by Debbie Mason
He was a thirty-five-year-old, all-American male with a healthy appetite for sex. He enjoyed women, liked and respected the women he’d gone to bed with. But Cat was different; he wanted more from her than sex. He wanted to spend time with her, sit under the stars holding hands, ski off the top of mountains, clean out horse stalls. Whatever, he didn’t care, as long as he was with her. It wasn’t a comforting thought. It scared the hell out of him.
Chloe covered her face with a fur-trimmed gloved hand. “Look at her. I’m so embarrassed. She looks ridiculous.”
“She looks adorable,” Grayson said through a clenched-teeth smile as he waved at the crowd. “But you do realize, don’t you, Chloe, that the only reason your sister is riding around on an ATV in an elf costume freezing her buns off is to protect you?”
She shrugged and blew kisses to her cheering fans. “She doesn’t have to,” she said, smiling up at him. “I have you to protect me.”
Once Chloe had calmed down after learning someone wanted her dead, she’d seemed to romanticize the threat. This afternoon, he’d heard her and his grandmother rattling off stalker movies. He’d told them to cut it out when they started freaking each other out. But five minutes later, they both were sighing with dreamy smiles on their faces over a movie entitled The Bodyguard. He’d Googled it, and that’s when he got nervous. Bloody actresses, they were a pain in the ass.
As they passed the Sugar Plum Bakery, the flatbed hit a pothole. Chloe stumbled in her heels. Grayson steadied her. Chance stuck his head out the truck’s window. “Sorry about that. You guys okay back there?”
“Jolly good,” Grayson called out and heard Chance’s amused snort.
“I love when you say that.” Chloe smiled. “It’s so cute.”
Cat, who was across from them, looked his way and rolled her eyes. Grayson was about to yell out to her that she looked “jolly good” just to bug her, or better yet, make her laugh, but she’d already driven past. The flatbed slowed as Chance allowed her to cut in front of them to come around to the other side. Easton stuck his head out the passenger-side window to say something to her, something that made her laugh. Grayson wished the guy had done as his brother asked and stayed at home. The wanker.
Chloe stamped her feet, then looped her arm through his, snuggling against him. “It’s freezing. I can’t wait to get home. We can sit by the fire and drink mulled wine. How does that sound?”
No doubt Cat would be pouring the wine. “Great,” he said, scanning the crowd. He frowned when he spotted someone wearing a snowmobile suit and helmet identical to Cat’s move toward the front of the crowd. As a gloved hand started to rise, Grayson yelled, “Shooter! Hit the gas,” at the same time he grabbed Chloe and took her down with him.
He’d just covered her with his body when the first shot rang out, the second shot almost drowned out by the terrified screams of the crowd. The flatbed lurched to a stop. He looked up to see Chance leap from the truck and start running, his gun drawn. “Call for an ambulance! Cat’s been hit.”
And that’s when Grayson saw her ATV on its side directly across from them. His pulse raced, the sound of his heartbeat pounding in his ears. “Stay down,” he ordered Chloe, fighting against his panic. With a shooter on the loose he had to protect her, but everything inside urged him to go to Cat. He raised himself on his elbow, whipping his head around when Easton dragged himself onto the flatbed.
“You armed?” Grayson asked the other man. At Easton’s tight nod, he said, “Look after Chloe,” and vaulted to his feet. He jumped from the float, racing to Cat’s side. Chance had righted the three-wheeler and was on his knees beside her. All around them, people were shouting, pointing in the direction the shooter had gone. Three deputies in tan uniforms and brown leather jackets ran toward them. Chance waved them on.
Grayson dropped down beside Cat. Her eyes were open. She was alive. He silently repeated the words in his head, willing his pulse to slow, the suffocating ache in his chest to release. She turned her head and frowned at him. “Are you going to faint?”
She was talking. She was going to be okay. He wasn’t going to lose her. “Oh no,” she groaned.
He finally managed to get his voice to work and took her hand. “It’s all right, love. You’re going to be fine. Where were you hit?”
