by Karen Rock
How many people were still stuck inside?
A handler hopped from the back of a nearby police van along with his canine. They’d be lucky to discover the bomb in time…. Ryan’s gaze shot to his dashboard clock.
Shit.
Nine minutes.
“We’ve got to find Hatcher before he escapes!” Erica flung open her door and blasted outside. “And Al Monitor!” Her red hair streamed behind her, a crimson sheet fluttering in the wind.
Ryan shoved against the panicked tide of bodies stampeding for the street. People were fleeing everywhere. Pure pandemonium. Screams and shouts swelled the sticky, hot air. Anxious anticipation breathed heavily down his neck and lifted the tiny hairs. His whole body heated rapidly, his internal thermostat suddenly haywire. Sweat slicked his skin.
Ryan’s heart pumped in time with his pounding feet. In all the activity, a man lounging against a black, unmarked SUV in an alley beside the church stood out, catching Ryan’s eye. His arms, folded over his chest, pulled up sleeves to reveal a diamond and gold watch Ryan recognized from the hotel party.
“Erica!” His shout blurred into the senseless cacophony, like barking dogs. He caught up to her and pointed at the emir. “Fahad.”
“And Hatcher!” she hollered as the Speaker of the House emerged from a side door and swiveled his head before spotting Fahad’s SUV. “Let’s go!”
Glocks in hand, they raced toward the pair, catching up just as Speaker Hatcher stepped fully into the alleyway.
Whites showed all around Fahad’s eyes when he spied Ryan and Erica barreling down on him.
“On the ground, both of you!” Ryan barked.
Fahad reached through the driver’s side window. Ryan body-slammed the prince into the SUV’s side before he could retrieve a weapon.
From the corner of his eye, Ryan spied Erica lunging after the retreating Speaker of the House. Hatcher dodged left, then right, trying to evade her before bolting back into the church. Erica leapt after him.
“Erica! No!” Ryan roared. Fuck. The building was going to explode any minute.
Momentarily distracted, Ryan almost missed the blade flashing toward his face. He didn’t duck fast enough; it caught his arm. Pain lashed through his biceps, his tendons. His nerveless fingers opened, and his Glock clattered to the ground.
Snarling, Fahad stabbed the knife straight at Ryan’s gut. Ryan flung himself left, just in time to throw his hands out, stopping his chin from smacking into the ground. Springing to his feet, he whirled. Fahad’s momentum sent him stumbling forward a pace. Instinct took over. Survival of the fucking fittest. He was a hardened agent, not a pampered prince playing at terrorism. One roundhouse kick sent the blade skittering from Fahad’s hand. A brutal uppercut lifted the emir off his feet and sent him sprawling on his back.
Fahad froze and dropped his head to the ground when Ryan shoved his retrieved Glock practically up the prince’s nose. “Roll over, Al Monitor. Spread your arms and legs.”
Ryan cast an anxious eye at his bare wrist and swore. What time was it? How long did Erica have left? He had to get her out. They’d deal with Hatcher later.
“You son of a whore,” Fahad spat, jerking his arms and legs into position. “My sons will hunt you down. You and your family. They’ll butcher your children in their sleep. They’ll carve out your—”
Ryan cut him off with a vicious, bone-cracking jaw kick. What the hell did a guy have to do for some quiet to just fucking think? He snapped a handcuff on Fahad’s wrist and hauled the emir to his feet, then locked the other cuff around the SUV’s door handle. A quick glance at Fahad’s watch, and Ryan’s blood stopped in his veins.
One minute until the bomb detonated. It’d be a C-4 explosive, no doubt, capable of leveling this mammoth cathedral along with anyone trapped inside. He squinted up at the tall spires, the stained glass, the marble statues about to rain down, and his body was shaking—with anger, not with fear.
Bitter heat rose to his eyes. He was such a fool. He should have gone after Erica immediately and hauled her out rather than clicking into agent mode and collaring Fahad. Once again, he’d let his brain, not his heart, do the deciding.
