by Diana Duncan
“Your poor head.” He was all right! Why couldn’t she stop crying? Tears streaming down her face, she tried to pull away. “L-let go, I’ll hurt you.”
Con wouldn’t release her. “It’s nothing. A scratch.”
“A scratch that b-bled all over? Th—that’s what you always s-say.”
“That’s all it is. Hey, now. You’re shaking so hard, your bones are rattling.” He swept her off her feet and stepped into the ambulance. Sometime in the last few minutes, Hunter had faded into the storm. Con eased her down on the edge of the stretcher and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. He sat and again took her into his embrace. “Are you all right?”
“N-no. Y-yes,” she sobbed. “I don’t k-know.”
He rubbed her back in slow circles. “You’ve had a rough time. Just let it out. Let go. I’m here.”
She rested her cheek on his wide chest and the night’s trauma poured out of her in wracking sobs. She cried for all she’d lost. For what she’d gained. For what she’d done, and everything she’d left undone. “I—I’m s-sorry. I—I’m such a w-wimp.”
“You’re anything but. It’s a natural reaction after all you’ve been through.” Con held her close, murmuring comfort. “Crying will make you feel better.”
“Y-you d-don’t c-cry.”
He chuckled. “No, but I’ll probably go a hundred rounds with the punching bag tomorrow. Everybody has to purge strong emotions, sweetheart. Even cops. Well…wise cops.”
Con gently rocked Bailey as she cried. He calmed and soothed, while fighting growing dread. Her sobs didn’t worry him; tears were a healthy response after a crisis. He’d be far more concerned if she acted cool and detached. What had him on the ropes were the long-term consequences. Bailey had held her own during an ordeal that would have wigged out most people. Without her intelligence and courage, he might be going home in a body bag. He didn’t doubt she loved him—enough to sacrifice her own life.
But tonight, she’d lived through combat. Waded knee-deep in bullets, blood and death. His tenderhearted girl had been forced to hurt another human being with cold, premeditated violence. If that wasn’t enough horror, she’d seen him get shot, and had thought he was dead. Even if the other events hadn’t traumatized her beyond bearing, that could be the final nail in the coffin of their relationship. He couldn’t blame his brothers, they hadn’t known how badly he was hurt. But in trying to save his life, they might have snatched away everything that mattered.
Bailey shuddered, and he held her tighter, continuing to rock. She wouldn’t stay with him if he resigned from the team, she’d made that perfectly clear. Every time he donned his uniform, holstered his weapon…every time he walked out the door, she would remember. She would know. She didn’t have to imagine the hazards of his job anymore, hell, she’d experienced them up close and personal. Could she live with that?
His stomach clenched. Would she want to?
He patted her back. Her sobs were slowing, becoming quieter. “C’mon, darlin’. I’ll take you home.”
She sniffed, and wiped away tears with the back of her hand. “Don’t you have to do paperwork or something?”
He smiled in spite of his inner turmoil. Leave it to his practical girl to remember duty in the midst of mayhem. She must be feeling more stable. “Yeah, reams of it. You’ll have to give a statement, too.” He wrapped the blanket more snugly around her slender shoulders as they climbed out of the ambulance and cold sleet smacked them in the face. A thick layer of ice crunched under his boots and coated everything with a silver sheen. “But not tonight. I doubt any of us are coherent enough.” His grin widened. “Except Letty. I heard her bending Wyatt’s ear about DiMarco outside the ambulance when Grady was doing his doctor impersonation. Good thing Wyatt has negotiator training.”
Bailey jerked to an abrupt halt in the center of the melee. Several ambulances had departed. Others lingered while medics stabilized casualties. Police officers and SWAT teams swarmed the parking lot and adjacent mall. Yellow crime scene tape around the perimeter flapped in the bitter wind. She hugged the blanket tighter. “DiMarco…” She hesitated. “Is he…did we kill him?”
“I don’t know. I can check once we get home, if you want.” He glanced at her pale profile, as white and translucent as the snow drifting against the building, and a band of pain constricted his chest. How would she react if they had killed DiMarco? Would she be able to recover? Post-traumatic stress took good cops out of action. Men who were trained to deal with violence and death. Bailey didn’t have the resources to deal with that enemy.
