Wild Hawk

by Justine Davis, Justine Dare

  “You can’t be serious. You’re just going to walk out of here? I can identify you!”

  He looked back over his shoulder at her. “Foolish girl, to point that out. Fortunately, I’m not worried. The police will never find me. But just to be sure, let me point out that if you go to them, I will find you, and you will wish I had killed you here by the time I’m finished.”

  Kendall fought letting him see the shudder that gripped her.

  “But I’m afraid I can’t have you alerting the neighbors, now can I?”

  He yanked open a drawer and lifted out the gray scarf she’d tied her hair with the other day. He grabbed her chin and pressed a hand on her forehead, forcing her mouth open. He stuffed the scarf he’d wadded up into her mouth, effectively gagging her. She tried to spit it out, but the cloth clung, drying her mouth. She watched helplessly as he shoved the weapon into a holster under his left arm, then turned and walked into the bathroom. She could see a small slice of his reflection in the wall mirror. His movements puzzled her for a moment until she remembered the small, louvered window there, at the back of the building. Then she heard the faint clink of glass, and knew he was going to go out that way, instead of the front, where Jason could see him.

  Jason.

  With a jerky, squirming effort, she edged the chair around until she could nudge at the curtain with her head. It took her a couple of tries, but finally she got beneath it enough to look out through the darkness and across the street, to where the gray coupe sat in the light cast from the store windows.

  Jason was gone.

  She heard a scrambling sound, and realized the killer was climbing up onto the counter, ready to make his exit. She saw his leg, from the knee down, in the mirror as he lifted it over the sill.

  In the same instant that she heard an earsplitting shout from behind the building, she saw a sudden flurry of legs and arms in the mirror, followed by a loud thud and a piercing curse as a heavy weight hit the floor. The outside door slammed open once more, and a man hurtled into the room.

  Jason.

  He spotted her and took a step toward her.

  “Nmph!”

  She shook her head, then jerked it toward the back of the room. There was the sound of a step on the tile floor as the killer regained his feet.

  Jason never hesitated. He spun and headed that way. Kendall tried to shout a warning about the gun. The scarf muffled her voice beyond understanding. She would have to pray he’d heard her say it on the phone.

  If he had, he wasn’t acting like it. He went straight for the blond man, who had just appeared in the doorway, looking a little dazed from his fall. Jason tackled him low and hard. They bounced off the doorjamb with a thud that made Kendall wince. They went down. The blond wasn’t holding the weapon, and Kendall prayed he wouldn’t be able to get to it.

  Desperately she began to claw at her bonds. The phone cord was tight, far too tight, but surely there was enough give in the panty hose that bound her legs . . .

  She heard another muffled thud. Someone grunted in pain. She saw Jason jab, fast and hard, with his right hand. The blow took the blond in the belly. She heard another grunt. They rolled out of her line of sight. She could only hear the flurry of thuds and blows. She heard someone curse. She thought it was Jason. Then he was on his feet. But the blond came at him, driving his head hard into Jason. Jason staggered back.

  Kendall squirmed, twisting her feet, pulling with every bit of strength she had. The nylon rubbed her skin raw, but she never stopped.

  She heard a sickening sound of flesh striking flesh, again and again and again. It went on and on, brutal, dirty, and ugly, and she knew she was seeing just how well Jason had learned to fight on those mean streets.

  She continued to struggle with her bonds, until the sound of blows stopped. She looked up to see Jason beneath the killer now, the blonde’s hands at his throat. Jason’s hands came up to grab at the blonde’s arms, but his grip seemed unshakable. She heard an awful, rasping sound. Jason, trying to breathe. She pulled harder at her bonds.

  Jason bucked beneath the deadly pressure. His body contorted, twisted, trying to free itself of its killer. Tears brimmed in Kendall’s eyes as she watched him fight. She heard a choking sound. Jason’s hands seemed to flail uselessly at the blonde’s. Then they fell limply to his chest, as if he’d lost consciousness.

  “No!” She screamed it, but it was muffled by the scarf. On a surge of terror-driven strength, her left foot came free of the makeshift rope.

  The killer glanced at her. For only a split second. It was enough; Jason had been feigning unconsciousness. He locked his hands together and drove straight up at the blonde’s chin. Kendall heard the blow as the man’s head snapped back. Jason hit him again. Then again, this time from the side, still with the hammering force of both hands. The killer reeled to one side, off balance. In an instant Jason was out from under him.

  Jason was on his knees, looking dazed as he gasped for air. Blood ran down the side of his face. The blond, barely three feet in front of her now, was weaving slightly, stunned by Jason’s blows. But Kendall saw his right hand move, rather unsteadily, toward his left side.

  The gun.

  Kendall struggled and managed to free her right foot as well. It cost her; the chair slid up against the wall, pinning her still bound arms and hands in a painful trap. And the table was in front of her, too close, cramping her so that she couldn’t maneuver her body to stand even if she could get free.

  The blond reached under his jacket. She tried to scream a warning, but the gag nearly choked her. But as if he’d understood, Jason moved. He got his feet under him, and she could see that he was going to launch himself at the killer.

