by Cynthia Eden
Scarlett was too close.
Brodie and Mac were right beside him as they ran for the cabin. Shayne had a weapon—and so did the McGuire brothers. They were all licensed to carry the guns, and they knew better than to go into a situation like this unarmed.
“Pierce Jennings!” Shayne shouted. “Let the woman go and come out with your hands up!”
Or we’ll be coming in...and ripping you apart.
Fury and fear gave Grant strength as the adrenaline pounded through him. He would be getting Scarlett back. No matter what he had to do.
Hold on, baby. Hold on.
* * *
THE BROKEN WOOD from the floor sliced across Scarlett’s arms. The back of the chair had cracked, and another hard yank from her had the chair splintering even more. She twisted her body and managed to almost get free—
“Pierce Jennings! Let the woman go and come out with your hands up!”
Her breath rushed out.
“No.” Pierce shook his head. “No, this isn’t how it’s supposed to be.” He rushed toward the grime-covered window. Tried to peer outside. “They weren’t supposed to be here!”
“They are here,” she told him, panting. “And they are going to come through that door any second. Give up now, and you can live.”
“In prison...”
Where else did he think he’d be living? The Caymans?
“Give up now!” Scarlett told him frantically.
The ropes had finally slipped off.
“I won’t go to jail. I won’t be like Ian.”
Too late, buddy. You already are.
“I hand out the judgment.” He whirled from the window. Stared at her with deadly intent. “This will be for Ian, just like the others...”
He ran toward her. He lifted up the knife.
“No!” Scarlett screamed. Her hands flew out, hitting the broken wood of the floor as she tried to surge up and—
Her fingers closed around something hard. Cold. Metal? No, no it was—
He swiped out with his knife.
* * *
WHEN GRANT HEARD Scarlett’s scream, something in him broke. He lunged past the others. Knocked in that front door.
The scene froze before him—Pierce, swinging down with his knife. Scarlett, crouched on the floor. He knew in a flash that Pierce intended to kill Scarlett. Right then.
“Get away from her!” Grant roared as he flew across the room.
Gunfire exploded.
Pierce staggered back.
Gunfire?
The lawyer shook his head and tried to lunge toward Scarlett once more. Not happening. Grant tackled the guy. They hit the floor with a jarring impact. Grant felt more of his stitches tear away, but he was numb to any pain. Pierce tried to lift up his knife, slicing toward Grant’s throat.
“No.” Grant caught Pierce’s wrist in a steely grip.
Footsteps pounded behind him.
“Drop the weapon!” Shayne shouted.
Pierce glared at Grant. “I’ll kill you...that will be punishment...enough.”
Grant rolled them, yanked down on the lawyer’s wrist—and shoved the man’s own knife into Pierce’s heart.
“No,” Grant told him flatly as he stared into his shocked eyes. “I’ll kill you.”
Pierce’s breath rasped out. His fingers slid away from the knife.
Grant didn’t let the guy go. Not yet. Not...
Pierce’s eyes began to sag shut.
“For my brother,” Grant said. “And for Scarlett.”
Then he pushed away from the man. Tried to stand...but, hell, Grant’s strength was fading.
The blood on the floor wasn’t just Pierce’s. His own blood was pumping out of him.
“The McGuire Brothers,” Shayne whispered. “Damn, you play for keeps.”
No, they didn’t play at all.
Scarlett locked her arms around Grant.
He held her as tightly as he could.
“Uh, Scarlett...” Brodie’s voice was low. “How about you drop that gun now? We’ve got him. That fellow isn’t a threat to anyone now.”
Scarlett had been the one to shoot Pierce. Grant felt her nod, and then heard the gun clatter as she dropped it.
He looked over her shoulder. Shayne had bent beside Pierce. The cop glared down at the lawyer. “So many lives...for what?”
“Revenge,” Scarlett whispered.
Grant’s arms began to slide down her body.
“That his gun you used?” Brodie approached her slowly. “They’ll need it for evidence.”
Backup would be arriving. Medics. Grant could use those medics. “Are you hurt?” he asked Scarlett. His voice slurred.
“Doesn’t matter,” she whispered back as she kissed him. “Doesn’t matter now—it’s over!”
Yes, it was.
“And it’s not his gun,” Scarlett muttered. “Or maybe it is, I don’t know. The floor broke, and two guns were under the slats. I—I grabbed one. Fired.”
The room began to whirl around Grant. “Scarlett.” Saying her name was an effort, but she needed to hear this.
His body slumped against her.
“Grant? Grant!”
“Love you...and I’m not...going anywhere...” His breath rushed out. “Just a scratch...”
“Get him back to the chopper!” Shayne bellowed.
Grant kept staring into Scarlett’s eyes. “Got you.” He hadn’t been about to let her go. “Love...you...”
When he went to hit the floor, his brother hauled him upright.
“Just...” Grant said again, “a scratch...”
