McLain's Law

by Kylie Brant

  * * *

  Connor stifled a groan as he battled the unconsciousness that had briefly claimed him. He lay quietly, hoping whoever had belted him would believe he was still out. That would give him an advantage, one he would take at the earliest opportunity. As his mind cleared he listened intently to the voices. One he didn’t recognize, but it was obvious from the man’s words that he was up to his neck in the kidnappings. The other voice was softer, calming. He mentally cursed as recognition flooded him. It was Michele’s.

  Damn her, why couldn’t that woman ever stay put? And how the hell had she gotten free? Her presence complicated matters. He was fairly confident he had a chance to overpower whoever had slugged him. But now he wouldn’t be able to concentrate as he should; he would be too worried about Michele.

  Michele. She was too damn important to him to allow something to happen to her. He was going to have to come up with a way to get them both out of this without her getting hurt.

  He listened to them as he lay still, quickly aware of what Michele was doing. Drawing the bastard out, getting him to talk about himself. Wasting time until the backup unit got to them.

  “Tell me why you wanted to help Dennis, Scott,” Michele said softly, forcing herself to keep her eyes off Connor and concentrate on the confused young man before her.

  Good girl, Connor encouraged her mentally. Just the right tone, nice and easy. There was no judgment in her voice, only a soothing quality that the guy couldn’t help but respond to.

  “Dennis told me why he wanted to do it. We was helping those kids. We never did nothing to hurt ‘em.” His voice was emphatic. “Nothing.” He looked at her soberly. “We always found the kids on the streets somewhere. Nobody was watching over ‘em. Nobody caring about ‘em. We took ‘em to a better life.”

  Michele’s blood ran cold at his words. Did that mean the children had been murdered? His next words temporarily allayed that fear.

  “We listened to what the reverend is always saying, see. ‘For the sake of the children.’” He repeated the slogan carefully. “That’s why we did it. We only took the kids who didn’t have no parents who cared about ‘em. Not really. They’d leave ‘em in front of stores, in cars,” he said scathingly. “Little kids running around with no one to care where they’re at. People like that don’t deserve kids, Miss Easton. The reverend says we gotta save ‘em and that’s what we’ve been doing.”

  Michele cocked her head, staring hard at Scott. For the sake of the children. That had been printed on the bumper sticker of the car she had identified when Bruce Casel hypnotized her.

  Scott continued. “You never shoulda messed in this, Miss Easton. You’ve always been real nice to me. That’s why I tried to protect you, scare you away. You wouldn’t listen.”

  “When, Scott?” she asked quizzically. “When did you try to tell me?” But she was afraid she already knew.

  “I give ya that note,” he reminded her. “Told ya to stay away from cops, didn’t I? You can’t say I didn’t warn ya. I seen you on TV that day.” At her blank expression he reminded her. “The mayor was on TV, and I seen you in the crowd. In front of the police headquarters.”

  Michele’s mind whirled crazily. She remembered the day well, the day she had finally gone and told the police what she knew. How nervous she had been when she had seen the television crew out front. She had convinced herself that no one would recognize her. Even if the cameras had panned the crowd, her face couldn’t have been on the screen for more than a millisecond. But Scott had seen her. And recognized her.

  “Then I seen that cop—” he gestured at Connor contemptuously “—at the office that day, so I warned ya. I seen his picture on TV all the time about working on those missing kids. I tried to tell ya over and over,” he said, his voice rising in anger. “But you never listened to me, didja?”

  Michele swallowed hard as she unwillingly remembered those messages, how violated it had made her feel to know someone had been in her home, had touched her things. Thinking about how he had terrified her made anger flare inside her.

  Connor waited anxiously for her answer. Don’t let him rattle you, stay calm, he told her mentally. He knew that just the memory of those incidents would shake her up.

  But when Michele spoke, her voice was even. “But I didn’t know it was you, Scott,” she told him reasonably. “I was frightened by the messages. I never would have been frightened if I had known it was you.”

  Way to go, Connor thought admiringly. She could play this guy perfectly.

