Three (Count to Ten Book 3)

by Jane Blythe

  Not to mention turned on.

  They had gone straight back to his place where they had spent the last few hours in bed. And if her near insatiable hunger for him was anything to go by, she was as turned on by killing as he was.

  It had been her first time being involved in killing someone she hadn't deemed deserving, but it hadn't seemed to bother her. She hadn't killed anyone, but she hadn't protested his actions, and she had followed his orders and helped. Which made him excited about their future. The things they could achieve together—once Isabella accepted that murder was murder, and in some way, everyone was deserving of it—were limitless, provided she even needed to give herself a reason. They would be unstoppable.

  “Hey,” he reached across the table and hooked a finger under Isabella’s chin, tilting her face up so she was now looking at him and not the stolen engagement ring.

  “Hey,” she said back, a smile spreading over her face.

  “You're not eating,” he pointed out. After spending the rest of the morning in bed, they had decided to go out for a romantic lunch. Isabella had chosen a small Italian restaurant; there were only three other couples in the room and a few workers. They’d ordered and received their meals, but all Isabella had done so far was stare at her ring as though it may disappear any second.

  “We’re really engaged,” she marveled dreamily. “I never thought that would happen to me.”

  He didn’t bother to point out to her that at seventeen she was hardly an old maid. “Well, happen it did,” he grinned. “And I guarantee you'll never forget the proposal.”

  Isabella chuckled. “That’s true,” she agreed. “I wish we were alone,” she cast a glance at the other diners. “It could be really romantic here. We could close the blinds, turn the fairy lights on, play some music.”

  “We could be alone,” he raised a suggestive eyebrow, wondering whether Isabella was ready to take the first step from pre-meditated murder to spur of the moment.

  Both her eyebrows raised in surprise as comprehension dawned, but there was no horror or fear, only interest and a glimmer of excitement. “I have my gun on me,” she said at last.

  “You carry?” he couldn’t quite hide his astonishment.

  “Always,” she replied. “And I am a perfect shot. There are seven people in here, plus another two out the back in the kitchen,” she considered. “I could take out these seven, but the other two could get away once they hear the shots.”

  “I’ll get everyone in here; you take care of the rest,” he announced. Without hesitation, she nodded. Ricky stood, then bent to kiss Isabella, before heading for the bathroom. On the way, he pretended to stumble, careening into one of the couples and sending their table, meal and all, crashing to the floor. “Oh, I'm so sorry,” he pasted on a look of horrified embarrassment.

  “Uh, that’s okay,” the startled young woman assured him.

  The middle-aged waiter came rushing over, “Is everything okay here?”

  “I'm afraid I tripped,” Ricky said earnestly.

  “No one’s hurt?” the waiter asked.

  “I'm fine,” Ricky replied.

  “So are we,” the young man at the table indicated himself and his girlfriend.

  “I'm so sorry,” Ricky said again. “I've made such a mess.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” the waiter assured him. “So long as no one’s hurt we can get this cleaned up in a jiffy and get new meals for you guys.” He turned to call over his shoulder at the kitchen, “Uncle Antonio, Aunt Natalia? Could you two come out here for a moment?”

  A moment later a couple in their late sixties emerged from the kitchen, heading straight for them. “What happened?” the old man asked.

  “I'm afraid we had a little accident,” the waiter explained.

  Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop.

  In quick succession and with perfect accuracy, each person in the restaurant fell to the floor. A bright red dot in the center of each of their heads.

  “Never go for a heart shot when you can make a head shot,” Isabella came up behind him and slipped her arms around his waist.

  “When you said you were a perfect shot, you weren’t kidding,” Ricky was mightily impressed. Having Isabella with him was going to be beneficial, not just personally but practically, too. Her shooting ability was bound to come in handy sooner or later.

  She just grinned, then went quickly to the front door, locked it and turned the closed sign so it was facing out, then moved to each of the four windows and closed the blinds. While she did that, Ricky located the switch to turn on the fairy lights that strung across the ceiling and turned on some music.

  “Dance with me?” He took her hand and led her to the middle of the room.

  Isabella came into his arms, hers sliding around his neck, as she settled herself against his chest. Together they swayed to the music. Ricky had never liked dancing before. But now, with Isabella in his arms, it was heavenly.

  “Make love to me, Ricky,” Isabella whispered in his ear.

  “Here?” his gaze travelled the room, taking in the nine bodies slumped in crumpled heaps on the carpet. Their frozen eyes staring sightlessly, little red puddles around their heads.

  “Today is the beginning of a whole new world for us,” she whispered; her gray eyes were dark with longing. “I want you. I need you.”

  That was all he needed to hear. Lowering her to the floor, he began to undress her, and she him. This time their lovemaking was slower, more focused—not the wild and hot sex they’d had before. This time it was about more than just simply sex. This time it meant something. It was a genuine joining—both body and soul—of two individuals. They were no longer two, but one.

