HUNTING (PAVAD)

by Calle J. Brookes

  If she’d been the one hit, there was no fucking way he’d be able to hold it together, even half as well as she had. But he didn’t want her to be so scared…

  “Julia, love…” He squeezed her hand until she looked directly at him and he knew she saw him and not long-ago memories. “This has happened before, or stuff like it. I promise you, I will always be as careful as I can. That’s the only guarantee I can give.”

  “I’m not sure I can accept that. You could have died tonight. And you’ll put yourself in that same position over and over again. I’d be crazy to even contemplate agreeing to what you’re asking. No, I was right to begin with—you and I, so not ever going to happen.”

  Dammit, he was afraid she’d say that.

  He didn’t get a chance to plead his case—the arrival at the hospital prevented that.

  His last sight of her as they wheeled him away was her pulling out her cell phone. It wouldn’t surprise him if she was calling Edward Dennis to request a transfer out of PAVAD. It would be like her, to run from what she couldn’t face. She always ran—especially from the big things. Always. Why should this be any different?

  But dammit—once he was back on his feet, he’d not give her any more opportunity to run from him—either physically or metaphorically. Malachi had discovered something in that split second between him realizing she was in the line of fire and him throwing himself over her.

  He loved her, completely. And probably always would.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  * * *

  Once Al and Mick arrived, Jules went back to Malachi’s home—courtesy of Agent Chalmers—and…did the dishes. By hand, bypassing the dishwasher. She needed to think, to wash the sight of his blood from her hands. She did that first, then ran fresh water and scrubbed the plates and bowls. She needed the simple chore. To forget for a little while that he could have died.

  Ruthie was unusually quiet, and had been since the moment Jules had ushered her out of Meredith and Kenneth’s house. She hadn’t asked any questions, but continued to stare at Jules from the doorframe between the living room and kitchen, his dogs standing at her back.

  “Momma Jules, why are you sad?” Tiny hands wrapped around Jules’ pant leg. She’d changed into scrubs at the hospital, while waiting for Malachi to be sewn up. She still wore those borrowed cotton.

  The man would be just fine. The bullet had been a through-and-through, sliding in one side of him and out the other, doing minimal damage. It hadn’t even nicked his small intestine, which had been her first fear. He’d been so damned lucky! Quarter of an inch in any direction and it could have been so much worse. Luck and perfection seemed to co-mingle for Malachi P. Brockman.

  Thank God.

  But she was trying to forget about all that.

  She dried her hands with a dishtowel and scooped Ruthie into her arms. “Some sad stuff happened at work today, but I’m happy to be home with you now.”

  “That’s nice!” Ruthie tangled her fingers in Jules’ hair, and laid her head on Jules’ shoulder.

  The feel of the little warm body pressed against hers had the barrier on her emotions crumbling. Jules forced herself not to hug the little girl too tight, but she wasn’t ready to let Ruthie down yet. Not yet.

  Finally, though, she put the little girl down. “Sweetie, why don’t you go play with your new dolls Aunt Al gave you? I need to finish the dishes, and then we’ll read a book or two. How does that sound?”

  “Really nice.” She said it just like Meredith…and just like Malachi.

  Was she destined to be thinking about him all damned night? Why couldn’t she get him out of her head? Couldn’t she just forget him for a little while tonight and focus on Ruthie and the life she was trying to build for the two of them, even though they were still in his house, with two agents sitting in a car outside?

  Malachi Brockman was not an integral part of that life. Not now, not ever. She wouldn’t let him be.

  And today was the ultimate reason for that. He was too careless, too reckless, too damned Galahadish. The risk was just too great, and she would be the first one to admit it.

  Yes, there were feelings between them. She’d known that since South Dakota, if not before. Feelings that had started at least in that damned basement so many weeks ago.

  Tomorrow she and Ruthie would go back home. She’d talk to Ed about getting a protective detail assigned to her and Ruthie. A detail other than Malachi. And when she needed to interact with him on a professional basis, she’d simply send Mia. That would be the best, and safest, option for her. For all of them.

