Last of the O'Rourkes

by Kate Douglas

  Get over it, O’Rourke . He slammed his fist into the palm of his hand. He might as well forget both the baby and the mother. She’d brought him nothing but trouble. Trouble and aggravation.

  No! He shook his head in denial. Who was he trying to kid? Maybe he’d only known Kathleen for a few weeks, but if he’d only be honest with himself, Seamus knew he couldn’t imagine life without her.

  Now there was no chance at all of a life with her. What he’d said, what he’d done, to Kathleen Malone had been the cruelest, most hurtful thing he’d ever done to anyone in his life.

  Seamus sat down on the stone retaining wall at the edge of the deck. He stared out over the blue Pacific, but Kathleen’s image filled his mind. He couldn’t escape the stricken look on her face.

  The fear in her eyes. No matter what else Seamus thought of Kat Malone, he admired her pride, her self-assurance, her strength. He hadn’t understood her vulnerability, and hadn’t considered the pain she must be feeling. He’d been hurt by her words, angry with her. Now he felt only shame.

  His attack had been lower than cowardly. He’d frightened Kathleen in the worst possible way, set into motion a mother’s worst nightmare—the thought of someone wanting to take her baby away from her. All because she’d rejected him.

  Rejected him because he was Riley’s brother.

  It still hurt, but he should be used to that by now. Kathleen didn’t know how he felt. What she’d said hadn’t been intentionally cruel.

  Not cruel in the manner Seamus had been. He scrubbed at the taut muscles along the side of his neck and sighed. He’d never be able to convince Kathleen he wasn’t after the baby. It would be a lie anyway. He did want her baby.

  Unfortunately, it was only now apparent he wanted the baby’s mother just as badly.

  Seamus glanced back at the heavily draped window. The curtain twitched as he looked up. Kathleen must be watching him. She hadn’t left yet.

  Why hadn’t she gone? Could she be as confused about him as he was about her?

  Seamus grinned in spite of himself. There was still a chance, if he could only figure out what to say.

  Should I tell her she confuses the hell out of me? Tell her she makes me crazy, makes me angry, makes me want her so I can’t sleep at night, can’t concentrate during the day?

  No. He’d better start slower. Groveling and an abject apology came to mind. Somehow, he had to make her listen.

  Seamus snapped off a perfect white rose on a sturdy stem. It never hurt to come prepared.

  KATHLEEN STARED AT THE door, immobilized by Seamus’s angry threats. Oh, he hadn’t actually said he’d take her baby away from her, but he’d certainly implied as much. She wouldn’t stand a chance going up against a man with the obvious wealth and good name of Seamus O’Rourke.

  Protectively she cradled her belly in her hands and fought the urge to crawl into bed and pull the covers up over her head. How could she have possibly been attracted to O’Rourke...to either one of them?

  Sparkling green eyes, dark hair and absolutely the world’s most kissable mouth came to mind. Kat’s eyes stung with frustrated tears. Where were the answers?

  The baby delivered a strong kick beneath her fingers.

  Mobilized, Kat spun around and headed for the closet. She’d leave now before Seamus could stop her, before he could follow...before she caved in to wants and desires only now beginning to roil to the surface, confusing her even more.

  She had friends who would welcome a visit from her, regardless of the circumstances. Kat thought of her old partner, Mike Ramsey and his wife, Rose. They had a bed and breakfast just east of San Francisco in the Sierra Nevada foothills. If she hurried, she could be there before dark.

  They’d help her. Best of all, they could be trusted not to tell Seamus where she was.

  Kat reached for her shoulder holster and her purse, then realized she was still wearing the blue sweats Seamus had given her. Tight fitting or not, she was leaving in exactly the same little black suit in which she’d arrived.

  “Damned if I’ll take anything of yours, Seamus O’Rourke.” The child she carried suddenly came to mind. O’Rourke acted as if the baby belonged to him.

  Kat patted her slightly rounded tummy. “Well, you don’t, sweetheart. You’re mine, and we’re gettin’ the hell out of Dodge.” She pulled the sweatshirt up over her head. The collar band caught on her chin and she stretched her arms high over her head to tug it free.

