Loving A Hero

by Cheryl Yeko

  Stan followed him down a long hall into an untidy room filled with filing cabinets and a big ugly brown desk shoved into a corner.

  “What about the trash,” Stan asked. “I might be able to have the gifts traced.”

  Peter pulled out the office chair, taking a seat at the desk to wake up the monitor. “Sorry, trash pick-up was early this morning.” He typed in a password. "How far back do you want it?"

  "Two months."

  The guy nodded, wrenching open the middle desk drawer and retrieving a flash drive. "All we got is the parking lot and front and back entrances."

  "That'll do. Appreciate it."

  "No problem. Shelly's a good girl. I hope you find the douchebag."

  "Yeah. What about your bouncers? They notice anyone suspicious hanging around?"

  Peter shook his head, jerking the drive from the computer and handing it to him. "'Fraid not. And they've been looking. Pisses 'em off when someone messes with the girls." He shrugged. "The guy's either a regular or a master at blending in, or my bouncers would have spotted him."

  Stan tucked the flash drive into his front shirt pocket. "Thanks."

  "Anytime. Keep our girl safe, now."

  "I intend to."

  After he left the club, Stan went back to Shelly's and spent the next hour or so searching through the footage. Nothing stood out. Doesn't mean he's not there.

  Frustrated, he pushed back his chair and stood, pacing across her living room. He needed more eyes out there, because he was sticking with Shelly. Digging his phone from his front jeans pocket, he dialed one of his co-workers.

  The phone rang four times, and Stan was about ready to hang up, when Duke picked up. "Welcome to McDonald's, King of the Quarter Pounder. What can I do ya for?"

  Stan snorted. "Jackass. This is serious. Can you get to Estes Park, pronto. I'll text you the address."

  "What's up?"

  "Someone’s been sending Shelly anonymous gifts. Broke into her place last night."

  "She okay?"

  "Yeah, just scared."

  "I’ll head right out."

  "Thanks, man. I'll see you later this evening.”

  "You got it."

  Feeling somewhat better, Stan ended the call and glanced at his watch. He barely had enough time to get to the college before Shelly's class let out. Snatching his keys off the coffee table, he made good time, pulling into the parking lot as students began pouring out of the building.

  Maneuvering his way through the rush of students, he glanced up to see Shelly step through the doors, along with another woman, deep in conversation. Stan frowned, deciding he'd have a talk with her about being more aware of her surroundings.

  Shelly's gaze landed on him, and she smiled. Giving her friend a goodbye wave, she hurried toward him. She was so lovely, a jolt of longing hit him.

  Then an uneasy feeling skated over him, as if he were being watched. He came to a sudden halt, scanning the grounds. That’s when he spotted a glint of light reflecting off the sun to his left, from a small hill overlooking the campus grounds.

  The hairs at the nape of his neck stood on end. Stan had always had a great sixth sense, and right now it was telling him shit was about to go down. He glimpsed a man wearing a ski-mask step from behind a tree, lifting both arms as he pointed a handgun toward the campus.

  Stan’s heart crashed into his chest, and he broke into a run. He plowed through a group of male students. "Down! Shooter on campus, everyone down!"

  His words were followed by screams as the crowd panicked, stumbling over each other in their rush to leave the area.

  Shelly froze as he raced toward her. The pop of the weapon split the air, quickly followed by a couple more shots in rapid succession.

  Stan didn't hear the fourth shot when he tackled Shelly to the ground. He sure as hell felt it though when a bullet pierced his upper arm.

  Agony ripped through him, even as he rolled to the side to cushion her fall, taking the brunt of the impact on his left hip. He shifted, covering her completely with his body to keep her protected as much as possible.

  The next thirty seconds seemed like an eternity, filled with a cacophony of screams and people running for their lives. Campus guards rushed past them in the shooter’s direction, weapons out. No more shots followed, and Stan determined the gunman was hauling ass outta there.

  A wave a nausea made him groan.

  "Stan," Shelly cried out. "Stan, are you okay? Oh my God, you're bleeding." She tried to wiggle out from under him. He lifted his head slightly, peering into her beautiful, frightened eyes.

