“Go to hell,” Arielle said.
Pickins backhanded her. “Now is that any way to accept gratitude?”
Doug’s trigger finger itched. Her eyes were wide and terrified, and she bit her lip when Pickins shoved the barrel against her temple again.
Though he fought not to look into her eyes, Doug lost the battle. Her eyes showed trust, belief, the two things he’d demanded of her, the two things he now prayed he could use to save her.
But more, beyond that, he saw the trueness of love. Last night, he’d known what she was about to say, and he’d stopped her. Now he desperately wished he hadn’t. He needed her love. And he wanted to hear her say the words.
For a moment, Doug let down his own guard, allowed the love he felt to be expressed in his own eyes. Did she see it?
She closed her eyes momentarily, and when she opened them again, he knew. He knew that no matter what else happened, she realized he loved her.
She gave a brief nod, their communication transcending the verbal.
“You know, I think I ought to be killing the missy and not you.” Pickins laughed—more a giggle than anything. “Think that’d drive you crazy, you and your morals...ain’t that what you called them on the stand, your morals? So damn many morals you sent me to jail ‘cause of a little accident?”
“It wasn’t an accident, Sammy, you killed innocent people, men who trusted you.”
“Just as I’ll kill the missy.” He cackled.
The alarm went silent. And the tension in the atmosphere became palpable. Pickins would kill her, Doug knew, and take more pleasure in that than from murdering Doug.
“Word on the street said there’d been a mix-up, that she didn’t want to die after all. Don’t that just make it better?”
His grip nearly choking Arielle, Pickins backed toward the front of the house.
“Let her go.”
Pickins laughed.
“Trade you,” Doug offered. “Give me the girl and I’ll give you my gun.”
“Don’t like your games, Dougie boy.” His eyes sparkled with an unnatural light.
“Point-blank range,” Doug told him.
“She dies.”
Doug’s gaze collided with Arielle’s. “Shoot him,” she mouthed.
He couldn’t, wouldn’t, take that risk. He’d bet his life on the turn of a card, but he refused to gamble with hers.
“Do it,” she urged softly.
He gave a quick shake of his head.
Pickins chuckled. “Ain’t this grand?”
Silently she mouthed, “Trust me.”
Before he could react, tell her not to, she pulled her elbow forward and slammed it into Pickins’s stomach. He roared and smashed the pistol against her head.
Arielle crumpled, and Pickins shoved her at Doug, letting her fall into his arms in an unconscious heap.
Chapter 16
Pickins fired.
The chandelier shattered. Protecting Arielle with his body, Doug grimaced as shards of glass spiked toward the ground, swearing when a dagger of crystal impaled his shoulder. Pushing past them, Pickins ran into the living room, leaping through the broken window.
Doug lay Arielle down, squeezing his eyes shut in momentary relief when he saw the consistent rise and fall of her chest. He dropped a kiss on her forehead, promising to return.
Grabbing the phone, he dialed 911. After identifying himself and Arielle’s condition, he left the phone off the hook.
“Pickins!” Doug yelled, wincing as he yanked out the glass. He wavered momentarily, but the heat of anger drove him on.
He took the same path as Pickins, the image of Arielle lying on the floor making him run faster. Pickins wouldn’t get a second chance to hurt someone Doug cared for. Not if he could help it.
The blowing and drifting snow partially covered Pickins’s tracks, obliterating others. The semilit conditions, created by the snow-covered ground and overcast sky, were both a blessing and a curse, Doug decided, seeing his prey dart into the trees that lined the driveway. If he could see Pickins, then Pickins would surely be able to see him.
As he closed the distance, Pickins pointed his gun over his shoulder and fired. Fortunately, his aim was off. Well, so much for it being Pickins’s lucky day. Doug intended to ruin it completely.
Slowing his pace, Doug tried to keep in the shadows of the trees. The tracks he followed suddenly blended with a herd of others that scattered in all directions. Deer. Most likely taking cover from the wind, Pickins had startled them. Doug cursed.
