Midnight Ranger

by Kris Norris

  He moved, walking toward the dance floor then over to the band. He stood for a few moments, pretending to watch the group play before circling back toward the entrance. Hank had Taz and Kujo covering the alternate exits, while Sam and Russel escorted her out the front. It was a risky play, but, then, any exit was just as likely to be covered. But this was the shortest route to the Jeep. Though, Sam would check the damn thing for any sign of tampering before he jumped inside.

  Bridgette didn’t speak, following him as if she’d been one of his teammates the past twelve years. She moved silently, seamlessly adjusting to any shift in his direction. Thank god, she’d worn sensible boots and not something that would twist her ankle if she had to run. People swarmed around them, dancing, drinking. He swore he saw those green letters on every damn jacket or vest that darted past him.

  A man appeared in front of him. Big. Brawny with a shaved head and similar black vest. He drew his hand out of his pocket, a flash of something silver glinting off the overhead lights.

  Sam lunged into him, knocking the guy’s arm to the side then using his other to slice it across the other man’s neck and shoulder, tripping the stranger onto his ass. Another step, and Sam was hovering over top of him, his hands fisted in the downy vest, his foot pinning the guy’s arm to the ground.

  The stranger’s eyes rounded, his mouth hanging open in apparent shock. Sam glanced at the outstretched arm, cursing under his breath at the broken vape pen clutched between the man’s fingers.

  Sam leaned in closer. “This is a no smoking establishment.”

  The man nodded, offering the pieces over to Sam. “Take them. My wife wants me to quit, anyway.”

  Sam straightened then turned, stepping over the guy still spread eagle on the floor then continuing toward the door. A few people had stopped dancing or drinking to watch the exchange, though the crowd seemed oddly detached. As if guys got knocked on their asses every night.

  Hell, maybe they did. Sam didn’t care. He was focused on the doorway. Vest Guy was gone. Either out the door or hiding in the shadows. Sam paused at the threshold, peering through the frosted glass. The distorted parking lot looked deserted. Cold. A new layer of snow sticking to every surface, making it glitter from the white Christmas lights.

  Good. He’d be able to tell if anyone had gotten close to Bridgette’s Jeep. He signaled to Ice then opened the door, bracing against the gust of icy wind. He scanned the area. Knowing Hank, he was off to his left, securing that side of the lot. Taz had one of the rear exits and Kujo was most likely circling the perimeter. Not full cover, but better than if it had just been him.

  He urged her closer, trying to speak just loud enough she could hear. “Stay close. When we reach the Jeep, stand with Ice while I do a quick check. Then, we’re in and out of here.”

  “Back to the hotel?”

  He sighed, and she simply nodded. They couldn’t chance it. He’d send one of the guys later. After midnight. Ice could be in and out silently. Quickly. Without anyone noticing he’d been there. Any of the other men could.

  For now, they’d worry about getting clear then decide where to go. Hopefully, Hank could pull another miracle out of his ass.

  Sam stalked forward—body tense. His muscles primed for battle. He listened for any noise that sounded unusual as he searched the ground for prints. Something to suggest he was walking into an ambush.

  The wind whipped hard pellets across his face, stinging his bare skin. Tiny snow devils danced across the lot, stopping and starting with each gust. He kept moving, closing in on the vehicle when a small red dot landed on the snow then lifted to Bridgette’s chest.

  “Sniper.”

  He turned, taking her to the ground as pain tore through his arm. He didn’t wait, rolling her across the ground a few times before levering up. Ice was there, hefting Bridgette over his shoulder while yanking Sam the rest of the way up. They ducked behind a truck, a puff of snow next to his foot marking another shot.

  Ice lowered Bridgette to her feet then pressed his back to the side of the truck. “The fucker can’t be that far off. Not in this weather. Probably using a thermal scope to try and track us in the snowstorm.” He nodded at Sam. “How’s the arm?”

  “Been worse.”

  Bridgette gasped, placing her hand over her mouth. She was obviously holding something back, but now wasn’t the time to worry. If the shooter hadn’t mistakenly missed his mark that first time and bounced the laser scope off the snow…

  Push it aside, Sammy. That’s the past. Focus on the present or you could lose her.