“Yes.” He could barely hear her low reply. “I need to know.”
“Yo! Irish!” Syrone’s shout hailed Con from inside an ambulance.
Con kept one arm around Bailey as they hurried over. Syrone was propped up on a stretcher. IV tubing snaked from one arm, and a BP cuff dangled from the other. Con patted the big man’s leg. “Hey, buddy! How’s it hanging?” He didn’t bother to disguise the deep emotion simmering beneath the lighthearted greeting.
“Low and mighty, thanks to both of you.” Syrone’s gaze held Con’s and the men exchanged unspoken respect. Each knew the night had brought them both too close to the Grim Reaper. “Considering.”
“You need me to contact Jazelle?”
“Nah, she’s meeting me at the hospital. Liam sent a squad car for her. He and Murphy found me. Man, I have never been so glad to see that hound dog. And the German Shepherd, too.” Chuckling, Syrone gestured at the leather jacket draped over the stretcher. “Couldn’t let them haul me off without delivering this.”
Con picked up the coat, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. Hours ago, Bailey hadn’t wanted the ring tucked in the pocket. Tonight’s events had probably massacred any chance he’d had of changing her mind. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“Hey, Bailey.” Syrone’s wide smile flashed. “You’re looking fine.”
“Ha.” She self-consciously smoothed her tousled curls. “What’s in that IV, Ecstasy?” Weariness tugged at her wan smile. “Get well quickly. The mall won’t be the same without you.”
“Aw, go on.” Syrone waved a broad hand at Con. “Get your woman outta this dump. Take her someplace warm and friendly.”
“That’s the plan.” He hoped.
Con draped his jacket over the blanket covering Bailey’s shoulders. They turned and walked down the row of occupied ambulances. Bailey kept her face averted. As they reached the last ambulance, Con gave her a gentle squeeze. “Look, sweetheart.”
She turned. A stretcher bearing Nan was being loaded into the back. Nan’s husband Brad hovered protectively alongside, cradling his daughter in his arms. Nan waved and blew them a kiss.
Con glanced at Brad, cuddling the baby, and then at Bailey. Purple bruises in the shape of a handprint marred her pale cheek. His throat tightened. He hadn’t noticed that before. He leaned over and brushed a soft kiss on the marks. She glanced up, her eyes wide and wounded, and his throat closed up completely. He’d imagined himself by her side as she brought their children into the world. With each passing moment, his hopes and dreams seemed to fade farther from the realm of possibility. His hands fisted. DiMarco had not only murdered his father, he might also have succeeded in killing Con’s future.
They continued the slippery journey across the dark parking lot. He’d parked his truck on the outer perimeter so she wouldn’t spot him when she left work. Her shoulders sagged beneath his supporting arm, and she stumbled several times. His poor darlin’ had to be running on fumes.
They’d just reached the crime scene tape when running boot steps sounded behind them. “Hey, bro!” Aidan yelled.
Con stopped, turned. “What’s up?”
Aidan skidded to a halt. He had Bailey’s purse in one hand and the pitcher of pink roses in the other. “Liam and Murphy found these in the bookstore during their sweep. The mall will be closed for days while CSI does their thing, and Bailey needs her stuff.”
Con resisted the u
rge to groan as Bailey tucked her purse under her arm. Subtlety wasn’t an outstanding trait in the O’Rourke family. Aidan and Liam must have discussed Con’s dilemma and the resulting flower purchase. Hell, Grady was probably in on it, too. He should be grateful his brothers thought Bailey was perfect for him and had embraced her as one of their own. But their matchmaking efforts were nearly as zealous as Letty’s.
Aidan offered Bailey the roses. “A shame to let these wilt and die in a deserted mall.”
Bailey’s hands shook as she accepted the bouquet. The fragile petals trembled in the wind’s icy bite before she tucked them under the blanket. Bailey looked as frail and easy to destroy as the flowers, and Con’s heart ached. Their relationship might have withered and died in that mall. He shook off the thought. Not the time or the place. He had to shove aside his anxiety and focus on Bailey’s needs. She wouldn’t be up to a discussion for several days, at least.
