Gil walked over, grasping her left elbow. “Take it slow.”
Kai wanted to feel in control again. Gil’s fingers were warm and firm, not hurting. Her bare feet met the cool tiles of the floor. Straightening, she kept her other hand on the bed, waiting to see if the dizziness assailed her. It did not. “I’m going to walk to the bathroom,” she said, gesturing toward the opened door. To her surprise, her legs were steady. They were sore as hell and she got the first look at all the colorful bruises over them as she walked slowly to the entrance.
“Hey,” she murmured, risking a smile up at him, “not bad, huh?”
“Don’t get too frisky,” Gil rumbled, releasing her elbow. “Jordana said forty-eight hours.”
Kai saw the rage he held disappear from his eyes. Gil was good at hiding things he didn’t want her to see, but that was the operator coming out in him. Instead, he gave her a tender look, one corner of his mouth crooking. Her heart swelled with such love for him. If only they could go home right now to his condo, but she knew he had two days before he could move into it. And she’d move in with him, no question.
When she emerged later, Gil got up and walked over, cupping her elbow. “I’m okay,” she assured him. “Do I have any clothes here, Gil?”
“Yes,” he said, moving to the small closet. “Cat brought you a fresh set of clothes and your leather shoes.”
“Bless her heart,” Kai murmured, walking over to it. Gil opened it and handed her the clothing, a pair of jeans, a red tank top, socks, a bra and panties.
“I can dress you if you want?” Gil said with a slow smile, holding her gaze.
Heat flooded her, feeling wonderful, dissolving the fear inside her. She held the clothes in her hands and said, “I’ll use the bathroom. I’m in no shape to do much of anything.”
He reached out, caressing her cheek. “I know that, Dove. Just trying to make you feel a little better, letting you know you look beautiful to me.”
Heat spread from her neck up into her face as she held his dark, hungry gaze. “Oh, sure,” she joked lamely. “I’m so bruised up, I look awful.”
“Bruises go away,” he rasped. He patted her butt. “Go get dressed. Your tray of food will probably arrive soon.”
By the time she was dressed, Kai felt much better. She didn’t like hospitals. At all. And sure enough, there was the dinner tray on the rolling table waiting for her. She sat on one edge of the bed and Gil on the other side of it. There were some thick slabs of beef pot roast with gravy, mashed potatoes and green beans. There was chocolate pudding for dessert.
Gil had cut up the meat and handed her the fork. He used the spoon and they ate in silence, quickly wolfing down all the food. When they finished, Jordana dropped in.
“Hey, you’re looking surprisingly good,” she told Kai. “I was coming in to see how you were and if you were doing well, I was going to release you from the hospital.”
Kai smiled a little and touched her jeans. “I’m already dressed to leave, believe me.”
Jordana grinned as Gil pushed the tray aside so she could check Kai out. “Yes, well, I don’t know anyone who loves coming to a hospital. Not on anyone’s list of top ten things to do,” she said, and chuckled as she took the stethoscope from around her neck and listened to Kai’s heart and then her lungs. And one more look into her eyes to insure her pupils were still equal, which they were.
“Okay,” she said, “you’re free to go. I do want to see you in two days at my clinic. I’ll have my receptionist ring you for an appointment.”
“Great,” Kai said, relief obvious in her voice. “Thanks for everything, Jordana.” She reached out, squeezing her hand.
“You’re more than welcome. Now, take it easy the next couple of days. No heavy lifting. No nothing but sitting, maybe washing some dishes or cooking, but light work.”
“Light, it is,” Kai promised. “I’m so stiff and bruised up I really don’t want to be twisting around like a pretzel.”
Jordana laughed and opened the door. “Okay, see you two later…”
Gil had gotten the small suitcase Cat had brought earlier and put what few things Kai had into it. “Ready to go to the ranch?”
Was she ever. Sliding off the bed and waiting to see if dizziness struck, she whispered, “I sure wish you had your condo, Gil.”
He lifted his head and nodded. “Makes two of us, Dove.”