  “I know you would never hurt me, Scott.” Michele’s voice was soothing, full of confidence.

  “I d-d-don’t want to,” Scott replied, his uncertainty reflected by the returned stutter. “I never wanted t-t-to. Dennis thought I was smart the w-w-way I got in and out of your place. I never left no fingerprints,” he boasted. “I wore gloves, and I was smart, too, the way I cut those letters out of m-m-magazines.”

  “That was clever of you, Scott.” Michele’s voice held admiration. “That’s why I know you won’t hurt us. You’re too smart for that.”

  “I c-c-can’t let you g-g-go,” he answered slowly, obviously trying to follow her line of reasoning.

  “But you must, Scott. You haven’t done anything wrong, have you? You were trying to help those children. We know that now. But if you were to hurt Connor or me, then that would be wrong, wouldn’t it? Then the police would be after you, and you don’t want that, do you? To undo all the good you’ve been doing?”

  Connor waited anxiously for the man’s reply, his whole body tense. Careful, Princess, he mentally told her. This guy is crazy, and there’s no telling what may set him off. You’re not in your office now, and he’s not a patient. And he has a gun.

  Her next words had needles of fear piercing his body.

  “Give me the gun, Scott.” Her voice was coaxing. For God’s sake, don’t, he mentally screamed at her. Stay away from him.

  Michele took advantage of the confused expression on Scott’s face. She had to get the gun from him. Images whirled madly in her mind, flashes from her dreams, flickers of the most horrendous image of all. She had to get the gun away to save Connor.

  She stepped closer to him, murmuring soothingly. “It’s all right, Scott. We understand, really. Just give me the gun, and it will be all right.”

  “No!” Scott screamed suddenly, bringing both hands up to hold the gun, shaking, but aiming it at her. “Don’t come any closer!”

  Connor made his move then. Letting out a loud moan, he moved slowly, bringing a hand to his head as if he were only just regaining consciousness. He let his eyes flicker open slightly. Scott was staring at him now, his attention finally off Michele. Connor continued the farce, slowly rising to sit up, then to stand.

  “G-g-get away from h-h-her,” Scott ordered him shrilly, and Connor moved a few steps farther from Michele, satisfied when Scott swung the gun to follow him. At least it was no longer pointing at Michele.

  Michele’s blood ran cold when she saw Scott’s shaking hands point the gun at Connor. She was relieved to see that he was all right, but she wished he could have stayed out for just a couple more minutes. She’d almost had the gun. Damn! Where were the backup units?

  “Michele’s right, Scott. Nobody is going to blame you. Let’s just solve this right now. Give me the gun. That’s all you have to do, buddy. Put it down, nice and easy.”

  Connor’s voice, slow and soothing, had just the opposite effect on Scott. “No!” he screamed. “I have to b-b-be smart,” he muttered frantically. “I have to be s-s-smart.” He leveled the gun again at Connor, and one finger slipped to the trigger.

  The next few seconds blurred in Michele’s mind. A noise came from the stairway, and Scott’s eyes swung in that direction. Michele moved, her limbs curiously heavy, as if they were underwater, reaching for the gun. Connor saw her and leapt toward her, yanking her behind him. Scott turned. Movement slowed as if in a slow-motion movie. Eyes wide and terrified, he brought t
he gun up. His finger squeezed. Connor dove for Scott’s feet.

  The deafening roar brought an end to the surreal unreality of the moment. Michele rolled from where Connor had thrown her in time to see his body jerk back, then crumple at her feet.

  She was unaware of everything else that happened then. The shouted orders from the stairway to throw down the gun. Three state police officers racing up the steps and securing Scott.

  She was unaware of it all. She crouched frantically above Connor, whose face was revealed by the ray of sunlight that made it through the boarded-up window. She watched the blood seep from his body, cover her hands and drip slowly to the planked floor. And knew that no dream she’d ever experienced could equal the agony of this reality.

  It was nearly a week later when Michele pushed open the hospital door and poked her head in. She didn’t want to disturb Connor if he was getting the rest the doctor and staff kept insisting he needed. Her lips finned when she saw him sitting up in bed.