  Afterward, as they lay there together, their naked bodies entwined, there were so many thoughts rushing through his head. They had to get baby Sophie and drop her off at Isabella’s sister’s house. They had to find a place to get married. And someone to marry them. They had to move. With Xavier Montague around, he wasn’t safe here. Before that had been fine. Tormenting Annabelle had been his number one priority, but now he had something—someone—else to focus on. He had to kill Annabelle. Then they would move. He would need a new job. A new identity. Isabella would, too.

  Deliberately, he stopped himself.

  Planning was what the old Ricky would have done. But now he was going to go with the flow. Do whatever felt right in the moment.

  He was a whole new Ricky Preston with a whole new outlook on life.

  * * * * *

  3:09 P.M.

  Paige was tired.

  Too many nights without sleep were catching up with her.

  She hated those nightmares. Over the last almost twenty years, they had robbed her of so many night’s sleep. She supposed she should be used to them by now. Over time they had faded. She could go months without the dream, then suddenly it would be back, ripping her from sleep as the events of that awful night played out once again in her dreams.

  It made her uncomfortable to have Ryan know what had happened. Not so much the part about how someone had stalked her mother and then broken into their home and attacked them. It was that he knew how she had fallen apart afterward.

  Sure, she had only been a kid, but still, the facts were that she had had a complete breakdown, and now that Ryan knew he would always be expecting it to happen again. Just like Elias was.

  Of course, she had told Elias what had happened to her once it became clear to both that they were serious about each other and they saw a future for themselves together. And he had told her many times before that just because she had had a breakdown as a teenager didn’t mean he thought less of her. But obviously, he had been lying. As soon as he knew that someone was harassing her, the first thing he had worried about was that she would fall apart again.

  Still she was glad that they had talked last night and she had moved past feeling angry with him. When Ryan had dropped her off at home last night, he had come in, made sure she was okay
, and despite her protestations that she was fine on her own, he’d stayed with her till Elias arrived. Then he had insisted that they talk things through.

  At first, Paige hadn't been interested. Her emotions were still too raw, and she was still too hurt that Elias saw her as weak. But Ryan had persisted, telling her that she’d feel better if she sorted things out with her husband. Reluctantly, she had agreed, knowing that he was right. So, she and Elias had talked for hours last night, and her husband had managed to convince her that even though he worried about her, he knew she was strong

  Stifling a yawn, Paige hurried toward her car.

  She couldn’t wait for this day to be over.

  Hopefully, after several nights of practically no sleep she would be exhausted enough to crash tonight.

  She wished desperately that they would find whoever kept threatening her. She knew Rose and Jack were looking into it, and they would keep looking until they found answers, but she wanted it over now. She wasn’t going to be able to completely relax until the person was caught and the threats stopped.

  The blow came without warning.

  One second she was on her feet walking toward her car in the underground parking lot of the police station, and the next there was an agonizing burst of pain in her back and she dropped to the concrete floor.

  She was winded for a moment, then the pain faded as she fought to catch her breath.

  A pair of shoes appeared in her line of sight. Paige thought they were black, but her vision had gone fuzzy as she struggled to draw a breath.

  Groggily, she thought that she should reach for her gun, but as she moved her hand, something struck her back again, and all she could do was gasp and collapse against the concrete.

  A figure loomed over her. “Stay away from him,” a menacing voice whispered.

  Stay away from him? Was this her stalker?

  “I saw you with him last night,” the voice continued.

  With him last night? The only people she had been around last night were Ryan and then her husband. “From wh…who?” she wheezed.

  “From Ryan,” the voice replied. “He doesn’t belong to you.”

  Ryan? Why was someone concerned about her spending time with Ryan? They were friends, they worked together, there was no way to avoid him. And then it clicked. This was Sofia’s stalker. Whoever had been harassing Sofia had obviously decided that she was a threat to her via Ryan and intended to try and take her out. But why did they care about her and Ryan working together? They were friends—good friends—but nothing more. Maybe the stalker thought she and Ryan were involved?

  “I'm married,” she managed to force out. Her chest was still heaving as she tried to draw a decent breath.

  “I know. I know everything about you. And I won't let you hurt Sofia. Stay away from Ryan.”

  She rolled onto her back and attempted to calm her spinning head enough to focus on the man’s identity. They didn’t know who was stalking Sofia, but if she could get a description of him, then maybe they could figure it out. “Ryan and I…just friends…not involved…” she tried to explain.

  “Liar,” the shadowy figure hissed and raised something above his head.

  Paige just managed to raise an arm to block the blow before it struck her head. Her arm exploded in pain, and she knew instantly that the bones in her arm had shattered. Before she could do more than moan in agony, another blow got her head. The world began to spin and tilt and twirl around her. Desperately, she tried not to black out. If she didn’t stay awake, she had no chance of surviving this.

  It finally occurred to her damaged brain to call for help. She was in the parking lot at work—someone had to be around, someone had to hear her. She opened her mouth to scream, but another blow got her in the chest and stole her breath again. It was all she could do to curl herself into the fetal position and attempt to protect her vital organs as best as she could.

  Blows began to rain down on her in earnest now—striking her head, her arms, her body. She lost count of how many there were. All she knew was pain. So much pain.

  Paige knew she was about to die and wished that she could tell her husband just one more time that she loved him.

  “Hey!”