“I’m going to wish I could be in your arms tonight.” Because it would make her feel safe. She would have drowned if not for his quick rescue of her.
Gil closed the suitcase. “I know. But two days from now, you’ll be where you belong—with me, in bed.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHUCK HARPER JERKED AWAKE. Momentarily disoriented because he was sleeping so deeply, his heart pounded violently in his chest, as if he was under attack. Lying on his back, he quickly rose on his elbows, looking around his large master bedroom. It was new-moon time and it was utterly dark. As his eyes adjusted, his heart thudding heavily in his chest, he saw nothing. Yet, he felt under attack. He started to sit up, but something had pinned his legs down.
What the hell?
Reaching for the lamp on the bed stand, he turned it on, scowling. Looking at where his legs were positioned beneath the covers, he gasped. There, between his legs a large hunting knife was buried to its hilt, capturing all the blankets and sheet, pinning his legs so he couldn’t move easily. Jerking his legs up, scrambling toward the headboard, his eyes widened with shock.
There, beneath the knife was a note kept in place because the blade had pierced it. Confused, suddenly terrorized, he jerked a look around his room. Instantly, he opened the door to the bed stand, hauling out his Glock 19, cocking it, holding it up, afraid that the intruder who had done this was still in his room.
Everything was quiet.
Nothing moved.
Breathing raggedly, Chuck leaped out of bed, dressed only in a pair of pajama bottoms. Now, he was scared. His gaze shot to the two windows in the room. They were closed. He went to the door of his bedroom and it was closed. He never locked it at night. Warily, he jerked it open, the Glock up and ready to fire. The hallway was dark and quiet. His heart felt as if it was going to leap out of his chest.
He didn’t dare call the police. No, he didn’t want anything to do with them. He knew he was under their scrutiny because he had certain trucks at certain times carrying drugs on board them.
Shit!
What the hell was going on? He flipped on the light. The hall was empty. All he could hear was a faint rush of wind outside the windows from time to time. Shakily wiping his mouth, he knew he had to check every room in the condo. The person who did this could still be here, waiting for him. His fingers were damp and slipping around the grip of the Glock as he tiptoed down the hall. His hearing was keyed for the slightest noise that was out of place. Sweat had popped out on his deeply wrinkled brow. He could feel it trailing down his temples as he cleared one room after the other. All were empty on the second floor where his bedroom was.
He moved as silently as he could on his bare feet to the top of the wooden stairs that led to the first floor. He turned on the light so it flooded the open-concept living room and kitchen. Glock in both hands, Chuck tried to ferret out the intruder, who might be below.
Nothing.
Dammit! Now Harper wished he had an assault rifle on hand. They were all hidden at the trucking terminal where no one could find them. Breathing as if he’d run miles, he slowly crept down the stairs, tense and frightened. Forcing himself, he took the creaking stairs slowly. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he quickly tried the front door, which was always locked at night.
The door opened!
Gasping, Chuck hauled the door open. Someone had slipped into his condo through this door! Now he wanted to call the police, but he didn’t dare.
Wiping his mouth, the cold air rushing past him, he noticed the porch light, which was always on, was out. Aggravated, he flipped the
switch from the inside once again. It wouldn’t work! Upon closer inspection, he found the bulb had been broken. Looking down at the walk, he saw shards of glitter beneath the light flooding out into the yard.
Frightened, he slammed the door and locked it.
He had to investigate the first floor and he quickly did that, finding no one in the house. Further, the alarm system, which was massive, had been disabled in the pantry where it was located. Shakily, he set the Glock on the granite island, pushing his hands through his sweaty hair. Feeling like a primitive animal that was being watched by a bigger predator he couldn’t find, he grabbed a drink of water from the sink, his mind whirling with questions.
Who had done this?
Taking the stairs two at a time, Chuck ran back down the hall to his bedroom. The light clearly showed the huge hunting knife stuck into his bed, the note around it.
