This Side of Heaven tp-1

by Beverly Barton

  Dundee edged closer to Emilio, who hadn't budged an inch. "What happened to Hodges?"

  "He was shot in an ambush coming out of some seedy diner," Emilio said.

  Cyn cried out. She clutched Mimi, feeling as if her own two legs weren't sturdy enough to hold her weight. If Nate was hurt, she had to go to him. Nothing and no one was going to keep her away from him. Not Ramon Carranza or Emilio Rivera. Not even Dundee. "I've got to go to the hospital."

  "And so you will, honey child," Mimi assured her. "Mr. Dundee here will take you, won't you?"

  Dundee never took his eyes off Emilio, but he nodded agreement as he stepped closer to his opponent. "You can go tell your boss that Ms. Porter doesn't need a ride to the hospital."

  Emilio, as if reconciled to the fact that Cyn was not go­ing to leave with him, turned toward the outside door. "I will relay your message."

  "One more thing," Dundee said as Emilio opened the door. "Tell your boss that Ms. Porter won't be out of my sight for a minute. My job is to take care of her, and I al­ways do my job, no matter what."

  The minute the front door slammed shut, Cyn slumped into Mimi's arms. "What if... if Nate's dead."

  "Honey child, we don't—"

  "While you're getting dressed, I'll make a few phone calls," Sam Dundee said. "If I don't get some answers, we'll go straight to the hospital."

  Pulling out of Mimi's comforting arms, Cyn rushed into the bedroom and began changing clothes. Mimi followed, closing the door behind her.

  "Carranza was crazy if he thought you'd just go with him, and even crazier if he thought Dundee would let you go." Mimi flung open her closet, and, standing on tiptoe, reached up to the top shelf. Turning around, she held out a small handgun and a loaded clip. "I'll go with you if you insist on going, and I'll take along my little baby here."

  Cyn stuffed her red blouse down into her navy slacks, pulled up the zipper and grabbed a sweater from out of her open suitcase lying on the bed. The minute Mimi laid the gun on the bed and began removing her housecoat, Cyn stared at the automatic. She had never held a gun. She hated them as much as she did knives. She despised any type of weapon.

  "You aren't going with us, Mimi," Cyn said. "This isn't your problem."

  When Mimi started to protest, Cyn held up a restraining hand. "I will not put your life in any more danger, but it seems I can't escape. I'm beginning to understand what Nate meant about having violence thrust upon you."

  Cyn stared down at the gun lying on Mimi's bed. What if the only way to protect her life was to use that gun? What if the time came when Nate's life depended on her being able to defend him? Cyn, her hands wet with perspiration and trembling with uncertainty, picked up the automatic, in­serted the clip and reached for her purse.

  "I'll borrow this," Cyn said, placing the gun inside her leather bag.

  "Be careful," Mimi said. "Let Dundee do his job. And call me when you find out something about Nate."

  Several loud raps on the bedroom door interrupted any further conversation. "Are you ready, Ms. Porter?" Dun­dee asked. "I haven't been able to find out much over the phone. Hodges and Romero have both been admitted to the hospital."

  Giving Mimi a quick hug and kiss, Cyn opened the door. She left the apartment with Dundee, pausing briefly in the hallway to wave a final farewell to Mimi.

  As they walked down a flight of steps, Cyn asked her bodyguard. "Was Nate shot?"

  "Gunned down."

  "Oh, my God!"

  "He and Romero and a female agent were riddled by an Uzi when they came out of a local diner about one-thirty this morning."

  Cyn forced herself not to cry, not to faint. Walking briskly to keep up with Dundee, who held her securely by one arm, she followed him outside and into his car.

  Cyn's worst fears had come true. Nate had been so sure that Ryker would confront him man-to-man. "Are they alive?"

  "The woman is dead. My sources couldn't tell me any­thing about Romero or Hodges except that they were both still alive when the ambulance brought them in to the hos­pital."

  Cyn leaned her head back against the seat. The thought of Nate hurt, maybe even dying, was almost more than she could bear.

  The trip to the hospital seemed endless as the streets be­gan to blur. The lights and the darkness merged. Cyn prayed. She couldn't lose Nate. If he died, they would be as doomed to an eternity without fulfillment as the ancient lovers were. If Nate died, she didn't want to live.

