by Sam Crescent
But he had a job to finish. His handlers wanted to widen their influence by finding not only law enforcement and judges to put on the payroll, but also using his skills to intimidate anyone standing in the way. How long before they were ordering him to slaughter entire families? Hannah was only the first in line.
But he couldn’t let her go. It was too late for her as much as it was too late for him to walk away. She had a hit out on her, and if he didn’t handle things now, she’d die anyway.
He set up position in the bough of a tree. Dressed in camo, he blended seamlessly with the leaves. He waited, staring at the bait car, his nondescript Ford sedan. When he saw the patrol SUV pull up his heart rate jumped. The breeze stirred as Deputy Stephens and Deputy James stepped out. He sighted Hannah in the scope of his rifle. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, her freckles standing out in the harsh sunlight. Hers was a face he’d always remember.
He eased his finger over the trigger, re-aligned the rifle scope, then squeezed. The shot made a loud pop just as a hard gust of wind rattled the trees. He watched Deputy James fall while Hannah dove to the ground then scrambled to the other side of the SUV. He had no idea if his shot had hit home. When he saw Hannah peep over the hood of the SUV, her hand going for the transceiver of her radio, he aimed. His next shot struck the radio transceiver exactly as he had planned. He saw Hannah fall backward as the bullet passed through her shoulder. She was left handed, and wore her radio on her right side, out of the way. A clean but painful shot away from vital organs.
She retreated to the wood line and returned fire, the bullets whizzing through the trees. He climbed down from his perch, shouldered his rifle, then returned fire with his Glock, counting her shots until she’d emptied her clips. She had one bullet left as he drove her deeper into the trees and when he finally made it to the SUV, he saw that Deputy James had disappeared.
He followed Hannah’s trail, trying to keep as quiet as possible while searching for both her and the other deputy. He found Hannah first.
“I know you’re out there,” she called to him. “I bet you didn’t think I was clever enough to figure out who you were.”
He pulled a new clip from his pocket and slipped it into his Glock. It clicked into place. He loaded the chamber.
“I mean, come on, a handsome, cultured guy from England, who are you trying to be, James Bond? A little cliché, don’t ya think?” She gave a short laugh. “I know who hired you. I know you’re here to take me out. And by the way, you weren’t even that good in bed.”
He grinned and stepped out. Hannah leaned against a tree trunk, holding her jacket to her shoulder. She was pale from blood loss, and on the losing end of their situation, but her eyes burned in defiance.
He needed to keep her talking. “Not good in bed?” he countered. “I have a hard time believing the last part, love. That weekend with you is one of the best weekends I’ve ever had with a lover.”
“I never said I wasn’t any good,” she shot back.
He laughed. “That’s what I like about you American women, you’re blunt. None of that stuffy, beating around the bush BS when it comes to fucking.”
Hannah wobbled, her eyes closed and she began sliding down the tree. She bared her teeth and managed to straighten back up. He stayed where he was; he couldn’t afford to go to her. Not now. Though everything inside of him wanted to rush to her, and gather her into his arms. He counted the minutes she had left before the blood loss became too much.
He had to keep her talking.
“Give it up and give me the gun. You’re bleeding to death, love. Your fight is done.”
Her eyes opened, their soft brown color blurred behind a sheen of tears. He saw it in her gaze, she knew she was dying. She knew he’d been the one to kill her. And she refused to plead for her life. The pain he felt was immediate and deep in his chest. The choking squeeze of guilt and regret that nearly stopped his heart.
Then he spotted movement in the forest beyond. The gamble had paid off. He’d bet with the life of the most important person in the world to him, because he’d had no other choice. “And though I’ve greatly enjoyed our time together,” he began. “I think it’s time to end this.”
He whipped his gun up, angling sideways in the same moment he saw her drop low, swinging her own sidearm around. Her round grazed his ribcage, he barely felt the sting as he watched Deputy James, thirty meters away, fall backward, Davis’s round lodged between his eyes. His rifle round had unfortunately been displaced by the wind earlier, giving James a chance at escape.
The Irish Mob had James on the payroll; he’d been the one to suggest the hit on Hannah. Davis turned to her. “Hannah, stay with me. Stay with me, Hannah! Open your eyes, love. Stay with me.”
She fell to the ground, curling into the fetal position.
He dropped down next to her, rolling her onto her back. Her eyelids fluttered, her mouth worked, but she was too weak to continue. She went limp. Davis gathered her into his arms and ran through the woods to the bags he’d stashed. He’d come prepared for the worst and dug out his medical kit. He packed her wounds with sterile gauze; a clean through-and-through shot as he expected, then grabbed needles and an IV tube, inserting one needle into the vein in his arm and the other needle into hers.
“I’m type O negative, love,” he said, though he doubted she could hear him. “Don’t you die on me. If there had been another way than this, I would have taken it.” He paused and stroked her loose hair from her face. A knot tightened in his throat, and he blinked, surprised to find tears in his eyes. He hadn’t cried since he was a small child. “But maybe there was another way and I simply couldn’t see it. I have been killing for so long I know no other way than this.”
