by Kris Norris
“Damn it, Addy, stay with me. Don’t you dare fucking die on me.”
Her mouth opened and closed, muted groans the only sound making it past her clenched jaw. He was bleeding, too. A line across his forehead. The drops falling onto her chest—mixing with hers. Then, he arched back, a red spot blossoming between his eyes. He crumbled forward, covering her, crushing her into the floor.
“Kill her, too.”
That voice, again. Deep. Dark. One she’d heard before.
“The whole place is gonna blow. We’re out of time. Leave her. She won’t survive.”
His partner. She knew that much. They worked together. A hooded face wavered into view followed by the barrel of a gun. Something sweet wafted around her. Floral. Out of place. Then, the world exploded into a bright light. Into dust and debris and finally…nothing.
“Addison.”
She raised the gun, held it firmly in her left hand. Her right wouldn’t move. Wouldn’t lift from the bunched material beneath her palm. But it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t miss.
“Addison. It’s Kent.”
They were out there. Waiting—waiting for her to die. To have her body carried out in a black bag, just like Will’s.
“Easy, sweetheart. Give me the gun.”
Why would she do that? When it was all that stood between her and death? But…there was something in his voice. It wasn’t like the others. It didn’t make her stomach heave or feel like ice in her veins. His voice was comforting. Warm, gravelly tones that soothed the pain inside her head. The one that smothered her whenever she tried to remember. Make sense of the visions that danced in the darkness.
“Addison.”
She swallowed, tilting her head to the side. A whimper sounded beside her, a familiar thump jolting her back. Fingers closed around her hand. Firm. Calloused. The same ones that had held her earlier.
She tried to zero in on his breath. The heat from his body. “Kent?”
“Right here, sweetheart. You can let go of the gun, now, okay? It’s over.”
Gun? Over?
He pried the Sig from her hand, moving closer until his body skimmed hers. “It’s going to be okay. Ice—Russel just went to get his kit. He’ll be back in a few minutes. There’re paramedics treating anyone who got injured. Russel said he’d get some supplies so he can help Blade until the vet gets here. He’s on his way. About ten minutes out.”
“Blade. Shit… What happened? The men?”
“Taken care of. There were only three in the auction room. Once I made a move, Sam and Russel had my back. It was over in seconds. The tangos never stood a chance. Then SWAT showed up before the men outside could clear off.”
“Is everyone okay?”
“The guards didn’t make it. But most of the people from the auction escaped with nothing more than some bad memories. A few were injured. One dead. But considering the alternatives…”
She nodded, still forcing the lingering memories aside. It was hard to distinguish between them. To sort out the present from the past when she couldn’t ground herself. Couldn’t open her eyes and see what was right in front of her. Instead, she reached for Kent. Wrapped her fingers around his arm. He was strong. A tangible link to this moment. To the chaos still unfolding around her.
She heard it, now. High-pitched chatter from people on the brink of hysteria. Groans from those who were injured. Calm, detached murmurs from the paramedics and SWAT members fanning out around her. Footsteps sounded in every direction, the hard click of boots unmistakable. It was protocol. The members would scour every inch of the estate, inside and out, before they’d start allowing people to leave—ensure none of the infiltration team were still hiding or trying to masquerade as one of the crowd. Probably have the bomb dogs brought back in, just to be thorough.
Blade could have helped if he hadn’t come to her aid—wasn’t bleeding out beside her while she sat there, fading in and out of memories.
Kent’s hand covered hers. God, it felt good. The weight. The gentle, but firm, curl of his fingers over hers. He didn’t talk. Didn’t make her feel weak for wanting the reassurance. In fact, she could have sworn his hand had been shaking, too, when he’d touched her. Which was stupid. The guy was MARSOC. Marine Spec Ops soldiers didn’t shake. Ever. Not in the midst of a gunfight or while sighting an enemy a thousand yards off. And certainly not when holding a woman’s hand. They were all about steel determination and laser focus.