  It wasn’t actually a sound. It was a feeling, a sense of the air in the room suddenly being displaced.

  Before Kathleen could turn around and confront Seamus, strong fingers wrapped around her wrists and slammed her face first against the wall. Still trapped in the heavy folds of the sweatshirt, she twisted and bucked against the rigid body pressed along the length of her back.

  She didn’t scream, couldn’t scream, could only pitch and roll in a futile effort to free herself from the iron grip about her wrists. The sweatshirt ensnared her. Caught just under her chin, it covered her face and arms like a heavy cotton shroud.

  A knee rammed between her legs, the muscled thigh trapping her solidly against the wall. She felt the textured wallpaper against her naked breasts, the edge of the decorative molding biting into her cheek. She flung her head back, hoping to crack her attacker across the nose or chin.

  The cold, sharp edge of steel against her abdomen stopped her, froze her in time and space.

  Kat felt his hot breath through the folds of fabric, smelled stale cigarette smoke and chewing gum. Heard each harsh breath he took, his face so close to her ear she knew when his lips moved.

  Trembling, silently screaming for Seamus, Kat waited.

  The pressure of the knife increased.

  The baby! A low, animalistic moan escaped her lips.

  Her attacker laughed—the first sound he’d made. Kat wracked her brain, searched her memories.

  All she could think of was the baby. The razor-sharp blade was a mere thrust away.

  “What do you want?” Her voice was a stranger’s with the harsh growl of her terrified breathing almost drowning out her own words.

  “You.”

  Who is he?

  “It’s always been you. Well, I really wanted the other one, but then I saw you and...” A dry cough rattled against her ear. “Besides, she’s married.”

  The knife bit into her stomach, the pressure of the blade emphasizing each word. “You might have been. Married. Life’s funny that way, how things might happen, then poof! They don’t. That guy, O’Rourke? Weird how much they look alike, isn’t it? Well, the other one was going to leave her, you know. He was planning to leave his wife for you, you little slut, but that’s neither here nor there. Right now, sweetheart, it’s just you and me.”

  “How do you know that?” If she could only keep him talking, maybe... “How do you know he was going to leave his wife.”

  “That’s the best part...I bought him a drink. That little bar where the two of you used to meet? Remember the night you stood him up?”

  She remembered. Only she hadn’t stood him up. She’d worked late that night and had forgotten to call. They’d laughed about it the next day, once she and Riley realized they’d gotten their wires crossed once again. “I remember.”

  “I saw him sitting there all alone and offered to buy him a drink.” His harsh laugh filled her ears. “He didn’t recognize me. Didn’t have a clue who I was. He sat there and told me all about this special woman he planned to marry, how he’d finally decided he couldn’t stay in an unhappy marriage. Hell, I felt like a fuckin’ damned Dear Abby! He recognized me later, though. Right before his car hit the wall. He knew who I was then.”

  “What do you want?” That voice! So familiar. She’d heard it before, knew she should be able to place it. “Why are you doing this?”

  “You ruined my life, that’s why. I coulda plea bargained my way out of this if you hadn’t testified against me at the preliminary trial. You and that FBI agent. Like
I said though, he knew who it was that got him.”

  The pressure of the knife against her belly increased. The blade wasn’t cold anymore. The heat from her body had warmed it. How could that be, when she felt chilled clear through? This guy was admitting he killed Riley? It wasn’t an accident? Kat’s mind spun out of control while her heart pounded in her chest.

  Fear and anger warred, each emotion battling the other.

  “I was planning to kill you. I didn’t know about this, not for sure.”

  Suddenly the blade moved away from her flesh, replaced by fingers tightly encased in leather gloves. Kat trembled as the fingers trailed lower inside her sweatpants, circled the roundness of her growing babe with frightening gentleness, a lover’s caress.

  She trembled, tried to twist away from the violation of his touch. Anger consumed her, overwhelming, uncontrollable anger. This man had killed Riley. It wasn’t an accident!

  As if sensing her irresistible need to fight back, Kat’s assailant tightened the grip on her wrists. His thigh forced her legs farther apart, his chest held her flat against the wall.