  “Don’t you ever sleep?” she scolded good-naturedly, entering the room. Any inclination to berate him was lost when she saw the look on his face as she came in. Pleasure was there, and then those wickedly sexy dimples made an appearance.

  Michele sauntered to his side, already affected by that rakish grin and the sensuous look in those light green eyes.

  “You know I can’t sleep without you beside me whispering sweet nothings in my ear,” he bantered, reaching out with his good arm to pull her close.

  Michele gave him a soft kiss on the mouth, then ducked adroitly under his arm when he would have held her. She ignored his glower at her move and pulled a chair up to the bed.

  Connor cocked a brow at her. “Keeping your distance?” he mocked softly. They were both aware that it would take very little encouragement on his part to coax her back to his side.

  Michele’s cheeks warmed. “Just trying to keep decorum in mind,” she answered tartly. “Which I see has escaped you.” She nodded at his bare chest.

  The white gauze bandage wrapped around his upper chest and one shoulder was the only covering on his otherwise bare torso. The sheet was spread carelessly across his lap, and Michele had no doubt that he was bare beneath it. On more than one occasion he had told her, and every nurse within shouting distance, that he refused to wear those damn wimpy hospital gowns. Michele turned a resigned look to the corner and saw, as she had expected, the day’s fresh gown wadded up.

  “You’re not still embarrassed about last night, I hope.” Connor’s voice was low, but full of remembered amusement. His grin widened at the immediate flare of color in Michele’s cheeks.

  “Last night and every other time I get within two feet of you,” she muttered. “Connor!” she cried at his obvious mirth. “It wasn’t funny! I’m tired of having people walk in here—”

  “At inopportune times?” he finished wickedly. “Is it my fault you find me so irresistible?”

  Michele fixed him with a stern look. “Irrepressible, maybe,” she corrected. “You’ve been an absolute dictator since you were admitted, and you know it. I hear the nurses are planning a champagne celebration for the day you’re released.”

  Connor leaned forward, wincing a little as the movement pulled on his wounded shoulder. “And what celebration are you planning for me when I get released, hmm, Michele?” he crooned. “I prefer a private one, involving only you and me. Do you want to hear my ideas?”

  Although Michele could feel her face burning, she answered primly. “After they finish fixing your body, they need to work on your mind. You have an overactive fantasy life.”

  “That’s not all that’s overactive where you’re concerned,” Connor muttered. If he didn’t get released from this whitewalled prison soon, he would explode. He had wanted Michele near him constantly after he’d been shot, just to see her, to convince himself that she was safe. And now that he was feeling better, her presence had the power to send all his senses racing. He shifted uncomfortably. All body parts were definitely in working order, and some were working overtime.

  The corners of his mouth kicked up as he remembered the times over the past few days when he’d been able to coax Michele close enough for kissing. He had known how concerned she was for him, and he had used that concern shamelessly. Once he had her close, it never took either of them long to forget where they were. But close encounters of the unfinished kind were playing havoc with his libido, which in turn didn’t improve his temper. He wouldn’t be satisfied until he walked out of this place and he and Michele could finally be alone again.

  “Evening, gorgeous,” a familiar voice caroled out, interrupting Connor’s thoughts. He groaned aloud and glowered at the blond, fortyish nurse who entered the room.

  “Get out,” he ordered flatly.

  Michele and the nurse exchanged knowing looks.

  “Sorry, gorgeous, it’s time for another antibiotic.” She walked to the other side of the bed and prepared a long wicked-looking needle. “Roll over, big guy, before I start to think that you enjoy this.”

  Connor opened his mouth to tell her exactly where to put her needle before catching Michele’s eyes. Her presence there never failed to make him curb the worst of his temper, so he obeyed, rolling over, but still muttering.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t work for a dictator. Haven’t you guys ever heard of pills?” He winced at the stick of the needle that he always suspected this nurse injected with just a little too much enjoyment.

  “What? And deprive myself of the sight of these gorgeous buns?” The nurse pulled the needle out, smiling as Michele snickered. “Is he always this annoying?” she asked casually.