But imagining he might have been shaking made her less self-conscious of her own reactions. The way her hand trembled while maintaining pressure on Blade’s side. How her breathing had quickened, roughened, or that her heart rate had kicked up. She kept herself fit. Always had. Even after the incident, she’d worked hard to regain balance and stamina—to remake herself as tough, if not tougher, than before. So, knowing her pulse was pushing triple figures unnerved her. Especially, when a remote part of her brain was convinced it was the man holding her hand that was the cause, not the near fatal encounter with armed men.
Which was ridiculous. He was ex-military. A warrior, and he’d acted like one. Riding in. Saving the day. Him and his partners—nothing they’d done was remotely out of character or suggestive that he felt anything other than common concern for her. Like he did for everyone else in the building. And with her being blind, it seemed natural that he might think she needed a higher level of protection.
Except, he hadn’t treated her as if she needed more protection. Had sounded confident that she could defend herself, if needed, when he’d left. Even now, he was holding her hand, but it didn’t feel like the action of a man whose only motivation was to calm a woman he saw as being vulnerable. It felt…comforting. More like a boyfriend holding his girlfriend’s hand because he wanted to be there for her. Wanted to help shoulder some of the stress.
She groaned inwardly. She’d definitely lost it. Slid into some alternate reality where her brain turned to mush, and her hormones controlled her thoughts. That was the only explanation. She’d spent the past eighteen months alone. Barely talking to people. Fighting to get through each grueling day. She’d rarely connected with friends—hadn’t been able to stand their pity. The hushed sighs they thought she couldn’t hear. The tones in their voices that told her they were uncomfortable being around her. That they didn’t know how to act, anymore. That their friendship had suffered irreversible damage, much like she feared her brain had.
So, sitting there, thinking of Kent in any context other than as a concerned soldier doing his job was unrealistic. Wasn’t it?
Footsteps racing toward them. The rush of air as someone settled down close to her. She twisted toward the newcomer, trying to get a sense of where the person’s face would be, when Kent gave her hand a squeeze.
“Addison, my buddy Ice—Russel is here.”
She shifted her focus from Kent’s voice back to where she felt the other guy. “You’re the PJ, right? The pararescue tech.”
“That’s right.” His hand covered hers—right over Kent’s. “Rigs told me we had a soldier down. Can’t let that go without doing all I can.”
He released her hand, followed by the zip of a bag. The clatter of instruments being laid out. He lifted her hand from Blade’s shoulder, gently placing it beside her other hand on Kent’s arm. “Looks like a couple of gunshot wounds. I’m not an expert in dog anatomy, but I’d say they both hit high. Missed his vital organs.”
Blade thumbed his tail.
Russel laughed. “Don’t worry, big guy. We’re gonna fix you up. Not losing a soldier on my watch.”
It was hard to follow what Russel was doing. There were too many other sounds all mixing together. But she did her best to focus. To narrow her senses to the area directly in front of her, all the while willing her brain to give her another snapshot. Anything to reassure her that she wasn’t on the verge of losing the only good thing to happen to her since her injury.
Kent must had realized what she was trying to do because he gently cupped her wai
st and twisted her slightly. “Russel’s just cleaning the wounds before he puts some coagulating powder over them. He’s also got a bag of saline from the paramedics. He’ll hook up the IV once he has the bleeding under control.”
She turned toward his voice, brushing his nose with hers. God, he was so close. Right there, his mouth an inch from hers. All she had to do was purse her lips and she’d be kissing him. “Thanks.”
“No problem. I’d want to know what was happening if it was my partner.”
Russel chuckled. “That, and Rigs needs an excuse to get closer to you. He has a thing for pretty ladies that can kick a bad guy’s ass.”
She smiled. She knew what Russel was doing. He was trying to lighten the mood. Ease her stress, because joking meant things were going to be okay. That he wasn’t that concerned with Blade’s injury and had time to make her feel better.
“I got lucky.” She motioned to Kent with her head. “And he finished off the last guy. All I did was knock him down.”
Kent scoffed. “You hit the guy square in the chest three times from nothing more than the sound he made. That’s MARSOC quality shooting, right there. Not to mention knocking another unconscious. I saw the bastard’s body. Did you whip him with your cane?”