* * *
SCARLETT WAS AT Grant’s bedside once more. Her wrist was in a cast, and her head ached only a little.
It was her heart that hurt the most.
“You should have made him stay here,” Scarlett said. She’d said the same words about twenty times already.
Mac grunted from his post behind her. “Right. Because the guy always listens to someone else’s orders.”
“He was too weak.” She’d never forget the sight of him breaking down that door. “Too hurt.”
“Grant would have bled out before he let anything happen to you.” Mac’s voice was deep, quiet. “You think I was going to be dumb enough to stand between that man and what he wanted most?”
He was what she wanted, too.
Her fingers brushed back his hair. “Grant.” She didn’t know if he could hear her, but she needed to say this. “Stop risking your life for me. If we’re going to be together, you can’t keep doing this.”
His eyelashes flickered.
Her gaze narrowed.
She wondered just how long he’d been awake.
“Grant?”
His eyes opened. That green gaze was fully aware. “Can’t...make promises.”
Her breath rushed out.
“I’d risk...anything...for you.”
And she’d risk anything for him.
“Love you...Scarlett.”
She pressed her lips to his. “And I love you, Grant.” It seemed as if she always had.
And she always would.
His lips curved into a faint smile.
In that moment, Scarlett knew that the past was over for them. The fear was gone. It was time for them to look toward the future.
A new life.
Hope.
The love that would see them through all the days ahead.
His fingers curled around hers. “Told you,” he whispered. “It was just a scratch.”
She kissed him again.
Epilogue
It was too soon for marriage. Grant knew he needed to give Scarlett mor
e time. He wanted to court the woman. Wanted to treat her like the damn precious thing that she was.
He wanted to show her how good their life could be together.
He also didn’t want to be hobbling down the aisle.
He winced as his stitches—another new set—pulled when he stood.
He’d been going stir-crazy in that hospital. He’d needed to get out. Return to work. Start getting his life back to normal. A life that now included Scarlett.
So he’d bought a ring for her. And that ring was burning a hole in his pocket. He’d wait until the time was right.
Then he’d get down on his knees for her.
A knock sounded at his office door. Frowning, Grant glanced up as his assistant, Madison, poked her head inside.
“Detective Townsend is here to see you, Grant.”
He nodded. “Send him in.” He knew Shayne had been tying up all the loose ends that Pierce Jennings had left behind. Every time Grant thought of that SOB, fury burned within him.
Pierce had truly been as twisted as Ian. No, he’d been worse. Because Pierce had actually thought what he was doing was justified. That it was somehow okay to kill for vengeance.
Shayne’s face was tense when he strode into Grant’s office. The detective shut the door. Didn’t sit down.
Grant’s brows climbed. “What is it?”
Shayne opened his mouth to reply, then stopped.
Grant tensed. It wasn’t like the cop to hesitate. “Shayne?”
“You’re...happy now, right?”
What the hell kind of question was that?
“You love Scarlett, and you’re planning for the future.”
The ring weighed heavily in his pocket.
“I want you to keep thinking of her,” Shayne said slowly, “and of your future. Think about the good things that you have going for you.”
Grant rose and advanced on his friend. “What’s happening?”
“Sometimes, you think the past is over. Dead and gone.” Shayne’s gaze was shuttered. “Then something comes along and wrecks your world. It changes...everything.”
“Tell me why you’re here.” It was a demand.
Shayne swallowed. “Those two guns found at Pierce’s cabin...underneath that old floor...”
Grant’s gut twisted as a premonition seemed to sweep over him.
“They’d been used before. The bullet that Scarlett fired at Pierce was a match for another case. A cold case.”
Grant couldn’t have moved then if his life depended on it.
“Those were the weapons used to kill your parents.”
The past is never dead and gone.
The door opened behind Shayne. Brodie strode inside. His gaze darted from the cop to his battle-tense brother.
Brodie’s face hardened instantly. “What’s happening?”
Grant forced himself to take a slow, deep breath. This was the break they’d needed. This was the turning point for them. They wouldn’t get vengeance. They weren’t looking for twisted punishment. They weren’t like Pierce.
They wanted justice. They would have it. The men who’d killed their parents would spend the rest of their lives in a jail cell.
“Grant...” Brodie demanded. “Tell me what is happening here!”
He nodded. “The McGuires are going hunting.”
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from HEART OF A HERO by Debra Webb & Regan Black.
We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Intrigue story.
You crave excitement! Harlequin Intrigue stories deal in serious romantic suspense, keeping you on the edge of your seat as resourceful, true-to-life women and strong, fearless men fight for survival.
Enjoy six new stories from Harlequin Intrigue every month!
Connect with us on Harlequin.com for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!
Other ways to keep in touch:
Harlequin.com/newsletters
Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks
Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks
HarlequinBlog.com
http://www.harlequin.com/harlequinexperience
Chapter One
Washington, DC
Tuesday, February 3, 2:50 p.m.
