by Julie Miller
He nodded his acquiescence when a woman in pink scrubs approached him. “I know. I’ll leave.”
Duff replayed the words the medics had told him when he’d finally gotten Melanie on a boat and medevaced her on a helicopter waiting at the Fiske compound. There were worries about infection from the lake water that had gotten inside her body, layers of muscle and skin to repair. A whole lot of blood loss.
He got on the elevator and rode down to the second floor, remembering other things, too. Melanie had talked a lot at first when he’d pulled her on board the Ozark Dreamer. She’d tried to tell him how to stanch the wound, how to relieve the pressure around her collapsed lung. She’d told him what she’d learned from Henry and Abby, despite him telling her to shut up and save her strength. But then she’d stopped talking. His love and his prayers hadn’t been enough to keep her with him.
Keir had driven him to Saint Luke’s while Mel was in surgery. His dad had brought him a change of clothes. Sleep wasn’t really an option until he knew Melanie was going to wake up and talk to him again.
The elevator opened to the sound of a squealing baby, and for a split second, he wondered if he’d remembered to push the elevator button. But then he saw the plump, silver-haired woman holding the happy infant, Duff’s future nephew, as an eighty-year-old retired cop, standing with the aid of a walker, tickled the infant’s tummy.
“Grandpa.”
Seamus greeted him with a slurred tone of concern. “Son. How ah you?”
“How are you, old man?” he tried to tease.
“Ah’ll hang in there if you will.”
Millie Leighter’s blue eyes were shiny with tears when she tipped her face up for Duff to kiss her cheek. “We’re so worried about you. We’re keeping you and Melanie in our prayers.”
“Thanks. Any news?”
She shook her head before pressing her cheek to Seamus’s shoulder. Seamus patted her arm in comfort. Millie might not be blood, but she was definitely family.
Stopping at the coffee machine to consider another cup, Duff was greeted by Niall’s fiancée, Lucy McKane. The petite brunette slipped her arms around his waist and squeezed him in a hug. Her eyes were a little misty, too, when she pulled away. “We’re all anxious to meet Melanie. I know we’re going to love her as much as you do.” She held up the baby bottle in her hand. “I’d better go feed Tommy.”
He shouldn’t have been surprised to see the rest of his family when he entered the waiting room. Keir and his fiancée, Kenna Parker, were there, sharing a conversation with his grandfather’s nurse, Jane Boyle. His sister, Liv, jumped up from her chair and dashed across the room to give him a hug, followed more slowly by her husband, Gabe Knight, with a handshake.
“You know they have the best doctors here,” Gabe offered.
“I know.”
Liv brushed her short brown bangs off her forehead. “Niall went to the front desk to see if he could talk to the doctor who performed the surgery and give us a report.” She squeezed his arm. “Maybe you should try to get some rest?”
With a noncommittal nod, Duff walked on past them to the man he was proud to be a carbon copy of in so many ways. Green eyes, brown hair, stocky build, a badge. He sank into the chair beside his father. Thomas Watson Sr. was a solid, steady presence who thankfully didn’t ask him how he was feeling or offer any platitudes. Thomas put his hand on Duff’s shoulder and simply sat in silence with him for several minutes.
While he had no doubt of his family’s love and support, Duff couldn’t help but remember a similar gathering the night his mother had died. They’d rushed her to the hospital, but she’d never had a chance. Duff braced his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. “How did you do it, Dad? How did you survive when the woman you love is... And you can’t save her...and...?”
Thomas squeezed his shoulder and nodded to the rest of the room. “I had my family.”
Niall strode into the room, with Seamus and Millie and all the others gathering behind him as he crossed to Duff. “Melanie’s awake. She came through surgery just fine. She’ll be sore for a while, but she’s breathing on her own. They’ve moved her to a private room. You can go see her.”
Duff was already on his way.
His only hesitation came when he first pushed open the door and saw her lying on the hospital bed. With beeping machines, and tubes and needles hooked into her arm, this was a much more modern version of the infirmary she’d built back in her cottage. Tears stung his eyes. She looked so pale except for her rich, beautiful hair, fanned across the pillow like an auburn halo. He was supposed to be so damn tough, the man who could handle whatever was necessary to get a job done. But he was about to stand here and cry like a baby until Melanie blinked her eyes open and smiled.
“I finally made it to Kansas City.”
Tom laughed and hurried to her side. He leaned over to kiss her lightly on the forehead, not wanting to do anything that might hurt her. He pulled up a stool to sit as close to her as he dared and captured her hand in both of his. He nodded to the big basket that had been delivered to the table on the opposite side of the bed. “I didn’t know what kind of flowers you like, so I got you books. Bought a copy of everything they had down in the hospital gift shop.”
