What Mattered Most

by Linda Winfree

  Guilt tore at her. Earlier, glaring at John, she’d wished she weren’t bearing his child, and now that wish seemed to be coming to pass.

  No. Stop it. The baby will be fine. You’ll be fine. You’re a Falconetti, and everyone knows a Falconetti never quits.

  A few more feet and she would reach the kitchen. A few more seconds and she could call for help. Afraid moving too quickly would accelerate the blood flow, she took slow, easy, sideways steps, her hand sliding along the wall for guidance.

  Her fingertips brushed wet, warm human skin, and she jerked away, her heart pounding in a sick, accelerated rhythm. A flashlight beam flared, blinding her, and a deep, raspy voice reached out for her. “Well, hello, babe.”

  Lanie screamed.

  Cruel fingers covered her mouth and nose, cutting off the scream. A tall, stocky body pressed hers against the wall, her womb compressed at an uncomfortable, awkward angle. Her lungs screaming for oxygen, she clawed at the smothering hand.

  “Scream again, and you’re dead.” The whispered promise iced her veins. He removed his hand with slow deliberation, and Lanie drew in a deep breath. The mingled scent of sea air and stale sweat assaulted her nostrils, and she forced her mind to click through her training. Her attacker made himself vulnerable by getting this close—she could take him down, but she assumed he was armed. The certainty he would carry through on his threat settled into her mind.

  He’s going to kill you anyway.

  The disjointed thought flitted through her mind, along with the knowledge that Caitlin had been right again. “Doug Mitchell?” she whispered.

  “At your service.” His ugly laugh sliced at her ear, and he pressed closer. Nausea climbed in her throat. “I see my reputation precedes me.”

  Where was Beth? Was she in the house? Already dead? Lanie swallowed. “There’s a deputy en route. My partner—”

  “Your partner never had a chance,” Mitchell whispered against her ear, and she gagged. Oh God, not Steve. “No one’s going to interrupt us. No one’s going to save you.”

  Her lungs froze, and cold fear trickled down her spine. She was truly alone in this. Lord, please. Help me. Don’t let me panic. Help me think.

  Her gun. She’d left it on the kitchen counter, next to her cell phone. Her hope lay in that gun, in distracting him. “If you’re hoping to get back at John by hurting me, it won’t work. He won’t care… Our relationship is over. He never loved me.”

  “He helped take my daughter out of my life.” The flat blade of a knife pressed to the swell of her stomach, and Lanie fought down a clenching wave of terror. “We’ll see how he feels about having his kid cut out of his life, won’t we?”

  Lanie forced her muscles into deliberate relaxation. “We can talk about this. My father is very wealthy.”

  “I don’t give a damn about money,” he snarled. “Money’s no good to me now.”

  “You think? My father…” She sagged, throwing her entire weight on him. His grip went slack, and Lanie drove her forearm against his throat, followed by blows to his solar plexus and instep, her movements made clumsy by her increased weight. The flashlight fell to the floor, and he doubled over, cursing. She made a break for the kitchen, using the reflected light as a guide.

  More blood left her body, and she bit back a terrified sob. Her hands closed on her gun and phone. Mitchell cursed, crashing down the hall, and she chambered a round, sliding the safety off. The phone hit the floor when she dropped it to grip the gun in a two-handed combat grip. His silhouette appeared in the doorway, and she fired, the muzzleflash appearing before the report exploded in the room.

  She fired again, but he was on her before she got the third shot off. Her head glancing off the cabinet, she hit the floor, and his knee slammed against her chest. Mitchell’s hands gripped her skull, and with a mad growl, he thrust her head into the floor. Lights and agony exploded behind her eyes, and her hands covered her stomach, protecting her child, as blackness descended.

  Desperation did crazy things to a man, and John supposed this was as good an example as any. Clad in turquoise surgical scrubs he’d lifted from a supply closet, he lay across the seat of an ancient Ford pickup and twisted ignition wires together. A homicide detective, sworn to protect and serve, escaping from a hospital, wearing stolen clothes and hotwiring a truck.

  The engine fired to life, and brief elation shot through him. This time around, things would be different. Mitchell would not win.

