by Jaycee Clark
The glint of a bloody switchblade hissed right before the sonofabitch pointed it at her neck.
"I don’t want to steal such beauty from the world. But dead, we would be together. Forever."
Christ.
"You-you don’t want to do that," Brayden tried, keeping his voice calm. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ian poised at the entrance of the other hallway just off the stairs. Everything intersected at the head of the staircase.
"Why? Because you want her?" Richard taunted.
Brayden saw the pearl of blood at the tip of the blade as it pricked her skin.
Christian wheezed again, jerking Brayden’s gaze to her. Her eyes fluttered shut and she slumped in Richard’s hold.
Two shots fired, both spinning Richard around. He lost his hold on Christian and Brayden rushed him.
Brayden growled as he flew at the monster.
He hit him, mid torso, the momentum carrying them both back toward the banister.
"Brayden, move!" Ian shouted.
He saw the blade coming and ducked, reached up and grabbed it. For a bleeding man, Richard was strong, stronger than Brayden had given him credit for.
The blade glinted as it wavered between them. "You’re a lowlife sonofabitch," Brayden bit out between his teeth. "It’s time to reap what you sowed." With a prayer and a curse, he used his strength to turn the blade toward Richard. Closer and closer.
The man’s eyes glinted and he smiled. "She will always be mine."
"She was never yours." Brayden shoved his weight against the knife, felt it slide in, nick a rib, and pop the heart. Blood flowed over his hand. "Burn in hell."
He heard the wood crack, felt it give and tried to jerk back.
Richard grinned and locked his hand around Brayden’s wrist.
The railing gave way and Brayden pitched forward.
"Stupid, hotheaded ass," someone said.
Hands jerked him back, grabbed hold of Richard, but the other man slipped and crashed to the hardwood floor below, blood spreading in a dark pool around him.
Brayden turned and looked at his brother. The disguised icy blue eyes were furious. "Don’t ever pull a dumb stunt like that again."
Brayden huffed out a breath. "Thanks."
He turned and rushed to Christian who lay crumpled on the rug, her bloodstained robe sticking to her body.
Gavin was working on her, bending over her, checking her pulse and his watch. He must have come up the back stairs.
Brayden knelt beside her. She was almost gray. Oh, God, please, no. Not after all this. He couldn’t loose her now.
The look on Gavin’s face was serious. Gavin said, "She’s been stabbed twice, has other smaller cuts, lost a lot of blood and has a bruised larynx. Ambulance is on the way and FlightStar is waiting at the local hospital. We’re going to medevac her to Georgetown Memorial."
Brayden sat down and dropped his head. Gently, he leaned over and kissed her cheek.
"I’m sorry, baby. So damn sorry."
Why couldn’t it have been him the bastard went after?
People shuffled and moved around them. He heard his parents, thought he heard his daughter, but none of it registered. All he saw was Christian. All he knew was that he’d failed her again.
EPILOGUE
Christian opened her eyes. The stringent smell of a hospital stung her nose. Then she realized it was the oxygen hose.
The bleep of a monitor pierced through the haze. What was she doing in a hospital?
She turned and saw Brayden sitting by the window, his arms crossed over his chest, dark stubble on his jaw.
Her arm and shoulder throbbed. Licking her lips, she realized she was thirsty.
"C-can...." Only a whisper came out.
Memories slammed back into her. The bathroom. Richard. The knife. The fight. Brayden.
He turned and hurried to her bedside. "You’re okay. Calm down. You’re safe." His hand on her forehead was feather light. She leaned into the comfort.
"You’ve been out for a good while. Scared me to death, though the doctors tell me this is all normal, considering your wounds."
Stabbings.
"Richard?"
Brayden’s face hardened. "You’ll never have to worry about him again."
What did he mean?
"He’s dead. Shot twice."
Well, that was nice to know. A smile caught her off guard. The monster in her life was banished.
"Rest, you should rest." He leaned over and kissed her cheek again. "Don’t try to talk. The doctor said it would be several days before any normal sound came out as long as you don’t push it. Are you thirsty?"
She nodded. A machine hummed beside her.
Sunlight slanted through the window and across her bed.
Water sloshed in a glass, dripped off the bottom and onto her hand as he moved it over toward her. The straw felt awkward, her mouth as dry as sawdust. But the water was wonderful.
Too quickly he took it away. "The nurse said only sips."
She rolled her eyes, or tried too. Suddenly the throbbing in her arm stopped and she felt light and floaty.
"Go back to sleep."
Christian reached out and grabbed his hand. "Don’t leave me," she rasped.
"Never. Never." He sat in the chair beside her, and held her hand.
"I love you," she tried to whisper.
"I love you, too."
Blackness swirled and swept her into a painless oblivion.
* * * *
Ian slid into the car and shut the passenger door. The police had badgered him, but his story was rock solid, even if one of his bullets was in Richard’s upper chest, the other from Morris. All the numbers they called were answered by an answering service for Banockburn Security. Of course, Sean McClean worked for them. And they were sad to hear someone died, but at least the little girl, who he was hired to protect, was all right.