He sat on the ground next to her prone body, passing his blood to her, though he feared it was too late. He was ruthless, a sociopath, but in that moment he was but a terrified man staring at a woman he couldn’t live without.
Chapter Nine
There was blood, so much blood everywhere. Smeared on the walls, pooling on the floor, the smell of it turning one’s stomach. The scene of a mad butcher. The bodies, what was left of them, were identified as father and son, both high ranking members in the Irish Mob.
Davis closed out the news site and pitched his mobile aside. He’d made his point to anyone wishing harm on his half-brother. He stared out the window of his new tropical home on a tiny Polynesian island in the Pacific.
A soft moan brought his attention back to the bed. He leaned forward in his chair and took Hannah’s hand. The past week had been rough as she’d recuperated from her wound. She’d been drifting in and out of consciousness; he’d kept her on strong pain medication and antibiotics while her bullet wound healed. Locals had been helping him, taking shifts while he’d been away, taking care of the last of his loose ends.
He was weaning her off the pain medications now.
“Where am I?” she asked. Her voice was a scratchy whisper.
“You’re okay, love,” he said, delighted to at last see her coming around.
She opened her eyes and squinted in his direction.
“Davis?”
He kissed her hand, careful not to hit the IV carrying fluids into her.
“Yes, love, I’m here. I’m right here.”
She blinked while taking in her surroundings. The home was a modest one-bedroom bungalow, even smaller than the ranch-style she owned. He’d bought it under an alias years ago with money he had stashed away beyond the eyes of the mob. He had more than enough money to carry him the rest of his life. He need not take another payment from the mob.
He would’ve been a free man if it weren’t for the woman lying in his bed attached to IVs.
“Where am I? What happened?” she shifted then winced.
He placed a hand on her uninjured shoulder. “I apologize for the pain, but you must come off the medications.”
He gave her a few minutes while she gained her bearings. Then Davis explained what h
ad happened back in the woods. Everything he’d learned about her partner, why he’d had to shoot her to keep her from calling for backup—he wasn’t sure how far the mob had reached into the sheriff’s department—how he’d given her a blood transfusion then sneaked her out of the country. Hannah seemed lucid enough to understand what he was telling her. She frowned, staring at him.
“I can’t believe it. It doesn’t make sense,” she said. “I’ve known Mike since I joined the sheriff’s department.”
He kissed her hand again. “Everyone has a price, love.”
She looked at him with suspicion, an expression that kicked him in the gut.
“And you? Where do you fit into this?” she asked.
He dropped his gaze to her hand.
“My actual name is Davis MacDonagh. I was hired to kill you.”
She pulled her hand free from his and tried to shift away from him. She hissed with the movement as pain contorted her face.
“I need to go home.” She sounded frightened.
His gaze jumped to her face. She’d lost what little bit of color she’d had. “I won’t hurt you, Hannah. Believe me when I say this. I worked as a hitman, but I only carried out hits on others involved in illegal activities. I had a very specific rule about this, and once I figured out they’d broken it by hiring me to kill you…”
He couldn’t continue. The tightening in his chest made it hard to breath. Guilt, regret, would he ever again be rid of them? There was also another, more powerful emotion that he feared facing, because it truly could be the end of him should she reject him.
“I have to go home,” she said. “People will be worried about me. I have to explain what happened with Mike.”
He shook his head, Hannah was about to face the worst part of the story. He clasped his hands together on the edge of the mattress and sought out her gaze. “Love, you can’t go home. I am so very sorry, but you can’t.”
Her eyebrows drew together.
He took a deep breath and pushed on. “They’ve pinned it all on you, Hannah. They say you were the dirty cop. You murdered your partner. The mob planted evidence at your place, have a judge on the payroll who issued the arrest warrant. As far as they’re concerned you’re on the run.”
She stared at him wide-eyed. He picked up his cell phone and pulled up the Tulsa County newspaper before handing it to Hannah. She read the news story, and his heart broke when tears leaked from her eyes.
“But this is insane. I’m innocent. I can prove it. I need to go home, Davis.”
He reached for her hand again, and this time she didn’t pull away. He gave it a gentle squeeze.
“When the legal system is corrupted it’s very hard for the truth to be heard,” he said. “If you go back, you’ll be arrested. You’ll have another hit put on you, and if you’re in prison I can’t protect you.”
“Protect me? You showed up in my life to kill me.” She blinked as more tears flowed from her eyes. “I had sex with you. God, I’m an idiot.”
She fell back against the pillows, breathing hard. But her breaths soon slowed. She was asleep. He kept hold of her hand, unable to let her go.
****
The beach really was beautiful in the sunrise.
A week had passed since she’d awoken on the island. A week since she’d learned her life was gone. She still couldn’t wrap her mind around it, even after streaming a live newsfeed from Tulsa stating she was now wanted by the FBI.
