by Rebecca York
But the leg had already taken a beating. As he tried to run across the patio, he stumbled. Leah grabbed him, giving him support as they fled. Before they reached the gate, shots peppered the area near the exit.
They were trapped inside the high fence, but Leah led him into to the shrubbery beyond the pool deck, heading toward a large planted area at the back of the property. They crashed through a bed of azalea bushes and into a small stand of pine trees.
As they hunkered down on the ground, floods snapped on in the yard, and lights began to pour from the windows of other houses. He could hear voices of people asking what was going on.
“Is there another way out?” Steve whispered.
“That’s the only gate, but maybe we can get over the fence.”
He looked in back of them, seeing that the barrier was not uniform where it was screened from the house. Perhaps part of it had been put up by the people who owned the property behind the Pendelton’s.
Bullets crashed into the bushes, but it was clear that Warren’s crew couldn’t see Steve and Leah’s location. Not yet. And Steve wasn’t going to fire and give it away. He crawled toward the fence, every move sending fire through his leg. At the back of the yard, he found a place where two different sections joined—one board on board and one stockade.
When he pulled on the stockade section, it gave a little, but he knew he couldn’t pull it apart from the bottom. As he started to stand, Leah grabbed his arm.
“No.”
“I need leverage. You stay down.”
He stood and began to pull the section back and forth, making a larger and larger gap.
Ignoring his orders to keep under cover, she stood and began to help. But the noise must have alerted Warren and his goons to their location, because the shots began hitting closer.
“We got ‘em trapped,” Warren called out. “Spread out.”
Chapter Eleven
Steve cursed under his breath and pulled Leah down. He considered tossing her over the damn fence, but that would make her too much of a target when she was in the air.
Putting her behind him, he returned fire. He didn’t think he would hit anyone, but at least he’d remind them that he was armed.
As he’d hoped, the opposition stopped shooting and regrouped. In the lull, he led Leah along the fence several yards away, positioning them in back of a large pine tree.
He was preparing for an assault, when a bullhorn rang out.
“This is the police. Drop your weapons and come out with your hands in the air.”
In his anger, Warren had long since passed beyond rationality. Instead of obeying, the man charged across the patio toward Steve and Leah, still shooting, determined to take them down before anyone could stop him.
Two police bullets felled him, and he flopped to the patio.
“Come out with your hands up,” the booming voice repeated.
The two bodyguards followed directions.
“His mistress is still in the house,” Steve shouted.
“Hands up. Show yourself,” the bullhorn ordered.
“Raise your hands,” Steve told Leah. He put his weapon on the ground and raised his own hands.
“We’re coming out of the bushes at the back of the yard. We’re unarmed,” he called out. “Don’t shoot.”
Still this was a dangerous moment, and Steve steeled himself as they stepped from cover with their hands in the air.
Beside him, Leah gasped as she saw Warren lying on the patio. But then the view was blocked as a SWAT team swarmed from the house and through the gate into the yard.
“It’s okay,” Steve whispered as the cops patted them down. Steve was glad that Warren’s goons had taken away his illegal weapon. That was one less thing he had to explain.
A man in a suit stepped through the gate and walked toward them.
“Outlaw?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Lieutenant DuBois. You were with the BPD, right?”
“Yes. I took a medical discharge rather than get stuck behind a desk.”
DuBois looked from the smashed window to the bullet-riddled yard. “You wouldn’t have gotten into trouble behind a desk.”
Steve shrugged.
“Your boss, Frank Decorah, gave us a heads up. We were still blocks away when we heard the shooting start.
Steve wanted to say better late than never, but he kept the observation to himself.
“They’re okay,” the detective said to the SWAT team leader.
Steve squeezed Leah’s hand tightly. “Pendelton was laundering money for Malcolm the Hammer. When his wife figured that out, she ran away. He sent his mistress, Candy Markham, to kidnap her and haul her back.”
Some of that was true. Some of it wasn’t, but Leah didn’t correct his story, and he hoped she would stick to his account during questioning, because he didn’t want to explain how he’d figured out Pendelton’s illegal activities.
When he looked at Leah, she gave him a small nod before they were separated and taken to the closest police station. After being interviewed in separate rooms, they were allowed to leave.
Out on the sidewalk, he said, “Thanks for not saying anything about my . . . talent.”
“I knew you wanted me to keep quiet about it.” She scuffed her shoe against the ground. “I don’t want to go back to my house.”
“I figured,” he said as he led her toward the Decorah car which an officer had driven over for them.
“Then where are we going?” she asked as she got into the vehicle.
He slid into the driver’s seat and said, “To a Decorah safe house.”
“We’re not safe now?”
“Yeah, we are, but I thought I’d give you some time to decompress.”
“From being married to a psychopath?”
“Yeah. And from almost getting killed out in the backyard.”
“Will Candy be charged with anything?”
“Attempted kidnapping, if you want to pursue that.”