  Worry and guilt swallowed the elation as he navigated Cutter’s rain-drenched streets. Patrol cars from the city and county departments as well as unmarked units filled the roads, and he dodged a couple of roadblocks. This needn’t have happened, if he’d refused to let Beth cling to her denial. He’d wanted her to be happy, and he’d been sure he could keep her safe.

  He’d failed. Beth’s life was in danger once again, but the worst part was that his failure to protect Beth endangered Lanie.

  Remembering the angry pain in her golden eyes twisted his gut. How could you not see how all of this would hurt her, once it came out? You wanted her, and that was all that mattered to you. Did you ever stop to think about what you were doing?

  He was no better than Mitchell. Disgusted fury slammed through him, and he slapped a hand on the steering wheel, welcoming the stabbing pain the sharp movement brought. He’d find a way to make it better. Damp hair fell on his forehead, and he pushed it back. He’d be more supportive of her through the remainder of the pregnancy, and he’d be as active in the baby’s life as she would allow him to be.

  If she survived.

  John shook his head. Her not surviving wasn’t an option. The idea of a world without Lanie in it cut his breath short. A world without that sassy sense of humor, that beautiful laugh, and those gorgeous golden eyes? A life without Lanie’s touch on his skin?

  God, he couldn’t let anything happen to her. He wouldn’t be able to stand the emptiness.

  Blind son of a bitch. You really screwed up this time, didn’t you?

  His hands trembled on the steering wheel, and he pushed down harder on the accelerator. He couldn’t fail again. He had to get to her before Mitchell.

  When Lanie’s eyelids fluttered open, electric lights blazed around her. Pain thudded through her head with her pulse, her teeth chattering with intense cold. Cool tile pressed against her cheek. Her mind working with dazed lethargy, she rotated her head, watching the room come into focus. White tile, white cabinet, seashell prints on the white wall, a glass hurricane globe holding a collection of multicolored sea glass.

  The bathroom. The tiny bathroom off the foyer.

  Memory returned in a flood, and she straightened, a groan slipping past her lips as the pain stabbed behind her eyes.

  “Don’t move.” Gentle hands gripped her shoulders, pressing her back against the wall, and Lanie met Beth’s haunted blue gaze.

  Beth’s spiky copper hair was wet, plastered around her pale face, a fresh bruise standing out along her jaw. Blood congealed at the corner of her split lip. Pain and fear tightened her delicate features.

  At least John hadn’t chosen Lanie because she looked like Beth. The bitter thought flitted through Lanie’s confused mind. Beth’s petite, curvy build was nothing like the tall, slender, athletic frame Lanie shared with her Falconetti cousins.

  She could feel her pulse under her skin, the rapid beat unnerving. Lanie pushed the jealousy aside. They had other things to worry about. “Nicole’s safe,” she whispered, glancing at the closed door. “She’s at the hospital. And John’s alive.”

  “Thank God.” Beth’s eyes closed, tears sparkling along her thick lashes. She opened her eyes, fingers curving along Lanie’s jaw. “I was beginning to think you were out for good.”

  Lanie tilted her head away from the touch. “I—”

  “Lanie, were you bleeding before Doug and I got here?” Hands shaking, Beth folded a towel into quarters.

  Finding it hard to concentrate on the question, Lanie glanced down
, staring at the folded towel between her thighs, the white terrycloth turning crimson. Her gaze followed a trail of scarlet drops on the tile, finding a small pile of blood-soaked towels in the corner behind the door. The reality of what she saw slammed through the fuzziness in her brain. “Oh my God.”

  Beth’s fingers gripped Lanie’s chin, forcing her gaze up, away from all that blood. “Focus. How long have you been bleeding?”

  “I—I don’t know.”

  A low, rough curse hung in the air between them. “Do you hurt?”

  Her head pounded, and her lungs ached as if she’d been running. But the bleeding brought no discomfort—not the burning contractions her childbirth classes described. She tried to shake her head, her eyes slipping closed as pain exploded with the movement. “No.”