Aidan hesitated. “Bailey, your mom is in the command center across the street. She wants to see you. This incident shook her up pretty badly.”
Bailey nodded. “I imagine it did.”
“I’ll take Bailey over before I head to the hospital.” Con drew her close, sheltering her against his body. “Aidan, what’s DiMarco’s status?”
“Second-degree burns and gunshot wounds. He’s on the way to Mercy Hospital.” Aidan’s gaze assessed Bailey. “How are you holding up?”
“Okay, thanks.”
Aidan nodded, a gesture of respect. “Incredible job in there.”
Her subdued reply was barely discernable. “I just did what I had to.”
“Don’t kid yourself.” Aidan’s face grew serious. “Because of you, my brother walked out instead of being carried out.”
Bailey stiffened. “He did the same for me.”
Con narrowed his eyes at Aidan in warning. Him dying was the last thing he wanted her to think about. He attempted to steer the conversation to safer ground. “If I recall, you and Liam dragged me out. In fact, one of you apes had ahold of my hair.” He grimaced. “What’s left of it that Grady didn’t shave off.”
The brother in question suddenly appeared out of the swirling storm. “Taking my name in vain again, I see. Think you’re getting away with driving yourself to the hospital? Think again.”
“I’m fine.” Con frowned. So that’s why Aidan was stalling him. It was a conspiracy. “I wouldn’t risk it, otherwise.”
“The E.R. doc will be the judge of that. Until you get his okay, you’re not driving.”
“Yes, Mom.” Con rolled his eyes. “Remember, bro, paybacks are hell.”
Grady smirked. “Looking forward to it. Get your butt in the truck.”
Aidan’s grin flashed. “Now that your chauffeur has arrived, I’ve gotta run.” With a final wave, he sprinted away. As commanding officer, he’d be on-site the rest of the night and most of the following day.
Con lifted the yellow tape so Bailey could duck underneath. Followed by Grady, they finally climbed into his pickup.
Several hours later, they walked out of the hospital, with Con the disgusted owner of six stitches. His CAT scan and vitals were good, and he’d refused pain meds, so he was cleared to drive. Bailey had checked out fine.
Ellen Chambers had insisted on following them to the hospital. She and Bailey had engaged in a heated discussion in the waiting area while he had his scan. By the time it was over, Ellen was gone and Bailey was even paler than before.
Inside the truck, Con started the engine and turned the heater on full blast. “The windshield will take a minute or two to clear.” He touched Bailey’s arm, offering comfort. “Uh…everything go okay with your mom?”
“Surprisingly, after the first few hairy minutes, yes. She actually admitted she was grateful to you for keeping me alive.” She slumped in the seat, both her fatigue and her relief palpable. “She wanted to stay, but respected my need for you and I to have privacy, and agreed to wait until tomorrow to talk.”
Not sure what to make of that development, he stared out the frost-patched window at the dark, icy landscape. “Maybe she’s coming around.” He tried to ignore the other possibility clanging painfully inside his skull. If Bailey planned to break up with him for good, maybe Dr. Chambers’s willingness to leave simply meant Mommy dearest would get what she wanted sooner.
“Maybe. I hope so. I’m glad she didn’t kick up more of a fuss. I honestly expected her to.” Bailey sighed. “I’m too beat to even begin to decipher her sudden about-face tonight.” She leaned her head back against the seat. “What was that explosion when the SWAT team burst inside the theater? I thought DiMarco disarmed the doors.”
“He did. It was a flash-bang grenade. SOP for dynamic entry.” The windshield had finally cleared, and he reached across and buckled her seat belt. “The brilliant light and loud kaboom scrambles the senses. The shock factor gives SWAT time to neutralize the bad guys. And the smoke provides cover.”
“Oh,” she replied in a listless tone.
He glanced at her in concern. He needed to get her home ASAP. He’d tried to send her home with her mother, but she’d refused. “I’m sorry you worried about me, sweetheart. My brothers were just looking out for my welfare. They didn’t know how bad of a hit I’d sustained. Sometimes mortally wounded people don’t even realize they’re injured. Adrenaline blocks the pain.”
