Protecting His Brother's Bride

by Jan Schliesman

  She’d never thought herself capable of killing anyone, so this was testament to how far she’d fallen on the sanity scale. Kira struggled to a sitting position, exhausted and swiping at the blood mixed with sweat dripping down her cheeks—battle scars from her earlier tumble.

  “Guess your friend found you.” Brawny stopped short in the doorway, holding her gun as if he planned to use it.

  “You mean your friend. Put my gun down or I’ll shoot.” Okay, maybe she’d shoot. She’d never fired at a real person before.

  Brawny was tall, probably over six feet, with a stance that said he expected compliance. A faint hint of stubble ran across his jaw. His dark brown hair held a few blond highlights, showing a bit of length in the back, leading her to believe he’d missed a haircut or two.

  “Shoot your friend first, since he’s the one trying to kill you.”

  A very rational request. “Maybe I should shoot you both.” The gun wobbled in her hands. It was heavier than hers and she really shouldn’t point it at anyone. What if it went off?

  “Good luck with that. You know live ammunition does more than go boom, right?”

  Was he mocking her? “Of course I know.”

  Brawny fired at the wall above her head and she ducked. When she glanced up again, he was dumping the shells into his palm before tossing the gun at her feet. “Your gun is loaded with blanks and I’m dying to hear why.”

  “I tried telling you, but you wouldn’t listen.” How would she explain that she didn’t want to shoot anyone? To her they were practice bullets, meant to help her get used to the sound of gunfire without flinching.

  “Why use a gun without real bullets?” Brawny rubbed his chin, drawing her attention to the five o’clock shadow that was much too sexy for his own good.

  “I’m holding a real gun with real bullets now.”

  “If you shoot me, who’s going to help you with these?” He held out a set of handcuffs, nodded toward the man on the floor. Then he unwisely took a step closer.

  “Stay back,” she ordered, visualizing herself handcuffed to another chair. “I don’t want any more of your help.”

  He flashed a perfect smile, which under any other circumstances would have made her weak in the knees. He shrugged. “You destroyed half my house.”

  “I didn’t destroy anything.” She needed to hold on to the anger, make him think twice about laying another hand on her.

  “And I know this isn’t your house.” She hated that her voice shook.

  “Really? Then whose house is it?”

  “I’ll ask the questions.” Her eyes darted to the man on the floor and then to Brawny. “How do I know you didn’t send him up here to kill me?”

  “You don’t.”

  Not at all what she’d expected. “No song and dance about why I should trust you?”

  “You shouldn’t.”

  Well, good. At least they were on the same page. He took a lazy step forward and she adjusted her sights. She slid a few inches to the left and connected with a wall. “Don’t move any closer.”

  “Shooting me is a waste of bullets.” He dropped the handcuffs and kicked them across the floor to her. “Put those on.”

  “A frequent fantasy of yours?” She’d been aiming for a sarcastic tone, and instead the words came out breathy. Like an invitation.

  “Definitely.” His raised eyebrow spoke volumes and she balanced on the thin line between anger and appreciation. He was good. Scratch that. He was very bad, and he knew it.

  “I meant, use them on your friend. We need to get out of here before the fire closes in.”

  “And if I refuse?” She swiped her forearm across her cheek and stifled a groan when her skin burned from the action.

  “Then you deserve each other,” he drawled. Brawny’s warped sense of humor added to his raw appeal. Laughter and looks were a dangerous combination.

  She lowered her gun a smidgen. Was she really going to shoot either of the men? And if she had to trust one, it would be Brawny. His silky brown eyes slid down her body and then to the gun in her hand.

  “You’re making me nervous. How about a truce?”

  “How long until the police arrive?” she countered. The burst of adrenaline was quickly fading from her bloodstream, causing her hands to shake.

  “Twenty minutes.” His critical eyes swept her again. “Do you need an ambulance?”

  Did she? The thoughts were getting jumbled in her head. She couldn’t stay here, but didn’t know how to leave. The man on the floor shifted, distracting her long enough for Brawny to pry the gun from her fingers.

  He pointed the weapon at the man she’d temporarily sidelined. “I will shoot.” He kicked the balding man’s outstretched arm for emphasis, earning a grunt in return.

  “Hand me the cuffs,” Brawny said.

  Kira reached for the handcuffs, stifling the urge to ask where he’d gotten them. Pressing her back against the wall, she struggled to stand, one bare foot crunching on broken glass. She winced, throwing all her weight onto her other leg while trying to extend the cuffs to Brawny.

  “You ain’t cuffing me,” the other man bellowed.

  “Shut up,” Brawny said.

  An obnoxious noise filled the room. Belching, maybe? But the man’s lips weren’t moving.

  “Oh, that’s classy,” Brawny said. “Where’s the phone?” He pressed the barrel of the gun against the balding man’s head when he didn’t reply. “Last chance.”

  “All right, all right, it’s in my pocket.”

  As Brawny squatted to search the denim pockets, Kira stood holding the cuffs. She should do something to help, right? Maybe slip one of the silver bracelets onto the man’s wrist while Brawny subdued him.