She tried to sit up and winced. He gently pressed a hand to her chest, pushing her back down as he searched her for some sign of injury. He thought she may be in shock.
She scowled at him. “Stop it. I’m fine. I can’t let my mother see me lying on the ground.” Gage, with his gun drawn, was escorting Cat’s mother and Dr. McBride to them.
Chance, who’d risen to his feet, looked down at Cat. “Stay put until Dad checks you over.” He grinned. “Harry, you look like you should lie down beside her.”
Grayson ignored him, even though he thought he might be right. “Cat—”
“Oh my baby,” Liz O’Connor cried, going down on her knees beside her daughter, carefully taking Cat’s hand in hers. “Thank God, you’re alive.”
“Mom, don’t cry. I’m okay. Honest.” She pushed away Grayson’s restraining hand to sit up and put her arms around her mother.
Grayson hadn’t taken his eyes off her and said, “Right arm. Bicep. Cat, I’m going to remove your jacket.” He carefully eased the fur coat off her shoulder and down her arm. She was bleeding; not a lot, but she was bleeding.
“Son, do you mind if I take a look?”
As he got to his feet to give Dr. McBride room, across the street Chloe broke free from Easton. “I need to go to my sister,” she screamed, racing toward them. She collapsed beside her mother and Cat, tears streaming down her face. “Do something, please do something, she’s bleeding! You can’t let her die.”
“Chloe.” Cat sighed. “Chloe, look at me. I’m fine. It’s just a scratch.”
Chloe flung herself at Cat. “You took a bullet for me. You nearly died trying to protect me.”
“What a freaking drama queen,” Easton muttered as he limped to Grayson’s side. “Cat gets shot, and it’s all about her.”
He was being a little harsh, but Grayson had to agree with him. Dr. McBride calmed Liz and Chloe in a quiet, soothing voice as he examined Cat, who grumbled she didn’t have time for this. Gage and Chance, who were talking to the right of them, looked up when Jack Flaherty jogged in their direction with a wadded-up towel in his hand. “Shooter took off on a snowmobile that was parked in the alley beside the bakery. He went through the park. He dropped this.” Jack opened the towel to reveal a Glock 22. “Your deputies went after him.”
“Good job,” Gage said, patting Jack on the back. He took the gun from him.
As people sensed the danger had passed, several made their way toward them. His grandmother, Nell McBride; Gage’s wife, Madison; and Chance’s fiancée among them.
When Vivi approached with a camera in her hand, Chance crossed his arms. “You’ve got some explaining to do, Slick.”
She went up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Relax, okay? I was careful, but you’re going to want to see this. Just give me a minute.”
She went to walk around him, but Chance stopped her, lifting her off her feet to plant a kiss on her mouth. “I know you’re careful, Slick. But you can never be too careful for me.” He lowered her to her feet, and Grayson didn’t miss the tender pat he gave to her stomach. She whispered something to Chance, and he laughed. “It would serve you right if she did.”
Vivi rolled her eyes, then joined the women now crowded around Cat. They heard her say something to Cat, and then she returned. She held up her camera, angling the screen toward them. She’d gotten several shots of the shooter: before, during, and after. And with each one she revealed, Chance McBride’s face darkened. Grayson didn’t blame the man. For all her talk of being careful, Vivi had moved closer to the action with each successive shot. Obviously unaware the man beside her was seething, Vivi said, “Wait until you see this one. You won’t believe it.”
> They leaned in. It was a photo of Cat. She’d seen the shooter and purposely tipped the ATV onto its side. Driving with the skill of a professional on two wheels, she leaned forward, head down. In the next frame, you could see the bullet hit her arm, the fur on the jacket part, a puff of smoke. If she hadn’t leaned forward… Grayson’s chest tightened to the point he could barely breathe. He’d seen people die an ugly death in front him, some by his own hand, and he’d taken a bullet himself, but nothing prepared him for how he felt at that moment, knowing how close Cat had come to being killed.
Chance gave him a look of understanding and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t even go there,” he said quietly.
“Cat O’Connor, you’re the shit,” Vivi called over her shoulder. “You’re going on the front page of the Chronicle tomorrow.”