He released the emergency brake, and slowly drove out of the parking lot and onto the icy street. “Aidan and Liam knew you’d be taken care of. We’re briefed on the situation before going in, and each team member is assigned a specific duty.”
“Hunter took good care of me. Even if he wouldn’t let me go to you,” she added in a grievous tone.
“You looked like you were about to hurt him.”
“Darned right. I was afraid you were…” She choked.
Yeah, and it wouldn’t tilt the odds in his favor. His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Don’t dwell on that. We’re both okay, and that’s what matters.” The moment of reckoning would arrive all too soon.
She didn’t say another word all the way to her place. Con parked in the small lot behind her building. Had she fallen asleep? He grabbed his nylon gym bag from behind the seat before striding around to the passenger side and opening the door. He’d planned on the two of them spending the night together at the Ambassador Hotel and had packed accordingly.
She stared straight ahead, her expression dazed, and he touched her arm. “Let’s get you inside.”
He tried to carry her, but she refused. He supported most of her weight as he helped her to the top-floor apartment of the converted Victorian house. He held the vase of roses while she fumbled in her purse for the key. Good thing Liam and Aidan had been on the ball or he would have had to kick in the door. And wouldn’t that have gone over well?
Inside, she flicked the light switch. Nothing happened. She groaned. “The electricity is out. I’m glad I have gas appliances, because I am not waiting one more minute for a hot shower.”
“Is that the best idea? You’re nearly out on your feet—” He broke off at her cranky scowl. “On second thought, it will probably make you feel better.”
She trudged toward the bathroom, then turned back. “Con? Don’t leave.”
He wasn’t about to leave her in this condition. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Her teeth worried her lower lip. “We need to talk.”
The emotions he’d been stonewalling whammed him in a rush of dread. “I know.” Heart sinking, he headed into her bedroom. They would talk. But not before she had a chance to rest.
Luckily, Bailey the romantic had candles all over the apartment. Even better, there was a fireplace in her bedroom. Bless the Victorians and their lack of technology. He set the roses on the nightstand alongside a stack of books, dropped his bag beside it, and then built a roaring blaze.
Firelight washed the pearl gray walls, and the chilly room warmed. Bailey floated out of the attached bathroom in a cloud of
rose-petal-scented vapor. Carrying his leather jacket in one hand, she wore a long, cream silk nightgown that left her arms bare. Damp, golden-red curls, brighter than the crackling flames, spilled over her shoulders. Her sleepy blue eyes reflected the glowing light. His breath jammed in his lungs. His goddess. Aphrodite rising from the misty sea.
She draped his jacket over a gray upholstered chair beside the queen-size bed, and said something. He saw her sweet mouth move, heard her low, musical voice, but the words did not compute. She cocked her head. “Con?”
He blinked away the sensual haze. “Sorry, what did you say?”
Her tired smile was patient. “I left you plenty of hot water.”
Along with stonewalling his emotions, he’d been ignoring the aches and pains stabbing his fatigued muscles. He was operating on adrenaline dregs and stubborn Irish determination. When he finally crashed, he was gonna hit hard and fast. Not to mention, he probably smelled like Letty’s bulldog, Jean Claude. A shower wasn’t a bad idea. He turned down the pale gray comforter on the bed and patted the inviting mauve satin sheets. “Hop in. I’ll just be a couple minutes. Then I’ll fix you something to eat.”
Con carried his bag into the bathroom. A huge, old-fashioned claw-footed tub sat in an alcove surrounded on three sides by a glass block partition. Dozens of candles on a shelf behind the tub flickered pinpoints of light along the mauve walls. He made quick use of the separate shower on the other side of the partition. After checking the stitches on his scalp in the mirror—crap, he now had a distinctive part in his hair—he replaced the bandage on his forehead. Then he brushed his teeth and shaved.
When he strode out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, the bed was empty. Barefoot, he tugged the hem of his dark green cotton shirt over his clean jeans and followed muffled sounds to the kitchen. Candles on the counter shone with soft, muted light. Bailey glanced up from stirring a pan of scrambled eggs at the gas stove, and he frowned. “Hey, I was going to do that.”