  The voice came out of nowhere, and the man beating her suddenly disappeared.

  Relief temporarily overwhelmed the pain and her broken and battered body collapsed back against the ground.

  “Paige?” The horrified exclamation was uttered as someone dropped down beside her. “Paige, can you hear me?” It was Ryan and his fingers pressed against her neck. His touch seemed to reignite the burning pain that radiated the entire length of her body and she groaned. “Paige? Are you with me? Open your eyes, now,” he commanded.

  It took every bit of effort she possessed, but she managed to force her eyelids open. Her vision was fuzzy, but she could see enough to see Ryan hovering anxiously at her side.

  “Hi there,” his voice was forced calm, and he pasted on a strained smile. “He’s gone. I'm here now, you're safe. Just hang in there; help’s on the way.”

  She had to tell Ryan who attacked her. She had to warn him that Sofia’s stalker had escalated. That he was dangerous now. Violently dangerous. The only problem was everything was hazy; she was disoriented and struggling to stay awake.

  Ryan’s voice was rumbling above her, but she was in too much pain and too groggy to make out what he was saying.

  Summoning her reserves of strength, she managed to lift her hand and grasp the leg of Ryan’s pants, tugging on them until he looked down at her. He set his phone down and gently disengaged her hand from his pants, giving it a squeeze before setting it down. “Try not to move,” he cautioned her. “I don’t know how badly you're hurt. Help’s going to be here soon; just hold on.”

  They both knew she was hurt badly. How badly, she wasn’t sure, but her entire body burned, her head swam, and breathing was difficult, so she was guessing she was in bad shape. Already she was fighting to remain conscious, but before she passed out, she had to tell Ryan about the stalker.

  Gathering her strength again, she managed to murmur, “Stalker.”

  “Is that who attacked you?” Ryan leaned down closer so he could hear her weak voice.

  She nodded, then against her will her eyes fluttered closed.

  “Paige? Come on, Paige, you stay with me,” he ordered.

  She forced her eyes back open. “Sofia,” was all she could manage.

  “What about Sofia?” Ryan sounded confused.

  “Sofia’s stalker,” her breathing was getting more and more labored.

  “Sofia’s stalker attacked you?” Ryan asked. She nodded. “Was it Sofia’s stalker who’s been stalking you?”

  Another nod. “Thinks we’re cheating.” Her eyelids drooped closed again.

  “What?” Ryan sounded shocked, then apparently noticed she was drifting off because he gripped her shoulder, “Paige? No, no, no, no, no, come on, Paige, don’t do that, you have to stay awake. Paige, don’t go to sleep.”

  But it was too late—everything faded away into nothingness.

  Footsteps pounding toward her was the next thing she was aware of.

  “What happened?” Ryan’s brother Jack demanded.

  “Someone attacked her,” Ryan replied. His voice was close by, so he must still be next to her.

  “Is she conscious?” Rose’s voice was also close.

  “She was; she passed out,” Ryan answered.

  “Paige, honey, it’s Rose. If you can hear me, I need you to open your eyes. Can you do that for me?”

  Somehow she managed it. Ryan, Rose, and Jack were all hovering over her. She was covered in something soft and warm; a glance down confirmed it was Ryan’s jacket.

  “I thought Mark was coming,” Ryan was starting to sound panicked.

  “He was right behind us,” Jack replied. “Ambulance should be here soon, too.”

  Paige didn’t hear Ryan’s response. She must have lost consciousness again
because the next thing she knew there were voices floating above her. The voices were disjointed, nothing more than snippets here and there.

  “Low blood pressure…internal bleeding...shock...”

  The words swirled together until she couldn’t decipher any of them and then faded altogether. When she opened her eyes again, Ryan’s other brother Mark was leaning over her. Mark was a trauma surgeon and he was already assessing her condition.

  “Hey, Paige,” he smiled reassuringly at her when he saw she was awake. “We’re going to get you to the hospital soon; just try to relax.”

  “I can't breathe,” she gasped, she was breathing way too fast. Even though every part of her body ached, her stomach swirled with nausea, and her head swam. It was the fact that she was having trouble breathing that was scaring her the most.

  “Yeah, I can see that,” Mark replied, his voice was calm and that helped to calm her. “I think a broken rib may have punctured your lung. I'm going to have to put a needle in your chest, okay? It should make it easier for you to breathe.”

  Paige hated needles, but right now she was too weak to protest. She was too weak to do much of anything. The pain was so overwhelming that it was beginning to override everything else. Now she just wanted to sleep.

  “Jack, can you hold her still?” Mark asked.

  She winced reflexively as Jack’s hands pressed down on her shoulders. “Sorry, Paige,” Jack murmured apologetically but didn’t loosen his grip.

  “Okay, Paige, this is going to hurt,” Mark cautioned. “I can't do anything about that; I don’t have anything on me to give you. I'd wait for the paramedics, but you need this now.”

  Her head was beginning to pound so badly that she didn’t think she was going to be conscious long enough to have to worry about Mark plunging a needle into her chest. There was one more thing she needed to do before she let herself fade away. “Ryan?”

  “Yeah, I'm here,” his face appeared above her.