  “Lanie.” Beth tapped her cheek. “Can you feel the baby? Is he moving?”

  Lanie flexed her fingers on her stomach. When was the last time he’d kicked or rolled over? “Not right now.”

  Beth touched her forehead. “We’ve got to get you out of here.”

  Disconnected, Lanie watched as Beth pushed to her feet, favoring her left ankle. “He’s going to kill us. What is he waiting for?”

  Beth glanced over her shoulder. “He’s waiting for John.”

  An image of John’s outraged face rose in Lanie’s mind, sparking a weak, inappropriate giggle. “He’s going to be waiting for a long time. John’s cuffed to his bed.”

  “I’m not even going to ask why.” Beth rested her ear against the closed door.

  Lanie closed her eyes again. Lord, she was tired. An ache pulsed in the back of her head. Slipping away, into the darkness of slumber, seemed so easy. Slipping away from the reality. “He loves you.”

  “Did he say that to you?” Beth’s horrified voice penetrated the fog. “That stupid son of a bitch.”

  “It’s true, isn’t it?” Weak tears slipped beneath Lanie’s lashes, and her hands rested on her stomach. “I’m losing the baby, aren’t I? That’s probably for the best—”

  “Stop it.” Beth’s hands closed on her shoulders with bruising force. “Lanie, listen to me. You are not going to lose this baby, and it would not be for the best. You are the best thing to ever happen to John O’Reilly, and he’s just too freakin’ blind to see it—”

  “Isn’t this touching?” Mitchell swung the door open, sneering.

  “Doug, do what you want with me.” Beth’s voice trembled over the words, but a note of iron lay beneath them. “But you’ve got to get her some help. She’s bleeding. And her head… Call an ambulance, and we’ll leave. I’ll go anywhere you want, do whatever you want—”

  “Nobody’s going anywhere.” Pain edged Mitchell’s voice, and blood oozed from his shoulder. One of her bullets had found its mark. On a wave of woozy satisfaction, Lanie let her eyes drift closed again. “We’re waiting for O’Reilly to join the party. Meanwhile, you’ll do whatever I want anyway, won’t you, babe?”

  “You sick bastard.”

  The voices wafted away as the darkness swallowed Lanie once more.

  Parked up the street, John surveyed the house. Lights blazed in the windows, but the outdoor lights remained dark. The sheer curtains were drawn, and no shapes moved behind them. His gaze zeroed in on the upstairs windows. Even the extra bedrooms were lit.

  John’s gut clenched. The two guest bedrooms were shut off to save electricity. Lanie had not turned on those lights; he was sure of it. Mitchell was already in the house, possessing all the advantages. John scanned the street, his gaze lighting on Steve Martinez’s Honda parked a few vehicles away.

  Maybe Martinez was in the house as well. John slipped from the truck and eased toward the car, using shadows as cover. Foreboding gripped his stomach as he approached the car and saw the silhouette slumped in the front seat. Martinez wasn’t the type to sleep on surveillance duty.

  The streetlight illuminated the front of the car, and John recoiled at the sight of Martinez’s staring eyes, blood spilling from the wide gash at his throat. He didn’t have to check to know that Lanie’s partner was dead or that his weapon was gone.

  As badly as he wanted to burst into the house and kill Mitchell with his bare hands, the reality remained that John was barefoot and unarmed. Mitchell wouldn’t have any qualms about killing again. John needed backup, someone who wanted Lanie safe as much as he did.

  Easing into the shadows, he slipped back up the street. Around the corner was a small convenience store, and once out of sight of the house, John jogged to the payphone against the store’s wall, ignoring the slice of gravel and broken glass under his feet and the stabbing pain in his ribs. He punched in nine-one-one and waited.

  “Haven County Emergency. How can I help you?” The female voice was pleasant, impersonal.

  “This is Detective John O’Reilly, Houston P.D., badge number three-zero-four-seven-nine.” His own voice sounded raw, like an open wound. “I need you to patch me through to Agent Caitlin Falconetti.”

  “Sir, I’m sorry, but—”

  Anger spurted through his veins in a hot rush. “Listen, damn it. Your kidnapping suspect is in my house. Now patch me through.”

