ability to run his empire from a prison cell.
Alexei raised his weapon and took the shot.
Britt screamed again as the man holding her at gunpoint crumpled beside her.
Epilogue
Britt tucked Summer into her bassinet and smoothed back a soft lock of blond hair from the baby’s forehead. “Sweet dreams, moya solnishka.”
She curled up in a chair next to the bassinet, tucking one leg beneath her, and grabbed a book.
“Don’t you have that baby book memorized by now?” Leanna sauntered from the kitchen, a glass of wine in each hand. “Take this. You need it.”
“I’m not the one who was held in a warehouse for over a month getting drugged up.”
“I’m not the new mother.”
“I’m not either—yet. I’m just the foster mom, and they might not even let me bring her back to North Carolina with me.”
“Well, her mother and father are dead, and I doubt they’re going to hand her over to the father’s family.” Leanna snorted.
Britt sucked in a breath. “You know that Olav Belkin had a heart attack in prison?”
“Of course. Why try to keep it from me?”
“I thought it might...upset you. I mean, remind you.”
“I’m not going to forget anytime soon, Britt, but that was the best news I’ve had in a while. That, and my friend Calvin’s going to be okay—back on the street, but okay.”
“When are you going to get that tattoo removed?”
Leanna shrugged. “What’s one more? Maybe I can have my guy turn it into something cool.”
“I wish Tatyana had never confided in you.”
“Well, she did, and I confided in Jerome.” Leanna sniffed and held the back of her hand to her nose. “How were we supposed to know?”
“I’m sorry about Jerome...and Mila. All that for a little baby.”
Leanna reached into the bassinet and traced her fingertip around the edge of Summer’s ear. “What did you call her? Something Russian? I think I’ve heard enough of that language to last me a lifetime.”
“It means...” A knock at Leanna’s apartment door stopped Britt, and she pressed a hand to her heart.
“It’s over, Britt.” Leanna patted her knee. “Thanks to you. See what I mean about those nerves? Drink up.”
Leanna crossed the room to the front door and peered out the peephole. “Someone to see you.”
“Me?” Britt half rose from the chair.
Leanna swung open the door and said, “Hey, navy SEAL guy. Took you long enough.”
Britt fell back in the chair. “Alexei.”
He stepped inside the small apartment, filling the room with his presence. Filling her heart.
“How’s...the baby?”
“She’s great.” Britt took a gulp of wine.
“Did you two hear the news about Belkin?”
Leanna raised her wineglass. “That’s why we’re celebrating. Want some?”
“No, thanks.”
Sighing, Leanna grabbed the wine bottle by the neck. “If you two don’t mind, I’m gonna polish this off in the privacy of my own room.”
Alexei leaned over the bassinet and wiggled his finger beneath Summer’s chin. “She’s a cutie.”
“D-did you get all debriefed and everything?”
“I did.”
“Was Ariel upset you never made the Vlad connection?”
He lifted a shoulder. “No. I did stop the deal. Vlad will never get his hands on those weapons. After Belkin’s arrest, his associates scattered far and wide, and Stepan is cooperating with the authorities for immunity. And the FBI was able to free those women, including your sister and Jessie. That’s a win for everyone.”
“You didn’t get to kill Belkin.”
“But I got to save you instead.” He perched on the arm of her chair. “A much better deal.”
“Did you come here to tell me about Belkin? Are you leaving soon?”
“Yes, yes and yes.”
She held up her hand, counting off three fingers. “That’s three answers to two questions.”
“I answered the third question you didn’t ask.”
“Who said I had a third question, Russki?”
“Do you want me to ask it for you?” He slid his fingers through her hair.
She rested her head against his arm. “Enlighten me.”
“Or maybe I should ask you.”
“By all means.” Her pulse had started throbbing in her throat, and her body tingled in anticipation.
“Do you want to wait for me? I promise I’ll come back to you—every time.”
She swallowed hard. “You’re not just talking about this one deployment?”