  Chapter 13

  Nate leaned against the wall just inside the first emer­gency room cubicle. He felt like hell. His side hurt despite the painkiller the nurse had shot into his hip, over his strin­gent protests. And he had a headache the size of Texas. He picked up his jacket, belt and sheath off the nearby chair, placing the belt and sheath over his arm and covering them with his jacket. He ran his fingers over his bandaged side, grimacing from the pain that bending his arm caused. Looking down at his opened shirt, he thought about trying to button it, then decided it wouldn't be worth the effort.

  J. P. Higdon, Nick Romero's boss, had just left. He had assured Nate that everything possible was being done to save Romero's life and that the agency was handling the situa­tion with the local authorities.

  For the last two hours, on the ride to the hospital and while the emergency room staff treated his gunshot wound, Nate had relived those few fatal moments outside the all-night diner. Had they been careless? How had Ryker known where they were meeting? Had Carranza had him under surveillance? Or maybe one of Ryker's associates in the Marquez syndicate? Nate felt guilty. He shouldn't have been so certain that Ryker wouldn't resort to an ambush. What hurt the most was knowing that he himself hadn't really been the gunman's target. Romero and Webb had been the intended victims. Webb was dead and Romero was hanging on by sheer willpower.

  Ryker had issued a warning. Nate knew that, one by one, Ryker was going to attack the people closest to Nate. First John Mason. Now Nick Romero. There was only one per­son left...the most important person. And Ryker would try to kill her. Nate knew that as surely as he knew her death would destroy him.

  Nate's big body shook, not from shock or pain, but from fear. Closing his eyes tightly, he sought to block out the fear, but instead the visions that flashed through his mind only heightened the terror. Dreams. The dreams of his brown-eyed lover that had once given him so much comfort. Dreams of Cyn lying dead in Ryker's arms.

  Nate's eyes flashed open. He saw her. Her long golden hair hung in disarray over her shoulders, across her breasts, a vivid contrast to her bright red blouse. Her gaze moved in every direction, and he knew she was searching for him. God, it was good to see her. Not until this very minute had he realized how much he needed her.

  She looked down the hallway. She stared at him, their eyes speaking a language only their hearts could understand.

  She cried out and ran toward him. Dundee followed, rushing to keep up with her.

  All the pain and fear and love that she felt came to the surface, full force, the moment she saw him. He was alive. Willing herself not to fling her arms around him proved to be the most difficult thing she'd ever done. She stopped, only inches separating them. With trembling fingers, she reached out and touched his face.

  "Nate. Oh, Nate." Her voice was a fragile whimper.

  She glanced down at his bandaged left side, wondering how serious his wound was and why he wasn't lying in bed instead of standing, partially dressed, just inside an empty cubicle. When he spread his right arm in a come-to-me ges­ture, Cyn lunged into his uninjured side. He pulled her up close against him, encompassing her within his strong em­brace.

  She eased one hand up and across his broad back and laid the other on his bare chest. Closing her eyes, she allowed her hands to explore the solid reality of his body. Tears fell in never-ending rivulets down her flushed cheeks, but she didn't care if her weeping was a sign of weakness. She had been strong all the way to the hospital, and she would be strong again in a few minutes, but right now she wanted
nothing more than to rejoice in the knowledge that she had not lost the man she loved.

  She could feel his warm breath against her ear, her neck, her cheek. She looked up into his dark green eyes. His gaze devoured her as his big arm tightened around her, almost painfully, and drew her closer. He nuzzled her face, seek­ing and finding her mouth. In one savagely possessive thrust, he captured her lips, and she accepted him with ea­ger joy as the world around them faded into oblivion. Clinging to him, she felt her strength returning, as if she were absorbing his power.

  He grasped her hip with his big hand, holding her quiv­ering body against him while he continued ravaging her mouth. Finally, he released her, gazing at her with wild hunger in his eyes.

  "How the hell did you find out what happened?" he asked, his voice harsh, but he still held her close against his side.

  "Ramon Carranza," she said.

  "Damn that man!" Nate didn't trust Carranza. The chances were pretty good that he and Ryker were connected in some way. But what bothered Nate the most was that Carranza was obviously keeping tabs on Cyn.

