A Father's Desperate Rescue

by Amelia Autin

  That was, until a sexy British cop with a gunshot wound stumbled through the front door of her shop.

  “Knox!” Gabby screamed his name as the man stumbled into her, a solid wall of heat and flesh as he wrapped his arms around her in an awkward hug.

  She screamed his name once more and half staggered, half dragged him a few more feet before spreading her legs and resetting her grip. Whatever adrenaline had carried him to her shop door had given out, and he’d passed out judging by the deadweight that pressed against her.

  A large stack of wine boxes still stood where she’d left them earlier; she’d been unable to get to the inventory for an upcoming tasting series after the excitement of the afternoon. Her friends, Violet, Cassidy and Lilah, had needed her help after they’d accidentally come into possession of a cache of rubies.

  And clearly they weren’t the only ones who needed assistance.

  Knox St. Germain was a British MI5 officer who had shown up recently and inserted himself into the whole mess with the rubies. Although she didn’t fully understand his job, Gabby had expected his influence and, frankly, his interference would have made the evening’s events—a sting operation in a downtown park—go more smoothly.

  The blood currently covering his shoulder suggested otherwise.

  Her friends had only discovered the cache a few weeks prior. And it had taken them several days to let her in on what they’d found. Gems, buried in the concrete floor of their shop, placed there more than fifty years ago when they were hidden away by their landlady, Mrs. Beauregard.

  Mrs. B’s father had moved them from Britain after World War II under the auspices of the Crown.

  So how did MI5 even catch wind of their rediscovery?

  Cassidy, Lilah and Violet hadn’t shared, nor had the men who’d come to their aid. Gabby certainly hadn’t told a soul.

  Yet Knox St. Germain had found out anyway and had been dispatched with all haste from Mother England to recover them.

  Shifting Knox once more, she used the thick line of heavy boxes to support him as she shuffled them forward. Settling his weight against the wall of wine cases, she held him still to avoid his falling.

  “Knox!” She added a light slap to his cheeks along with his name, pleased when it pulled him from the faint.

  “Just need...some downtime.” He tightened his arms, the move was enough to pull her off balance, and she staggered beneath his weight, glad she’d traded the day’s heels for a pair of slippers.

  Something warm covered her bare shoulder; the tangy, coppery scent of blood only added to her awareness. “What happened?”

  “Park. Drop. Rubies.”

  His voice faded on the last word, and she struggled to keep him upright. “Stay with me!” The sharp order was followed immediately by an image of her friends. Violet, Cassidy and Lilah, along with the men who’d come to their rescue, had planned a sting operation for that evening to finally capture the evil Tripp Lange, the man at the heart of all the violence they’d dealt with since discovering the gems. Since Knox’s arrival in Dallas, Gabby knew he had inserted himself into the operation and had gone along to the park.

  Although they’d already texted her they were fine and had promised to share details in the morning, she now began to wonder. “Violet? Max? Are they okay?”

  “Fine. Away.” Knox seemed to right himself, his arms tightening briefly before he stopped and summoned himself to his full height, stepping away from the supporting boxes. She had a quick flash of something she intimately recognized—sheer, stubborn, gritty will—before the pain he was dealing with returned to his crystal-blue gaze. “They’re fine. This isn’t about them.”

  Not about them? Hadn’t that been the whole purpose of the private meet at Klyde Warren Park? Her friends had come into possession of three matched rubies—the famed Renaissance Stones of legend—and they needed to ensure they stayed out of enemy hands.

  Gabby had done some quick internet research after Violet had shared the discovery of the gems. The rubies had a nasty history. Since their initial discovery as one large stone by the British East India Company in the seventeenth century, the gems were cut down into the trio they were today. The stones had led men to vile acts of depravity and madness, and murder trailed the stones, leaving blood as red as the rubies in its wake.

  And now there was more blood.

  A fresh stack of kitchen towels she’d set out early for the tasting caught her eye and she snagged one to press against his shoulder. “Take this and try not to bleed all over my clean floor.”

  He took the towel without question and as he staunched the wound, a wash of red filling up the white towel, a flash of reality battled the surreal that had settled over the scene.

  Instinct—raw and surprisingly well honed—had her moving into action. She shot a quick glance around her business and pointed him toward a long bar she used for class demonstrations and wine tastings. “Here. Hold on to this counter.”

  His reluctant agreement almost had her smiling in victory but she tamped it down, well aware a quick gloat wouldn’t sit well with a wounded—and decidedly alpha—male.

  Satisfied he had his balance, she raced back to the front door and flipped the lock, then hit the light switch. Darkness flooded the room, leaving nothing but the eerie glow of the streetlamps outside, visible through the glass doors.

  Had someone followed him? Who had shot him? And why was he here?

  The questions tumbled over themselves, one after the other, even as something small and quiet and a lot like satisfaction whispered through her mind that she was pleased he’d come to her.

  “Get a damn grip, chica. Hello. Highly suspicious gunshot wound.” She muttered the words to herself, well aware a call to the police would be a far better choice than helping the man with the enigmatic gaze.