  "I'm fine," he gritted out, knowing he was far from fine and close to passing out.

  He brought his good arm up to curve around her head, trying his best to keep her protected in case he was wrong and the guy was still around. Most of the people had scattered, except for a few stragglers still on the ground, appearing unhurt and too afraid to move.

  Sirens sounded off in the distance.

  One of the security guards came over, crouching down. "Hey, man. You okay?”

  Shelly tried to shove him off her, her voice filled with tears as she snapped, "Does he look okay? He's been shot. Where's the goddamn ambulance?"

  Amusement slid through him at her feisty attitude, right before he passed out.

  Shelly paced outside the emergency room doors Stan had disappeared through hours earlier. After taking her statement, the cops left. Not that she had been able to tell them much.

  Not being a relative, the nurse wouldn't give her any information on his condition, and she was seriously irked. Although she'd dated him for a short time, she didn't know all that much about him or how to get in touch with his friends or family.

  What if he dies? The thought he might die from protecting her made Shelly nauseous. Clutching her stomach, she tried to stop her shivering. With a soft moan of despair, she twirled back around and ran straight into a broad chest. Before she could pull back, the man's arms came around her and she recognized the voice of Stan's friend, Johnny Duke, though all his friends just called him Duke.

  "Hey," he said, giving her a big hug, "I heard about the shooting. How's Stan doing?"

  She allowed herself a second to relax against him and soak up his strength. A moment later, she stepped back and met his concerned gaze. "He's still in surgery. And the nurses won't tell me anything."

  His frown deepened. "Let me see what I can find out.” He grasped her hand and led her over to the waiting room, settling her into a comfy leather chair. Still holding her hand, he crouched down in front of her. "Wait here, I won't be long."

  "You're not related, are you?"

  He shot her a cocky grin. "Sure, we are. I'm his brother."

  She gave a short laugh, her smile wobbling a bit. "I see."

  Duke brushed his hand across the top of her head. "He'll be fine, sweetheart. Stan's one of the toughest men I know." He flashed her a reassuring smile. "I'll be right back."

  He stood and walked over to the nurses’ station.

  Watching Duke set out to charm the nurse, Shelly felt confident he'd get the information on Stan's condition, down to the name of his doctor's firstborn, if he asked. Not that she could blame the woman.

  All Stan's friends were super-hot. But they didn't do it for her, not like Stan did. All it took to get her heart racing was one look from those striking gray eyes. A hint of smile from lips that felt all-too-fine moving against hers, and a voice that dampened her panties every single time he opened his mouth and used that sexy accent on her. He was the whole package. Looks. Charm. And with impeccable manners, he knew exactly how to treat a woman.

  Too bad he's a player.

  She pushed the thought aside as fear for his safety flooded her. Spotting a wall clock, her thoughts moved to her daughter. Maggie would be home by now and wondering where her mama was. Thank God for Dave. Once she’d arrived at the hospital, she'd borrowed a phone to call him, and he'd offered to pick Maggie up from school. What she'd do without him
and Bob, she had no idea. This wasn't the first time she'd had to ask one of them to help her out. Between her job and school, Shelly didn't spend nearly enough time with her daughter.

  I'm such a bad mother. Should she leave, go home and wait to hear about Stan's condition, or stay here? He was shot protecting me. I have to wait. She gripped the armrests, her nails digging into the thick leather. The worry gnawing a hole through her stomach let her know she cared far too much for this man, her heart in serious jeopardy.

  Hopping up, she spun back toward the emergency room and began pacing again, wringing her hands.

  He has to be okay.

  One more pace across the waiting room and she spotted Duke heading back her way. He gave her the thumbs up, a huge smile on his face.

  "Stan's fine. He's awake, and already giving the nurses a hard time about getting out."

  Shelly slumped with relief, placing her hand over her thumping heart. "When can I see him."

  Duke chuckled, nodding back over his shoulder. "I'd say right about now."

  At the sound of a commotion, Shelly glanced over to see a pale, and apparently irritated, Stan shoving through the emergency entrance doors, declaring he was fine. An agitated nurse stayed hot on his heels.