  Silence clicked over the line. “Please hold.”

  In the seconds that passed, images of what could be happening to Lanie surged through his mind. John pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, trying to block the horrific pictures. Nothing would happen to her. He wouldn’t let it.

  Wouldn’t let it? He already had. Resting his head against the wall, he swallowed a moan.

  “Falconetti.” Even through the static, the ice was apparent.

  “Martinez is dead. Mitchell’s in the house,” John grated without preamble. “I think he has Lanie.”

  “Where are you?” The ice receded, urgency rising to the foreground.

  He rattled off the address. “Don’t bring in the cavalry. I don’t want him tipped off that we’re here.”

  “Give me some credit, O’Reilly. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  “Lanie?” Strong fingers gripped her chin, forcing her back to awareness. “Lanie, talk to me.”

  She lifted heavy lids, staring into Beth’s desperate blue eyes. “Beth, leave me alone.”

  “No. You’ve got to stay with me. You could have a concussion. Talk to me. Baby names. Did you and John ever decide on a name?”

  What did she mean, you and John? Didn’t Beth know there was no her and John? Lanie attempted to collect her scattered thoughts. Names…somewhere upstairs, in the journal in her nightstand drawer, was a scribbled list of first names she’d thought would pair up well with John as a middle name. She’d wanted their son to carry his father’s name.

  A sob trembled on her lips, and she fought weak tears again. If they didn’t get out of here, there might not be a baby. She pressed a hand to her motionless stomach. If it wasn’t already too late.

  “Lanie, please. What name?”

  She shook her head, a slow side-to-side roll against the tile wall. “We… I didn’t… He doesn’t have one yet.”

  Beth’s hands smoothed Lanie’s damp hair from her face. “Just don’t name him John, Jr. Everyone will want to call him J.J. or something.”

  “John is a Jr. He’d be John III if we did that.” Lanie stilled, staring at Beth as a horrible possibility occurred to her. “Do you love him, too?”

  Crystal tears washed Beth’s azure gaze, and her lashes swept down, blinking them away. “He’s my partner, my best friend. Of course, I love him. But not the way you mean, no. And he doesn’t love me. God, Lanie, haven’t you ever seen the way he looks at you?”

  No, but she’d never really seen the way he looked at Beth, either. She’d looked at them and seen close partners, the camaraderie she shared with Steve. Grief reared its head, and she fought it down, touching her stomach once more. No movement greeted the contact. She’d lost John and Steve, all in one night. Would she lose her baby, too?

  Gripped by an intense weariness, she lea
ned her head back, aware of the maddening sensation of her pulse thudding under her skin. “He looks at me like he’s thinking about—”

  “No.” Beth tilted Lanie’s chin up with a gentle finger. “Not like that. I’m talking about how he looks at you when he thinks no one is watching.”

  A desperate need to ask about that expression tickled her throat, but Lanie swallowed the question. How he looked at her really didn’t matter—what mattered was his expression when he’d awakened and whispered Beth’s name. He hadn’t looked like a worried partner. The agony in his navy blue eyes had belonged to a man facing the loss of the woman he loved.

  And that woman wasn’t Lanie.

  Chapter Five

  Hunched in a shadow behind the stolen Ford, John stared at the front windows of the house. His eyes strained with the effort of detecting motion that just wasn’t there. Beside him, Caitlin Falconetti whispered into a handheld radio, communicating with the cavalry, waiting one street away.

  John pushed a hand through his hair, tension gripping his body, his torso aching with each agonized breath. Not all of the pain was physical. In that too quiet house were the most important people in his life, and God only knew what was happening to them. The only thing worse than not knowing was the awareness that the situation was his fault.

  Caitlin tapped his arm, and he glanced over his injured shoulder. Her eyes glittered at him in the dark. “Mitchell called dispatch. He’s asking to talk to you. They bought us some time by saying you were still unconscious.”

  His gaze slid back to those bright, empty windows. “Did he say anything about them?”

  “No. Listen, I’m not sure letting him talk to you is a good idea. I think we should set up a mobile command center, get an entry team in place.”