  She finished the dishes while listening to the sound of Ruthie talking to the Cabbage Patch dolls Al had found in her mother’s attic and passed on to Ruthie. The child chattered happily to the dolls and the dogs and Jules wished she had Ruthie’s resilience. Even a fraction of it. The child had seen so much—how had she managed to stay so happy and positive?

  Jules hoped she’d always keep that trait. And she’d do her damnedest to help Ruthie preserve it.

  The sound of a key turning in the back lock had her moving to the door. She hadn’t forgotten the reason she was at Malachi’s in the first place—and was well aware that there was a security detail posted on both ends of his street. And that Chalmers was on the front porch, just watching.

  But it wasn’t one of Ed’s people outlined in the glow from the porch light.

  Malachi grinned at her, that oh-so-infuriating grin of his that drove her batshit crazy with irritation at times. He leaned against his brother, the larger man supporting most of Malachi’s weight.

  “What are you doing here? You are insane! You should still be under anesthesia!” Jules moved to him, unable not to. He wobbled and she grabbed him, certain he was about to topple, despite Mick’s hold on him.

  “He woke up about an hour ago and insisted.” Mick shook his head, his own irritation with his brother very clear on his face. “Said he had to get to you and Ruthie. Signed himself out against medical advice. Said he had his own personal doctor at home and who better to take care of him?”

  “And you couldn’t make him stay put? You’re bigger than him and he’s been shot!” He felt so warm and solid beneath her hands. So alive and real and Malachi. Hard to forget that he could have been seriously hurt or killed just a few hours ago.

  “And apparently far less obstinate.” Mick tried to shrug, but his hands were full holding on to his older brother. “Let’s get him upstairs!”

  “Julia, my love, you only have to ask once.” Malachi was still grinning. The idiot! “Take me upstairs. Show me you really do love me.”

  “Please. What do you think we could do when we got up there? What should happen is someone driving your rear back to the hospital and forcibly tying you to the bed, if necessary! What if you’ve pulled staples? Caused internal bleeding? You could be dead, you idiot!” She tried to keep her voice low, mindful of the little ears in the next room. Her words were harsh, but her hands gentle when she helped Mick guide his brother toward the back stairs. He felt so solid beneath her hands. And that, more than anything, reassured her. Even though she knew he was an idiot. This just proved it.

  It took forever to get the lughead up to his room, even with Mick’s help. Malachi wasn’t cooperating, and Jules had to stop several times to bitch at him for where his hands had roamed.

  He just laughed.

  “Anesthesia gets him loopy. Sorry about that. Didn’t know this would lead to me witnessing assault.” His brother guided him down to his mattress. “He’ll wake up tomorrow with one hell of a headache, I bet.”

  “Better than being dead.” She pulled the too-big coat off of Malachi’s shoulders and returned it to its rightful owner. It looked like Mick had wrapped it around his brother. No wonder—Malachi still wore a hospital gown, and what looked to be sweatpants. She had no idea where he’d gotten those, but she’d leave them on him for now. She so did not want to wrestle him free of pants, too. “Did he at least bring his pre
scriptions for pain? Antibiotics?”

  “Al’s collecting that from the doctor. We’re listed as his primary next-of-kin, so she stayed to fill out the paperwork after he went AWOL.”

  “Giving you the job of wrangling lughead home.”

  “That about covers it.” Mick looked at her then back at his brother, who was now snoring on the pillow, mouth open and still curved in a stupid grin. “He was determined to get to you. Nothing was going to stop him. You know how he gets.”

  “Sure. It’s the Galahad-complex of his.”

  “No. It’s more than that. But I’ll leave the two of you alone to figure it out. He cares for you, ya know? In more ways than I think even he realizes.” He stared at her for a moment. “Please don’t hurt him. I think, more than any woman alive, you can. Just remember that, ok?”