  And then she turned toward the silhouette she’d left at the bar and fought the light flutter in her belly. Knox didn’t appear to have moved. His large hands still clutched the edge of the thick stainless steel counter.

  Khaki cargo pants hung low on his hips, while a stretch of gray cotton spread across his back. A large red stain marred his left shoulder, rapidly turning the T-shirt black in the darkened light.

  “Can you walk?”

  He lifted his head from where he stood stock-still, his gaze focused on the counter. “Yes. Bullet just nicked the flesh.”

  The ice-blue eyes that had already done a solid number on her insides in their previous meetings had a glazed, unfocused look, and she knew he wasn’t nearly as good a judge of his condition as he should be.

  Men.

  To be fair, her reasoning seemed to have taken a sizeable detour, even as she cycled through her mental Rolodex. She could call her cousin, Isabella, who worked nights in the ER, to come take a look. The idea had merit—and Isabella was discreet—but something held her back.

  Wrapping an arm around his waist, she pulled him close, careful to avoid pulling too quickly and forcing him off balance. “Do you have me?”

  “Yes.”

  “We need to get out of the front area here. Even with the lights off, we’re too easy to see through the windows.”

  He nodded, the motion exaggerated enough to put pressure against her body as she forced him to walk.

  “Easy. Step by step.”

  “I shouldn’t—”

  “Shhh. Focus on getting back to the kitchen.”

  While her catering shop—a renovated warehouse in Dallas’s Design District—was sizable, the trek to her kitchen wasn’t anything she’d ever considered. Suddenly, the door to her kitchen—and safety—seemed a mile away.

  Using the stubborn streak she’d honed since birth, she moved them forward. One foot. Then the other. They walked, slow and plodding, as she fought to maintain the press of his body and the increasing p
ull of shock and gravity that was determined to drop him to the floor.

  The entire shop was maybe twenty yards from the front door to the back. Despite the relatively limited space, the distance to her industrial kitchen seemed interminable. Gabby cleared the two of them through the swinging door that acted as sentinel to her inner sanctum just as the screech of tires echoed in front of the building. “Damn it.”

  “What?” Knox’s head tilted upward.

  “I locked the door, but forgot to set the alarm.”

  “You can’t go back out there.”

  “I’ve got a keypad back here, but you’re weaker than you were. Can I leave you unsupported?”

  He grunted at that—whether in acknowledgment or irritation, she wasn’t sure—before standing straighter. “Go. Now. I’ll be right behind you.”

  Although that imperious tone usually set her teeth on edge, she ignored it in favor of expedience. And a funny sort of relief that he’d want the property armed.

  Ignoring the odd mishmash of thoughts, Gabby hotfooted it to the back entrance and keyed in the code—her grandmother’s birthday—and prayed she wasn’t too late. The blinking green light that said all her doors and windows were closed flipped to red just as she slammed the last number into the keypad. Instantaneously, the piercing siren that accompanied a breach lit up the interior of the kitchen, growing louder as the stainless steel surfaces deflected the sound, pushing it back into the atmosphere like a living, breathing wall of energy.

  She shoved Knox toward a large pantry, ignoring whatever cleanup would no doubt be involved in having a large man bleed all over her food before racing back toward the swinging door. She tipped it open slightly to view the outer room of the shop and could see a man fleeing down the front steps of her business, his large silhouette and strained gait highlighted by the streetlamps that lined Slocum Street.

  “Is the bastard gone?”

  Even with the unceasing clanging, Gabby heard the question. “Yes.”

  “Then turn off the bloody alarm.”

  For the second time in a span of moments, ire tickled the back of her neck at his imperious words and snappish orders. It was time to set things to rights. She stalked back to the alarm keypad and reset the code. The cell phone she’d left lying on the counter rang, and she snatched it up, answering the alarm company on the other end.

  “No, I’m fine. False alarm.” She added the required password to confirm she wasn’t actually being held hostage and thanked the man on the other end.

  “Beef enchilada is your password?”

  Knox’s sultry voice held the unmistakable notes of pain, but she didn’t miss the veneer of humor underneath. “I make damn good enchiladas.”

  “I curse myself for not sampling them. It’s still an odd password.”

  “It’s as good as any other.” She shrugged and fought down the natural swell of concern working its way through her defenses. She might be the youngest child in a family of boys, but she had a damn fine mothering instinct.

  Not that she’d put it to good use, of course. A fact her mother reminded her of on a near-daily basis. Especially since it had been two—no, three?—years since her last serious relationship.

  Had it really been that long?

  Gabby shook off the embarrassing answer, well aware it had been that long. She’d been so focused on getting her business off the ground, the ninety-hour weeks more joy than punishment, but her personal life had paid the price. Just that evening, in fact, her mother had reamed her out for not having a date to her cousin’s engagement party.

  Shaking off the remembered conversation and the maudlin thoughts she’d spent far too much time dwelling in lately, Gabby sized him up. “Are you okay?”

  “I’ve had worse.”

  “That wasn’t my question.”

  “It’s like I told you—it’s a surface wound. The bark is far worse than the bite.”

