by Kaylea Cross
He knew Christa wanted the security of a committed life partner and someday, marriage and kids. If they got that far, what kind of husband and father would he be? Would he be able to meet his own expectations regarding those roles? Or would he self-destruct the way his father had and devastate the ones who depended on him?
The rational part of his brain knew it was a stupid thing to think. It’s not like it was genetic or anything. Yet the fear loomed anyway.
His cell phone shrilled from the bedroom and he ran to answer it, frowning when he saw it was work calling. “Hutch here.”
“It’s Lieutenant Morrow. Sorry to interrupt your vacation but we’ve got a seriously shitty situation going down and I need you. Got an armed barricaded suspect holding his young son hostage for the past two days. Military vet, high on meth and heavily armed. Negotiator’s trying to talk him out, but nothing so far. We’ve got zero visibility into the house, and the way things are looking we’re going to have to go tactical on this one. I want you there with your sniper rifle.”
Hell. “Has my team come in?”
“Yeah, they’re being briefed right now.”
“What about—”
“There’s no one else. I need you, Hutch.”
It was a six hour drive and the timing sucked, but a little boy’s life might be on the line and his boss wanted him on scene. He promised to be there, then hung up, frustration gnawing at him. He and Christa had come a long way in the past few days, and the remaining time he’d planned for them would have helped her heal even more. Now that they knew for sure Sutherland was gunning for her she’d have to stay at his place in a kind of lockdown. The bastard had been smart enough to get Christa’s alarm code at home, so breaking into a secure building wasn’t much of a stretch.
He rolled his head to ease the tension in his neck. Wonderful. Now he had to break it to her that they had to leave this place where she felt safe, only to go back home and wind up locked in his condo alone.
****
“Was that him?” Christa asked after Bryn had hung up.
“Yep. I think he was worried you’d left town without him.”
She’d never even considered he might think that. “God, I feel so stupid. What do I do now?” When she’d woken up beside him this morning, she’d needed to collect her thoughts. With his warmth curled around her she’d felt too fragile to face him. So she’d slid out of bed and taken Jake out on the beach, giving herself time to check her emotions and come to grips with the fact that her heart was in his hands. Bursting with the need to vent, she’d used her cell phone to call Teryl, and her friend’s lack of surprise about her and Rayne had stunned her.
She’d kept Nate’s news about Seth to herself, not wanting to stress Teryl out in the delicate weeks of the first trimester. She’d walked all the way to Bryn’s, intending to turn around and start back, but had seen the kitchen light on and was dying for her advice.
Bryn pinned her with her intense stare. “Care to tell me what happened last night?”
Christa glanced down at her lap, toying with the frayed cuffs of her sweater. “Well nothing really, he...we...” She gave an eloquent shrug. “You know.”
“You slept together?”
Oh, why was this so hard to talk about? “Sort of.”
“And?”
Christa gripped her mug tighter and stared into its murky contents. “And I don’t know what to do now.”
“What do you mean?”
She shook her head, trying to find the right words. When none came, she pushed up from her chair and began pacing. She always thought more clearly when she was moving. “It was like he had absolute power over every part of me—my body, even my heart.” Her voice thickened. “I had no control and he wouldn’t let me hold anything back, even though I tried.”
“Wow,” Bryn breathed, fanning herself.
“I didn’t know I could feel like that,” she admitted.
“So you had amazing, mind-blowing sex, and then what?”
“I fell asleep with him on the couch and woke up beside him in his bed this morning.”
“So basically you took off in a panic because you’re scared of...?”
Christa took a sip of cocoa, let the mouthful of hot liquid warm her as she swallowed. “I’m afraid of getting my heart broken again.” It sounded so stupid, but hey, that was how she felt.
“And what makes you think he’ll break it?”
She met Bryn’s gaze, all the torment in her soul surely mirrored in her eyes. “Because he’s not into long-term relationships, everyone knows that. And because I’m in love with him.”
Bryn’s brown eyes softened. “Christa, you must know you’re more to him than just a fling.”
She nodded. “But do I mean enough to him that I won’t get my heart smashed all to pieces?”
“Maybe you should ask him that.”
She snorted. “Yeah, right. He’d run so fast he’d leave skid marks.”
Bryn laughed. “Look, sweetie, love is risky. That’s how it works. But I told you before, I’ve known Rayne for a long time and I’ve never seen or heard of him acting like this with another woman. Whatever happens, at least you know he really cares about you. And I also should point out that you’re not the only one feeling a little freaked out. He probably thought he’d scared you off for good before he called and found out you were here.”
Christa pushed her chair back and stood. “I’m going to go set him straight right now.”
Bryn walked with her and Jake as far as the last few yards, to the path climbing the dunes dotted with clumps of sea grass that waved in the ceaseless wind. The morning air was cool and damp, promising more rain. Nerves jumped in her stomach. She would waltz in and say hello, smile at him, and put this whole awkward scene behind her. There was no way she was walking away from him now. If things didn’t work out long-term, well, she’d just have to deal with it when the time came.