Alexei slid into the chair, pulling her into his lap. “I’m talking about forever because I can’t live without my sunshine.”
When he kissed her mouth and ran his hands through her hair, she believed him.
She broke away from the kiss and cupped his jaw with one hand. “You want me to wait for you even though I’ll have Summer, the daughter of your enemy?”
“It’s not Summer’s fault, and that may be just what I need.”
“To help me take care of Belkin’s daughter?”
Alexei turned his head to press his lips against her palm. “To replace hate with love...because I’ve discovered that’s the best revenge of all.”
* * * * *
Look for the next book in Carol Ericson’s
RED, WHITE AN
D BUILT miniseries,
BULLETPROOF SEAL,
available next month.
And don’t miss the previous titles in the
RED, WHITE AND BUILT series:
LOCKED, LOADED AND SEALED
ALPHA BRAVO SEAL
BULLSEYE: SEAL
POINT BLANK SEAL
Available now from Harlequin Intrigue!
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Ranger Defender
by Angi Morgan
Prologue
From the journal of Dr. Kym Roberts
Case 63047 Evidence Tag 63047-2
Subject Nineteen has been fascinated with death since the patient was thirteen. The subject has not killed squirrels or other small animals. Far from it. The curiosity has led the subject to research what happens at the time of death.
As with many of the subjects in this study, Nineteen is a near perfectionist, becoming more debilitated at every juncture. The patient is so obsessed with the “perfect death,” they can’t move forward. In some ways this will keep them from the implementation of this fantasy.
The subject is fascinated and refers to “the perfect death” as if something supernatural will occur when it’s found. Subject Nineteen stated that begging from the murder victim for their life would not be a necessary part of the “perfect death.” Subject Nineteen stated the actual killing would need to be swift and not detract from the scientific approach. The Subject also stated that the death would need to be respectful so dignity is always involved. The planning, the hunt, the capture are all unnecessary details to the perfect kill in their opinion.
Subject Nineteen has described the moment of death to be like a symphony. Each phase building upon itself until there is a crescendo…a wonderful moment of songful bliss. But for the most part, Subject Nineteen can’t get past the rehearsal stage. Taking this metaphor one more step, they would not only need the orchestra to perform perfectly, the surroundings would also need to be perfected at the same time.
Only the limits of their perfectionism hold them in check. Wavering from the idea of flawless keeps them from attempting murder. So in Subject Nineteen’s case, we hope the obsessive compulsion disorder and need for perfection will prevent the attempt.
Leaving no room for error, the obsessive compulsive need that Subject Nineteen maintains will lead to disappointment and a further downward spiral. This very well may be the source of the night terrors.
Treating one disorder will not resolve the other and possibly will make each worse. And although Subject Nineteen hides it well, the attachment disorder is deeply seated and may be the basis of all the other disorders.
Time is not on our side since eventually, the patient will determine the flaws and overcome. Therefore, Subject Nineteen is a danger to society and should be committed to a facility for a strict psychiatric evaluation and treatment.
EVIDENCE NOTATION
Other entries in this handwritten journal end with a summary of each subject’s treatment—if any—along with instructions for other staff members. The treatment summary portion of Subject Nineteen’s entry is missing. As in not written or torn from the journal.
Blood spatter pattern indicates the journal was open to Subject Nineteen’s page and the deceased was seated at her desk, even though the body was moved to and posed in the chair normally occupied by patients.
A slash from right to left, indicates a left-handed upward movement, which severed the right jugular. Force is consistent with a person standing behind the victim.
Chapter One
“How can a little research and a few interviews get you in trouble?” Wade Hamilton asked. “Besides, I’ve done all the hard work.”
Slate Thompson wasn’t on as thin ice as his fellow Texas Ranger. But the entire team knew that one wrong step would shake up Company B—and not in a good way. Wade’s hunches about cases were putting more than one of them in the hot seat. So Slate had a right to be wary.