  Could she say the same for him? With a hard turn on her heel, she headed for the front door. She hated to leave him, but an unlocked door left them exposed. “Let me see what damage they did to the lock, and then I’ll be right back.”

  His protest to stay in the kitchen echoed off her back, but she ignored him, already halfway to the front door. She knew how to protect herself, and she’d be damned if she was going to leave her business to the whims of some nameless, faceless threat. She also knew how to move around the room to avoid a direct line of sight to the front door.

  The street outside remained devoid of life, and she walked along the edge of the demonstration area until she’d almost reached the front door. At the last minute, she put herself in full view of outside, her form visible in the glass door. The lock she’d so recently flipped had been unlatched.

  “Someone’s damn quick with a pick.”

  Brushing off the small shiver, she turned the lock once more, then leaned down and latched a second small bolt at the bottom of the door frame. It was invisible from the outside, and the only way anyone was getting in now was by coming through the glass.

  “I said I’d handle it.”

  The dark tones, rich and cultured, slithered over her skin as she straightened. For the first time, Gabby was forced to wonder if the real threat was already inside.

  * * *

  Knox St. Germain ignored the shot of heat that sizzled through his veins at her glorious ass still pointing heavenward. He loved women—all of them, regardless of age or size—but there was something about Gabriella Sanchez that gripped him with fierce claws.

  He kept a hand over the towel at his shoulder, but a combination of steady pressure on the wound and a few moments of downtime had gone a long way toward restoring his equilibrium.

  Sadly, the same couldn’t be said for the temptation standing before him.

  His vision cleared as Gabriella straightened, and he didn’t miss the wary expression that filled eyes the color of a rich espresso.

  “You don’t appear capable of handling much right now.”

  He couldn’t quite tell if the statement was meant to put him in his place or reassure her she wasn’t in danger.

  Don’t let the gunshot fool you, love.

  The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he held them back. He was in pretty bad shape. But after a few more hours of downtime he’d be ready to move again.

  He had to move again.

  And he had to figure out how Richard Moray had gotten the jump on him.

  He’d come to Dallas under the auspices of MI5, to retrieve the recently recovered Renaissance Stones, but the mission had gone sideways barely before it had begun. His boss and leader was attempting to secure the stones for his own selfish gain.

  Knox had suspected Moray—the intelligence they’d gathered was pretty clear—but until he’d actually come face-to-face with Richard, some small part of him had denied it. Had ranted and railed that it simply wasn’t possible.

  But no longer.

  Reassessing, Knox took in Gabriella’s tall form, still standing before the door. “Get away from there. This area’s too dodgy to be standing around all night looking for trouble.”

  “My brother’s a cop. He patrols this dodgy area—” She broke off with a small smile edging those lush lips. “Regularly.”

  “As someone who grew up in plenty of dodgy areas, trust me—things can change in an instant.”

  He saw the curiosity flash in her eyes and cursed himself for the slip. Why in bloody hell did he offer up that tidbit? He’d worked damn hard to leave his Manchester background behind. And now he was offering it up on a platter?

  It took a minute for the bigger part of her comment to register, and Knox took in the admission that her brother was a cop.

  More good news.

  He already knew he was in deep with Reed Graystone, Dallas PD de
tective and the fiancé of one of the women caught up in this whole mess, Lilah Castle. Reed’s stepfather, Tripp Lange, had been revealed as the local mastermind behind the initial theft of the stones.

  The moment Graystone got word back to his cop buddies that Knox had taken the stones during the exchange in the park, they were going to hunt him down.

  And no amount of arguing that he was working under the authority of MI5 was going to change that.

  “Are those my thousand-thread-count catering napkins you’ve got wrapped around your shoulder?”

  He shrugged and paid for the wave of fire that lit up his wound. “Are those the ones in the cabinet nearest the counter you left me against?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then these are your thousand-thread-count catering napkins.”

  “I can’t serve anyone on those ever again!”

  “Then I’ll buy you some new ones.” He pulled a second pilfered napkin out of his pocket and made quick work of wrapping it over the layer at his shoulder, fashioning a makeshift bandage. With a final tug on the tie with his teeth, he lifted his head. It stung—flesh wounds always did—but the blood had already stopped.

  His hands now free, he reached for his back pocket to give her some money. As his fingers closed over a pair of handcuffs, he remembered he’d left his wallet and ID back in his hotel room. “When I get my wallet back, I’ll give you the money to buy some new ones.”

  “You need to go to the emergency room.”

  “No.”

  “But you’re hurt. I saw the blood seeping through my napkins, and that’s on top of the one I gave you from the front counter.”

  “The bullet was clean, and I’ll get to it later. I’m not going to the hospital.”

  “But you could barely walk three minutes ago! And now you’re up and around and—”

  The fear that had flashed when she’d turned from the door lit up her gaze once more before those dark eyes shot around the room. Gauging the distance to the back door, no doubt.

  He wasn’t sure why the real evidence of her fear struck him like a spear low in the gut. She was an inconvenience—an incredibly attractive one—and nothing more.