“Wait!” Fahad screamed as Ryan dashed up the church stairs. “Get me out of here. This place is going to explode!”
“You’re in the right place at the right time, then,” Ryan shouted over his shoulder, hurtling through the door.
Al Monitor would get what he deserved, but Erica… Erica was in the wrong place at the worst time possible.
Chapter 20
Inside the church, Ryan slowed to a jog, his eyes adjusting to the gloom. The immense cathedral was empty save for two grappling figures in a distant vestibule.
“Erica!”
He sprinted up the long center aisle. Just as he reached the altar, a deep rumbling, like the growl of a mighty, prehistoric beast, rose from the marble floor. Horror seized Ryan when it heaved beneath his feet. The building became a living thing, the shudder increasing, traveling up the walls, shaking the statues and rattling the stained-glass windows. Plumes of plaster puffed from the ceiling. He fought to keep his balance as the church quaked, the roar becoming deafening. An enormous blast of heat blew Ryan back across the space.
He landed hard on his right side, cracking his hip. Then pain. Explosive, stunning pain. He lay beneath an overturned bench, ears ringing, as shards of stone, wood, and glass tore through the air, shredding everything in their path, the destruction seeming to go on forever. The thunderous crack of stone and wood had him bracing for impact. Debris piled around his body, rising until he thought he’d be buried alive. At last the noise lessened and a cloud of dust rose around him.
Terror for Erica started to overcome his panic. Had she survived the explosion?
Before he even tried to move, agony returned, worse this time, a vicious, wracking hurt. He ignored it, dug himself out, and stumbled to his feet. He was trained to run into danger, not away from it, dammit. All around him the church lay in ruins. Rubble clogged every inch of its former space. A tongue of fire licked a downed wooden beam, then snaked along what was left of the walls. Within seconds, a fire roared straight through the building.
He had to reach Erica before the flames cut them off from an exit. There was a good chance he might die trying, but there was a bigger picture. Something greater at stake. She meant everything to him, and he wouldn’t stop until his last breath to protect her.
He barely reached the vestibule’s entrance before the flames caught up. He flung himself on the ground and covered his head with his arms. Fire burst from a dangling light fixture, shattering the windows. He kept low, moving as fast as he could. The Glock was still in his hand, and he tried shoving it back in his pocket. It was only then he saw the lower half of his pants had blown off, along with his socks and shoes, leaving his singed skin exposed below the knee.
In the thick smoke, he lurched forward. He had to find Erica. Glass fell from his hair. He coughed from his chest, his eyes burning. Outside, sirens howled, and a rampant fire smoked in the vestibule. The room belched flame and black cloud. Every inch of space seemed ablaze.
“Erica!” he screamed, his voice ragged. Gagging and choking, he crawled forward on his hands and knees, feeling in every direction. At last he encountered a narrow ankle. Erica. She was on her stomach, trapped by a wooden beam. Beside her, Richard Hatcher lay motionless. Red bubbled from a bullet wound in his chest.
Ryan didn’t spare the asshole another minute, turning to Erica. Was she alive? Breathing? Despite the crescendo of heat practically broiling him, he compartmentalized and focused on the task at hand. Never mind he had no idea how they’d escape this inferno.
Adrenaline flooded him with strength and muffled his pain. He heaved the beam off her, ignoring the charred wood’s searing burn. She was still and white and covered in dust. He gathered her in his arms, sobbing.
The floodgates to his dammed-up emotions opened for the first time in years.
“I love you,” he cried, heartbroken that she couldn’t hear him. He leaned over to listen for her breath while his fingertips sought a pulse.
Nothing.
Jesus. No!
He grabbed an altar cloth that’d miraculously managed not to disintegrate in the heat, dunked it in a teetering holy water font, and wrapped it around Erica. Cradling her in his arms, he crashed backward through a broken window, shielding Erica with his body. He landed heavily on his back. He was slashed, burned, and bleeding but still alive.
Was Erica?
