by Lori Foster
Mick’s hand flattened on the top of her head, and he shoved her down in the seat. “Stay there!”
The rear windshield exploded, glass flying everywhere. “Dear God!” Del held Mick’s thigh, her face pressed into his side. This couldn’t be happening! She tried to sit up, wanting only to protect Mick.
“Keep down,” Mick barked, again flattening her in the seat. It suddenly hit her who was after them and why.
Del felt another impact, this time to the rear fender of the car, and there was no way to steer out of it. The car swerved off the road, slinging mud and fishtailing, and finally colliding with a scrawny tree, jarring them both hard.
Mick’s head hit the wheel and he slumped.
“Mick!” She screamed his name, scrambling to get her seat belt off, to reach him. Her heart leaped into her throat, her vision clouded with fear. Before she could reach him her door was jerked open. The thunderous roar of the storm intruded, along with a spray of rain and turbulent air. Hard hands grabbed her, yanking her back. She fought them, seeing the trickle of blood on Mick’s forehead, the stillness in his body.
He needed help, a hospital! But already her feet were being dragged through the mud, and no matter how she fought, she couldn’t escape. The hands holding her only tightened with bruising force.
Someone grabbed her hair and wrenched her head back. “Do you want me to go back and put a bullet in him to make sure he’s dead?”
That voice was rough, familiar, and Del froze, choking on her terror. “No.”
“Then come along and be quiet.”
A hard shove landed her facedown in the front seat of the other car, and she barely had time to right herself before two men squeezed in around her. The battered car had been left running, idling roughly. The interior smelled of smoke and stale liquor. It was dirty, cluttered.
The man on her right pressed a gun to her ribs, hard enough to make her groan, and with enough intent to scare her witless. She recognized them as the same men from the jewelry store—the men who wanted her dead.
“What do you want?” she asked around her fear, wanting, needing Mick. Dear God, please let him be all right.
“Shut up.”
The car lurched away, tires squealing, zigzagging with a distinct lack of caution for the weather and road conditions. Wet tendrils of hair stuck to Del’s face and throat. She swiped them aside and twisted to see Mick’s car as they made a screeching U-turn and sped away. Right before he was out of view, she could have sworn she saw him lift his head, but it was hard to tell with the rain streaking the dirty windows and the strobing effects of the electrical storm.
Del closed her eyes on another silent prayer. Mick had to be okay. The gun prodded her when they made a sharp turn, keeping her own danger in acute perspective. She felt icy cold inside and out, and couldn’t stop the racking shakes that made her teeth chatter and her head hurt.
Keep them talking, she thought. “How did you know where to ambush us?” she asked.
Smirking, the man lifted his hand to his head, finger and thumb extended as if it were a phone. “This is Faradon,” he mimicked. “We need you to come to the station.”
Her stomach roiled. “You had us bugged again?” Had these disgusting men heard Mick’s heartfelt admissions about his past? She couldn’t bear it.
“Nope. I didn’t overhear the call, I made the call. Your protector was rather accommodating, sharing his home number with Faradon and asking him to leave any messages concerning the robbery on his message machine. He didn’t want you to know he was a cop, you see, but he still wanted to stick his nose where it didn’t belong. The son of a bitch was determined to get hold of us.” He shrugged. “He called his house and took his messages that way, and you went on in blissful ignorance, thinking you screwed a PI, not a cop.”
Reality sank in. One more lie Mick had told. Strangely enough, she felt more concern for his guilt, if he should find out, than she did for the lie. She understood him. She knew why he hadn’t confided in her. She’d meant it when she’d said she forgave him for that. “You got Faradon’s name and Mick’s number from a call he made at my place.”
“That’s right. So, no, Faradon isn’t expecting you. He won’t send out the cavalry.”
Del looked through the mud-spattered windshield and saw they were headed toward the river. Not the Ohio—no, that would be too obvious. This was a much smaller, much dirtier river. But it was deep. And fast. Mostly isolated excepted for the occasional fisherman. But not today. Today the river was deserted.
And she knew why they were going there.
Do not get hysterical, she told herself, even as her breath hitched and her lungs constricted. She could smell the two of them in the stuffy, steamy interior of the car. She could smell her own fear and their excitement. Bile rose in her throat.
They pulled off the main road and drove through a patch of weeds and scrub. A ramshackle outbuilding sat to their right, and a long wooden pier, probably private, stretched along the shore, then angled out into deeper water. The car bumped onto it, tires thumping along the uneven, weather-worn boards.
Though they moved slowly now, edging nearer and nearer to the end of the dock, Del felt time speeding past her. A cabin cruiser docked to their right blocked them from view of the road.
Over the river, lightning danced, temporarily illuminating the sky and emphasizing the blackness of the deep, churning water. They meant to drown her, to kill her and sink the awful, dirty car with her inside it.
The driver laughed, reaching for her upper thigh and giving her a lecherous squeeze. “It’s a shame we have to end this so quickly,” he sneered. “Watching you with that cop makes me want to taste you myself.”
Del slugged him.