“And you’re in shit up to your gorgeous violet eyes, Slick,” Chance McBride muttered.
Behind them, Cat argued with Dr. McBride. When her stepfather gave in, agreeing that she was okay to go home, a cold calm settled over Grayson. Now that he knew she was all right, it was time to get to work. “Gage, have your deputies round up the cast and crew from As the Sun Sets and bring them to the station for questioning. Put an APB out on Sam Redding. If my hunch is correct, he’s the shooter and won’t return to his room. And to avoid raising suspicions, bring in anyone from Christmas who might hold a grudge against Chloe.”
Easton snorted. “He doesn’t have enough room in the station to hold them all.”
“Including your brother.” Grayson ignored the McBride brothers’ shocked expressions and continued, “Question Easton first. I’d like him to provide security at the ranch while I sit in on the interrogations. You do have a two-way mirror, don’t you?”
Gage didn’t appear to appreciate his running the show, but nodded.
Jack Flaherty stared at Grayson. “Who are you?”
“Special Agent Grayson Alexander.” He extended his hand. “Sorry for the deception, but I’m undercover. I’d appreciate your keeping the information to yourself for the time being. That goes for all of you, by the way.”
Nell McBride sidled out from behind her great-nephew Gage. “Well, I’ll be. I was right after all.”
“Aunt Nell—” Gage began.
“Puusssy!” Ty pushed his way through the throng of people on the sidewalk, his arms in the air as he screamed for Cat. He sounded like Stallone calling for Adrian in Rocky. GG and Chloe were rubbing off on Grayson. His life had become a movie track. And now the woman he’d just realized how much he wanted in that life, joined them.
She raised her hand. “Ty, over here.” Then turned to Grayson. “What are you all doing standing around? Let’s get this show on the road. Gage, my gut says it was Sam. I doubt he’ll stick around, so might be a good idea to put out an APB on him. Bring in the cast and crew for questioning. Maybe throw in… Why are you all looking at me like that?”
“Despite what you and Special Agent Alexander seem to think, this isn’t my first rodeo,” Gage said with a disgruntled shake of his head. “So if you don’t mind, I’m going to get this gun processed.”
“You have the gun?” Cat asked.
“Yeah.” Gage opened the towel.
She looked from the Glock to Grayson. “It’s mine.”
* * *
Cat stared up at the ceiling in her bedroom. It was one in the morning, and she was wide awake. Her arm ached, but that wasn’t the reason she couldn’t sleep. Her brain wouldn’t shut off. She’d nearly been killed by her own gun. Grayson was right, she should have told him or at least notified Gage that it was missing. She expected to see the same look of suspicion in Grayson’s eyes that she had earlier. This time, it would have been warranted. But he’d seemed more concerned than anything else—concerned about her. Everyone was, but unlike her sister, Cat didn’t like the attention. And since she’d been getting a lot of it, especially from her mom, Chloe hadn’t been happy.
Once her initial worry had passed, Chloe made sure Liz and Paul understood that she had been the target, not Cat. That it was her life that was in danger, not Cat’s. Yeah, the ride home in Paul’s SUV, stuck between Estelle and Chloe in the backseat, had been about as fun as getting shot at. The only thing that had calmed her mother down was learning that Grayson was an FBI agent and Chloe’s bodyguard.
Estelle was only too happy to share stories of her grandson’s heroics to set Liz’s mind at rest. Chloe’s oohing and aahing encouraged the older woman to get a little dramatic in the telling of her tales. Cat knew she was in trouble when Estelle started to act out a particularly violent confrontation Grayson had with a Russian mobster. Cat’s encounter with the snow-covered pavement earlier must have compromised her reaction time because she hadn’t moved fast enough to avoid an elbow in the cheek.
Which of course led to more attention from Paul and her mother… and Chloe’s attack. If not for the timely arrival of Ty and Easton, Cat wagered it would have been the mother of all attacks. Even Estelle had been mildly dismayed. But all it took was for Easton to stand in front of Chloe with his arms crossed and a sardonic eyebrow raised. Too bad they couldn’t bottle that look. It worked even better than the sugar pills.
