Together Always
Page 22
Smith continued to babble, sometimes humming to himself, sometimes repeating some particular portion of his plot. All the time he stroked the cloth lovingly over the .38, caressing it as one would a lover.
Trace watched for an opportunity, racking his brain for a plan. Something—anything—that would stop Smith before this madness went any further. His feet were still tied.
Whatever he came up with would have to take that into account. There had to be something.
But he was suddenly out of time.
"Trace?" Lily's voice came from the other side of the door, fear lending it a sharp edge. Smith's head jerked up and he stared at the door, seeing the culmination of all his plans, all his dreams. Trace saw the moment as if it were frozen in time. Lily was on the other side of the door, a few feet away from death. No matter what, he couldn't let that happen.
*'Trace? Are you in there?"
Without Lily there was nothing. In an instant he saw how foolish he'd been. No matter what, he should have taken every moment he could have had with her. He should have done everything he could to make her happy. It was his pride that had come between them, that had kept them apart. And now, in a dingy room, he saw his second chance slipping away. He could lose everything, including Lily's life.
Smith stood up, the gun drooping loosely in his hand. Trace tensed, knowing he had to move npw, knowing he didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell of succeeding. Smith took a step and Trace lunged upward, pushing himself up with all the strength in his arms. He hit Smith at waist level, heard the man's startled cry and the heavy thud of the .38 as it hit the floor, and then they crashed against the table.
The table served only to break their fall. The thin legs gave way and the two of them fell to the floor with a crash of splintered wood. Still tied at the ankles, Trace fought to keep his hold on Smith. Fear for his life and Lily's lent him strength, but Smith's was the power of insanity and he wasn't hampered by ropes.
They rolled back and forth, their breath coming in guttural grunts. Trace struggled to get a better grip on the other
man, using his weight to try to pin him to the floor. Smith clawed at him, his fingers groping for Trace's eyes. Trace jerked his head back, loosing a precious fraction of his hold.
He could hear Lily calling his name, her tone more and more frantic, but he couldn't spare the breath to call out to her, to tell her to get back. Smith pulled one hand loose and groped over their heads. Trace could hear his fingers scrabbling against the floor and he knew what he was looking for. The gun. He'd dropped it and now he was trying to find it amid the wreckage of the table.
Trace got a grip on the front of his opponent's shirt and jerked him forward, slamming his forehead into the other man's. His own ears rang with the impact, but Smith, unprepared for his action, went limp. It was only for a fraction of an instant but it was all Trace needed. He rolled away, his right hand brushing across the gun and then grabbing it.
Smith screamed in rage, his eyes glittering wildly. Like a bizarre punctuation mark, the door crashed inward, the lock shattered by a well-placed foot. John lunged through the doorway, an automatic in his hands.
Smith moved and Trace's eyes came back to him. The madness in the other man's face was terrifying. Spittle dribbled down his chin and the sounds he was making were not even human anymore.
**Give it up. It's over." The words rasped out of Trace's throat. He was half lying on the floor, braced on one elbow, his bound feet in front of him, but the .38 was absolutely steady.
Smith looked from Trace to John and back again. Neither gun wavered. In the distance the wail of sirens drew ever closer. Smith was crouched on the floor, all humanity drained from his face, hell looking out of his eyes.
"Never! Never!" Without rising to his feet, he flung himself toward the sofa, his movement blindingly fast. Trace saw his hand slide under a cushion and then the ghnt of Hght on a barrel. There was only a fraction of a second in which to react. An instant in which to make a choice. And there wasn't a choice.
The sharp bark of the .38 blended with the heavier boom of John's .45 into one deafening sound. Bright red blossomed on the front of Smith's shirt. A gun dangled from his fingertips for an instant before failing to the floor. He stared at Trace, his eyes full of shock and a strange look that could almost have been relief. There was a long frozen moment where eternity seemed to walk the room and then Smith toppled forward, his madness stilled forever.
Trace dragged his eyes from the body and looked up at John. "Nice timing," he said hoarsely.
Before John could answer, there was a movement behind him and Lily flew through the doorway. She stopped abruptly, her eyes on Smith's body for an instant before jumping to Trace.
"Trace." In one word, everything was said.
"I told you to stay out of the way until I called you." John's chastisement was absently given and ignored.
"Are you all right?" Lily asked.
Trace nodded, sitting up and tugging at the ropes that held his feet. "I'm all right."
The ropes fell away and he clim.bed to his feet wearily, feeling decades older than his years.
"I thought you were going to die." Lily's words came out on a sob and she took a step toward him. Trace raised his head to look at her. She was everything in the world to him. All that mattered, all he ever wanted or needed. In the past few days they'd almost been parted in the most final of
ways. All his doubts and fears seemed petty in the face of that.
He opened his arms to her and she flew across the room to him. She buried her head against his chest, sobs shaking her slender frame.
**I thought I'd lost you."
He bent his head over hers, his expression full of such tenderness that John looked away, feeling as if he'd intruded on a very private moment. Outside, the sirens screamed to a stop. There was going to be hell to pay as soon as the cops got up here. He glanced at Smith's body and then looked at Trace and Lily before turning and walking out into the hall, his gait a httle stiff.
Neither of them noticed his departure. For them, there was nothing in the world but each other. Trace nuzzled her hair, his arms holding her so close that not even a whisper could have slid between them.
*'Don't cry, sweetheart. I love you. I love you."
She shifted her head, her eyes the color of a stormy sea, all gray green and damp. "You said it. You really said it." Happiness began to come up in her eyes like the sun after a shower. "Oh, Trace, I love you so much and I was afraid you were never going to see how right we are for each other."
He brushed his thumb over the dampness on her cheeks, his smile a little twisted. "Nothing in the world is ever going to convince me that I deserve you but I could work on it."
"You don't need to work on it, but I don't care if you want to try. Just so long as we're together."
He glanced over her shoulder at Smith's body. It had come so close. So very close. Trace put his arm around Lily's shoulders and led her from the room, walking away
from a past that had held too much darkness and toward a future that held nothing but light.
"Didn't I always promise you that we'd be together? Always, Lily. Always."
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Dallas Schulze is one of the brightest stars in romance fiction today. She's made appearances on the Walden, Dalton and USA Today bestseller lists, was named Storyteller of the Year and is a two-time finalist in the Romance Writers of America's prestigious RITA Award.
Dallas wrote her first book when she was twenty-two and thought it was such fun that she's gone on to write over thirty-five more. An avid reader of everything from Aeschylus to cereal boxes, she believes in happy endings and thinks reality is vastly overrated.
Dallas lives in California with her husband, one very spoiled cat and four thousand books.
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Table of Contents
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Pages
Back Cover