Turning her head, she reached over with her taped-up hand to finger the spine of one of the paperbacks. “I love them. I’m going to need a new bookshelf.”
“I’ll get you one. Whatever it takes to convince you to stay with me.”
“To stay...?” He didn’t have an engagement ring, but he reached into his pocket for something he thought she’d like better. He pressed her father’s watch into her hand. She carried it to her lips before setting it beside her and linking her fingers with his again. “Thank you.”
“That was smart to leave it at the boat dock so I knew where to find you. Your dad would have been proud of you.”
“Sorry I couldn’t find out who hired Richard to shoot your grandfather.”
“We’ll get him. We’re a lot closer to the truth now, thanks to you.” He brushed aside a lock of hair that wasn’t really out of place. “In the meantime, I’ll settle for getting a lot of illegal guns off the street and making my city a little bit safer.”
“Silas?”
“Dead. He ran into his knife multiple times. I helped him.” He recalled the short fight in the lake vividly. Stopping Danvers for good had been the only way he could get past him to reach Melanie and pull her to safety.
“Henry and Abby?”
“Arrested. Along with Roy, Sterling Cobb and a few others.”
“SueAnn?”
Tom grinned. “Boy. Daryl Jr. The doctor delivered him by C-section, so they’re staying here a few days longer for observation. But they’re both going to be fine.”
“You? You look tired.”
“Nothing seeing your pretty brown eyes can’t fix.”
He leaned in to kiss her again, but the door swung open and a parade of well-wishers filed in. Watsons, soon-to-be Watsons, four generations of Watsons—bringing flowers, sharing embarrassing stories about how Tom was on a first-name basis with the ER doctors at Saint Luke’s, thanking her for helping with his investigation, inviting her to dinner, inviting her to Niall and Lucy’s wedding, wishing her well.
Then, in a flurry of waves and handshakes, Jane Boyle donned her nurse persona, said Melanie needed her rest and shooed them out. The room seemed conspicuously quiet after they’d gone, but his father was right—they’d left a lot of love and support in their wake.
“As you can see, you probably won’t ever be alone again if you hang out with me here in KC.”
Melanie was smiling right along with him. “Did you mean what you said before? I can stay with you?”
“Didn’t I prove I was a man of my word?”
“I never should hav
e doubted you.”
“Well, I did lie to you. In the beginning.”
“And I was headstrong and independent and refused to use your nickname. I don’t know why you ever picked me to help with your mission.”
“I picked you because you were headstrong and independent and refused to use my nickname.” Tom paused and grinned. “And the red hair.” He caught a silky lock between his fingers. “Love the red hair.”
Melanie laughed. She instantly grabbed her stomach and grimaced. “That hurts.”
Tom shot to his feet. “I’ll get a nurse.”
She grabbed his hand, stopping him. “I love you, Tom.”
He lowered his hip to the edge of her bed. “I love you.”
She stroked her fingers across his jaw before cupping his cheek. He knew he needed a shave, but she was smiling. “I like this look even better than date-night Tom.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’ll explain later. After you kiss me. Lips this time. Like you mean it.”
He did.
Epilogue
The unhappy man watched one Watson after another file out of the redhead’s hospital room. They were happy, chatting excitedly, sharing relief, making plans.
He’d had a plan, too. One that each of those Watson boys had screwed up in one way or another. He knew they’d suffered. He’d made them suffer. And still they hugged and laughed, held hands and smiled. It wasn’t fair. The woman he loved couldn’t laugh or smile anymore. He couldn’t hold her ever again, and it was their fault. It was Thomas Watson’s fault.
He waited for them to gather their things and get on the elevator—two elevators since there were so many of them. His pool of contracted help had vanished with the dustup at the Fiske Farm. There was no Gin Rickey for him to call anymore. Not that that moron had been able to complete the job the way he’d wanted. He would have to take care of business himself.
While the second group of Watsons waited for the next elevator, he watched the pretty nurse in the blue scrubs separate herself from the others to pull her cell phone from her pocket. She’d been living with them for months now, taking care of the old man, bossing everybody around. He didn’t think they liked her much, judging by the arguments that seemed to flare up when she was around, but she must be good at her job if they were keeping her...
Hold on. The woman pressed her hand against her forehead, the conversational tone of her call changing to heated whispers.
And then he saw Thomas’s reaction to her distress. That stolen look of concern. That deep breath before he left the group at the elevator to join her.
The man watching would have laughed if he’d been willing to reveal his presence.