  Duke murmured, "Stubborn bastard." His voice held no heat, and might have been tinged with admiration.

  Shelly frowned at Stan's stubbornness, even as happiness to see him alive, and on his feet, had blood rushing to her head. She swayed slightly.

  "Whoa there," Duke said, steadying her. "Maybe you should sit back down?"

  His arm in a sling, the second Stan stepped into the waiting room his gaze sought her out with laser focus. The intense expression in his eyes made her heart flutter. Anger. Fear. Male appreciation, as he bore down on her.

  "I've got her," he muttered, nudging his friend aside and sliding his good arm around her waist to haul her close.

  Shelly folded her arms between them, laying her head against his chest for a moment to get her bearings back. He smelled clean and fresh, and a bit like antiseptic. Underneath, he was all musky male, and utterly devastating to her willpower.

  Making it damn near impossible to resist him.

  Almost.

  Erecting her hard-fought walls again, Shelly straightened and pulled away. She didn't miss the flash of hurt in his eyes at her withdrawal.

  "H—how are you?" she asked shakily.

  The annoyed nurse snapped, "He needs to be admitted for the night." Eyebrows drawn down in disapproval, she turned and stomped over to the nurses’ station.

  "I'm fine," Stan said. The flush on his cheeks and his slightly glazed eyes indicated otherwise. "Duke, meet me back at Shelly's." He led her outside. "Did you drive?”

  Shelly nodded, pointing toward the emergency parking lot. She’d wanted to ride with him in the ambulance, but they wouldn’t let her. They’d at least found his car keys so she could follow them over. "Don't you think you should stay overnight?"

  "Not necessary." He glanced over to Duke who'd followed them outside. "See what you can find out about the shooting."

  Duke nodded. "The cops are going to want your statement."

  "Already gave it to ‘em."

  "You staying with Shelly?"

  The withering Duh look Stan shot Duke would have most men pissing their pants. Duke just gave a cocky salute and sprinted toward the opposite parking lot.

  She finally asked the question that'd been swirling in her brain since the shooting. "Do you think I was the, um, target?"

  “I'm not sure of anything.” Taking her elbow, he led her toward the emergency parking lot, where he’d spotted his car. "My heads still a little fuzzy. Can you drive?"

  She nodded, digging the keys out of her purse. "I'm fine."

  Stan took the keys from her hand and opened the driver’s side door for her, then climbed into the passenger seat. "You going to be okay?”

  She nervously licked her lips. Nodded. The thought that her stalker had gone from wanting her, to wanting her dead, was pretty frightening.

  His eyes lowered to her mouth, and an entirely new kind of tension filled her, and she was suddenly very overheated. The slow fire simmering in her belly whenever he was near, crackled and burned. She ached to have his mouth on hers again. His kisses had been wonderful. Sometimes intense, sometimes playful, but always filled with a passion that burned her alive.

  Stan's features tightened, and his hand slid to the nape of her neck as he slowly lowered his head. Her anticipation skyrocketed, until his mouth finally covered hers. There was nothing gentle about this kiss. He slid his tongue between her parted lips and devoured her, drinking from her mouth like a parched man, desperate and greedy.

  The world tilted on its axis as she got lost in Stan's kiss. All the reasons why she shouldn't get involved with him again, disappeared, and Shelly kissed him back with every ounce of longing she'd felt over the past few months.

  Stan's grip tightened, and a groan rumbled from his chest as he thoroughly reacquainted himself with her mouth. When he finally pulled back, his gaze, hot and possessive, sent her stomach all topsy-turvy, in a very good way.

  Shit. She was in serious trouble.

  Chapter Four

  Shelly continued to baby him as they exited his car and entered her apartment building. Concern and guilt shone in her chocolate gaze, and since it seemed to make her feel better, Stan allowed it. For now. There was even a part of him that liked to see she cared enough to worry about him.

  Meant he still had a shot with her.

  She kept a tight grip on his good arm as though he'd fall if she didn't prop him up. "You sure you're okay?" she asked for about the fiftieth time. "Does your arm hurt? We'll get you inside and you can lay down and rest. Did they give you some pain reliever? If not, I'm sure I have something you can take . . ."