“Then do it yourself,” Slate countered.
“You know I’m out of a job if I break ranks again. Come on, you can do this in your sleep, Slate. You’re one of the best investigators I know.”
“That’s beside the point, and if you’re attempting to schmooze someone, stating that they are the best is better. Especially if it’s the truth.”
“You read the journal about Subject Nineteen?”
“You stood over my shoulder while I did.” Slate stretched backward in his wheeled chair, balancing himself with a booted toe under his desk. He tossed a ball of rubber bands over to Wade. “Moron.”
“Just verifying you can read.”
Slate popped forward, clicking off the screen as Major Clements walked through the office. Recently, he managed to stop by and check on Wade’s progress through the “punishment” boxes—files that were either a last check on cases coming up for trial or completely cold.
“How you doing, Wade? Slate, you aren’t busy? Need something to help that along?”
“No, sir. I’m about to head out the door. I…uh…have a lunch date, sir.”
Major Clements clapped Wade on the shoulder, then tapped the multiple file folders at the corner of the desk. “Power through, son. We’re a little shorthanded out there.” Then he continued to his office.
Clements was about fifteen or maybe even twenty years older than either Wade or Slate. But he looked ancient, like a cowboy who had spent one too many years in the saddle. He walked straight, but his belly hung over his belt buckle, a serious silver piece of artwork with the Texas Ranger emblem over the Texas flag. He was one of the few men, in Wade’s humble opinion, who wore the uniform’s white hat exceptionally well. Like it fit.
Slate, on the other hand, always felt better wearing a ball cap.
“You going to look at that case for me?” Wade whispered. “Victor Watts confessed so it looks like a slam dunk. But my gut’s telling me that something’s not right. I’d do it myself but…”
Slate waved for him to pass over the file. “You’re damn lucky I’m not reporting you to the old man.”
“Now, why would you do that, Slate? We get along so well. If I was gone, you’d have to break in another ranger and you know how fun that is.” Wade locked his fingers behind his neck and leaned back in his chair.
The bruising had faded, but he was still squinting through a severely beaten eye. The man had spent days in the hospital and come back to wor
k with a cloud hanging around him so thick, everyone was pretending they couldn’t see him.
Everyone except Wade’s partner, Jack MacKinnon, Heath Murray and himself. They were a team. They’d come into Company B at the same time and had a special bond. Didn’t seem like anything could break it.
Even Wade being assigned the punishment boxes.
Most of the reasons Wade had been desked weren’t public knowledge. Jack knew more than anyone in the Company and he wasn’t talking. But over beers, both Jack and Wade had considered themselves very lucky to have a job.
Jack’s temporary assignment to help the Dallas PD hadn’t gone without speculation. It also coincided with his new roommate—of the feminine persuasion. Heath, Wade and himself included hadn’t spent any serious time with the lady…Megan Harper.
Yet.
Everyone in Company B had seen the results of “the Harper case,” as it was referenced. However Wade and Jack had gotten involved, it was Wade’s fault for playing a hunch. His saving grace was that whatever he’d done had saved Megan Harper’s life and captured a man whose mental health was still waiting to be evaluated.
Saying yes to one of Wade’s hunches was usually easy. Hell, this particular ranger had a long line of successful hunches that had played out with many a bad man behind bars. Slate opened the file. He had to admit that he wanted to help.
“You’d be on your own most of the time, buddy,” Wade said from the next desk. “Of course, if I’m wrong, then there’s nothing to do anyway.”
Slate nodded, contemplating. Breaking the rules really wasn’t his thing. Then again, he’d wanted to be in law enforcement to help people…not knowingly send an innocent man to jail.
Yeah, there was a chance that Wade was wrong. But when the man went with his gut, he just rarely was.
“I’ll do it.”
“Why does your intonation hold a giant but at the end?”
“Maybe because there is one. I want the story of why you’re sitting at this desk instead of on current cases.”
Secured by the SEAL Page 18