  She took a step closer as Brawny located the phone and silenced the annoying ringtone. In a flash, the balding man wrapped his fingers around her ankle and yanked her off balance as he threw his elbow toward Brawny’s face. Her bare foot was already unsteady as she tried kicking free.

  Kira tumbled, her arms windmilling as she tried to catch herself. Hot pain hammered the back of her head as she fought to remain conscious. Her eyes slid closed against a backdrop of grunts and punches. She rolled to her side, unable to do more than lie there and listen.

  Another punch, another curse, another gunshot, then silence. She felt more than heard the vibration against the floor. Sensed someone moving nearby. Her heart hammered in her chest, but she couldn’t breathe.

  “Tell me she’s dead.” An unfamiliar voice crackled through the phone.

  Another gunshot exploded and Kira grabbed her head. The sound echoed in her ears, reverberated through her skull. Then silence.

  Chapter 2

  “She’s dead.” Dalton mimicked the thug’s voice to perfection, a skill he and his brother, Josh, had honed as kids. At the same time he was grinding his heel into the intruder’s face for emphasis.

  “Clean it up and get here by morning.” Whoever Rico was, he disconnected before Dalton uttered another word.

  He shoved the phone into his pocket. The surreal activities of the past twenty-odd minutes came into clear focus. The blonde bomber had told at least one truth: she didn’t have a partner. She also didn’t have a prayer of walking away without sharing the full, unabridged version of why she’d ended up at his door, and how she planned to stay alive.

  For a moment, he allowed his gaze to roam her body, lingering on the cleavage exposed when her shirt had slipped off one shoulder. The thickening smoke reminded him they had to get out of here.

  Dalton could consider himself every kind of fool for not letting the woman suffer alone, but she needed a doctor. A man with any functioning brain cells would’ve found out her name when she’d first opened her eyes. There had been an explosion, so maybe he should cut himsel
f some slack.

  The sound of rain splattering against the house, along with the crack of thunder that followed, had him breathing easier. The small fire would be out in no time. “At least something is going right.”

  He should have expected that the man would put up quite a fight. The bastard had gone after Blondie again, leaving no doubt he wanted her dead. Dalton had stopped short of killing him, but the thought still flickered in the back of his mind.

  It would be self-defense, plain and simple. But he didn’t want an ounce of scandal to touch his family’s name ever again. His mom couldn’t take another and would never forgive him. First Lauren, and the personal attacks that had seeped into his mom’s life, then Dalton lying his way through his brother’s death. The tabloids insinuated Josh had gotten what he deserved, and although Dalton felt the same way, he had to deflect their claims.

  Josh had always been their mother’s favorite. Maybe because he was the baby of the family, or maybe because his mother coveted his free and easy nature. He could do no wrong in her eyes. And since they’d fought the day before his death, his mother was convinced she’d played a role in sending him over that cliff.

  Dalton grabbed the man’s shirt collar and dragged him into the bathroom, anchoring him with duct tape to the cast-iron bathtub while he writhed in agony.

  “Who are you and why do you want her dead?”

  The portly man pressed his lips together, trying to look cocky. “You’re a wrinkle in the plan,” he said. “They want this place gone, burned to the ground. I’ll be out of jail and back in a couple hours to finish the job.”

  “I’m shaking with fright.” The man might have been intimidating to anyone else, but to Dalton, he was simply a bully. “Behave yourself and I’ll call the cops tomorrow.”

  He returned to the bedroom and dialed the emergency services number again. He couldn’t second-guess his decision to help the unconscious woman. Commitment was his middle name. “This is Dalton Matthews. I need to cancel the call for a grass fire. Looks like the rain put it out.”

  “I’ll remove it from our list,” the dispatcher replied.

  “I’m heading out of town for a few days. Could I get an extra patrol to swing past tomorrow and make sure everything’s in order?”

  “We can do that.”

  The man in the next room gathered enough energy to bellow a string of curse words.

  “Sorry. Forgot to mute the television before I called.”

  “No problem, sir. I’ve heard worse.”

  “Now that I think about it, switch the patrol to the day after tomorrow.” Dalton grinned to himself. “Nothing exciting ever happens around here.”

  “Right. I’ve got you down. Have a safe trip.”

  He disconnected the call and stared at Blondie. She was out for the count and his ruse might have bought her a short reprieve. Getting her to a doctor or hospital would cover his culpability regarding her injuries. He dropped his bloodstained flannel shirt and pulled on the first available T-shirt.

  “Now for sleeping Blondie.”

  All his efforts while he’d been in hiding the past several months would be wasted by tomorrow. There was no time to cover all the windows and prevent any further damage to the house. He released another, longer sigh and with it some of the anger kindling his blood.

  He tossed an old afghan onto Blondie and secured her close to his body. He settled her in the front passenger seat of his vehicle, clicked the seat belt in place and climbed into the driver’s side. He backed out of the garage and refused to look at the damage.

  The rain had arrived in time to stop the fire. He adjusted the wipers and pulled onto the darkening county road with one final glance in his rearview mirror. No second thoughts.

  Right or wrong, he was committed to securing Blondie’s health and safety. She needed a hospital. She’d get a hospital. If she woke up before that, he’d get answers.