  In a parody of intimacy, covering her body as if he were her lover, the intruder whispered in Kat’s ear.

  “Now...now, I think I’ll wait.”

  Kat shuddered, unable to accept her helplessness, not strong enough to fight him off. Damn, if only she weren’t so weak, if only she’d been able to maintain her usual strength, this jerk would never have gotten her in this defenseless position!

  He chuckled, obviously enjoying her vulnerability, her helplessness. “There’s a great deal of satisfaction that comes from the planning, the execution, Ms. Malone. You’re afraid of me. I like that. You weren’t afraid before.”

  I wasn’t pregnant before!

  Kat drew one harsh breath after the other, struggled to control the spiral of fear coursing through her veins. She would not give her assailant the satisfaction of knowing how vulnerable she felt.

  The blade was back, the edge just above her pubis. A tiny whimper escaped Kat’s throat. Oh God, please. Not my baby .

  The cut, when it came, didn’t even hurt. Not at first. Kat felt the trickle of hot blood, the jerk of his arm as he drew the blade across her belly.

  She heard fabric tearing, realized it was duct tape, and felt the wide strips binding her wrists before she even felt the burning sting from the blade.

  Her legs buckled. He shoved her to her knees, over to her side, then wrapped her ankles as firmly as he’d bound her wrists. The intruder worked silently. Kat heard his harsh breathing, and an occasional grunt or curse.

  He ran a strip of tape around her face, binding the sweatshirt close against her mouth and eyes. Kat drew a frantic breath in through her nostrils, struggling to suck air through the heavy fabric. She wondered if he planned to suffocate her or just let her bleed to death.

  She had no idea how deeply he’d cut her. It hurt like a hot wire burning from pubis to hip.

  Dear God, don’t let it kill me. Don’t let my baby die.

  Kat’s thoughts spun out of control. He hadn’t killed her. Yet. She was bleeding all over Gran’s carpet. Seamus was going to be furious. She was naked from the waist up, her breasts uncovered. He hadn’t fondled her. Hadn’t raped her. Why hadn’t her attacker killed her? Who was he?

  “There.”

  Trussed up with duct tape, her eyes covered by the heavy sweatshirt, Kat lay on the floor and forced herself to take even, shallow breaths. Her bare nipples puckered in the chill air, warm blood pooled along her side. She sensed the man going to the window, heard the soft swish of damask drapes as he pulled them aside.

  “This is great.” He laughed. “That dummy’s just sitting down there, staring out to sea. Shit.”

  She heard him back away.

  “Don’t think he saw me, but we can’t take chances. Now, listen.”

  Suddenly the cigarette smell was in her face; the sense of someone hovering over her overwhelming.

  “This is what I want you to think about, Ms. Malone. Think about that little baby. Think about how cute he’s going to be. Then think about how you’ll feel when I kill him.”

  The air stirred. Kat shuddered, willing the nightmare to end.

  “Then think about how I’ll kill you.”

  Kat waited a moment, afraid to struggle in case he watched her. She’d almost convinced herself he was gone when she heard the steady tread of someone on the stairs.

  She shuddered in reaction. Lightheaded from lack of oxygen, she drew her knees up into a fetal position borne of fear and pain.

  “Oh my God! Kat... Oh, God, honey.”

  Hands feverishly ripping at tape, a steady litany of curses, the sweatshirt torn away from her face, then gently rolled down over her shoulders to cover her nakedness, a deep, restoring lung full of air.

  Sobbing with the need to breathe, the need to cry, Kathleen threw herself into Seamus’s embrace. He sat on the floor and cuddled Kat in his arms, holding her as he would a small child.

  Something warm seeped through the sleeve of his shirt. Seamus glanced at his arm. It was covered in blood.

  Kathleen’s blood.

  He frantically dragged the waistband of her pants down, exposing a long, surgically precise cut running from just above the blond thatch of her pubic hair to the sharp edge of her hipbone.

  “Oh, shit. Kathleen, I...” He grabbed the phone to dial 911.