He scrambled forward on quaking limbs. The ambulances’ blue lights revolved some endless distance ahead. Despite the burning metal and sharp rubble cutting into his bare feet, only the crushing pain in his chest registered. He wouldn’t let Erica go another minute, another second of her life without knowing she meant the world to him….
If she survived.
If she didn’t, she’d die without ever knowing how much he desperately, passionately adored her….
Without him looking her in the eye and seeing the happiness he could have put there if he hadn’t been so fucked up about his father’s passing, his own upbringing, his stupid hang-ups.
When he reached the pavement, he flagged down an EMT, crashed to his knees and lowered his face to her lolling neck.
“I love you, Erica,” he sobbed. “I love you. Love you. Love you.”
Was it too late?
He’d learned to live and love in the moment thanks to this courageous woman who’d captured his heart.
Please let her wake up and be okay….
Had he waited too long and missed his chance? If so, he’d never forgive himself.
* * * *
Heavy, so heavy… Why couldn’t she move?
Erica’s eyelids were leaden, and everything hurt—her skin stretched too tight, her muscles burned like they’d been lit on fire, and her bones ached deep into the marrow.
Confusion swamped her. Her brain was full of cobwebs and fog. She tried to lift her arms, but they were weighed down, made of granite.
Something beeped steadily, mingling with voices, but all of it seemed far away, as if she stood at one end of a tunnel and everything else was at the other.
Slowly, things pieced themselves back together.
Sensation led the way, which was her first indication something was very wrong. She couldn’t move her arms or legs. They were encased in something. Something stiff and weighty. A blanket? Maybe, but her legs bumped inside a hard tube. She tried to speak, her tongue dry and swollen, too large for her mouth. Water would taste good.
Turn over half-buried stones in the desert just before sunup. There they were, in the bottom of a deep dune. Sip the cool condensation. Ah, where was the water? Sweet water. She should get some for herself.
But first she had to open her eyes.
Smell came next. The antiseptic scent was familiar, poking around in her head, but she couldn’t wiggle the exact memory free.
Why couldn’t she open her eyes?
Panic dug in. Why couldn’t she move?
Something was wrong. Something was really wrong. She just wanted to open her eyes. She wanted—
I love you, Erica.
I love you, too.
The voices echoed in her head, one of them hers. Definitely hers, and the other…
Who? She heard it again, louder this time, in her ear practically. The hair at her temple stirred, pushed by warm breath. A soft kiss brushed her cheek.
Was she dreaming?
The need to know drew her further from her fog, beckoning her closer, closer, until she felt her body more acutely.
“No signs of her regaining consciousness, yet.” A female voice interrupted her thoughts from somewhere on the other side of the tunnel.
Something cool and wet splashed on her cheek. “Erica. Can you hear me?” a man asked.
“It’s amazing she’s here at all,” the woman said. “Hell of a fighter. The agency is very proud. We’re pulling for her.” Footsteps grew fainter, then disappeared.
Agency? Why would some agency be proud about her?
A familiar voice, the man’s voice again, very soft. He was talking to her. Calling her.
“Erica, Erica, come back to me. Erica, listen to me. I love you, love you, love you. Erica, can you hear me? Down in your soul, do you hear what I’m saying? I love you! Don’t leave me without knowing this. Erica—”
The tone of the words changed, grew darker. The bed dipped, and a warm hand twined with her fingers.
“I wanted to tell you I loved you after my father died…but I was too wrecked and now—now I may be too late. So what do I do with that love now that I might lose you?” His voice broke. The blankets muffled a man’s sobs. She wanted to comfort him in some way. She tried to lift her hand, but it was too heavy. Still her eyelids wouldn’t open no matter how she struggled to put a face to the voice.
“So here I sit with only my love to offer if you’ll just come back to me. Please come back to me, sweetheart. I need you. Without you I’m lost, my heart missing its home.” The voice fell silent.
Her heart seized as she recognized that voice at last. Ryan. He was calling her back. He needed her. He loved her. Loved her enough to say it.