  There was no time. Jason would die. Trying to rescue her.

  She saw the glint of silver metal in the killer’s hand. Desperately she leaned back in the chair and brought her feet up. With a strength driven by her terror for Jason, she shoved the table as hard as she could with both her feet. It caught the blond square in the back. He yelled, falling forward.

  In the same instant Jason lunged at him. The gun went off. Kendall screamed as the shot echoed in the room. Both men went to the floor.

  There was a shout from the open front door, but Kendall couldn’t look away from the two men on the floor. Jason moved, rolling clear of the blond, and Kendall breathed again. Then he brought his knee down, hard, on the wrist of the hand that held the gun. Kendall could have sworn she heard the snapping of bone. The killer cursed, fervently. Then Jason had the gun in his hand.

  “Son of a bitch.”

  George Alton’s breathless voice rang with an odd reverence, and more than a touch of disappointment, apparently at having missed the fight. Kendall stared at him, realizing it must have been him she’d heard shout from behind the bathroom. He’d probably shoved the killer back through the window, she thought. And then had to run all the way back around the building, which would account for his breathlessness.

  “My sentiments exactly,” Jason said, his voice still sounding raspy. He stood up, slowly, then handed the gun rather gingerly to George, who took it with an easy familiarity. “Take him somewhere, will you?”

  George nodded. “With pleasure,” he said, training the weapon on the man with deadly efficiency. Kendall watched them go, trying to stop shaking. Then, stepping over the table she’d used as a weapon, Jason came to her, gently prying the scarf out of her mouth.

  “God, Jason,” she said.

  “It’s okay, honey,” he said as he moved the chair out from the wall and began to untie her. “Thanks to you.”

  “I didn’t know what else to do, I knew he had the gun, and I couldn’t warn you, and he—”

  “Sshhh,” he said as he released the last bond and helped her stand. “It’s all right. You did fine. You did great. I would have been
dead if you hadn’t hit him with that table. He would have had me dead center.”

  His arms came around her and she sagged against him. He held her close, and for the moment, just for the moment, she let him, and let herself believe.

  “He was going to kill you,” she said shakily.

  “I know.”

  “Alice called him, and told him to—”

  “I know.”

  She tilted her head back. “How . . . ?”

  “Whitewood, believe it or not.”

  She stared at him. “Darren?”

  “He decided to switch sides when he saw which way the wind was blowing.”

  “Oh.”

  She sighed. Her brief moment of illusion was over. She drew herself up, relieving him of any of her weight. It was time she got back to reality.

  “Congratulations, Jason. It seems you got what you wanted.”

  He didn’t let go of her. “I hope so. I hope it’s not too late.”

  She drew back, giving him a puzzled look. “But he said you’d won—”

  “I did. But not how you think.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I . . . gave it back to her.”

  Kendall’s eyes widened. “What?”

  Jason’s mouth twisted, as if he was embarrassed. “I told her . . . what my position was. What I could do to Hawk. And her. And then . . . I didn’t do it.”

  She stared at him. “You gave it back? To Alice?”

  “I figured there’s nothing on earth she’d hate more than being obligated . . . to me.”

  Kendall drew in a quick breath. She would never have expected Jason to see that. “You’re right. She would hate that more than anything.”

  “So much she couldn’t stand it. So she turned the beast loose. I’m sorry, Kendall. I should have realized she wouldn’t take it and give up.”

  “That doesn’t matter,” Kendall said. “But . . . why? You worked all your life for this.”

  “I . . . couldn’t do it. You were right. You were right about everything. There’s so much more to the Hawks than just Aaron, and Hawk Industries. There’s Joshua, and Jenna, and Matthew . . . all of them. They’re the reason the Hawk line should go on.”

  Kendall went very still. “Go on?”

  “I’m going to take the name, Kendall. Not for Aaron. But for Joshua. And all the others who fought for it, all those centuries.”

  “Jason—”

  “Wait. Please. Let me get this out. I don’t think I . . . have much longer.”

  So he was leaving. So much for her silly hopes. She lowered her gaze, unable to look at him. But it didn’t seem to stop him from speaking.

  “You were right about . . . me, too. It didn’t matter that I’d never known my father, I was still just like him. I saw myself, winding up just like him. Like you said . . . dying cold and alone and full of regrets.”

  She did look at him then. And what she saw in his eyes stunned her; she’d never seen such raw emotional pain before.

  “Jason,” she began.

  He shook his head. “Don’t. Please. Let me . . .” He took a deep, shuddering breath. He swayed slightly, then steadied himself. “Tonight . . . at that board meeting . . . I just stood there, thinking about you, remembering you walking away from me . . . and how much I’d hurt you. I used you, and told myself I could walk away. I denied everything you made me feel, because . . . because I was too damned scared to admit it was real. I felt like that kid again, lost, in way over my head. God, I’m so sorry, Kendall.”

  She didn’t want to hear this. Didn’t want to hear him apologize and then walk away. But he wouldn’t let her look away this time. This time he held her chin up with one hand, gently but inexorably. He’d apparently brushed at the cut on his cheek; his fingers were bloody.