  He mentally flipped off the inner voice then reached for the truck’s side mirror. He snapped off the plate then held it up, trying to get a bead on the sniper. Judging on the angle, the guy had to be across the main road. Probably between the buildings on the opposite side of the street. Maybe inside one.

  Another flicker of red flashed on the mirror.

  Sam dropped it, cursing the metallic ping of the next round bouncing off the hood of the truck. The bastard had missed. Could have been the snow. The wind numbing the guy’s fingers. Or maybe he wasn’t that great a shot.

  Movement in his peripheral vision had Sam looking toward the sides of the tavern. Hank was covering the left, Kujo the right. That left Taz. Either he was still guarding the rear or he was circling around—getting a better angle on the son of a bitch pinning them down.

  Sam glanced at Ice. The man muttered under his breath as he shook his head then stopped and nodded. They needed a decoy. Anything to confuse the guy long enough for one of them to get to him. Sam signaled his intentions, inching toward the bumper when a truck jumped the curb and barreled through the lot, the man from the bar manning the wheel. He angled toward them, lowering his window as he aimed a muzzle their way.

  Sam shoved Bridg beneath him, drawing his M9 on the way down. He fired. Hit a bit wide, grazing the guy’s shoulder as he veered to his right. Snow sprayed across them, the wet slush soaking through Sam’s clothes as the truck picked up speed, fishtailing out of the lot then disappearing into the storm.

  An eerie quiet descended over the lot, the steady swirl of snow quickly covering them. Ice moved first, motioning them to stay down as he peeked over the truck. A hushed curse drifted to them before his buddy straightened. He offered Sam his hand, helping him and Bridgette up.

  Sam looked toward the buildings, sighing as Taz picked his way down the small embankment on the other side of the road then across the street.

  He made his way over to the group, holding out his gloved hand. “Found these beside that small partial wall next to the store. Guy must have been perched on it. Not much of a rise, but enough to give him the advantage. A couple were still warm, but he was gone by the time I got there. I tried to follow, but the damn storm is covering his tracks faster than I can make out the next one.”

  Sam patted Taz’s shoulder, glancing at the others as they ran to join them. “You got the bastard to stop shooting at us. That’s a win in my books.” Sam turned to Hank. “You know the local sheriff. Do you think he’d be willing to run ballistics on those? There could be a partial print. Either way, it can’t hurt.”

  Hank reached into his pocket and removed a small sandwich bag. “I knew carrying these things around would eventually come in handy. I’ll take them over, now. See if he can have some info by morning. In the meantime, I want you to stay at my place.”

  Bridgette shook her head. “You have a child. I won’t put your family at risk.”

  “Sadie and Emma are in Los Angeles. Some big charity event. Swede and Ally are with her. They’re well protected. So, the house is empty. The rest of us will take shifts walking the perimeter, tonight. Maybe we’ll get lucky, and the bastards will make a play. Walk right into our hands. Either way, we’ll move you both, again, tomorrow.”

  Sam gave Hank a smile. “Thanks. I owe you one.”

  “Don’t mention it.” He looked around at the blowing snow. “Let’s get you back inside. I’m sure we can u
se their office. Have Ice patch you up. Then, we’ll convoy back to my place. Give your admirers more than a few targets to choose from. Should confuse them long enough to allow you both safe passage. After that, we’ll have your back.”

  Sam kept hold of Bridgette’s arm as they headed back inside. The stakes had just been raised, and he’d be damned if he was going to lose this round.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “Here we are.”

  Bridgette jumped at the sound of Sam’s voice, looking over at him as the Jeep stopped in front of a large ranch. He’d mentioned the name of it—Oak something—but most of his words had gotten lost in the steady strum of her pulse in her head. She’d felt as if the vehicle, itself, had been beating right along with her heart, drowning out everything but the rush of blood and the frantic gasp of her breath.

  Sam had seemed strangely detached as Russel…Ice had cleaned the gaping wound on his arm then taped it up. Ice had said something about stitches, but Sam had waved it off, telling the other man just to bandage it.