  Kat yanked it out of his hand. “No,” she cried. “No ambulance, no hospital. Seamus, we’ve got to get out of here. He killed Riley, Seamus. It wasn’t an accident. He’s going to kill my baby! We’ve got to—”

  “You’re hurt. You’re bleeding all over the place. You need to see a doctor.” He could handle this. He could sit here on the floor, hold her in his arms and calmly argue the fact that she really needed to go to the hospital, really needed stitches to close the slash across her belly.

  No, he couldn’t.

  This was not something open to discussion.

  “No. No doctor.” Kat shook her head, took one deep, steadying breath after another. The visible tremor that rocked her frame subsided more with each exhalation.

  She brushed the tears away from her eyes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. All the tension seemed to drain out of her. Seamus sensed her gradual withdrawal with the return of her self-control. The look of fear in her eyes was replaced with stubborn determination.

  She struggled to sit up and scooted out of his lap. He wanted to drag her back into his embrace, but the distance between them now was more than physical.

  Kat calmly pulled the waistband of her pants out to inspect the injury herself. “It’s bloody, but it’s not deep. It doesn’t even hurt too badly. If you’ve got some little butterfly bandages and antiseptic ointment we can take care of it here. It’s just a scratch, really.”

  “Kat...I’m so sorry, Kat. I should have been here. How did he...?” I can’t even keep her safe in my own house . The image of her small cottage, the walls splashed with foul threats in blood-red paint collided with the image in front of him. Kat sitting cross-legged on the carpet, a blood-red stain seeping across the front of the pale blue sweatpants.

  Here, in my own damned house . He wanted to kick something, to shout his anger and frustration to the heavens. He thought of the gun laying on the table next to Kat’s bed, of the man who had so brazenly invaded the privacy, the safety, the sanctity of his home.

  The same man who killed Riley? It wasn’t an accident?

  “He had to have already been in the house.” Kat’s voice was contemplative, questioning, overly professional. Seamus realized she must be distancing herself from the attack, protecting herself by looking at the incident from a detective’s viewpoint, not as a victim. This was Kat Malone, Department of Transportation investigator, consummate professional, her thoughts racing as she discarded, then accepted the various scenarios leading up to the attack.

  She studied Seamus a moment, her brows knit into a thoughtful frown. �
�You and I argued, you left, I got up and went to the closet to change into my suit.”

  She followed words with action, standing up and walking across the room to the closet. She made a quick detour into the bathroom and grabbed an old towel, pressed it against her belly as if the wound were merely an inconvenience, then stood next to the wall by the closet.

  She glanced over at Seamus and frowned again. “I was really pissed at you. Don’t ever threaten me again.”

  If the circumstances hadn’t been so dire, Seamus knew he’d be laughing. Kat had slipped back into her “tough broad” persona as if the attack had never occurred. “I’ll remember that.” He stood up. “How’d he manage to sneak up on you?” He’d ask about Riley later. Now he didn’t want to even think about Riley.

  “I was changing clothes, and had my shirt over my head, with my arms in the air. I knew someone was in the room, but just figured you were coming up to apologize for being such a jerk.” She dared him to argue the point.

  “I did eventually. Come up to apologize, that is.” Seamus leaned over and picked the battered white rose up off the carpet. He handed it to Kathleen. “Will you? Forgive me?”

  “Yeah. I’m still pissed, but I’ll forgive you.” She gave him a weak smile then sniffed the rose. She stared down at it for a long time. As Seamus watched, first one tear, then another dropped to the creamy petals. Suddenly, her hands started to shake, her shoulders bowed, and her face appeared to crumple.

  Seamus caught her as she collapsed against him, sobbing, her hard-won control shattered, her body trembling with the delayed reaction to fear. He held her tight against him, rubbed his hand along her spine, whispered nonsense in her ear.

  Kissed her, oh so gently, along the contour of her jaw, the tender skin of her throat. Kissed her and held her while she cried, and for long moments after, while she struggled so valiantly for control.

  “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

  He felt her chest expand against his as she drew in great shuddering breaths.

  “I don’t cry. I never cry.” She sniffed against his tear-dampened collar.