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  * * *

  Mikhail was wrong—she couldn’t hurt him. Because she wouldn’t be around him much longer. They would both be better off that way. She couldn’t resist checking the wound for herself, and slipped the gown up to reveal his now not-so-perfect six-pack abdomen. That perfection would always be marred by this. The bandage was neat and about three by four inches. So the surgery hadn’t been too extensive. Not that she’d thought it would be—if it had, he for damned sure wouldn’t have been up walking around less than four hours after being shot.

  He really did think he was Superman. She pulled the gauze and tape free, and then studied the wound. Sixteen staples held him together. It had been a through and through, they’d said. So there was most likely damage to his back as well.

  But she’d leave that for tomorrow. He was sleeping now, and the last thing she wanted to do was wake him—or hurt him.

  She so didn’t want to hurt him. In any way.

  She sat on the edge of his bed for the longest time, just staring at him. Comparing his face to Rick’s. Malachi’s was more dramatically handsome. Rick’s had been a quiet handsomeness that she’d loved. Malachi’s hair had more curl and was shades darker. Rick had had dimples, too, but not as deep as she knew Malachi’s were. Rick’s hair had been as soft. Jules ran her fingers over Malachi’s without thought.

  Stupid man. Why couldn’t he have just left her alone weeks ago? Why had he taken one look at her back in South Dakota when they’d first met nine months ago, and set out to drive her crazy? He’d done a good job of it. Why else was she here, staring at him and remembering how Rick had looked in his coffin?

  Jules bent over, resting her head beside the lughead’s. His breathing was deep and rhythmic. Healthy. Perfect.

  Jules closed her eyes as the first of the tears started.

  ***

  It took every ounce of strength he possessed to keep his breathing even. Hearing her tears, though he knew she tried to muffle them was ten times—no, a hundred times—worse than the feeling of that bullet ripping through his body.

  He hadn’t meant to hurt her today but he’d do it all over again in a second if that’s what it took to protect her.

  This near silent grieving cut at him worse than the surgeon’s knife ever could. He lifted his hand, and ran his fingers through her hair. It was tangled; had she not taken the time to brush it? A pencil dislodged and he smiled to himself. Julia and her pencils, always stuck in her hair. When had she developed that habit? Was it one she’d always had? Why did he find it so endearing?

  “Julia…my love…you’re getting my pillow wet. Come up here.” If he’d had the strength to lift her, he would have moved her himself. As it was, she appeared compliant, following his guiding hand until she lay flush against his side.

  He said nothing else, just held her against him for the longest time. Then they were both asleep, curled around each other like he knew they should have been all along.

  Chapter Sixty

  * * *

  Al pushed open the door to her brother’s room and peered inside, needing to reassure herself once again that he was home and safe and relatively whole.

  She tried to remind herself that this was a part of their job, and one she and her brothers had willingly signed up for—but in times like this, it was hard to remember. Malachi had always seemed so invincible to her. Seeing him weak and dependent upon Mick just to walk had scared her—more than she’d ever thought she could. To see him walking at all had surprised her, but he’d had his mind made up. And when Malachi got something stuck in his head nothing would budge it. Nothing. He was the most stubborn person she’d ever known.

  And he’d been bound and determined to get to Jules.

  Al could only wish she had someone who cared about her like that. Did Jules even realize how her brother felt? Did she feel the same?

  Especially after they’d been kidnapped at Thanksgiving. They’d feared Jules and Mal were dead. What had happened between them, other than Jules being so sick? Something certainly had. She’d never seen her brother act the way he did with Jules. And that scared her—for both of them. Jules was so…broken…at times. And Malachi was a damned steamroller when he wanted something.

  The two on the bed weren’t moving, and she stepped closer. Just to check, make sure her brother hadn’t stopped breathing since Mick had dragged him home. Al still had his prescriptions in her bag. Had he had anything for the pain recently? Why did he have to be so…Malachi all the time? Strong, brave, protective, and good?