“I’ll have to think about it.”
He nodded. “And think about us.”
She turned to him. “I shouldn’t have walked away from you years ago.”
“Like I said, I didn’t have much going for me. Plus Warren was good at manipulating you—and everyone else.” He laughed. “But not Malcolm the Hammer. I think old Malcolm had him sweating bullets. And he was taking out the stress on you.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again.
“You don’t have to make any decisions about us now,” he said, wishing he could press her.
“Everything’s changed,” she said in a small voice.
“For the better.”
“Well, it would be, if I had a job—or some skills. I didn’t even get my degree.”
“I think Decorah Security can help you with that.”
Her head jerked up. “How?”
“Frank Decorah has a victim assistance fund. For education, job training, even housing.”
“Why?”
“Because he knows that people who have been in trouble can’t necessarily dig themselves out.”
While she thought about that, he reached over and wrapped his hand around hers.
“Leah, I want you in my life. But I’m not going to push you into anything. I mean, a relationship with me probably seems scary.”
“Why do you think so?”
“You’d be getting mixed up with a guy who’s got a strange talent—and feels compelled to use it to help people. It’s an obligation I accepted when I joined Decorah Security.”
“I like that. It’s kind of the opposite of Warren.” Then her expression became questioning
“What?”
“Is that how you feel about me? Compelled to help?”
“Lord no.” He gathered her close, his lips coming down on hers for a long, hot kiss. When it broke, they were both breathing hard.
“That’s how I feel about you,” he answered. “I love you.” He hadn’t meant to say
that yet, but it had been too close to the surface to hold back.
She looked stunned. “You do?”
“I never stopped.”
“Oh, Steve. I would dream about what my life would have been like if I’d stayed with you.”
“We were pretty young.”
“And now I don’t want to waste any more time.”
He wasn’t sure how far he could have driven. He’d told her they were going to a safe house. Instead, he pulled in at the first hotel he saw. Luckily, in this part of town it was pretty upscale.
“Is this pushing you too fast,” he asked as he pulled up under the marque.
She glanced from him to the hotel entrance and back again. “No.”
Still, she looked a bit dazed as he left the car with a valet parking attendant and took her to the registration desk where he got a room with a king-sized bed.
As soon as he closed the door behind them, he reached for her, and she came into his arms.
They clung together, as though each of them needed the other for an anchor. When she raised her face, he bent toward her, covering her mouth with his for a kiss that was hot and sweet, desperate and measured all at the same time.
When they finally came up for air, his pulse was pounding.
She looked around the room. “This is a lot nicer than the last place you took me to.”
“This time we’re not hiding out. Or maybe we are. Maybe I’ll hold you captive here for a few days.”
She grinned, and he saw that the fear had disappeared from her eyes. “And do what?”
“Anything you want,” he said, hearing the thick quality of his voice.
He saw her consider the offer, then give the room a closer inspection. “Okay. Sit down over there,” she said, pointing to the antique-style chair at the desk.
He pulled it out and sat down, wondering what she was going to do now.
“Stay there,” she ordered as she began to slowly unbutton her shirt, her sensual movements making him instantly hard.
“I see you want to get up,” she whispered. “I think we’ll have more fun if you stay put.”
His mouth was so dry that he wasn’t sure he could answer. Instead he nodded as she tossed the shirt on the floor, then unhooked her bra and sent it to follow the shirt, all the while softly singing “Sometimes When We Touch,” an old song by Don Hill that they’d both liked. When he recognized it, his eyes misted.
Naked from the waist up, she lifted her breasts toward him, then played with the nipples, tugging and twisting them.
He saw the passion on her face and gripped the edges of the chair to anchor himself. As he watched, she unzipped her pants, slicked them down her legs and kicked them away. Then she hooked her thumbs in the elastic at the top of her panties and slowly slid them down, until she was standing naked in front of him.
“Keep your hands where they are,” she said.
Slowly she came toward him, stopping close enough to lean over and roll up his shirt, lightly dragging her nails across his skin as she did it. She pulled the shirt over his head and threw it on the floor before reaching for his chest, gliding her hands over him, making trails of heat. Finding his nipples, she tugged and twisted them the way she had done with her own, and he had to dig his hands into the chair bottom to keep them in place.
One hand glided down to his belt buckle, which she quickly opened, then unzipped his jeans. Reaching inside and into his shorts, she pulled his aching cock free. It was full and red and very ready for action, but he stayed where he was, still letting her have her way with him.
“Nice,” she whispered, catching the bead of moisture at the tip and stroking it over the head and down the shaft.
“Leah,” he moaned.
“Right here.”
She straddled his lap, driving his cock into herself.
“Can I use my hands?” he gasped out.
“God, yes.”
He reached for her breasts, playing with the nipples as she rode him, her movements rapidly becoming frantic.
She had brought him to the peak of need without his being able to touch her. There was no way to slow down now. He shouted his pleasure as he came, and he felt her convulse around him as she followed him over the edge.