The police had no choice but to buy it. He had to come back for some interviews. He told them fine.
Even went so far as to write them down in a neat black organizer. No one in that department would ever see Sean McClean again.
"Can we get the hell out of here now?" John asked him, his British accent clipped to a point as it often got when he was tired.
"What, didn’t you enjoy your vacation?" Ian asked, looking over at the only man he’d trust his back to.
Well, besides his brothers. But he needed someone in the business to help with this operation, and John was it.
"Oh, definitely." John continued, "Nothing I like more than stings. What, after all, does a beach, a tanned woman, and lots of fruity drinks, have to compare with excitement like this. Blood, lies and bullets. My kind of fun."
They pulled away from the curb.
"All things considered," John continued. "I think that all went rather well. We even managed to cover our arses."
"Went well?" Ian asked him.
"Everyone lived, didn’t they? Too many variables to cover. We try."
"Trying is not good enough."
"Not when it’s our own, is it, boyo?"
The early morning D.C. lights whizzed passed. Silence stretched between them. They were almost to the airport when John spoke again. "Time to get back, she’s already been calling wondering what the hell is taking you so long."
"She’ll wait," Ian added. "We had to finish this. I didn’t want to have to come back later and clean up."
"You could have just ended this much earlier. You knew who the bastard was weeks ago."
He could have, yes.
"You just wanted your brother to have a go at the bloody bugger."
Damn John anyway. "Would you shut up."
"Yeah, it went damn well. God, I love job success."
* * * *
When Christian opened her eyes again, she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
"Grandmiere?" Damn her voice.
"Ah, you’re awake." The old raspy voice, held a hint of French Creole. "Don’t strain
your voice. Your man explained it all to us. Scared us, Joshua showing up with that Quinlan Kinncaid in the wee hours of the morning. Knew right away we’d found you again."
A cool, weathered hand cupped her cheek.
Christian felt the slide of tears.
"Child, don’t cry. Don’t cry. The darkness has passed. All you have now is the light." The hand was as soft as she remembered, the white hair pulled back in a bun, eyes as gray as her own held the wisdom of age. "How we’ve missed you. I knew. I always knew we’d find you one day. And then there was Josh and Quinlan. That man flew down and found us, flew us back up here. Didn’t want your granddad and I, or even your brother, to hear this all on the news."
"I’m sorry," she whispered.
Her grandmother sighed. "Regrets are only good for regrets. Look forwards. Always forwards." She shifted. "I have to tell you, I love your man. Very strong, very honorable, very handsome. He reminds me of your grandfather. That one will last you a lifetime."
Christian nodded and pulled her hand out to hold her grandmother’s.
Her grandmother smiled. "Now, I should tell you the wedding plans we’ve come up with...."
The door opened.
"I’m sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt," Brayden said, pulling her attention around.
"Why, you’re not. Come over here and give me a kiss, young man, then give one to Christian."
Brayden smiled, did as she asked, then stood by the bed.
Christian smiled up at him. "Thank you."
"You’re welcome." He leaned down and kissed her on the mouth.
"Are they still fighting?" Her grandmother asked.
Christian looked to Brayden.
He was glad to see she had color back in her cheeks, but she was still too pale. It would be a long damn time before he didn’t have to know where she was and what she was doing. He held her hand, rubbing the back of it, noting how dry it was. He’d bring her some lotion.
"Dad and your granddad," he answered the question he could see on her face. "Mom and Clara--"
"That is Grandmiere to you," the elderly woman interrupted.
Brayden smiled. "Mom and Grandmiere have been making wedding plans. Your brother and I duked it out, not that I blame Josh."
Her grandmother muttered something about self-blame. Hell yes, he blamed himself. Why wouldn’t he?
If her brother blamed him for Christian getting hurt, that was fine by him. At least they were speaking to each other now. And Joshua Montreaux knew where Brayden stood with the guy’s sister.
"Anyway, Dad and your granddad are fighting over where the wedding will be. You have an opinion?"
She smiled and nodded.
"You do?"
She looked at her grandmother and shared another smile.
Clara’s eyes were as gray as her granddaughter’s. She said, "All Montreaux women wed at Montreaux Meadows. It blesses the union, or so legend goes. You don’t want to refuse a legend, or blessing do you?"
Brayden thought for about five seconds. His mother might not believe in the family curse, but he’d washed Christian’s bloodstains off his hands. "No ma’am. I think a Southern, spring wedding will be wonderful."
Christian shook her head.
"No?" he asked.
"No," she whispered. "No later than Valentine’s day."
He smiled. Fine with him.
"How about on Valentine’s day?"
She nodded and smiled.
Clara stood. "I think I’ll leave you two to iron out details." She patted Christian’s bed. "Don’t worry, I’ll be back."
Brayden waited until the door shut, then he sat on the bed beside her.
"A Valentine’s wedding. Are you sure?" he asked.
"Well, I’m not drunk, and I miss playing house with you."
He smiled. "Do you?"
She nodded and he leaned over and kissed her lips.