“He shot my best friend. So, yeah. I took a chance that he hadn’t moved and swung. Got lucky and connected. After that… It wasn’t too hard to subdue him. Done it a thousand times before. Even blind, I can handcuff a guy without thinking about it.” She snorted. “Or in this case, pistol whip one.”
Russel whistled. “That’s impressive. Which brings me to my next question. Rigs and I have a bit of a wager going. We figure with your moves, the way you were able to call in the cavalry, you’re probably a detective. Mr. Explosives over there insists you’re narcotics. But I say homicide. Now, you should know, there’s a case of fine Irish whiskey on the line, here.”
“Mr. Explosives? Is that why they call you Rigs? Because you rig shit to blow up?”
Russel laughed. “Beautiful and smart.” Something clattered on the floor, and Russel grunted. “Rigs—Kent was one of the best explosives ordinance soldiers I ever worked with. He could wire your damn soap to explode if he wanted. He also took a few bullets for my wife when she was in danger, so… I owe him.”
“Fuck—I mean bugger off. I’d do that for strangers. You know Red’s family.”
Russel chuckled. “You know Harlequin hates it when you call her that.”
“Yup. Now, Addison, who’s buying that case of whiskey?”
She let a smile take shape. Lift the corners of her eyes. “That would be Russel. Sorry. Kent’s right. I was narcotics.”
She heard Kent mutter a hushed, “Hell yeah”.
Russel huffed. “Great. That’s gonna go straight to his damn head. How long were you on the force?”
“Twelve years. I graduated high school early, fit a three-year-degree into two, and joined when I was nineteen. Spent eight years walking a beat then made detective. Another four in narcotics before…” She cleared her throat. “That was eighteen months, ago. I’ve been…adjusting since then.”
Kent’s fingers squeezed her leg. “It’s obvious you haven’t lost your edge.”
She shrugged. What was she supposed to say? Sure, if someone made enough noise, or touched her, she could react accordingly. But that was about it. “Nope. Just my sight, which kind of puts a whole damper on the ‘being a cop’ thing.”
Silence. At least, from them. Around her, noises still beat at her like a drum. Constant input she wished would stop. It was one of the reasons she avoided crowds. It made it hard to stay focused. To navigate her surroundings with all the auditory overload.
Another clatter of instruments. “Okay, Blade, I’ve got you ready for transport. I’ve stopped the bleeding, have an IV up and running and bandaged your shoulder. The vet should be here any minute. He’ll have some meds to ease the pain and will undoubtedly criticize my technique.”
Addy reached out one hand, smiling when Russel clasped it. She knew it was him. His hand felt different. Larger. Not quite as calloused. And his touch was more clinical than the one still holding her left. “I don’t know how to thank you—”
“You took two of those assholes down by yourself. That’s thanks, enough. Made it easy for us to finish the job. Besides, Blade’s a veteran. And you’re a cop. We take care of our own.”
“Still. Thank you.”
“Glad I could help. Vet’s here. And the SWAT guys want to go over everything. Get statements.”
Kent moved his hand off her thigh and over to her waist. “We’ll both be there once the vet’s done.”
“I’ll let them know. We’ll chat later, Addison.”
She nodded then twisted toward Kent. “Both?”
“Two of those men are your handiwork, sweetheart. SWAT will want to know what happened.”
“I didn’t really do that much—”
He silenced her with a finger over her lips. God, it was so warm. “You were incredible. But for now, let’s focus on Blade. The officers can wait.”
She shuffled a bit closer when he drew her against his side, telling herself it was only to orient herself. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. But you still owe me something.”
She frowned. She owed him something? “What’s that?”
“You promised you’d tell me your last name if I came back, alive, and I kept my end of the bargain.”
“So you did. It’s Bailey. Addison Bailey.”
Chapter 5
Addison Bailey was going to be the death of Rigs. No question. Because in less than an hour, she’d somehow wormed her way into the heart he’d left behind in the rubble—the one that was scarred and broken like the rest of him—and shoved the damn thing back into his chest. Guaranteed that she’d be the one to rip it out the next time with her small, incredibly capable fingers.