Realizing she’d stopped at the foot of the weathered porch stairs, she bolstered her courage and led Jake up to the back door. She let him in ahead of her, absorbing the jolt to her heart when she found Rayne standing in the kitchen doorway. Would the sight of him always take her breath away?
She forced the nerves aside, smiled at him as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “Hi. We got all our exercise for the day, so we can spend the rest of it relaxing. I brought you back a cinnamon bun.” Did that sound as ridiculous to him as it did to her?
“Thanks.” He accepted the brown paper bag from her. “You want some?”
“No, thanks. I had some toast at Bryn’s.” She went past him to hang up her coat, saddened that she’d caused this rift. All her fault, too. “Did you sleep well?”
He put the bun on a plate and set it on the table along with a cup of coffee. “Yeah, not bad.”
Until you woke up alone and wondered what the hell had happened to me. Blood rushed to her face and she busied herself doing dishes at the sink. “I’m sorry about this morning. I didn’t mean to make you worry.”
He stared at her. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. Just kind of embarrassed that I chickened out this morning.”
He nodded, seemed to be picking his words carefully. “I wondered if you were thinking about last night, about what you wrote in the journal, what he said to you about me.”
Oh, God, that’s what he’d thought? “I would never think those things about you. Ever.” Her voice rang with conviction.
Another nod, but she could tell he still wasn’t convinced. “You have to know I’d never—”
She walked over to stop the words with her hand, the first time she’d touched him since last night. “Don’t,” she whispered, “don’t even say it. I know you would never hurt me.”
He kissed her fingertips that covered his mouth, reached up to take her hand in his. “Never.” He drew her into a tight hug, and she felt the rest of the tension drain out of him. “So why’d you leave?”
“I wasn’t sure wh
ere you were at,” she admitted, staring at the Nike logo printed across the chest of his T-shirt. “In terms of us.” When he remained silent, she gazed up at him, her heart in her throat. “You know, if it was only a fling, or...” The sudden disbelief in his stare made her afraid she’d really offended him.
“Oh, Christ, not you, too.” He ran a hand through his hair, gave a humorless chuckle before meeting her gaze once more. “You’re not a fling. I care about you more than anything.”
The smile began in her heart and spread upward to light her face as the relief filtered through her. “I care about you more than anything, too.” No, way more. But she was going to keep that to herself a little longer.
“Well, I’m glad that’s all out in the open.” He chuckled and lowered his lips to hers.
“Me too.”
The man was positively lethal with his mouth, both in the things he said and in the way he used it to make her mindless. She gave up thinking and kissed him the way she’d been dying to, sliding her arms around his neck and lifting on tiptoes to press against him. Her tongue grazed his lower lip, but he made a sound of protest and pulled away.
“What?” The regret in his eyes worried her.
“Sorry to spring it on you like this, but we have to leave now. And if I keep kissing you like that I’m not going to stop and then there’s no way we’d make it back by tonight.”
If the car hadn’t been a police rental, they could have flown back instead of driving. She glanced toward the front door. He’d already packed their bags and set them in the entryway. Fear churned in the pit of her belly. Seth was back home, maybe waiting for her. She wasn’t ready to leave yet. “Why do we have to go?”
“Work called. There’s an emergency, and I told them I’d come in.”
It must be pretty bad if they’d interrupted his vacation. “Do they know you’re hours from home?”
He nodded. “It’s an ongoing situation. I’ll either be on sniper detail or with the entry team if we have to go in.”
Go in? Fear flashed through her, the dangers of his job kicking her in the diaphragm, more vivid now that they were together. She’d always worried about him on some level, but the risks had never been this real, this visceral. He could be hurt, or worse.
“Don’t look so worried, darlin’,” he soothed as he headed to the door. “I’ll be with my team, and we’re the best.”
“But—” She shut her mouth and trailed after him. She’d gone into this knowing he was a cop, and she had no right to heap her worry for him onto his shoulders. This was something she hadn’t thought about. How was she going to cope with his life being at risk every time he went to work? Would she be glued to the TV? Listening for any news of a police officer being injured in the line of duty, like Teryl obsessively listened for news about fires? Rayne putting himself in harm’s way tied her stomach in knots. And while he was out there saving other lives, where was she supposed to go? “What about...him?” She still couldn’t say his name aloud.
“You’ll stay in my condo.”
A flare of panic grabbed her. “But he disarmed my security system, and—”
“Shhh. I know.” He rubbed her back. “But my building has much better security. And I’ll spend as much time at home as I can.”
When she didn’t answer he assessed her with a frown. “Maybe you should stay here with Bryn.”
“No, I’d feel way safer with you.” And she had to go home at some point anyway, so the timing didn’t much matter, did it?
“Okay. Me too, until this is over.”
Jake nudged her thigh and she led him by his collar behind Rayne to the car. She was not going to spend the six hour drive worrying about being at Rayne’s place while Seth was somewhere in the city.
Warm fingers closed about the nape of her neck and she glanced up into his clear eyes.
“It’ll be okay, Chris.”
She forced a smile. “You’ll be careful, right?”
He opened her door for her. “I’m always careful, but even more so now because I’ve got you to come home to.”
