by Maren Smith
“Ungh, can’t, owww.” Kaylee’s body went rigid in Grace’s arms, and she let out a guttural moan and clasped her round tummy. “Oh no, oh no, it’s too early. Ow.”
Grace laid Kaylee back so her head was on her lap. “It’s going to be okay. I’m sure the guys are on their way up right now with help. Just try to… relax your breathing…” Grace choked on her own words. Who was she kidding? She was barely keeping her own head on straight, let alone breathing calmly. Trying to talk her pregnant friend down from going into preterm labor was not exactly her forte.
Besides, what could she do? Chris had been right all along. She felt the first tears race down her cheeks and her own breathing quickened. She was nothing more than an invalid, a person who couldn’t take care of herself, let alone help someone else. And now, Kaylee was hurt because of her. What if she lost the baby? The sob wrenched its way out and into the stairwell.
Footsteps came toward them from above, and, for a moment, she felt relief. Then she realized the steps weren’t urgent as if they were coming to rescue them. These steps were firm and cadenced, like a predator stalking its prey. Grace was the prey.
She needed to keep Kaylee out of this. She carefully placed the moaning woman on the floor, and stood in front of her, blocking her form as best as possible from the threat coming toward them.
“So, you’re the woman who’s been giving me so much trouble.” His nasally voice sent a chill down her spine. “Interesting, actually. I had no idea you were blind at first.” He chuckled darkly. “If I had, I might have let you go weeks ago. But now that I’ve put so much time and energy into finding you…”
Grace almost swayed on her feet but remembered the pregnant woman behind her. “Help will be here any second, and you’re trapped in a stairwell that only has two exits. Take me as your hostage, and I promise I’ll be quiet. I’ll walk fast. We can get upstairs to the roof, and then you can do what you need to.”
“You’re giving yourself to me to protect the bitch behind you?”
His musing was cut short at the pounding on the door half a floor below them. Someone shouted, trying to get into the stairwell.
“We’re running out of time.” Grace walked toward him. “Let’s go.”
To her relief, he grabbed her with both hands, which meant no open hand for a gun. Kaylee would be okay. She hoped.
His hands were smoother than she thought they would be. He roughly gripped her and continued a fast-paced trot up the stairs. She winced when he dug his fingers tighter into her arm. She heard choked voices calling out for Champ and Eden and prayed everyone was all right. They made it to the top flight and opened the door to the roof as the door below them slammed open. Relief flooded through her when she heard a male voice exclaiming at finding Kaylee.
“Keep moving,” her captor grunted and shoved her through the door outside.
The roof. The place most TV show bad guys took their captives, right? To either shoot them or throw them off the building. Whatever happened now, at least she had saved her friend. If she could just keep him busy, talking for a few minutes, maybe Chris could get here in time. Would Chris try to save her? Yes.
The bigger question was this: Would she allow Chris to come onto this roof and put his body in harm’s way? Would she allow him to save her? Was she willing to give up control long enough for him to do the one thing he had said he would do?
And what if he died trying to save her? Could she live with that?
Chris
He tore up the stairs, his ears ringing and plaster dust sifting over everything. Marshall and Grimsley were hot on his heels, hollering Grace and Kaylee’s names. Grace was in danger. Where could she be? Seconds passed like hours. His heart in his throat, Chris tried to find a way over the rubble blocking his path up the stairs. If the women had been caught in the blast… No, he couldn’t think about it. Shouts came from everywhere, a siren in the distance, and the floor was littered with bits of broken stone, wood planks and shattered furniture. He kept tripping.
“Chris!” A female voice, not Grace’s, but he followed it up the stairs. Stuffing back the panic that threatened to make him useless to anyone, he found his way through to the landing between the second and third floors…
“Kaylee!” He’d nearly fallen over her, barely recognizing her shadowy form through the thickness of the smoke billowing down from the floor above.
“Are you okay?” Marshall shoved him aside and gently took the sobbing Kaylee into his arms.
“No… but I’m in better shape than Grace. He’s got her!”
“Who?”
“Carmen. The Butcher.” She coughed and doubled up over her belly. “Chris, you have to save her.”
Grimsley nearly knocked him over as he shot past and up the stairs through the third floor door. Chris followed, but only as far as the top of the third-floor landing. Here, another flight of stairs led up to the roof. The door here was always kept locked, but it wasn’t now. Who had opened it? He took two steps at a time, pounding away. These steps were less polished stone, more for maintenance staff than guests. He was headed for the roof, not a public area.
At the top, he grabbed for the door handle then stopped and twisted it quietly, pushing it open a fraction of an inch, listening.
“Let’s make this easy on both of us, bitch.” The male voice grated on Chris’ every nerve, threatening to renew the rage and terror that had been lurking under the surface since his last mission. But if there had ever been a time when control was imperative, this was it. The killings in the desert had come close to shattering it, but the training he’d received had created a foundation that even that sniper and his invisible cohorts had been unable to completely destroy. He’d been unable to save most of his men, but he would sure as hell save Grace or die trying.