Squatting near the base of a tree, he closed his eyes to listen. He heard the subtle movement of a branch. Reacting—but not fast enough—he turned as Pickins jumped from above.
Caught in an iron vise of insanity, Doug struggled for air as Pickins tightened his hold on Doug’s neck. The two rolled down an incline, Doug fighting to gain the upper hand, to position his weapon, even as blackness threatened to overtake him.
“Shooting to kill was too easy!” Pickins yelled, straddling Doug at the bottom of the hill.
Doug fought to raise the gun, and grimaced when it fell from his weakened grasp and sank into the snow.
“One-on-one does have its appeal,” Pickins continued, his voice seeming to come from a distance. “I’m gonna choke the life out of you, you lousy bastard. But before I do, I wanna hear you beg for mercy.”
The moment Pickins loosened his grip, Doug coughed and gulped for air, at the same time bringing his knee up into Pickins’s groin.
Fighting to hold the enraged Pickins away with one hand, Doug searched blindly with the other for his gun.
Pickins grabbed at the pistol. Reaching deep, dredging up determination, Doug’s grip tightened on the handle as both fought for their lives and for control of the trigger.
Fury and pure hatred blazed in Pickins’s eyes.
“Give it up, Sammy.”
“So I can go back to jail?” He sneered. “I’d rather go to hell!”
Suited Doug fine.
“I’ll see you there with me,” Pickins promised. Despite the frigid temperatures, beads of sweat dotted his brow.
Staring Pickins in the eye, Doug knew the desperation that glinted there. Nothing more dangerous than a desperate man. And Doug had no illusions about Pickins. He’d killed before and protested his innocence. He’d hurt Arielle. And he intended to kill Doug.
“Semper fi, buddy, till one of us dies!” Pickins’s demented laughter echoed through the forest.
A single shot rang out.
And Pickins was no longer laughing.
Wind rushed through the treetops, scattering snow over the ground. Then the unmistakable rustle of underbrush and the snap of a twig underfoot.
“Doug?”
He glared up at Brian. “About damned time you got here. What took you so long?”
Doug grunted as he rolled free from the still form lying next to him. Stumbling to his feet, he accepted Brian’s steadying hand.
“Whiteout conditions. Closed roads. You know, the usual. Out of the ordinary, though, was an arsenal of explosives I stumbled across near a rock piling looking for you.”
“I’m not surprised.” Where Pickins was concerned, Doug experienced no emotion. He never liked having to use his weapon, would prefer to handle conflict differently. In the majority of cases, he regretted the loss of human life.
“Call the coroner, the black and whites,” he told Brian.
Holstering his nine-millimeter, Doug headed for the house at a run, ignoring the dull ache in his shoulder. “How is she?” he demanded of Rhone, sinking onto the floor next to Arielle. Her eyelashes stood in stark contrast to her pale face. Doug had never experienced this mind-numbing, bone-chilling fear before.
“She’ll be okay,” Rhone promised. He’d been bathing her forehead and bruised temple with a damp cloth, and he offered it to Doug.
“Has she woken up?”
Rhone shook his head.
Doug took Arielle’s hand between his. Cradling
her wrist, he was calmed but not reassured by the steady beat of her pulse.
“Need to see to your shoulder,” Rhone stated, moving away.
“Just a scratch.”
“Three dozen stitches,” Rhone countered.
“Two.”
“You’re on.”
In moments, he heard the distant wail of sirens. Whispering softly, he confessed, “I love you.”
He would have sworn a smile flickered across her lips. Even when the emergency response team arrived and started to work on her, he refused to leave her side.
“Sir, we have a few questions for you,” a police officer said, placing a restraining hand on Doug’s arm when he started to follow the stretcher from the house.
Rhone flashed an ID card and said, “Yarrow and I can answer anything you need to know. Go with her, Doug.”
Thanking his friend, he climbed into the back of the ambulance.