Davis kept his distance as far as the small home would allow. Sleeping in the living room, taking his meals there, while she stayed in the bedroom recuperating. This was the first day she’d been able to stumble from bed. She’d sneaked away while Davis slept, barely making it to the water’s edge before dropping to her knees. The exertion left her shaking but the fresh air revived her. She lay back on the sand, absorbing the sunrays and the peaceful sound of the ocean waves.
Now what? She couldn’t return home, not with so much “evidence” against her. Anger rose into a choking ball in her throat. This went against everything she believed the law stood for. But how could she ever prove her innocence? Even her boss, the sheriff, had seemed convinced during the news broadcast. Her life as Deputy Hannah Stephens was finished.
Davis had sworn again and again he’d protect her, because the feds weren’t the only people after her—so was the Irish Mob.
Could she trust him though?
She wanted to, because she had found a weak spot within herself that needed him. His touch, the sound of his voice, his smile.
He murdered people for crying out loud, she reasoned. She was first and foremost a deputy of the law. He should be in prison answering for his crimes.
“Christ, Hannah.”
Her eyes popped opened. Davis dropped down in the sand next to her, his face a mask of worry.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
With his help she pushed up to sitting.
“I’m okay,” she said.
His hands remained on her back, and warmth spread from the contact. She leaned into him, savoring his touch. She couldn’t help herself.
“Come inside before you catch a chill.” He helped her to her feet.
“Wait,” she said. “I want to enjoy the view a while longer.”
He gathered her against his side and she didn’t resist. They stood there, watching the sun drift higher over the waves. Seagulls called overhead.
“This is beautiful,” she said.
His arm felt so comforting, and she absorbed some of his strength.
“I’ve always loved the beach. I grew up by the beach in England. Of course it wasn’t as warm and sunny as this.”
She peered up to meet his gaze. His eyes reflected a truer blue than either the sky or the ocean. And, most startling, was the warmth she saw within them.
He brushed a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “Please, Hannah, stay with me,” he said.
She looked back out at the ocean. How would it ever work out? A killer and an officer of the law—it seemed absurd.
“You kill people, Davis.”
“Not anymore. I gave it up.”
She continued to stare at the waves washing up onto the sand. “Is it that easy to walk away from the mob?”
He took a deep breath then blew it out. “They’ll hunt me, same as you. We’ll have to spend the rest of our lives running.” He reached down and tipped her chin up. She met his gaze. “But if we were running together would it be so bad? I can be brave if you are, too.”
His masculine scent mingled with the salty air. It filled her to overflowing as she considered his words. She should be afraid, she should be angry, she should be mourning the life she’d left behind, but as she looked into Davis’s eyes she felt none of those things.
Instead she felt anticipation and that shifting within her that could lead in but one direction—love. Perhaps not today, but soon, and she only had to be open to it.
Davis cupped her face, and his thumb stroked her bottom lip. She sagged against him, her lips parted in invitation.
“You’ve become everything to me, love,” he said, his voice a low rumble, his accent teasing to life a sweet desire she had no description for. “I swear I will protect you until my last breath.”
She saw the truth of it shining vividly in his eyes.
“I believe you.” And she did, down to her very core. “And I will protect you.”
And she would protect him, too, because she had once sworn to serve and protect. She believed in that oath, it was who she was, even if the law had turned against her.
His head dipped down and he took her mouth in a gentle kiss that would unite them for the rest of their lives.
The End
www.evernightpublishing.com/olivia-starke
HITMAN’S ANGEL
Elyzabeth M. VaLey
Copyright © 2017
Chapter One
Colt watched the old man from the shadows. He followed the same routine every nig
ht. First, switch on the lights to his office while undoing his tie. Then, close the door and leave his briefcase near the right leg of his desk.
The minibar came next. A glass of scotch downed in one gulp and another one to sip throughout the night while he worked.
Colt smirked. His victim would never look through the window, behind the curtains. He’d never check to make sure he was alone. Safe. People never did. They were always careless, blindly assuming the world they lived in wasn’t out to hurt them, oblivious to the constant threats surrounding them. Colt had learned from a young age that danger lay everywhere. In the streets. In your home. It didn’t matter.
His target sat down on the worn leather chair with a groan. He placed the glass on a coaster, then picked up his briefcase and drew out his reading glasses and some documents. With a sigh, he set to work.
Colt’s fingers tightened around his weapon. He focused on his breathing and the sound of his heart in his ears. It was steady, calm, counteracting the tension in his muscles. He peered from behind the curtains. Aimed.
The man never looked up. Never turned around. The bullet traveled silently through the air straight through his skull, killing him instantly. Blood splattered all over, the shiny red drops glistening starkly over the white sheets of paper. Colt stepped from his hiding place. He pushed the body with the butt of his gun. The corpse toppled over.
As it did, it threw a silver picture frame out of balance. Colt grabbed it. He stared at the picture. A young woman, probably no more than twenty-seven or twenty-eight years old, smiled at the camera. His pulse quickened. He focused on her eyes. They were bluer than a summer sky, rimmed by dark lashes, giving them an all-consuming intensity. He racked his brain for information. While tracing his hit he didn’t recall seeing her at any moment. Who was she? What was her connection with him?