She collapsed against him, gasping for breath, clinging to him as he stroked her back and shoulders.
“In case you’re wondering, I never did anything like that before,” she whispered. “I wanted to make up for all the time we lost.” He heard her swallow. “And I wanted to prove to myself that I could be a different person. Not the wet-behind-the-ears girl you used to know—or the scared woman I turned into.”
“And you wanted to find out if I’d let you be in charge,” he added.
“Uh huh. It felt good to call the shots.”
He laughed. “On this end, too.”
After hugging him to herself, she stood. He followed her up, walked to the bed and pulled back the covers.
She disappeared into the bathroom for a moment then came back to join him in the bed, snuggling against him.
Closing his eyes, he hugged her close. He knew she needed time to get back to normal, and he’d give her that time, as long as she understood that the two of them belonged together.
Right now they were going to have some quality private time. But he wanted her to realize she had more skills than she thought.
“You said you did charity work for the Junior League,” he said.
“Uh huh.”
“Like what?”
“I helped manage their thrift shop.”
“Which means you know retail.”
“And I managing the accounts, but it was only charity work.”
“But it’s real work experience.”
“I guess.”
“Don’t sell it short,” he advised, thinking he would love watching her grow and bloom and become the person he knew she could be. He’d be there to help her in every way. Well, he was going to try not to hover over her.
“Something you should know,” he said. “I never got into a serious relationship because I never forgot you.”
“I’m sorry if I screwed up your life.”
“When I touch objects, I see the past—not the future. But maybe I always knew we’d get back together. Or I hoped, anyway.”
“Now you have me—for as long as you want me.”
“Forever will be a good start.”
AFTERWORD
Thank you for purchasing OUTLAW JUSTICE, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I loved writing it.
If you enjoy my books, do me a huge favor. Please go back to your favorite online book store, and leave an honest review. Authors live and die by their reviews. The few extra seconds it takes are really appreciated. Thank you!
oOo
If you enjoyed OUTLAW JUSTICE, you might also like to read other Light Street Press books by Rebecca York:
DECORAH SECURITY SERIES by Rebecca York
Book 1. On Edge (a Decorah Security prequel novella)
Book 2. Dark Moon (a novel)
Book 3. Chained (a novella)
Book 4. Ambushed (a short story)
Book 5. Dark Powers (a novel)
Book 6. Hot and Dangerous (a short story)
Book 7. At Risk (a novel)
Book 8. Christmas Captive (a novella)
Book 9. Destination Wedding (a novella)
Book 10. Rx Missing (a novel)
Book 11. Hunting Moon (a novel)
Book 12 Terror Mansion (a novella)
Decorah Security Collection (an anthology including Ambushed, Hot and Dangerous, Chained, and Dark Powers)
OFF-WORLD SERIES by Rebecca York
Book 1. Hero's Welcome (an off-world series short story)
Book 2. Nightfall (an off-world series novella)
Book 3. Conquest (an off-world series short story)
Book 4. Assignment Danger (an off-world novella)
Book 5. Christmas Home (an off-world short story)
> Book 6. Firelight Confession (an off-world novella)
Off-World Collection (includes Nightfall, Hero’s Welcome, and Conquest)
PRAISE FOR REBECCA YORK
Rebecca York delivers page-turning suspense.
—Nora Roberts
Rebecca York never fails to deliver. Her strong characterizations, imaginative plots and sensuous love scenes have made fans of thousands of romance, romantic suspense and thriller readers.
—Chassie West
Rebecca York will thrill you with romance, kill you with danger and chill you with the supernatural.
—Patricia Rosemoor
(Rebecca York) is a real luminary of contemporary series romance
—Michael Dirda, The Washington Post Book World
Rebecca York’s writing is fast-paced, suspenseful, and loaded with tension.
—Jayne Ann Krentz
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A New York Times and USA Today Best-Selling Author, Rebecca York is a 2011 recipient of the Romance Writers of America Centennial Award. Her career has focused on romantic suspense, often with paranormal elements.
Her 16 Berkley books and novellas include her nine-book werewolf “Moon” series. KILLING MOON was a launch book for the Berkley Sensation imprint. She has written for Harlequin, Berkley, Dell, Tor, Carina Press, Silhouette, Kensington, Running Press, Tudor, Pageant Books, and Scholastic.
Her many awards include two Rita finalist books. She has two Career Achievement awards from Romantic Times: for Series Romantic Suspense and for Series Romantic Mystery. And her Peregrine Connection series won a Lifetime Achievement Award for Romantic Suspense Series.
Many of her novels have been nominated for or won RT Reviewers Choice awards. In addition, she has won a Prism Award, several New Jersey Romance Writers Golden Leaf awards and numerous other awards.
Contacts
Rebecca York loves to hear from readers!
Web site: http://www.rebeccayork.com
Email: [email protected]
Twitter: @rebeccayork43
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