The siren screamed, and Doug held her hand, looking heavenward. He’d never been much of a praying man. Until lately. Until he nearly lost the one thing that mattered more to him than anything else.
He’d gladly have given his life in order to spare hers. “I love you, Arielle,” he said again, the husky tone of his words drowned by the wailing of the siren.
Light pierced through Arielle’s skull, bringing a blinding headache with it She heard the whir of machinery she’d heard before. And she smelled the unmistakable odor of antiseptic and despair.
A hospital?
But it couldn’t be... She hadn’t been in a hospital since Danny...
She fought to remember where she was and how she’d gotten there, but the harder she reached, the farther away the fragments of memory seemed to slip.
In frustration, she turned her head on the pillow. Pain exploded through her head, and she gasped. Arielle started to lift her hand to her temple, only to feel a slight resistance.
Slowly she opened her eyes, struggling to focus on the spinning room. An IV tube was taped to her hand, and her blue-and-white cotton gown had slipped from her shoulder.
Finally, blinking to focus, she saw Doug, slumped in a chair next to the bed, hair falling across his forehead. A day’s shadow shaded his chin and jaw, and dark circles bruised his eyes. His chest rose and fell shallowly, as if he were barely keeping sleep at bay.
A sling held his left arm close to his body. He’d been hurt, and she wanted nothing more than to reach out to him. But as she tried to sit, the world whirled around her.
Cradled beneath blankets, memories returned in disjointed fragments. She remembered.... Pickins. He’d caused explosions, and then... Arielle frowned, and winced at the corresponding pain. She’d been following Doug. Pickins had grabbed her.
Above the pungent scent of disinfectant in the room, she could still smell Pickins. He’d shoved his arm around her throat, tipping back her head. She’d seen the tattoo.grossly etched into his skin. And his breath... She closed her eyes again.
The pieces floated back, then, without her having to try. She’d told Doug to shoot Pickins, silently trying to communicate her trust, her belief and, most of all, her love.
Their gazes had met. And for a second she’d seen... It floated away. Then, teasing, it returned. She’d seen his answering love.
Knowing he’d never shoot at Pickins while the man had her hostage, she’d. done the only thing she knew to do...she’d elbowed Pickins in the stomach. And then the world had gone black. It had stayed that way until just a few seconds ago.
Hadn’t it? Her breath caught. A part of her wanted to believe she’d heard Doug confess his love. Had he? Or had it been nothing more than a dream, a wish?
The next time she opened her eyes, it was to see Doug looking at her.
“Sleeping Beauty,” he said softly. “Welcome back.”
Her heart leaped.
“If this is a way to make sure you get sympathy so I don’t beat you at cards tomorrow...”
“Yes?” she asked.
“It’s working.” He stood, moving closer to her. Crouching, he reached for her hand and held it gently.
“What...” She cleared her throat and Doug offered her a sip from a paper cup. The water slid down her parched throat, and it was then that she realized just how weak she felt. “What happened to your shoulder?”
“I’m more worried about how you’re doing.”
“And I’m worried about your shoulder.”
“Figures,” he said. “Danced with a piece of glass. Tried to make sure it didn’t step on my toes.”
“So you offered your shoulder instead?”
“Whatever works.”
“Did you get stitches?”
“Three dozen.” He winced. “I won’t be carrying you anywhere for a week or so.”
They lapsed into silence, a thousand things needing to be said.
“How are you?” he asked.
She looked into his eyes, touched that he’d positioned himself near her, so that she didn’t have to lift her head. “I think this counts as an Excedrin headache.” Then she asked the inevitable. “What happened to me?”
“He hit you on the head with the butt of the pistol.”
She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry again. “And Pickins?”
“Isn’t around to tell his side of the story.”
A sigh of relief escaped her. Even though she didn’t wish anyone to die, she wasn’t sure she could have lived with the terror of knowing he was still out there, watching, maybe waiting for another chance.