Staring at it, Chuck wondered why the hell he hadn’t heard anything. The intruder had jimmied the front door, come up the stairs, slipped unheard into his room and had put that paper on the bed between his legs as he slept. Not only that, the unknown assailant had pushed the heavy knife through all the bedding and through that paper and deep into the mattress.
Between his damned legs as he slept!
“Jesus,” Harper breathed. He hesitated, wondering if there were fingerprints on the knife. What good would it do him? If he called the cops, there would be an investigation. And then that would give them full access, without a search warrant, to go to the trucking terminal. No. He couldn’t do that. Right now, he knew how badly law enforcement wanted any excuse to get inside that terminal and bring in drug-sniffing dogs and find out where he was hiding the marijuana, heroine and cocaine. No friggin’ way.
Growling a curse, Chuck jerked the huge knife free from the mattress. Grabbing the paper, he saw that it had something typed in small, ten-point type, obviously from a printer. Barely able to read it, he sat down, gripping the paper, dampening it with his sweat.
Leave the people of the Triple H and Bar H alone. If you don’t, my face will be the last one you see.
Harper’s heart leaped. His mouth grew grim as he stared blackly at the threat.
What the hell!
And then real terror began to leak through him. Who had found out he was behind the hit on Gil Hanford and that bitch, Kai Tiernan? Chuck had already found out through other sources that the hit man he’d carefully hired had been killed by Hanford after the crash. Even worse, Hanford and Tiernan had survived it.
Cursing richly, Chuck threw the paper on the floor. It floated down near his bare feet. He savagely kicked it away. Rubbing his face, he felt real terror deep down, crawling around in his belly. He didn’t like being threatened. Who had done this? His mind whirled. Harper knew that Talon Holt, Cass Reynolds and Hanford had all been in military black ops. They knew how to move without being heard. They were lethal killers.
He looked around the room, feeling violated. Unsafe. One of them had done this! He was sure of it. And he was also sure that they would be careful not to leave any fingerprints or evidence that they’d been here, either. They weren’t black ops for nothing. His hand curved into a fist as rage and fright twined within his aching gut. Harper was used to scaring other people. He never expected anyone to come and threaten him. Son of a bitch!
Glaring around the quiet room, he realized one of those bastards had done this to him. They’d stood over his bed. They knew how to use a knife to kill, without thinking twice. A shiver of dread skittered through Harper as he thought about the intruder standing there, looking at him, the knife in his hand while he slept. He could have slit his throat.
But he hadn’t.
Shakily, Chuck rubbed his throat, gulping hard. What scared him more was that he knew enough about black ops military men to know you didn’t screw with them. That they had the training and capability to steal like a silent shadow anywhere they wanted. And one of them had come in here.
Completely shaken, Harper got up, needing a drink of whiskey to calm his shattered nerves. He walked into his huge closet, jerking down a set of clean clothes and getting dressed. Heading downstairs, the Glock still in hand, he went first to check the front door. It was still locked.
A little frisson of relief went through him.
It wasn’t lost on him, as he poured the whiskey into a tumbler on the granite island, that Hanford knew he was the one behind the failed attack on him and Kai. Dragging the glass to his full lips, he threw his head back, drinking all of it at once. The whiskey burned on its way down to his tightened stomach. Somehow, Hanford had figured it out. Harper had been very, very careful about hiring the hit man, who was an ex-Ranger who had been in black ops for a decade. He had been a hit man at-large, well-known for his lethality and getting a job done right. This time, he’d failed. Miserably.
Sitting down on a padded black leather stool at the island, Harper poured another slosh of whiskey into the tumbler, feeling his taut nerves settling down. Harper had had the entire agreement done by third-party Russian mafia contacts he had on the East Coast. None of it could ever be traced back to him. Further, the rusted dump truck had come out of a Star Valley auto-wrecking service and bought by the ex-Ranger who had used a fake name. Again, a dead end. Nothing would lead back to him to suggest he was behind ordering the hit on Hanford and Kai.