Or was she dreaming?
In her befuddled state, she couldn’t be sure.
There was a glow in the room now. Warmth came into her, starting at the top of her head and flowing steadily downward, into her brain, into her face, her heart.
When she was able to pry her eyes open, she was staring up at a fluorescent light set in a white tiled ceiling. It didn’t cast much light, but in the muted glow she could make out a dark window opposite her bed with shades drawn halfway down.
Her gaze dropped and tracked the bandages on her arms, the casts on her legs. She turned her head, wincing at the dull ache in her temples. Another cast on her left wrist.
That’s when she noticed the pain in her head. It hurt on one side, a lot, as if someone had given her a solid thwack with a baseball bat.
What was this pain in her head all about?
And why was she in a hospital room, lying on a bed, cocooned in layers of blankets and surrounded by machines? The scent of sandalwood and clean cotton seemed to be coming and going, like a gentle breeze.
Where was Ryan?
She tilted her face to the left, and he was there beside her on the bed, his head sunk onto the covers, one hand stretched out to touch her fingertips.
And still the strength and the warmth flowed into her chest, along her arms. She could move her fingers now, and wiggled them against his palm. His head snapped up.
“Erica!” The joyous shout of a child on summer’s first day, on Christmas morning, was in his voice.
But no…she had to be imagining him. Ryan would never have said those beautiful words to her.
Her eyelids were so weighted down, they shut themselves. She let herself drift. The best thing would be to fall back asleep and return to the lovely dream where Ryan said he loved her, where he kissed her cheek so tenderly and—
Screams filled her ears. Smoke choked her. Streams of panicked people shoved by her as she and Ryan fought against the human tide. They had to reach the SUV on the side of the church. Speaker Hatcher and Emir Fahad…
She had to stop them from escaping!
Strong hands gently guided her down, back onto the pillow.
A familiar handsome face swam into greater detail as she blinked. She could make out spiked lashes around red-rimmed golden eyes. The dark stubble on his scraped cheeks was too real to be imagined.
“Ryan,” she croaked. “Hatcher and Fahad. They’re escaping.”
His eyes burned with a fire within. “Not a chance
.”
“How?” Then memory returned, and her mouth dropped open. “I shot Speaker Hatcher in the vestibule,” she rasped.
Tension appeared on Ryan’s face as he carefully slid a hand behind her head and angled it forward. “Open your mouth.”
A straw grazed her lips. The cool liquid trickled across her tongue and down her throat as she sipped. But her throat was sore like her tongue. Bruised and battered like the rest of her. She quit drinking and dropped her chin to her chest to survey her casts and bandages. “Then the bomb went off. How did I…”
Their eyes met and the sense that he loved her was back, slipping through her veins. “It was a miracle,” he said, gruff.
Another image flashed in her mind’s eye. “You were that miracle. Fire was everywhere; I was trapped. A beam fell on top of me and I couldn’t move it. Couldn’t get out. But you—you came for me. I felt you carrying me. Heard you speaking.”
Ryan ducked his head. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“You could have been killed.”
He dragged in a deep breath. “I didn’t think about that.”
“What happened to my ‘think first, weigh the odds, act last’ Agent Arnell?” Happiness radiated from a deep inner core, shining through her.
“He’s gone.”
“Too bad,” she sighed.
“Too bad?”
“I was starting to like that guy.”
“I’m sure he’s not REALLY gone.” He lifted his face, and tears streamed down his cheeks.
She brushed her fingertips over the wet. “You said you couldn’t cry.”
“You’re the exception. Cryin’ Ryan is back, baby,” he said hoarsely, one side of his mouth lifting.
She groaned. “That’s so corny you could shuck it.”
“So you’re saying you find me even hotter now?”
She laughed, she couldn’t help it, even if it seemed to crack her aching ribs apart. “I fucking love a man who can cry.”
Ryan slid an arm around her shoulders. “Guess a little crying goes a long way, then.”