Opening the door a tiny bit more, he saw a scene that chilled the marrow of his bones.
“It’s a long way down, and your heart will probably stop on the way. If not, it won’t hurt for long. Step up.” The killer spoke in an almost cheerful tone. “Really, you should thank me for being such a great guy.”
A dead guy, soon. And if he harmed one hair on Grace’s head, Chris would make sure his death was as protracted and painful as possible.
Easing the door wider, he slipped out, trying not to make any noise at all that could startle the killer or make him move to kill Grace before he could stop him. The man faced away from him, his whole attention focused on Grace who stood close to the edge. He held a gun in his free hand. Very close to the edge. The heels of her shoes, from this angle appeared to stick out over it. Chris schooled his breathing. In. Hold. Out. He took a step closer.
“So, the only question is…” The man still held Grace’s arm, a gun in his other hand, levering her closer to where she’d tumble to her death. “The question is, do you want to jump or shall I push you?” That gun had the capability of ending every bit of happiness in Chris’ life. His focus narrowed onto it…
No fucking way. Any panic or fear or PTSD faded into the crystal clarity he’d used in every mission but the last one. He took a few more quiet steps. Grace turned her face toward him. If it had been anyone else, he’d have said she saw him, but he knew better. She heard him. But she didn’t acknowledge him, thank heavens.
“Can I take a moment to consider my choices?” Her calm voice washed over him. She stood at the edge of oblivion, but she wasn’t entirely helpless. No, she never had been. Together, they could save her. Because he sure as hell couldn’t do it without her keeping her head about her. “They are both pretty bad, but it is a big decision.”
She caught him off guard, the killer. He laughed and released her arm. Sure, he’d have no idea she could handle herself. He wouldn’t be the first one to make that mistake with Grace. With almost no time to plan and less to act, he shouted, “Grace, drop to the ground, toward my voice.” Any mistake could cost her life… her captor’s fingers were inches from closing on her wrist when she dropped like a stone, lan
ding flat on her belly.
The second she hit, Chris leapt on the killer’s back, knocking him halfway off the roof. They grappled for the gun, which went off right by Chris’ ear, deafening him on that side. He felt no pain anywhere, but the adrenalin would possibly overcome it if he had. Had the bullet hit Grace? His opponent paused for a second—perhaps he’d been hit—and Chris grabbed his hand, squeezing hard until he released the weapon, which tumbled to the ground far, far below, landing with a clunk. The jerk had planned to use that thing on Grace. Red rage dimmed his vision before he shoved it down again. Both he and the murderer were partially hanging off the roof, and while he didn’t mind if the other man fell, he didn’t want to, so he gathered all his strength and rolled to the right, bringing them onto the roof. The various chimneys and vents broke up the wide stone expanse. The land fell away below their high perch, highlighting their dangerous position.
This time, he didn’t lose his cool when confronted with a murderer. He pressed his knee into the man’s back, holding him in place. Chris’ lips parted to tell Grace to crawl to the steps and holler for help, but the murderous bastard gave a twist and pulled free. He bounced onto his feet as if he had been an Olympic gymnast. Chris was still slowed by all the damage he’d suffered in the desert, but he couldn’t let the fierce pain shooting up his arm stop him when he used it to shove upright.
The bastard now had a knife in his hand. As if he’d been transported back to that day, the killer blurred in and out, becoming the sniper. Chris froze.
“Chris! Look out!” Grace’s voice slammed him right back into his skin, and he deflected the blow that would have severed his jugular. They wrestled for the weapon, with each gaining then losing ground, moving close to the edge and back. At one point, Chris’ foot slipped on something and skidded over the edge, but he regained his balance.
The killer lurched toward him, blood pouring from a head wound. It looked like the bullet had grazed his scalp. “Fuck you,” the man growled. “I’ll kill you both.”
Chris watched for an opening, a chance to take him out, just a little closer and he could— “Grace! No!”
His brave, his beautiful, his amazing princess shoved to her feet and thrust out a leg. How she knew when to do it he’d never know, but the murderer lost his balance and swayed, spinning in a stumbling circle, blood droplets flying around them. He started to fall, and flailing, managed to grab Grace’s ankle.
The killer’s weight carried him over the edge, only his grip on the delicate woman slowing his descent. She dug her fingernails into the roof, an expression of panic contorting her face.
Chris flung himself after them, landing belly-down as Grace had moments before, and just managing to close his fist around her wrist.
But they were still moving, the momentum of the man hanging from her leg still dragging all of them toward oblivion. A pipe, probably venting a hot water heater or something below, stuck up a few feet from the edge, and Chris wrapped his arm around it, holding tight.
They stopped moving, but if nobody came to help in the next thirty seconds, it wouldn’t matter. The pipe was already bending and couldn’t support all their weight for long. And Grace was being stretched in a way that in itself was likely to cause damage. If they lived. If she lived.
Dammit, they had to live!
He tightened his grip on the pipe and on Grace, praying for strength, and began to pull back. By inches, fractions of inches. He moved Grace higher, her shoulders appeared, her torso, and then only her hips were still suspended.