  But then again, he had been protecting Jules. How can she fault him for protecting someone he loved? She’d do the same in a heartbeat.

  Jules was curled against him, looking like she belonged there. And her brother was holding Jules so tenderly, like they’d slept together a thousand times before. And who knew, maybe they had? They were both so private when it came to their personal lives that Al was pretty certain Mal would even hide a relationship with a colleague from her—when they were all living together.

  And Jules? Jules was private number one. No one got too close to Jules, even her friends.

  But maybe, for her friend’s sake, Malachi had.

  The two of them deserved someone to care about them.

  Al slipped out the door, closing it quietly behind her. She’d see to Ruthie and let Mal and Jules have this little bit of time together. Apparently, they both needed it.

  Tomorrow was soon enough to get back to the murder and mayhem that characterized all of their lives.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  * * *

  He hurt like hell, but Malachi was not about to move. Not with Julia curled up against him, her fingers wrapped through his. So small to carry the world on her shoulders like she did.

  And now that the pain killer was gone from his mind he was free to focus on the dirty truth. Someone had aimed for Julia. It was only his good fortune that he’d been able to protect her. A bullet going through her smaller body would have had a greater chance of doing more significant damage than it had done to him. And at the angle she’d been at, that fact was a given.

  Who? And why?

  Was it just someone not wanting her to find something on that particular victim? They had been in the roughest part of an extremely rough city. Or was it something else? Something intended for him? Was she the next chess piece, perhaps? They knew a move was going to be made against her, how could it not? She was far too important to him not to be a target. Was he grasping at straws here?

  What was he supposed to do next?

  “Do you hurt?” Her voice was husky with sleep, sexy and perfect.

  “A bit. Feels like I’ve been shot.” He wanted to tighten his arms around her, but she was already pulling away from him. Were they doomed to repeat that cycle over and over again? Him wanting to hold her and her pulling away? He wasn’t sure how long he could handle that.

  “Why did you go AMA? Do you realize how stupid that was?”

  “So? I made you and Ruthie a promise. And I was going to keep it. No matter what.” And he’d do it again. They were his family now, and that was what mattered to him.

 
“Sometimes, stubborn is just stupid.”

  Her words had a finality that worried him. “Sometimes a man has to do what a man has to do. There’s nothing wrong with that. Julia—”

  “Don’t Julia me. You know I hate that name.” She stood and crossed her arms over her chest, then stared down at him. Everything about her position shouted defensive to him. Keep Out signs were almost visible for him to see. “Listen…”

  She stopped and he watched her swallow and look toward the window. Morning light was reflecting off the falling snow. He’d not closed his curtains and they had a perfect view of the three acre back yard. It was beautiful. Did she see that? Or did she just see the cold? She turned back to him, her face closed tight. “Listen…I’m taking Ruthie home today. As soon as I arrange something with Ed. We can’t stay here. That’s becoming more and more clear.”

  “Now that’s what being stupid looks like. You’re safe here. With me, Al, and Mick to keep watch.”

  “Am I? Or am I target because of my association with you? We both know that’s a strong possibility.”

  “But it’s not that you’re running from, though, is it?” Malachi pushed himself into a sitting position, despite the pulling of the staples on his front and back. He hurt, but nothing he hadn’t experienced before. “It’s me. Because you know there’s something more going on between us and you’re a coward.”

  “Yes! Yes. If that makes me a coward, then so-be-it. We’re leaving as soon as I get our stuff together.”

  “So you’re not even going to attempt more? Just what? Go back to work and pretend nothing has happened?”

  “Nothing has happened.”

  “And nothing ever will, because you won’t let it. You’re just going to throw whatever this is away and move on. I get it. Nothing—no mere man—can compete with the Great Memory of Dr. Rick Bellows. Well, newsflash. He’s gone. And if he loved you as much as you say he did, then he would want you happy.”