  Bridgette had sat in one of the chairs, staring at the blood-soaked gauze Ice had piled in a bowl, wondering how they all stayed so calm. Sam had been shot. Shot. Yet, they all acted as if he’d merely cut himself shaving.

  She’d done her best to hide the way her hands trembled, holding them tight in her lap. They’d been shaking since she’d stepped back inside the tavern, despite the increased warmth. Now, she was sitting in the passenger side of her Jeep, staring up at Hank’s home, hoping it wouldn’t get ruined if someone came gunning for her.

  She closed her eyes. Two men had actually tried to kill her. Kill anyone associated with her. They hadn’t just followed her through the building—though she’d suspected the masked guy from the garage was there to kill her, she’d never had proof. Not like tonight. Tonight proved these weren’t idle threats any longer. They were concrete. As real as the white bandage beneath Sam’s shirt.

  They should talk. They needed to talk. And they would—as soon as she could talk, because right now, talking was beyond her. Breathing without begging for an oxygen mask was her shining accomplishment.

  “Hey.” Sam placed his hand on her thigh. “Are you okay?”

  She forced herself to look at him. To smile. To do anything but let the scream clawing at her throat echo around them. She was supposed to be tough. Cutthroat. Not whimpering in the corner.

  “Fine.”

  She’d managed a word. Only one, but she’d spoken without completely falling apart. Not that he believed her. He saw through the token reply. She knew he did. The way his eyes narrowed, and his mouth twitched. He knew she was lying, but he let it go. Gave her a smile then turned off the engine. He was at her door before she’d realized he’d even left the vehicle. It was as if time was starting and stopping for her while the rest of the world kept moving, giving her only fragments of what was really occurring around her.

  Sam offered her his hand, keeping her tucked into his side as they made their way inside. He asked her something—she thought it involved food—but she shook her head. Whatever he thought she needed above being wrapped in his arms wasn’t important.

  He didn’t speak, leading her through a series of dark rooms until he reached a door down a long hallway on the upper floor. He pushed it open then turned on a muted light, revealing a well-appointed bedroom. She walked woodenly toward the bed, sitting on the comfortable mattress as Sam crouched in front of her. It took a few moments to realize he’d removed her boots.

  Another time slip.

  She blinked, and he was sitting beside her, toeing off his boots. The house was quiet, as if someone had wrapped a blanket around the outside. Maybe they had. Or maybe she was losing what was left of her sanity.

  Strong hands engulfed hers, drawing her out of her thoughts. She looked up at Sam. God, he was handsome. Tousled hair, blue eyes staring at her, the color oddly vibrant in the dull glow. His mouth quirked, the hint of a smile dropping her stomach.

  He released one hand, lifting it to tuck her hair back before brushing the edge of her jaw. “It’s normal.”

  She frowned, certain she’d missed half of what he’d said. “What’s normal?”

  God, her voice sounded as if she’d swallowed glass. As if it was taking all her strength just to whisper.

  Sam pulled her close, resting his forehead on hers. “Feeling scattered. Like you’re passing in and out of consciousness without closing your eyes. It’s a byproduct of the adrenaline, fear, relief. It happens, sometimes, after a firefight. You get used to it.”

  She didn’t want to get used to it. Didn’t want to consider that her future was more of what had happened tonight. That she’d have to spend her life watching over her back.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know how you did it. How you do it. The noise. The blood. I didn’t even see that red dot until you were shoving me out of the way.” She managed to raise one hand and place it above his injury. “You took a bullet for me.”

  “It’s just a graze.”

  “Don’t. Don’t trivialize what you did tonight. What you all did. God, Sam.”

  She wrapped her arms around his waist, holding tight as he embraced her. Tears threatened, but she didn’t have the strength to cry. She’d cried enough. Tonight, she wanted to live. Wanted to bleed what she could out of every second. And that meant making herself vulnerable. Giving everything to Sam, without any guarantee he wouldn’t shove it back at her once this was over. But it didn’t matter because she knew she’d regret holding back more than she would getting hurt.