The bastard had managed to scale her, his face entirely too close to his princess’ curvy bottom. Somehow… that did it. With the last of the energy in his screaming muscles, terrified his wounded arm would let her down, Chris hauled off and kicked the murderer who wanted to hurt his Grace right in his evil, sneering, panicked face.
With a hellish shriek, the killer followed his gun to the ground far far below.
A peek over the edge showed his head had split like an overripe melon when he landed.
Good. He’d never harm or threaten to harm anyone again. After a single glance, Chris gathered Grace in his arms and carried her back down to where Marshall and a cadre of other Castle people surrounded Kaylee, who was insisting she was fine in between labor pains. Someone on the third floor kept shouting for an ambulance. Tucked up against the wall not far from Kaylee, a smoky disheveled Master was holding tightly to an equally smoke-stained Little Maid, who kept crying something about a “champ” as she twisted to break free and run back upstairs.
Ignoring all of it, Chris carried her down the other stairs and outside, turning away from the direction where the murderer had met his just end. He carried her to their spot in the garden and sat on their bench where he buried his face in her hair and took his first full breath since the bomb went off. They stayed there until the ambulances and police arrived. Kaylee was one of the first rushed to the local hospital, and Chris and Grace rode with her, with Marshall speeding along in his personal car in the wake of the wailing siren and flashing lights. Trapped in the waiting room at the mercy of emergency personnel who were slow to proclaim them all fit to leave, there they were interviewed by, well, just about everyone.
Chapter 12
Grace
“You know you’re going to have to let me go at some point.” She snuggled deeper into Chris’ arms as they lay together in the big tub. Water sloshed around them, and bubbles tickled her neck, but she wasn’t moving. Not until he let her go.
“Never. Get used to a pair of big arms around your chest and legs wrapped around your waist forever. We should probably stay in the bath, too.”
“We might get pruney.”
“Soft, non-wrinkled skin is overrated.” He grunted and pulled them both deeper into the water until she was chin deep.
They didn’t speak for a few more minutes, the only sounds in the room, their soft sighs, water splashing, the overhead fan going strong and loud in the background. Chris had wanted background noise to calm his nerves. It had been ages before they had finally straggled out of Marshall’s temporary office. More like, she stumbled a few steps before Chris swooped down and heaved her up into his arms, carrying her across the entire Castle grounds and over to the cabin they had been assigned. He hadn’t even put her down when they rode the horse-drawn carriage over, deciding instead to keep her on his lap.
The Castle was swarming with police, firefighters, paramedics, FBI… Holy cow, it should have made her feel better, but it didn’t. Because the more people that showed up, barking out orders, calling to their partners, the more the smell of sulfur, dust, burnt wood, cement, and ash had upset her. Chris hid his emotions well, in his ‘I am a tough guy, I can take the pain’, sort of stoic silence. But he hadn’t let her go since the moment she fell into his arms on the roof. And being that close to his body meant she felt every little shudder, every wince, every fast breath. And half of it was hers.
They took the ambulance with Kaylee to the hospital. Chris didn’t say a word. He’d sat there with Grace, holding her in his death grip the entire time she was questioned by police, poked and prodded by doctors, and re-questioned again by more agents. Grace was frazzled by the time Marshall put his foot down and told everyone to back the hell off and let them recover. When the agents only announced that they’d be back in the morning with more questions, Marshall erupted with another emotional F bomb. Completely uncharacteristic of him. He was usually calm and controlled and totally in charge, but then, that was before anyone came out into the hospital waiting room to give them an update on Kaylee.
They’d stopped Kylee’s early contractions with a good dose of Terbutaline and an IV. Poor thing was still pretty shaken up—another reason Marshall had wanted to get rid of the pushy agents before they could get her in their questioning sights. As soon as they were gone, however, he’d grabbed Grace in a shaky hug and even apologized for all the crap, choking up like he was about to cry until she reminded him it wasn’t his fault.
Shortly after that, he’d been allowed into ICU where his wife was resting. He was probably still there now, holding Kaylee as tightly as Chris was holding Grace. She smiled. Her cousin had done the best he could, and the best thing was her savior sitting there in the hospital next to her quietly thrumming with anxious energy. She’d needed to get him out of there. So she’d hugged him then told her Dom to take her the hell out of there.
Yeah, she’d done that bottoming thing again to get his goat. Chris didn’t get it at first, but she knew how to push a few more buttons. He was still aching, and she needed to help him let it go. But sitting together in the bath like this did feel nice. Maybe a few more minutes of getting pruney while his thick member poked into her back.
“So, what happens next, Master Nelson?” She squirmed against his hard cock, listening to his low groan as he tightened his hold on her. His fingers traced circles around her wet nipples, the combination of lavender and soft bubbles making her even more sensitive.
“After I make love to you and feed you and make love to you again, I’m going to spank you hard and fast. I’m going to leave welts and red blotches all over your sexy ass, and you most likely won’t sit tomorrow.”