A soft knock on the door halted any more conversation. Doug looked at her and she nodded.
“Come in,” he said.
The door eased open, and Rhone entered, handing a small box to Doug. The men exchanged knowing glances, and Doug slipped the package inside his jacket She would have frowned if it didn’t hurt so much.
Rhone grinned at her, and she offered a wan smile in return.
“How’re you feeling?”
“Like buying stock in aspirin.”
“I’ll send you a carton.”
“Sure,” she said. “And what will I do for tomorrow?”
“She’s a trouper, Doug,” Rhone said.
“Yeah,” Doug responded, and she wondered if that was a note of pride in his voice. “She is.”
“I’ll be back later,” Rhone promised Arielle. “Shannen’s at the airport now, picking up your parents.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. “How can I make it up to you?”
“By naming your firstborn after me.”
“Adios, Mitchell,” Doug said. “You’ve gotta go now.”
Rhone saluted. “I can take a hint.”
The door swished shut behind him, sealing her behind the closed door with Doug. For some reason, the atmosphere was branded with an intimacy she hadn’t before noticed.
“I almost lost you,” he said, the words broken with emotion.
She hadn’t heard him sound so raw, so rough, before. The scratch of huskiness in his voice brought a tear to her eyes.
“I’m not good at this sort of thing,” he admitted.
Their gazes locked.
“But when Pickins had you...” He exhaled. “I’m a fool. It took me nearly losing you to make me see what I had. I don’t want to take that risk again.” He paused for a breath. “I love you, Arielle.”
Her heart turned over in her chest.
“I don’t want to live without you.”
The words hung there, between them. But she didn’t dare hope...
“I want kids, as many as you do. You told me about a house with a split-rail fence. I’ll get you one.”
“But, Doug—”
“Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”
Heated tears chased down her cheeks.
“Arielle?”
She squeezed his hand tight. “I love you, Doug.”
“Then...?”
“I’ll marry you.”
His whoop of joy made her smile.
He re
leased her hand, drawing the small box from his pocket. “This ring was my grandmother’s. She was a special lady, always there for me, when no one else was. I had Shannen get the ring out of my safe at home and bring it with her. I can get you another—”
“No, oh, no. Doug, this is perfect.”
He extracted the ring, the pear-shaped diamond winking in the fluorescent lighting. Holding her hand toward his heart, he softly asked, “May I?”
“Yes,” she whispered, her heart singing with the fulfillment she’d dreamed of but never dared hope for.
“I stopped you before you told me you loved me. Tell me now.”
“With my heart and soul, I love you.”
He smiled, vanquishing years and exhaustion with the single act.
Then he slipped the ring onto her finger. The band of gold fit snugly, the diamond sealing her love for eternity. She’d never take it off, she promised herself.
“As soon as I break you out of this joint, I want to get married.”
“I need time to plan,” she protested.
“Arguing already?”
“Simply stating facts.”
“Anyone tell you you talk too much?” he asked.
“Maybe. Once or twice.” She smiled. “So what are you going to do about it?”
As he cradled her face, the warmth and gentle pressure of his touch communicated the depth of his love. Leaning over her and whispering the words she’d longed to hear, he kissed her.
Epilogue
"Let’s leave.”
Arielle smiled, an act he never got tired of seeing.
“So how ‘bout it—you and me, a bottle of champagne, and a berth on Our Destiny?”
“Doug,” she protested, “the reception just started. This is only the first dance.”
“So?” he asked, pulling her closer, reveling in the feel of her against him. “Our ship came in...or, correct that...our new ship came in. The guests have food and drink and a band. They won’t even notice we’re gone.”
She looked up at him, then faltered in her steps. “They’ll notice.”
He wanted her so desperately. The doctors had kept her under good care, and she’d been busy planning their wedding. Graciously Doug had given her a week. But he wasn’t an infinitely patient man. “Five minutes,” he said. “Say your goodbyes.”
One Night At A Time Page 22