His answer made her heart squeeze. But as she buckled her seatbelt and he slid behind the wheel, Christa couldn’t shake the dread closing in on her.
Chapter Seventeen
Rayne crept along the predetermined route, his entry team playing follow-the-leader behind him. Only twenty yards separating him from the back door of the HT’s—hostage taker’s—house which was camouflaged by waist-high weeds and rusted truck parts that littered the yard. The two-story shack drooped in disrepair, its frame sagging beneath tarps and plastic bags to keep the rain out. Your typical rundown north Surrey residence, complete with a barking pit bull chained to the tangled mass of wire that had once served as a fence. But what made Rayne most uneasy were the children’s toys strewn across the yard.
The ERT had been dispatched to the scene of a known crystal meth house where a man had taken his son hostage and demanded his wife be brought to him. After initial contact, the HT had refused to communicate with anyone, even the police negotiator via the Throw Phone they’d tried repeatedly to deploy. With every window blacked out and no one on the sniper team able to see into the building, they’d tried to get eyes and ears inside with a fiber optic snake camera, and mic, but the paranoid bastard had discovered them within minutes.
After disabling the cameras he’d sealed the air vents leaving them blind once again, so after a long night with no resolution, the decision had been made to do a full breach. Rayne was leading the second entry team. They were going up and in a second floor window. According to blueprints and reliable intel from a neighbor, they’d have clear line of sight from the open balcony into the living room below where the HT and hostage was still believed to be.
The commanding officer had authorized lethal force if necessary. Apparently the HT was a former Special Forces soldier, well versed in weapons, tactics and explosives, like Rayne’s father, and he knew firsthand how paranoid that kind of man could be. High on meth, this guy was capable of anything, including rigging the whole place to explode. He would be well armed, stocked with enough provisions to see him through a nuclear holocaust, and highly motivated to achieve his goal—whatever that was.
With a motion of his hand, Rayne signaled his teammates to ready for the ascent to the second-floor point of entry. His team was elite and he trusted every man with his life. After checking his weapon one last time he started up the ladder behind his shield man, slinking onto the lower kitchen roof, his teammates stacked behind him. Unable to detect any impending surprises like booby traps, Rayne gave the okay and his men followed behind him, covering each other’s six as the climbed onto the spongy roof in turn. Rayne ducked inside the open window, rifle extended, and scanned the empty room. No shots answered the intrusion, no shouts or sounds from below indicating that the HT knew they were there.
“Clear,” he whispered into his mic.
As point man he led his team inside, on the lookout for tripwires or anything else the crazy bastard might have set up. They picked their way cautiously over the rotten floorboards, the neglected planks creaking in the silence. Praying they would hold their weight, he took another hesitant step, carefully placing his boot. At a faint crack he froze, holding up his fist to signal a stop. His teammates froze, awaiting further instructions, and he shifted gingerly, seeking a better position. His foot sank.
Shit. He tried to pull up. The guy behind him grabbed the shoulder straps of his tactical vest to haul him back but the floor opened beneath him. His teammate cursed and dropped his weapon, straining to hold onto Rayne with both hands, and then they were both tumbling between the rotted joists with nothing to break their fall. Rayne slammed into the concrete floor on his side, knocking the wind out of his lungs, his helmet smashing against the ground. Pinholes of light danced in front of his eyes.
Rough hands reached down and snatched his weapon from his grasp. Before he could move, someone kneed him onto his stomach, ripped open his thigh h
olster and pressed the barrel of his own automatic pistol to the base of his skull. “Don’t fucking move.”
Heart pounding, Rayne laid there pressed flat to the dirty floor until he was ordered into a kneeling position and told to slowly remove his helmet and put both hands on top of his head. His teammate was face down, unmoving after the impact. The man holding Rayne’s own weapon on him was so thin he looked malnourished, with bruises and needle tracks marking the insides of both forearms. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin sallow and sunken over the bones of his skull. Held in front of him like a shield and crying softly was his son, who couldn’t have been more than five or six-years-old. Stark terror burned in the brown eyes staring down at Rayne. A sob tore its way out of his little chest.
“Shut up,” his father barked, still training the pistol on Rayne. The whimpers stopped. “Here, take this,” he ordered, tossing the MP5 rifle to another man in the corner, ragged and somewhere around middle age. Where the fuck had he come from? They’d had no intel on a second hostage taker. “Seems we’ve got you covered, eh boy?”
Rayne glared back at him. Where the hell was the second entry team?
“You wanna know how I caught you, pig? I’m ex-Airborne. A trained killer like you, only smarter. You better remember that.” His fingers yanked off Rayne’s earpiece then checked him for wires, ripping open the left breast pocket on his vest to reveal the Trident hidden there. “Our hostage has a SEAL trident on him, for Chrissake. Can you believe that?” He whooped. “You expect me to believe this is yours?” he taunted Rayne. “No SEAL I ever met would be dumb enough to fall through the goddamn ceiling.”
Laugh while you can, you smug bastard. But he was right. The suspect threw the Trident onto the floor. Rayne barely resisted the urge to grab for it.