She didn’t think about it, didn’t weigh the wisdom with the folly. She simply snapped, then reacted on instinct. Using a technique she’d learned in self-defense classes, she brought her elbow up and back. Hard, fast. Right into his face.
“Fucking bitch.” The driver grabbed for his bleeding nose and temporarily lost control of the car. The other man grabbed Del by the neck, squeezing as he shouted orders.
In that single moment of chaos, everything became clear for Del, and she knew what to do.
She ignored the fist clamped around her throat, making it impossible for her to draw air, and instead put her efforts into a hard shove on the driver. He lost his balance, and Del wedged her foot down to the floorboards. She found the gas pedal and jammed down.
With a loud roar of the engine, the car lurched forward. The driver shouted, gripping the wheel, but Del had clamped both hands on it. They wrestled, but he sputtered blood and went blind with panic.
The hand at her throat let go to grab her shoulder. It felt like her arm had been wrenched from the socket—but it was too late. The old car went airborne off the far end of the dock, suspending time and sound and reality, then dumped hard into the icy river with an enormous splash. Hissing and sputtering, the car tipped, engine first, and began sinking.
Both men forgot about Del in their panic. They pounded at the windows, screamed as the blackness engulfed them and water began rushing in.
Del concentrated on regaining her breath. Her throat felt crushed; it hurt to swallow, even to breathe, but she did it, slow, deep. The gun had dropped onto the seat beside her, forgotten. She tucked it into her pocket. The man to her right got the window open, and a great gush of frigid river water knocked him backward into Del. His elbow caught her shoulder, his foot dug into her thigh as he scrambled frantically to get to the window again, bent only on escaping the car.
On her knees so that her head stayed in the pocket of air inside the car, Del inhaled deeply, then slithered to the back seat. Water closed over her face just as her fingers found the window handle.
She thought of Mick, thought of everything she wanted
to tell him, and did what she had to do.
* * *
Mick wiped blood from his face with one shaking hand and maneuvered the slippery, winding road with the other.
After smacking his head on the steering wheel, he’d come to in enough time to see the car leaving with Delilah—but not in enough time to stop them.
Going seventy miles an hour to diminish their lead, he’d called for backup. His actions had been by rote, because both his mind and his heart stalled the second he’d realized what had happened.
He reached the river just in time to see the car sail off the dock and hit the churning water with crunching force. Terror blinded him. He wasn’t aware of slamming on his brakes. He wasn’t aware of the other police cars pulling up at the same time, sirens blaring and lights flashing.
He threw open his car door and hit the ground running, his only thought to get to Delilah. The storm surrounded him, lashing his face, making his feet slip in the wet weeds and slimy mud. Just before he reached the end of the dock, he got tackled hard and then held down. He fought the restraining hands without thought, hitting someone, kicking another.
“No, goddamn it,” Faradon shouted when Mick almost wrenched loose. “Hold him!”
Mick barely heard. Three men gripped him, twisting his arms, making his wounded shoulder burn like fire, but it was nothing compared to the agony in his heart.
They jerked him to his feet, and all around him men shouted orders, while sirens continued to squeal and blue lights competed with the white flashes of the storm.
Numb, Mick continued to strain against the arms holding him. Faradon stepped up close. “We have a team preparing,” he said not two inches from Mick’s face. “Dawson, do you hear me? They’ll be in the water in ten minutes tops.”
Mick shook his head. In ten minutes she would be dead.
With renewed strength he lurched forward, taking the men by surprise. They lost their footing on the slippery, weathered boards and their holds loosened. Mick broke free.
He’d taken two running steps when someone shouted, “Look!”
A spotlight searching the surface of the water reflected off Delilah’s inky-black hair. She sputtered, coughed. Mick went into the water in a clean dive. With several hard fast strokes, he reached her.
When he closed his hands around her, she at first fought him.
“It’s all right, baby,” he said, spitting dirty water, “it’s me.”
“Mick?” She dog-paddled, swallowed some of the water and choked, then cried, “Mick!”
She clung to him. Mick felt so weak it was all he could do to drag in air. Then several men surrounded them, catching them both and pulling them to the docks.
He hoisted Delilah up first. Faradon himself leaned down. “Give me your hands, miss,” he said, and Delilah reached upward.
Sloshing, shivering, she landed on the dock, and someone rushed to put several blankets around her.
“M-M-Mick?”
He heard the shivering alarm, the need, and helped to drag himself out. Officers tried to cover him, too, but he wanted only Delilah. Weaving on her feet, she reached for him, and then he had her, tight in his arms where she damn well belonged and where she’d damn well stay.
He heard her crying, and his knees went weak. He tangled his hands in her wet hair, knowing he was too rough, but unable to temper his hold. “I’ve got you,” he said gruffly, and crushed her to him.
“Mick, c’mon, man,” said a gentle voice. “Let’s get her out of the rain.”
As if from far away, Mick heard Faradon speaking to him. He wrapped Delilah closer and allowed them both to be led to the outbuilding. It was dry inside, that was the best to be said for it.
Faradon stood there, looking slightly embarrassed. “We’re, uh, fetching some dry clothes.”