  Noticing Dundee standing discreetly several feet away, Nate motioned him forward. "Carranza knew about the shooting? How did he contact Cyn?"

  "He sent his bodyguard," Cyn answered before Dundee had a chance to reply.

  "Carranza sent his goon to get Ms. Porter. He told her Carranza was waiting downstairs in his limo," Dundee said.

  "Good thing you were there," Nate said. "Why the hell did you bring her here to the hospital? The point in having you around is to keep her protected and as far away from me as possible."

  "The only way I could have kept her from coming here once she found out you'd been shot was to have knocked her unconscious, and I didn't think you'd want me to do that."

  Cyn wanted to scream. These two big macho men were discussing her as if she weren't standing right there. She glared back and forth from Nate to Dundee. They were of equal height and about the same size. Sam Dundee's com­plexion was almost as dark as Nate's, but his short hair was flaxen blond and his eyes a cold, menacing blue.

  "I want you to take her back to Mimi Burnside's," Nate said, then swayed slightly, bending his body in an effort to ease the pain shooting through his side.

  Cyn held her fingers out over his bandaged side, longing to touch him, to soothe his pain, but she let her hand hover over his wound. "I won't leave you. You're hurt and..." She made an unsuccessful attempt to stop crying. "How... how... bad is it?"

  Giving her another crushing hug, he tried to laugh. "Not so bad." He couldn't bear the agonized look on her face. "Hey, Brown Eyes, don't you know I'm too tough and mean to kill?"

  "Oh, Nate, don't joke about this." She buried her face in his shoulder, sobbing quietly, relieved that he was truly all right and angry at the injustice of life.

  "Don't fall apart on me now, Cynthia Ellen Porter. I'll be okay. All I need is for you to go back to Mimi's."

  "Shouldn't you be in bed?" she asked, raising her head and brushing the tears from her eyes. She completely ig­nored his request for her to return to Mimi's.

  "No. I'm fine. The bullet only grazed my side. I admit it made a nasty mess, but I've suffered far worse."

  "I can't believe they've allowed you to get up." Pulling away slightly, Cyn inspected him from head to toe, realiz­ing, for the first time since she'd entered the emergency room, that Nate looked like a man ready to run. "You were trying to leave, weren't you?"

  "I am leaving," he told her, then glanced over at Dun­dee. "I'm going back to Sweet Haven, and I want her to stay here in Jacksonville."

  "Has the doctor said you could go? Have they released you?" Placing her hand on her hip, she glared at him.

  "I told them I was going. I've got to check on Romero, then I'm getting a cab home." Nate took several staggering steps.

  Cyn quickly placed a supportive arm around him. "What's wrong? Are you in pain? Mr. Dundee, find a nurse."

  "Don't move, Dundee. I'm fine, dammit," Nate said, clenching his teeth. "They shot me full of painkiller. I told them I didn't need it, but they insisted."

  Cyn smiled, a trembly, teary smile. Dear Lord, what was she going to do with this man, her big, brave warrior? "Mr. Dundee and I are taking you home if you refuse to stay here overnight."

  "I don't want you anywhere near me." Since he held her against him with fierce protectiveness, his words were inef­fectual, and totally contrary to his actions.

  A petite silver-haired nurse entered the cubicle, and smiled when she saw Nate and Cyn. "I'm glad you have someone here to take you home, Mr. Hodges."

  "Then it is all right for him to leave?" Cyn asked.

  The nurse glanced over at Dundee. "We would prefer that he stay the night, but since Mr. Hodges has refused, he should have someone with him. We gave him a pretty high-powered injection. I'm surprised he's still on his feet."

  "He won't be alone," Cyn said. "Is there anything spe­cial I need to do?"

  The woman looked at Cyn. "Just keep his dressings changed, and see that he goes to the doctor for a checkup." The nurse turned to go, then glanced back at Nate. "Your friend is still in surgery. He's alive. Surgery could last sev­eral more hours."

  "What about his leg?" Nate asked.

  "I don't know." The nurse shook her head sadly and left.

  "What happened to Nick Romero?" Cyn asked.

  "He got it in the leg. The bullet severed his femoral ar­tery. There's a chance he'll lose that leg."