"Well, then it is house we shall play."
THE END
Unedited Excerpt from Ghost Cats: The Revenge
By
Coming soon from NCP
Chapter One
The girl was dead.
Lorenzo Craigen looked down at what remained of her and hoped to hell he was wrong. But in his gut he knew he wasn’t.
Sael was back.
And there was no damn reason the son of a bitch should be.
"What do you see?" one of the locals asked him.
Craigen didn’t answer. He tuned the young man out and looked around at the blood-soaked ground.
His gut tightened. This should have been a sacred place and was, once upon a time, long ago, and forgotten my most. The strong scent of pine and clear air was muffled and wrapped in the smell of death.
Cool New Mexico winds blew down off the Sangre de Cristos and he zipped his jacket against the early autumn air.
"Chief Neilson said we should call you in," the young officer continued.
Craigen looked over his shoulder at the earnest and worried face. The nametag read White.
They seemed to get younger, smarter in some ways and completely naïve in others. It was in the still soft features of the officer’s face.
"This your first?" he asked White, turning back to study the ground around what remained of the victim.
"Y-yeah."
Craigen studied the break in the branches and weeds along the ground, all around the victim as if she’d been circled. The grasses were flat. The twigs of bushes were broken until about thigh high on him.
He stood. "You gonna tell the me where you tossed your breakfast so we don’t waste time or money running tests on your puke?"
"Yeah," he said with an edge of belligerence to hide shame.
Craigen walked around the clearing, heard the stream gurgling. Too damn peaceful of a place to have killed her. Or it should have been. Where the water ran off the mountains. Not too far from Sipapu, or any of the many little tourist rest stops along the way.
"Good. My captain reamed my ass for not doing that on my first. It was in a meeting that I remembered that what they were listing was what I’d had for breakfast. Smarter than I was starting out." He stopped and looked over at White. "How the hell did you find her?"
White’s blond brows beetled. He looked like he should be on a poster ad for some designer underwear or some such shit. Kid looked out of place in the black uniform of the Taos Police Department.
"Got a call into the station, said there was a body out here near this mile marker by the stream."
"Man or woman."
"Hell if I know. Janice, the Chief’s secretary answered it." He shrugged. "I live out here and Chief called me to ask me to check it out. I called him, he called you."
And he’d be here shortly, Craigen was sure. Neilson would want this wrapped up quickly, and he had no qualms turning a murder investigation over to the state boys. Fine with Craigen. Neilson had enough to keep him busy by keeping the mayor of a tourist-economized town happy.
"You did good securing the scene, White."
"Thanks."
Craigen walked toward the gurgling brook, watched as the sunlight shot white streams of light off the ripples.
Should have peaceful.
He took a deep breath, and caught the faint whiff he’d thought to never smell again.
Nothing would be peaceful until Sael was caught.
* * * *
Reya hurried into Horizons. "What? What the hell is going on?" She flipped a strand of her long, straight black hair behind her shoulder and dropped her bag by the register area.
Mica sat crying on the stool behind the counter. Charlie leaned over from a display case and whispered,
"Her friend was killed."
She started to say, "Oh is that all?" But thankfully thought better of it. The way Mica had blubbered all over the phone, she’d thought someone had been found dead here in the gallery, or maybe everything had gotten stolen, or perhaps something had happened to Mica herself.
Not to seem insensitive, b
ut live as long as Reya and deaths came and went. She’d lost too many in her life to be truly affected by the inevitable.
However, she could say none of those things. Once, in a time forgotten, Reya would have felt Mica’s pain.
Instead, she walked to the girl and pulled her close. "I’m sorry, Mica. Is there anything I can do?"
Mica shook her head, the short mess spiked and tousled from Mica’s hands running through it. It was the ever-popular bedhead look that Reya would never understand nor like, not that hairstyles mattered at present.
"It was her roommate at the Institute," Charlie whispered.
"Oh, honey." She awkwardly patted the young girl’s back. She wasn’t the best person in these sorts of situations. "Why don’t you take the day off? Tomorrow too, and the next day. As much time as you need."
Charlie nodded. "Yeah, you don’t need to be here."
"But I-I just can’t go back to the dorms. Everyone is so upset and they all want to ask me questions.
Like I know anything. And the policeman said they’d stop by and talk. I’d probably have to answer some more questions." She shuddered.
Reya studied the girl, stepped back and went to get her a cup of coffee. When she returned, Charlie, bedecked in his normal Docker pants and pullover, was cleaning the display cases.
He looked up and rubbed the back of his hand over his short goatee.
Reya handed a cup of coffee to Mica. "I thought you didn’t like your roommate. Is this the same one?
Or was it another?"
School had started several weeks ago. Mica had complained about the new roommate, but Reya didn’t know if that one had been replaced or not. Last year, Mica went through three.
She shook her head. "No, this one was new. Just moved in last week after Holly moved out."
"Oh."
"Her name was Tanna." Mica wiped her eyes again, her face crumpling. "She was really great and we’d already gotten really close, ya know? Same interests and classes. Her mom called here a bit ago and was crying."