  Dalton rubbed his knuckles, thinking of the bastard who’d taken a hit to the groin. The man’s curse-filled tirade had confirmed that someone wanted more than death for Blondie. What did she want from Dalton? More than a few things didn’t add up.

  Dalton spotted the bright pink nails grasping the edge of the damp afghan he’d thrown over her. He caught himself reaching for her fingers, the familiar color causing his gut to clench. Instead, he anchored his hands on the steering wheel.

  How many times had he seen such a color? Visiting the nail salon had been a ritual for Lauren. Until the day she’d taken her life. It was almost impossible not to think of his wife, and every time he did, he couldn’t get past the circumstances framing her death or the blame levied at him.

  “How many media exclusives can you people want?” An unlimited supply, when every person Lauren had known, past and present, collected a fee for their sorrow. Too bad they hadn’t been half as involved in her life when her fame had started tearing her apart.

  But paparazzi don’t normally carry guns or have thugs blowing up their cars.

  The woman beside him was too pale. Too fragile looking, as though she’d endured more than her fair share of pain. She moistened her lips and wiped her hand across her eyes before wincing and bolting upright in the seat.

  “Let me out!” She tugged at her seat belt.

  He glanced at the highway. “Out where?”

  She pushed a strand of hair off her face and glared at him. “Just pull over and let me out.”

  Dalton hit the brakes and steered the sedan onto the shoulder, sending gravel flying against the undercarriage of the car and abruptly stopping them with enough force the airbags could have deployed.

  She braced a hand against the dashboard before throwing off the afghan and releasing the seat belt. She yanked on the door handle and then beat her fist against the cherrywood trim in frustration. “Why won’t this door open?”

  Dalton placed the car in Park and turned off the ignition. “Because we have some unfinished business, because it’s dark and rainy outside or because you aren’t wearing shoes. Take your pick.”

  She shut up for six seconds and then immediately returned to attack mode. “I already said I was sorry. Now let me go.”

  “First tell me your name.”

  “Tell me your name.” She might talk big, but her body language told a different story. She was shrinking to the corner of the seat.

  “I have a feeling you already know it.”

  Pinching the bridge of her nose, she softly counted to ten. Then she reached forward, opened the glove box and started riffling through the papers inside. He’d give her points for resourcefulness, but she’d find nothing in there to help her.

  Next, she flipped on the console light and held up three or four papers for inspection. “BCA. BCA. And BCA, Inc.” She glared over at him. “What’s a BCA?”

  “Business name.” He winked, hoping she could see it in the dim light. “Your turn.”

  “I pass.” She crossed her arms, stubborn yet again.

  “Are you sure?” he asked, typing in a request on the car’s GPS screen and doing it with enough fanfare she had to be watching him. He flipped on the audio switch and waited for the announcement.

  “Law enforcement located, ten point three miles northeast, downloading directions now.”

  She stared at the screen, chewed her lip nervously and then straightened her spine. “If you were going to turn me in, why didn’t you do it already?”

  He didn’t need her calling his bluff. He needed her to crumble and spill her guts so he could determine her true motivation. It was like a really bad game of hot potato and he wanted to get rid of her as soon as feasibly possible.

  “Simple answer, I was headed to the hospital, quicker than waiting for an ambulance.” He invoked his most take-charge tone before continuing. “You could move things along by telling me yo
ur name and how you found me.”

  She shoved the mass of paperwork and fast-food napkins back into the glove box and slammed the cover shut. “I wasn’t looking for you.”

  “Really? Then what were you doing, snooping around my property?”

  She chewed her bottom lip again. “Exactly how long have you lived there?”

  The air in Dalton’s lungs turned to fresh cement and for several seconds he couldn’t breathe as he remembered the day he’d escaped to the woods. Had he really been hiding out for over a year? He cleared his throat. “Answering a question with a question is a classic avoidance technique, one you probably already knew.”

  She blew the bangs from her forehead and turned toward him. “And yet it’s a question I will ask again. How long have you lived there?”

  “And I’ll repeat, what were you doing snooping around my property?” Two could play her game.

  She glared at him again. “I wasn’t trying to snoop, but I’d actually been there several years ago. I was searching for...an old friend.”

  Dalton took a moment to absorb the information. This woman was asking him to believe she’d been there, legally, without his knowledge. There were only four people with a key.

  “Maybe the exterior has changed a bit, but I’m 99 percent certain my friend still owns that property. We came here New Year’s Eve almost four years ago.” Her voice shook again and she blinked away tears.

  “Blondie, my family has owned that house for sixty years.” Dalton watched as her expression changed from anger to uncertainty. “You’ve either confused the location with another property or you were trespassing the first time.”

  He’d expected another string of denials to fall from her lips.

  “Damn you, Josh,” she softly cursed.

  Dalton’s blood ran cold at the mention of his brother’s name. He gripped the steering wheel when he’d rather have hold of her neck. “Did you say Josh?”

  “Yes, Joshua Kincaid.” She swiped her tongue across her lips again, momentarily distracting him.

  “And...” He tossed off his seat belt and leaned across the console, anxious to hear what scheme his half brother had gotten her involved in.