Watson was making this too easy. The big papa bear had the hots for the live-in nurse. As he watched Thomas walk over to comfort Ms. Boyle, he knew there was an even better way to make Detective Lieutenant Thomas Watson Sr. pay for his crime. His efforts to destroy the Watson family hadn’t worked. But he could still make Thomas pay.
He could hurt the woman he loved...
* * * * *
Look for the thrilling conclusion to
USA TODAY bestselling author
Julie Miller’s suspenseful miniseries
THE PRECINCT: BACHELORS IN BLUE.
Coming Soon.
Only from Harlequin Intrigue.
Keep reading for an excerpt from ALPHA BRAVO SEAL by Carol Ericson.
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Alpha Bravo SEAL
by Carol Ericson
Prologue
Slade Gallagher sucked in a salty breath of air and got ready for the kill.
Oblivious to the sniper rifles pointed at their heads from the yacht bobbing on the water just over three hundred feet away from them, four Somali pirates held their hostages at gunpoint as they communicated their demands to the two men who’d boarded their rickety craft. The two were US Navy seamen, but the pirates didn’t know that—didn’t need to.
The relatively calm seas made tracking his target easy—and safe for the hostage.
Slade zeroed in on his target, his dark skin glistening in the sun, one skinny arm wrapped around the hostage’s throat, gun nestled beneath her ear. Slade’s focus shifted to the hostage, a young woman with light brown hair blowing across her face and a tall, thin body, taut and ready.
What the hell was a woman doing out here in the Gulf of Aden? The orders for this assignment had made clear that this rescue didn’t involve a cargo ship. This time the Somali pirates had captured a documentary film crew. Idiots.
Not that Slade couldn’t understand the thrill of risk taking, but he preferred risks that pitted him against a big wave or a cave on the ocean floor, not desperate men in desperate situations.
The negotiator waved his arm once and shifted his body to the right, giving the SEAL snipers their first signal and a clear view of all four pirates. Slade licked the salt from his lips and coiled his muscles. He adjusted the aim on his M107.
The snipers had to drop their targets at the same time—or risk the lives of the hostages. He tracked back to the pretty brunette, now scooping her hair into a ponytail with one hand and tilting her head away from her captor. Good girl.
Had the negotiators been able to hint to the hostages that a team of Navy SEAL snipers was on the boat drifting off their starboard and watching their every move? It didn’t matter. The men on deck would make their best assessment and the snipers would take action.
It wouldn’t be pretty. That tall drink of water would suffer some blood spatter—but at least it wouldn’t be her own. He’d make sure of that.
The other negotiator held both hands out in supplication, the final signal, and Slade set his timer to five seconds. He murmured along for the count. “Five, four, three, two…”
He took the shot. All four pirates jerked at once in a macabre dance and fell to the deck.
Slade inched his scope to the woman he’d just saved. She hadn’t fainted dead away, screamed or jumped up and down. She formed an X over her chest with her blood-spattered arms, looked down at the dead pirate and spit on his body.
Hauling back his sniper rifle, Slade shook his head.
That was one crazy chick—just his type.
Chapter One
Eighteen months later
A sick feeling rose in N
icole’s gut as she skimmed the online article. The rumor was true. She hunched forward, reading aloud. “‘Freelance cameraman Lars Rasmussen was found dead of an apparent suicide in his parents’ home in the Hellerup district of Copenhagen.’”
She stopped reading and slumped in her chair. “No way.”
Lars, with his sunny smile and scruffy goatee, wasn’t even acquainted with the word depression.
Nicole grabbed her cell phone and scrolled through her contacts. Lars had picked his brother, Ove, as his emergency contact, and she’d kept all of those numbers. Maybe she’d had a premonition.
She squinted at the time on her computer screen, hoping Ove was an early riser. She tapped his number, which already contained the international calling code for Denmark, and placed the call.
He picked up after two rings. “Hej.”
“Hello. Is this Ove Rasmussen?”
“Yes. Who’s this, please?” He’d switched to
English seamlessly.
“This is Nicole Hastings. I worked with your brother, Lars, on a couple of projects.”
“Of course, Nicole. My brother mentioned you often.”
“I heard the news about his death, and I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am.” And to give you the third degree.
“Yes, yes. Thank you. It was a shock.”
“Was he? I mean, what…?” She closed her eyes and shoved a hand through her tangled hair. “What I mean to say is, I can’t believe Lars would take his own life.”
Ove drew in a sharp breath. “Yes, well, some girl trouble, a failed project.”
Ove didn’t know his brother very well if he thought a woman could send Lars over the edge, but she couldn’t argue with a bereaved family member.