“I’m in. But I’m not wearing the shorts.”
Director Thomas Casey eyed William Chase, one of the newest recruits to his team known as the Specialists. He respected independent thinkers. Went out of his way to select highly skilled individuals who knew how to solve problems quickly and creatively. Still, it was rare when anyone on his handpicked team showed this kind of attitude. Maybe he’d made a mistake with this cocky young guy fresh from an elite Navy SEAL team.
“A uniform is a uniform,” Thomas said, keeping his voice even.
“That’s true, sir,” Will agreed. “And it should convey authority.”
Thomas couldn’t believe he was having this discussion with so many bigger issues at play. “You’ll have time to come to terms with how the US Postal Service conveys authority in Colorado before the weather warms up out there.” He wanted someone on his new task force planted in the middle of the country. Someone who could respond effectively to a variety of situations.
“Shorts are for kids and physical training. Are you going to pull me off this operation if I don’t wear the shorts?”
Thomas reached out and closed the plain manila file outlining Will’s assignment. Potential assignment. It could’ve been worse, Thomas supposed. He could be having this conversation in a public setting rather than the absolute privacy of his office. He couldn’t get a read on whether or not Will was kidding around. The uncertainty and unease set off warning bells in his head. He considered asking why the shorts were such a big deal and decided it didn’t matter. Through the years, he’d worked with so many men and women, those who did the impossible tasks in the field and those who worked right here supporting them. Eventually his luck with recruiting was bound to run out. One more sign that it was time to retire and put his personal life, his hopes for a family, ahead of the nation’s problems. But his nation needed him, had demanded his expertise one last time. If he assembled the right team, he could walk away with confidence.
“I’ve changed my mind, Will. You’re not the right man for this job after all.”
“Because I won’t deliver mail in those ridiculous shorts?”
Thomas drummed his fingers on the file, met Will’s stony gaze. This recruit might be a bit too independent. “Because you’re agitated over a small conformity issue and that makes me question what you’ll do when the stakes are higher.”
“Agitated is a bit of a stretch.” The smile on Will’s face didn’t reach his serious eyes. “You have to agree every postman who complies with that dress code is nothing more than a sheep.”
“Thank you for your time,” Thomas said, determined to go with a different Specialist for this post.
Will didn’t budge. “Forget the shorts. Forget agitated. You saw this one—” he pointed to the folder “—whatever it is, and chose me because I succeed, always, when the stakes are highest.”
“I was wrong,” Thomas said with a casual hitch of his shoulders. “It happens. Close the door on your way out.”
“No, sir. I want this assignment.”
Thomas laughed. Couldn’t stop it. No one gave him this much trouble, other than his wife, and that had been long before they married. He shouldn’t find it refreshing. “You think you know how far you can push me?”
“No, sir. I know how far I can push myself.”
“From my perspective you can’t push yourself far enough to comply with the basic standards of your operation.”
“The shorts are irrelevant, in any circumstance. You need someone willing
to dig in for the long haul. Colorado was built by rugged individuals who don’t see conformity as strength. They value independence and wide-open spaces and they respect people with conviction.”
“So this conversation was your attempt at an audition?” Thomas wasn’t laughing now. “That’s not how we do things here.”
“It’s how they do things there.” Will’s eyes, intent and serious, underscored his point.
Thomas turned to his computer monitor and adjusted his glasses, going over Will’s service record one more time. “Tell me what happened at Christmas.”
Will didn’t evade or protest, didn’t get defensive or make excuses. No sign of agitation or argument now. Easing back into the chair, he smoothed his relaxed hands over his thighs. “Not much typically happens in the way of celebrating Christmas in Afghanistan unless you’re on a military installation.”
Thomas still had the formal report up on his computer; he’d reviewed it one last time before Will had walked into the office. Officially, Will had been in the nosebleed section of the mountains tracking down a terrorist cell that had gone inactive due to the harsh winter weather.
“And I wasn’t on base over the holiday.”
“You didn’t have a chance to go home?” Thomas was impressed with the way Will maintained his composure. Maybe this was the real man, the real professional he’d been looking for since the meeting began.
“Didn’t take it,” Will replied with a dismissive twitch of his shoulders. “The other guys had family missing them. My parents were doing fine.”
“I’m sure they missed you.”
Will leaned forward. “If you’re worried I’ll crack or break cover, that’s not a problem,” he said. “I’ve been away from home a long time, sir. The scarcity works for my family.”
“All right.” Thomas rolled his hand. “Go on.”
“As you know, recon and surveillance is long, quiet work, and I’m good at it. You get a sense of people when you’re watching them day and night.”
Thomas agreed, glancing away from the computer and giving Will another long study. Everything but today’s meeting told him this was the right man for the Colorado job. Maybe the former SEAL was dealing with a postdeployment conflict with authority or some personality clash. But this new task force was too important. Thomas had to be sure Will could handle the emotional pressure of deep undercover work as well as the physical strain.