  “No, sometimes he’s worse,” Michele replied.

  Connor eased back to his original position, scowling at both the women in front of him. “Get a different nurse in here from now on,” he commanded. “You’ve got a damned heavy hand with that needle.”

  “Sorry,” the nurse answered good-naturedly. “I’m the only one they can trust not to go ga-ga over your marvelous bod and handsome mug. Add that to your oh-so-charming personality —” she rolled her eyes humorously “—and you’re just too much man for most of these gals to resist. I guess you’re stuck with me—no pun intended.”

  Connor’s comment made Michele’s eyebrows climb to the top of her forehead, but the nurse just laughed as she moved to the door.

  “Flattery won’t get you anywhere with me, even if you do have the cutest tush on this floor.” The door swung closed before the pillow Connor threw could reach it.

  He glared at Michele as she calmly retrieved the pillow and tossed it back to him. “You think this is funny, don’t you?” he asked sourly.

  “Who, me?” Michele’s tone was innocent. “You don’t see me laughing, do you?” Truth be told, she much preferred this nurse’s breezy nonchalance to the attitude of a few of the others she had met. Some of them had been oversolicitous to the point of nausea, and Michele suspected that their concern for Connor had more to do with his virility than with their care for the sick.

  Connor eyed her for a moment. “Why don’t you come over here and fluff my pillow for me?” he wheedled.

  Michele laughed as she recognized his ploy. “Not me, Detective,” she drawled. “My mama didn’t raise no dopes.”

  “Hey, amigo, is Michele picking on you again?” Cruz strolled into the hospital room and surveyed the two of them, clucking his tongue reproachfully. “Shame on you, Michele. Connor has been shot. He needs care. He needs devotion. Look at that pathetic face,” he continued, gesturing at the bed. Connor did his best to look sickly. “He needs your loving care and attention.”

  “He needs a swift kick,” Michele answered, unmoved by the obvious line.

  Cruz shrugged and swung a chair over to the bedside and sat down. “Can’t say I didn’t try, buddy,” he whispered loudly to Connor “But the lady just knows you too well.”

  “Look, Michele,” Connor said. “Cruz isn’t afraid to sit too close to me.”
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  “That’s because he’s not in any danger of ending up in a compromising position with you on your bed,” Michele answered tartly, before thinking.

  The two men laughed uproariously, enjoying the immediate flood of color that rushed to her face. Cruz was the first to regain control. He told her soberly, “That’s because he respects me, Michele,” and they broke up again.

  Michele watched the two men, unwillingly amused by their joke. It was too good to see Connor smile again, to be well enough for this kind of lightheartedness, for her to be impatient with them. She joined Cruz at the other side of Connor’s bed.

  “So when do you get sprung from here, Connor?” Cruz asked.

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Next week sometime.”

  Both Connor and Michele had spoken simultaneously. Connor fixed her with a long look. “I’ll be out of here soon, no matter what anyone else has to say. I’ve been poked and prodded enough for a lifetime.”

  “He’s working on a dishonorable discharge,” Michele explained to Cruz in exasperation. “Someone needs to tell him that a little charm would go a long way.” Privately, she vowed to speak to Connor’s doctor herself. She knew he was capable of bullying his way out of here, and she was just as determined that he stay as long as he needed to. They would see who was more stubborn on this issue.

  It wasn’t long before the conversation turned to the case. “You’re the fair-haired boy once again,” Cruz told Connor. “Wouldn’t be a bit surprised if another commendation came out of this one. McIntire is singing your praises around the station.”

  “While singing his own on the campaign trail,” Connor came back, unimpressed. “This newfound admiration for me will last only until the next time I tick him off.”

  “I don’t know,” Cruz countered. “You did him a big favor. The glory of having the case solved this close to election day just might wrap things up for McIntire.”

  “What’s the latest on Dennis Hardy?” Connor wanted to know. The man Scott had implicated had been picked up shortly after Connor had arrived at the hospital. But up to this point he had been steadfastly protesting his innocence.