Mick gulped air, swallowed choking emotions and a love so rich he couldn’t bear it. Delilah clung to him, and he didn’t know if he’d survive the fear of thinking he’d lost her. He lifted his head. “The bastards who took her?”
“We’re looking for them. If they surface, we’ll fish them out. If not, we’ll start diving until we find them.”
Delilah struggled for a moment, and Mick loosened his hold.
“Take this,” she said, digging a gun out of her baggy jeans pocket. She held it out to Faradon, and he carefully accepted it.
“You disarmed them?” he asked, his voice heavy with awe.
Mick pressed her face to his shoulder. “She can explain to you later.”
Faradon didn’t look like he wanted to wait until later, but then a cop wearing a slicker stepped into the doorway. He held out a bundle of clothes, wrapped in another slicker, then nodded and excused himself.
Mick said to Faradon, “Get out. And don’t let anyone else in.”
Half grinning, shaking his head, Faradon said, “Right.”
The door shut behind the detective, and Mick forced himself to loosen his arms from around Delilah. The small building was dim, crowded with boat trailers, ski equipment, tools. Mick bent, touched his nose to hers and whispered, “Let me get you dry, okay?”
She nodded. “I’m all right now.”
“I know you are.” He strangled on the words and had to stop, had to draw in a shaky breath. His hands trembled as he stripped away her sodden blankets and started to work on the fastening of her loose jeans.
“I lost my shoes in the river,” she said.
Mick wondered if she was in shock. He needed to get her warm and dry, needed to get her to a hospital.
He needed... Swallowing hard this time didn’t help. He hated it, hated himself, but tears clogged his throat. He felt unmanned, vulnerable.
Without the gentleness that he intended, he removed her clothes and turned to rummage through the bundle inside the slicker. He found a loose jacket, two more blankets.
“Lift your arms,” he murmured, and she obliged. The jacket, apparently donated by one of the officers milling around outside, hung to her knees. Mick shook out another blanket, this one thankfully dry, and draped it over her.
Delilah clutched the edges together and said, “It’s not really cold. I mean, it must be eighty-five outside. I’m just chilled....” Her teeth chattered, making her explanations difficult.
“Shh,” Mick said, and stripped off his own shirt so he wouldn’t get her wet. There was nothing he could do about his pants. He sure as hell wasn’t going to run around bare-assed. He pulled one slicker over Delilah’s head, then another over his own. “Let’s get you to the hospital so you can be checked over,” he said, deliberately concentrating on only one thing at a time.
Her fingers clutched at his arm, gripping the slicker with surprising force. “Mick, I don’t...I don’t want to go back out there yet.”
His heart hit his stomach with her trembling words. He turned to her, opened his arms.
And she launched herself into him. “I was so—so scared,” she said on a wail.
Mick wanted to absorb her into himself, to surround her always and keep her from ever being hurt again. Those damn tears got him again, and he squeezed her tighter, assuring himself that he had her, that she was okay.
Rain drummed on the metal roof of the shed and wind howled through every crack and crevice in the aged boards.
Then Delilah said something that made his knees give out. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“What?”
She sniffed, shook her head while tears mingled with the wetness on her cheeks. Her words were broken, scattered and rushed. “I saw the blood on your forehead and I thought you might be dead or dying. You’ve already been hurt so much because of me.” She leaned back to gently touch his face. “Are you all right? Truly?”
Mick dropped to his knees and stared up at Delilah, not caring that he cried, having
totally forgotten about his own cut head. “You almost died,” he groaned.
“Oh no. I knew what I was doing.” She smoothed his sodden hair, her hand tender, loving. “I was afraid at first. Terrified really. But I kept thinking about you. I kept thinking what if I survived and you didn’t? When I realized it was you in the river with me, I went weak. I was...well, I was doing fine until then.”
Mick pressed his face into her belly. The chill had left her body and she felt warm, smelled musky and damp, and he knew he couldn’t stand it, knew he was going to embarrass himself.
He held her tighter but it didn’t help.
Faradon rapped at the door. “You two about done changing?”
“Go away!” Delilah yelled impatiently. “We’ll be out in a minute.”
Faradon grumbled something, but he didn’t open the door.
Mick felt her cool hands cup his face, but he couldn’t let her go, couldn’t unclench his muscles. He hated feeling like this, powerless and weak and... He opened his hands on her behind and squeezed her closer, grinding his face into her, trying to absorb her.
He heard Delilah’s smile as she said, “I love you, Mick Dawson. More than anyone or anything, now and forever.”
He drew a shuddering breath and rubbed his face over her belly, on her borrowed blanket, drying his eyes and attempting to regain control. He had to get hold of himself. He had to...
“Tell me you love me, too,” she whispered.
“I do,” he said without hesitation. Only a trace of tears remained in his raw voice, not that he gave a damn. Delilah deserved to know everything about him.
“You do?” she asked.
“So much it hurts.”
“I don’t want you to hurt.”
“Then don’t ever leave me.”
“Never.” She slipped to her knees in front of him, still cupping his face. She kissed him, then kissed him again. She even smiled. “Will you stop calling me Delilah and call me Del?”