  “I think I understand my father a little now. I don’t think I can ever forgive him, but . . . perhaps someday I’ll thank him. If I learned the lesson he taught me in time.”

  “Lesson?”

  “He lost the only woman he ever loved, because he didn’t have the guts to do what it took to keep her. Well I do. What will it take, Kendall? I’d offer to give you Hawk, but I already gave it away. And you wouldn’t take it anyway, would you? I’ve learned that much, at least.”

  “Jason,” she said, her mind reeling at what he seemed to be saying.

  “So what will it take? You want the chance to hurt me like I hurt you? I’ll give it to you. You want me to tell you every day what a damned stupid fool I am? I’ll do it. You want me to crawl? Beg? I’ll do that, too. For years, if that’s what it takes. I know I have a hell of a lot to make up for.”

  He swayed again, rather severely, and Kendall’s brows lowered.

  “Jason? What—”

  “I think I’d better get this said,” he muttered. “I love you.”

  Kendall gasped. Joy leapt in her, but it was a wary joy, uncertain; there had been far too many emotional ups and downs packed into the past few days for her to assume anything.

  “I know you probably don’t believe it,” he said, his words seeming to come in a hurry now, “and I don’t blame you . . . but I do. And I have . . . I think since that first time you faced me down.” His mouth twisted. “Or since you made that awful Grimm joke, I’m not sure.”

  Despite herself, Kendall smiled.

  “George . . .” He faltered, and Kendall’s smile faded as she noticed sweat beading up on his face. Was it that hard, to tell her this? “George seems to think you . . . love me. I told him he was crazy, you couldn’t. Not anymore. Not after I . . . almost got you killed.”

  “After . . . what? You didn’t do this. Alice did.”

  He shook his head. “She wouldn’t have even tried, if I hadn’t . . . used the will to distract her from what I was really doing.”

  “She would have,” Kendall corrected him, “because I would have pursued the will whether you did or not.”

  For a long moment he just looked at her. That raw pain still showed in his eyes, but he was looking very strained as well, and almost frighteningly pale.

  “Was he crazy, Kendall? When I called him for help, he said he would, but only for your sake . . . and because you’d be . . . unhappy if I ended up dead. I told him . . . you’d probably celebrate instead.”

  “Oh, Jason . . .”

  He closed his eyes for a moment and seemed to wince. He wobbled on his feet, and Kendall at last began to realize that something was very wrong.

  “Jason!”

  His eyes snapped open. “I love you,” he said again, urgently. And then he slid slowly down to the floor. And Kendall realized that the blood on his hand wasn’t from his face at all, but from the spreading stain on his left side. And only then did she remember the shot.

  “YEAH, HE WAS pretty rough on you, girl. But no rougher than Aaron was, I don’t think. And with a lot more justification. I believe he loves you. You’re just going to have to teach him what that means. I don’t think he’s ever really known. Of course, I’m not telling you what to believe, just what I think.”

  Kendall looked at George and sighed. In an outpouring that had amazed her, she’d told the kindly man everything. Well, almost everything. She’d held back some of the more intimate details, but she got the feeling the man had guessed most of those, too.

  “Besides,” the man added, “he took that bullet because he thought it was your life that was in danger. And he wouldn’t go down until he told you he loved you. That’s a pretty explicit declaration, I’d say.”

  “I know.”

  “And if you’d heard him, when he called me . . . I tried to get him to wait until I got some help rounded up from the department, but he wasn’t having any. He said it would take too damned long to convince them, and you could
be dead by then. And that he wanted you alive to hate him.”

  Kendall blinked. “What?”

  “You heard me. He said he loved you, but you hated him, but that was all right, as long as you were alive to do it.”

  God, that sounded so like Jason. She could almost hear it. She sank back in the hospital waiting-room chair, feeling like she’d been here for days. Charles Wellford had, thankfully, arrived from Berlin and taken all the loose ends out of her weary hands. They hadn’t identified the killer yet, but they would, and Alice hadn’t been arrested, but Wellford promised he’d see to it. George had put in a word with some friends to make sure Alice was watched, in case she tried to leave.

  And Jason lay in that hospital room, with a bullet wound in his side, because he’d been afraid she’d be killed if he waited for help. Could there be, as George had said, a more explicit declaration of love?

  She’d wondered if Jason could ever change, could ever learn to trust, to love. But he’d turned his back on what he’d planned for over half his life, because he’d come to believe she was right. He’d trusted in what she’d said. And changed because of it.

  And he’d told her he loved her.

  “Ms. Chase?” She looked up as the harried emergency-room nurse leaned into the room. “You can see him now,” the young man said, pointing behind him. “He’s in cubicle three.”

  “Thank you.”

  She followed the nurse’s direction. The bed Jason was in was slightly raised, he was attached to a couple of monitors, and an IV ran down to his left arm. His eyes were closed, and she stood there for a moment, just looking at him. They’d told her the damage was relatively minor, all soft tissue, that it had been blood loss that had caused his collapse. And when the doctor had found out how long he’d been on his feet after he’d been shot, he had shaken his head, saying he hoped whatever he’d been doing was worth it.