  Amusement tickled through him when she continued to voice her concerns as they entered the elevator. Who knew she chattered so much when upset? It was cute. She was cute. Damn cute, actually.

  His family would love her.

  That thought would have had him screeching to a halt, if they hadn't already been standing still in an elevator. He wanted her, sure. Desired her like he'd desired no other. Thought she was about the sweetest, sexiest woman he'd ever met.

  But take her home to meet his family?

  Yeah . . . Sounds about right.

  The doors slid open, and still holding onto him, Shelly led him to her apartment as if he were too weak to get there himself. He fought back a chuckle, then bit back a curse when his arm brushed the inside doorframe. Not the first time he'd been shot, but he'd forgotten how bad it fucking hurt.

  "Dave's picking Maggie up from kindergarten," Shelly said, while Stan tried to act like his arm wasn't hurting like a son-of-a-bitch. "We decided to tell her you hurt your arm when you fell down."

  He gave a curt nod of acknowledgment and managed to finally exhale. "Smart. No need to frighten her." His sister would have done the same.

  When she threw the door open, Bob strode over and pulled her in for a big hug. "You okay?"

  "I'm fine. Stan's the one who was shot.”

  The man didn't even so much as flick him a glance. He ruffled back her hair. "Well, you look like hell."

  She snorted. "Thanks a lot."

  Bob grinned. "Why don't you take a shower before Maggie gets home, or you’re liable to scare the hell out of the kid."

  Stan quietly closed the door, silently agreeing with the guy. Her face was streaked with dirt and tear-stained, her clothes torn and dirty, and spotted with blood. It'd been a rough day, and an emotional one, and she appeared ready to collapse from exhaustion.

  "All right, all right," Shelly said, laughing softly. She turned back to him and took his arm, leading him over to the couch as though he couldn't get there himself.

  Stan shot Bob a cocky grin at Shelly’s adorable attention to his wellbeing. The man raised a stoic brow.

  After making sure he wa
s comfortable, plumping up the couch pillow and stuffing it behind his head, Shelly stepped back and brushed her bangs out of her eyes, appearing totally frazzled. "You sure you're okay? Do you want something to eat? Drink? Non-alcoholic of course, I'm sure you're on some sort of pain—”

  "Shelly." Stan broke into the middle of her guilt trip. "I'm fine. Go on and get cleaned up." He gave her a reassuring smile.

  She seemed uncertain, her worried gaze falling to his arm, where the thick bandage bulged under his shirt. "If you're sure . . .”

  "Stop worrying." He put on his best Monty Python impression. "It's just a flesh wound."

  She huffed, "Smart ass. I won't be long. If you need anything, let Bob know."

  "Yeah, princess," Bob drawled from where he sat on a tall stool at the kitchen counter. "Let me know what you want, and I'll get right on it."

  Shelly shot Bob an offended glare at his derisive tone. "Bob," she scolded, "he's been shot, for Pete's sake."

  Stan bit back a smile. "Take your shower, darlin', Bob and I have shit to discuss."

  She wagged a scolding finger. "You be nice."

  "Of course." The tone of Bob's voice didn't match the promise of his words.

  "I mean it, Bob."

  "No worries, doll. I promise not to kill him."

  This time, Stan grinned. He kinda liked this guy.

  Shelly rolled her eyes, throwing her hands into the air as she twirled around and stomped down the hallway, muttering under her breath.

  Bob stood and strode over to the refrigerator, grabbing a bottled water and a beer before making his way into the living room, tossing Stan the water. He caught it with his good arm, twisted off the top and took a long swallow.

  Bob sat in the oversized chair across from him, somehow managing to make it appear tiny as he folded his large frame into it. He popped the cap to his beer, leaning forward to grit out, "So, you want to tell me what the hell happened?"

  “You know as much as I do." Stan ground his back teeth in frustration. “The guy showed up and opened fire on campus.”

  Bob grunted. "Could've been a warning. How many shots were fired?"

  "Four, at least."