A gust of wind rattled her bedroom window, and Cat pulled the covers over her shoulders. She thought about making herself something hot to drink, but that would mean getting out of her warm bed. She’d also run the risk of waking her sister or Estelle, or worse, Paul and her mother.
Who, like Ty and Easton, were spending the night. Cat was kind of surprised Ty hadn’t crawled in bed with her. Then again, she couldn’t compete with the White Knight.
Or maybe she could, she thought when the knob turned on her bedroom door. But the tall, broad-shouldered shadow was definitely not Ty. The intruder had something in his hand and moved with a stealthy grace, quietly closing the door behind him. Surely if someone had broken into the house, Easton would have heard them. Unless… She sat up, made a gun with her fingers, and said, “Don’t move or I’ll shoot.”
“How many bullets in your finger, love?”
Her shoulders sagged with relief at the sound of Grayson’s amused voice, and she fell back onto the pillows. “One. But I’m a crack shot.” She reached across her nightstand to turn on the lamp, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the light. Or maybe it was the sight of the dangerously handsome man standing beside her bed in his black suit. His hair looked like he’d been dragging his fingers through the dark chocolate waves, a heavy scruff shadowing his jaw.
He crouched beside her, setting a thermos and mug on her nightstand as his gaze roamed her face. “How’s the arm?”
“Fine as long as I don’t roll on it.”
“Easton didn’t think you were getting much sleep. I thought this might help.” He unscrewed the lid, the smell of citrus and cinnamon wafting past her nose as he poured the steaming red liquid into the mug. He held it out of her reach. “You haven’t taken any pain meds for a while, have you?”
“Four hours ago, I’m good.”
“Careful, it’s hot.”
“Are you going to join me?”
He smiled. “I was hoping you’d ask.” He stood and shrugged out of his jacket, laying it on the end of her bed. His eyes on her face, he undid the top two buttons of his white dress shirt, then rolled up the sleeves to bare his tanned, corded forearms. She felt the heat rising to her cheeks, and it had nothing to do with the mulled wine.
She cleared her throat. “I take it there’s been no news since you last texted me?”
Pouring the wine into the thermos cup, he shook his head. “Nothing. Still no sign of Sam. And Molly and George had airtight alibis.” He rounded the bed and set his cup on the other nightstand. “Sit up for a sec.” She did as he asked, and he propped two pillows behind her back, placing two more against the headboard before stretching out beside her. He grinned at what she imagined was her look of surprise. “You don’t mind, do you?” he asked as he carefully slid an arm around h
er shoulders.
“No, not all.” She kind of did. It was difficult lying this close to him knowing they’d do nothing more than talk. It wouldn’t be like the last time when he’d rocked her world with his kiss. After he’d questioned her about her e-mail to Molly, Cat had made it clear that without trust, there was no future for them. “You must be tired.”
He played with her hair. “More frustrated than tired. I want this case over. I want you out of the line of fire. Tonight was too close.”
She felt the tension in his arm, the muscle flexing behind her neck. That as much as his words made her think that maybe Grayson cared as much about her as she did about him. It’s why she set the mug on the nightstand and turned to face him. “I’m used to being in the line of fire. I can handle myself.”
“Do you know what it was like, seeing you on the ground, knowing I had to stay with Chloe when I wanted to be with you?”
She stroked his clenched jaw with the pads of her fingers. “It wasn’t your job to protect me. You—”
“This isn’t about a job anymore. I care about you, Cat. I want you safe. Your sister is a target, which makes you one, too. As tonight proved.”
She felt a twinge in her bicep where the bullet had sliced through her skin, and lowered her arm, placing her hand on his chest. “So when you say you care about me, does that also mean you trust me? Despite the shooter having my gun and wearing my—”
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. We had this conversation at the warehouse, remember?”
“I do”—she nodded, trailing the tip of her finger along the buttons of his shirt—“and I also remember our earlier conversation. The one where we were going to kiss and make up. I think you might have said something about going to second base, too.”