Rigs didn’t like the idea. Not at all. When he’d finally gotten a look at what hid beneath the bandages the doctors had covered him in for weeks, he’d decided right then and there he’d spend the rest of his life alone. Maybe the odd hook-up. One-night stands when he got tired of his own fist. But anything more…
And he’d done his best to make peace with it. He wasn’t thrilled. Seeing his buddies settle down—find partners that made them better men. Better warriors—wasn’t easy to swallow. He was happy for Ice and Midnight. Adored the women they’d fallen in love with. But it was hard watching them, knowing he’d never have anything close.
And yet, here he was, sitting with his arm around Addison’s waist, her hand beneath his, and all he could do was will time to slow down. Give him another few seconds with her snugged against him. Her soft curves hugging his side. It didn’t make any sense. He didn’t have any romantic notions that this was the start of something magical. Magic didn’t exist, at least, not from his experiences. And definitely not directed at him. He’d only just met her, and under extremely volatile circumstances. Anything either of them felt was likely a by-product of the adrenaline. No different than after all his missions overseas. The ones where he’d been able to fuck away the stress, either with his hand or a willing woman if one was handy.
But this felt different. He didn’t want any available woman who would overlook the scars. He wanted to stay there with Addison. Just like this—holding her hand, giving her a shoulder to lean on when her world was so uncertain. She’d been every ounce the warrior he and his buddies had been. More so, because she’d done it all by sheer instinct. Sheer power of will. She’d risked her life with the odds so stacked against her, it had been a virtual wall in front of her.
Kent swallowed against the tight feeling in his chest, cursing when he felt a tremor move through him. It was the second time he’d trembled since returning to her side. The first had been when he’d arrived. A part of him had braced for the worst—her body splayed out beside her dog’s, a hole between her eyes, her blood a sticky pool beneath her. Seeing her sitt
ing there had been like a punch to his gut.
Then, she’d aimed the Sig at him. But it wasn’t him she’d really been aiming at. He wasn’t a medic like Ice. Didn’t have degrees in psychology. But he knew a damn flashback when he saw it. Had suffered through too many, himself, not to recognize the symptoms—shallow, choppy breathing. Pale clammy skin. Vacant stare that had nothing not do with the fact she was blind. She’d been caught in some kind of waking nightmare, and it had taken a few minutes of talking to her in order to snap her back.
He’d reached for her, and damn if his hand hadn’t been shaking. That same hand he’d used to set countless explosives. That had remained steady through years of missions. But the thought of her dead…
It had rocked him to his core. As he’d sat there—watching Russel work to save Blade—doing his best to keep the worry out of his voice as he’d relayed what was happening—Kent had realized he had two choices. Either he walked away, now, before there was even a chance of something happening. Or…
He embraced the suck. The suck being the inevitable ending—the one where she walked away, that heart she’d shoved back in his chest clenched between her fingers. Because her being blind didn’t change the fact he was scarred. Given time, she’d feel them. Discover they weren’t just on the outside, that they ran all the way to his soul. And that’s when she’d realize she had far better options out there than a used-up soldier who didn’t know how to fit in.
Her hand trembled in his then steadied as she drew a deep breath, leaning just a bit more against him.
Embrace the suck, it was.
Even if it only lasted tonight. If all he got was a chance to hold her hand, maybe drive her home. Oh yeah, he’d see she got home, all right. Try to weasel a cup of coffee out of her tomorrow. He’d even brave a café. Brave the gasps and stares because it meant more time with her. Addison Bailey. The woman who would be his undoing.
The vet finally looked up—managed to hide all but a small flinch as he met Rigs’ gaze before staring over at Addison. The man reached out and lightly touched her arm. “It looks like Blade’s stable enough for transport. I’ve given him some medication. It’ll make him sleepy. Help with the pain. We’re lucky there was someone trained on hand. Probably saved his life. He’ll need surgery, and it’ll be a while before he can come home, but I’m optimistic he’ll make a full recovery.”