He sat there sipping the whiskey, his mind going at light speed, looking at the angles, the possibilities. Harper would bet his life that it was Hanford who had done this. But if he hadn’t, he had two buddies, one a former SEAL and one a former Special Forces operator, who could have done it for him. Scratching his head nervously, Chuck knew that one of them had figured out he was behind the hit.
The good news was that law enforcement couldn’t do a friggin’ thing about it because there was no evidence suggesting he had instituted the hit in the first place.
Chuck grinned a little, feeling a bit better. And then his grin slipped as he realized that if he didn’t leave those people at those two ranches completely alone that the intruder would be back. And this time, he’d slit Chuck’s throat while he slept. His dark brows slashed downward and he chugged the rest of the whiskey, feeling vulnerable, terrified of dying.
Getting up, Harper moved to his office on the first floor. He would do exactly as the note read: leave those who worked for or owned the Triple H and Bar H to hell alone. He had wanted to get even with Kai for leaving him in favor of that bastard, Hanford. Revenge was a way of life for him and he enjoyed exacting it on anyone who snubbed him. The other two women who had were now somewhere in Eastern Europe, sold to the highest bidder. They would remain sex slaves for the rest of their lives until someone got tired of them and either sold them as used goods to someone else or put a bullet through their heads if they dared to fight back or tried to escape their owner.
He smiled mirthlessly over that thought. In Kai Tiernan’s case, he wanted to just outright kill the bitch and her boyfriend.
And the plan had completely backfired on him.
He wasn’t used to being outfoxed. Garcia, the Latin drug lord, had chosen him specifically to take over for the murdered Curt Downing, to continue to quietly and carefully run the regional drug business. He used his trucks to haul goods all across the Western states. There were special compartments where drugs were placed and they, too, were distributed by certain drivers who were part of the drug business. He had employees who were drivers who had no clue as to what was going on.
His special drivers were all under Garcia’s command. They were his foot soldiers. All Chuck did was give them the drugs and they would then take them to a drop house or person waiting for them in another town or city, and collect the money.
As badly as he wanted Kai Tiernan, Harper mentally removed her from his revenge list. Life was too short. There were plenty of other damn good-looking women around Jackson Hole he could find and then make his. Screw her. She wasn’t worth dying over. Harper would make sure to never approach her ag
ain in any way, shape or form. She was off-limits. Just like the Holt and McPherson families on those two ranches were. No, he’d leave them to hell alone. Forever.
*
“WELL?” GIL ASKED Kai as he brought her to his newly leased condo for the first time, “what do you think?” The condo was completely furnished with all the furniture he had stored away in a rental when he’d first come to Jackson Hole. She stood beneath his arm and he relished having bodily contact with her.
Two days at the Triple H, unable to sleep together, had been rough on both of them. He glanced down at her clean profile. Today, her hair was mussed from the windy conditions midafternoon and she looked edible in her clinging pink tee that outlined those small, beautiful breasts of hers he was aching to hold and suckle again. Her jeans outlined her long, long legs that he took such delight in running his hand up and down.
Today she seemed to have come out of the shock of what had happened to her. Nearly dying always changed a person. Gil was glad she wanted to come and live with him. They would drive out to the Triple H every morning but then return here each night. It made his heart pound with relief and joy.
“Oh,” Kai whispered, giving him a quick smile, “I love the decor!” She slipped from beneath his arm and walked into the open-concept living room and kitchen. She ran her fingertips across the burnt-orange corduroy couch. There were two overstuffed chairs of the same material gathered around a colorful stained-glass oval coffee table. Over the stained glass, to protect it, was another sheet of smooth glass. The furniture was rustic and made of natural blond oak. The oval rug beneath the coffee table was a dark green, reminding her of the leaves on an evergreen tree. Beneath it was a blond bamboo hardwood floor, which gave the place tons of light. The fireplace was made of flagstone rocks, floor to ceiling. The cinnamon, red and cream stones blended with the decor. It would be wonderful to sit in front of it on the many freezing, wintery nights that this part of Wyoming had.
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