  Sam whispered soothing words, stroking her hair as he rocked her back and forth. He smiled down at her when she eased back, dropping a chaste kiss on her nose. “How about some hot tea? It’ll calm your nerves.”

  She held tight, refusing to let him move. “I don’t want tea. Or warm milk. Or a shot of Hank’s finest whiskey. I just want you. Making love to me. All night if you can manage it.”

  Sam cupped her chin. “You were just involved in a shootout. You’re scared. Raw. The last thing you need is for me to take advantage of that.”

  “You’re right. I am scared. And raw. If you hadn’t been there. If my dad hadn’t hired you. If I’d tried to handle this all on my own because I thought it was just a ploy… I was wrong. So terribly wrong. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know what I need. Right here. Tonight. I’m not asking for promises. I’m just asking for one night.”

  “You know I want you. That I care—more than care.” He gazed out the window, brow furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line.

  Bridgette palmed his jaw, turning him back toward her. “Hank said they’d be patrolling the perimeter. All night. The house is alarmed, and I’m sure you’ll have one of your guns tucked under the pillow. Not sure I could get any safer.”

  “No one’s getting past Hank. Or anyone else. We’re safe for a few hours at least. It’s just…” He sighed. “You’ve already had a bad experience with a man taking advantage. I don’t—”

  She silenced him with a kiss. Slid her mouth over his then licked at the seam, delving inside when he opened for her. She didn’t rush, giving him time to make peace with letting his guard down. Though, she knew a part of him would still be alert. Focused on their surroundings instead of her. But she could live with that. Share that bit of him that was determined to keep her safe. It was the rest of him, she needed.

  Sam moaned into her mouth, taking control of the kiss. He dipped her head back, using the position to lower her gently to the bed. She moved with him, pulling him on top of her once her back hit the mattress. Sam stilled, obviously worried about breaking her condition of not being trapped. But she didn’t feel trapped. In fact, she felt free. Free of the fear she’d been carrying around since that night. As if she’d reclaimed the part of her Brock had taken away. Left in a pool of blood on her hardwood floor.

  Sam eased back enough to make eye contact. “I thought this made you uncomfortable?”

  “Do I look uncomfortable?”
She smiled when he shook his head. “Stop worrying, and love me.”

  His jaw clenched at her words, then he was kissing her. Tangling his tongue with hers, his body crushing her into the mattress. She held him close, savoring the feel of his weight on top of her. The way his chest heaved against hers or how he made her feel encased. Protected.

  He rolled onto one elbow, reaching for her with his injured arm.

  She stopped him, looking pointedly at his biceps. “This must hurt—”

  “Not nearly as much as when I thought you might get shot. That…” He laid his forehead on hers, again, the gesture far more intimate, this time. “All those years. All those missions, and tonight was the first time I was truly afraid. So, using this arm to get you naked—barely registers.”

  She didn’t argue, lifting and twisting enough to help him strip her down between drugging kisses. She tugged at his shirt, ripping the seam in an effort to yank it over his head. He chuckled against her belly, glancing up at her before bending his head.

  She pulled harder, finally slipping his shirt over his head. It landed somewhere behind him, the soft rustle of it pooling on the hardwood floors making her shiver. She reached for his pants, but she’d never free them without him standing up.

  Sam seemed reluctant to move as he kissed his way across her hip to her mound. He flicked his tongue between her folds, making her arch in response. “So fucking beautiful.”

  She fisted his hair, holding it firm until he looked up at her, again. “Stand up for me.”

  “Soon.”

  “Now.” She huffed. “I still want you over me. Moving inside me while we’re laying a breath apart. Letting me get you naked will only speed that along.”

  And, if she got a few minutes to play—to taste him the way she’d been dying to—it was only fair.

  Sam stilled, obviously torn between wanting to take things at his pace and allowing her this concession. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t strip off his pants himself. She had no doubts he could slip out of his jeans then into her faster than she could scoot off the bed. But she wanted the pleasure of undressing him, herself. Of watching him respond to her touch, her voice.