  "Oh, Nate, I'm so sorry."

  "Well, woman, don't you see?" Realizing he was still holding Cyn, Nate released her. "Ryker plays for keeps. As long as you're with me, your life is in danger."

  "My life is in danger whether or not I'm with you." She nodded toward Dundee. "Otherwise, I wouldn't need a bodyguard."

  Nate's knees weakened. The room began to spin slowly. He reached out, bracing himself against the wall.

  Cyn willed herself not to rush to him. Maybe, just maybe, it would be better if he fell flat on his face, she thought. Then she and Mr. Dundee could just wheel him straight into a hospital bed. She watched him closely for several min­utes, then realized that Nate Hodges was fighting the drug the nurse had given him, and, knowing Nate's strength and determination, he wasn't going to lose gracefully.

  "Mr. Dundee, would you please call Mimi and let her know how Nate is. Tell her that we're taking him home." Cyn frowned at Nate, her hard glare daring him to protest. "Make the call as quickly as possible and bring back a wheelchair. I don't think Mr. Hodges is going to be able to stand up much longer."

  Dundee nodded agreement, smiling at Cyn and then at Nate before exiting the cubicle.

  "He thinks it's funny," Nate said.

  "He thinks what's funny?"

  "That you're bossing me around." Nate wasn't used to having anyone in his life care about him, and he certainly wasn't used to some take-charge female issuing him orders. "The last thing a man needs when he's... he's been shot is some loud-mouth feminist telling him what to do."

  "Oh, shut up, Nate." Cyn scooted a chair across the room, took Nate by the arm and eased him down. "Sit down and behave yourself. As soon as Mr. Dundee brings that wheelchair, we're taking you home."

  "Romero. Need to stay...see about..." Nate's words began to slur.

  "There's nothing you can do for Nick. I'll keep in touch with the hospital, and you can come back as soon as you get some rest."

  "And if I don't... won't..." Nate slumped in the chair, his eyelids heavy, his breathing deep.

  "You're going home, and you're going to do just what I tell you to do. Understand? And I'm not leaving you. Have you got that straight?"

  "Come here," he said, motioning for her to lean down close to his face.

  "What?" she asked, staring directly at him as she low­ered her head.

  "You're a bossy wench, Brown Eyes."

  Laughing and crying at the same time, Cyn kissed him on the nose. "You bet I am." * * *

  While the coffee bre
wed and the bacon fried, Cyn looked out the kitchen window at the slow, steady rainfall. It had been raining when she and Dundee brought Nate home a little after dawn this morning. That had been almost five hours ago, and Nate had slept the first four hours. When he had awakened, he'd refused to take any of the pain medi­cation Cyn had found in his coat pocket, but she was deter­mined that he would eat the hearty breakfast she was preparing in the makeshift kitchen. In her own kitchen she could have made biscuits, but since Nate's kitchen didn't have an oven, he would have to settle for toast.

  She had found a wooden crate under the sink and had cleaned it to use as a tray. Laying a clean towel over the rough surface, Cyn set a plate filled with bacon, eggs and toast in the center and placed a mug of steaming black cof­fee to the side.

  As she passed the den on her way to Nate's bedroom, she saw Sam Dundee admiring the varied array of knives that comprised Nate's extensive collection. A slight shudder passed through her at the thought of all those deadly weap­ons housed under one roof, indeed being proudly displayed by their owner. Perhaps she would never understand the warrior within Nate, the beast that lived within every man. She abhorred violence, but with her motherly nature, she could understand fighting to protect those she loved. She would fight to protect Nate, to keep him safe.

  The door to Nate's bedroom stood open. Nate sat on the side of the bed wearing only his unsnapped jeans. For a brief moment, Cyn stared at him, at his hard lean body, at his long black hair. He was every inch a man. And that very maleness called to Cyn on some primitive level, telling her that she was his.

  He glanced up, watching her as she came in and held out the crate-tray for him to take. Staring down at the tempting food, he grunted, then accepted her offering.

  "Thanks, I'm starved." He gulped down the coffee, then attacked the stack of crisp bacon.

  After picking up his rumpled coat and empty leather sheath, Cyn sat down in the chair beside the bed. She won­dered what he'd done with his knife.