Bad Boy Series: Soul Songs (Bad Boy Romance Book 2)

by Simone Carter

  Hammond moved the gun from her neck to press it into her side as she moved to take the lead. She made her way to the bathroom doorway and paused, trying to catch her breath before entering the hallway. God, which way should she turn? She couldn't remember.

  Hauling in a shaking breath she took a right and headed down the long hall.

  Chapter 25

  Jake knelt next to Detective Hollister, prayers murmuring on his lips. God, help this man. Don't let this wound be fatal. They'd called for assistance, letting them know an officer was down and they needed help right away.

  What the hell was taking Marty so long? She'd been gone too long just to run to the bathroom and grab towels. He looked up and searched the room, frantic to see her running in with supplies.

  Still no Marty.

  "Nora, Joe, I'm going to go look for Marty. She should have been back by now. Come over here and hold this dish towel up against his neck. Put pressure on it." He rose as Nora knelt to take his place. The detective was bleeding out. He could only hope the medics would get here fast.

  "Joe, get the rifle. Don't be afraid to use it."

  He cast one more look at his friends then bent and scooped up Hollister's gun. His face settled into determined lines, his eyes stone-like. His gut instinct told him something was wrong. Marty would have been back by now if she could have been.

  His nerves steeled as he stalked through the family room and towards the stairway. He couldn't afford to think about what he might find. Marty, alone with a killer on the loose. The thought made his breath freeze in his throat.

  And his niece and nephew. God, they had to be okay. He suddenly regretted not waking them and bringing them downstairs. Now they might be exposed to a crazy man with a gun. Lord, help those babies.

  And Lord help Bobby Hammond if he had harmed his kids or his woman.

  That fact slammed into him hard. Marty was his woman. Damn. He felt like an iron fist punched him in the gut.

  Marty stopped in front of the bedroom door. She knew the man who held her at gunpoint expected her to open it but she didn't want to. Once she did, Hammond would realize she had tricked him. The kids weren't on the other side of the door. Instead, she had taken him to Jake's room.

  The gun rammed into her back, reminding her to move, making her jerk and drop the roll of bandages. She reached out and grasped the knob, slowly turning it. When she finally flung the door open she shot across the darkened room and prayed she'd find somewhere to hide.

  She heard Hammond cursed and the sound of his hand feeling blindly on the wall for the light switch. Then she heard the click of the switch flipping and the large room was flooded with light.

  Marty huddled in the master bathroom. She'd managed to stumble into it and had closed and locked the door behind her. She leaned against the wooden surface of the bathroom vanity, gasping for breath. The room was huge, dimly lit by a nightlight that glowed in a sconce. Two doors led off the main room. One went to the shower, another to a huge closet.

  She figured the closet was her best bet. She scrambled into the space and hid behind a rack of hanging clothes. She was trembling so much she was sure the quaking of the clothing would give her away.

  She hid there, her heart in her throat. God, what if he decided against looking for her and went to find the kids instead? That thought was almost enough to make her come out of hiding and holler for the man to come and get her. She couldn't let him find those children.

  She managed to talk herself out of that idea, choosing instead to continue to hide and pray that Hammond would focus on finding her. The other thought was too horrible to contemplate.

  Then she heard the sound of a door closing. Yes. He was looking for her, not the twins. A minute later the slam of another door rang through the night. She held her breath as he approached the last door.

  It was locked, but that didn't stop him. One shot and she heard the door splinter. One shot that made her breath catch in her chest.

  It didn't take long for him to spot her sneaker-clad feet sticking out from under a long woolen coat hanging off a rack in the back. When he jerked the coat back and came face to face with her, she felt her legs give out from under her and she slunk down the wall. God, she was dead. He was going to kill her.

  "Fucking bitch," he spat. "Just like all the other fucking bitches in the world. You lie! You can't be trusted." A spot of drool ran out of the corner of his mouth. "You are fucking worthless! You have to die."

  She stared into the muzzle of the gun pointed directly at her head, aimed right between her eyes, unable to look away.

  They were right. Your life really did pass before your eyes just before you died—at least parts of it. Now she saw Jake in her mind's eye. Jake, so handsome, yet so kind. God, she hadn't even got to tell him she loved him.

  Would it hurt to die? Would she be conscious long enough to feel the pain or would she black out immediately and it would be all over? Time stood still as she contemplated the question, waiting to feel the impact of the bullet that would kill her.

  She squeezed her eyes shut.

  The blast of a gun filled the room.

  God, she was dead. I love you, Jake.

  Chapter 26

  Marty waited for the pain of the bullet ripping through her, but it didn't come.

  And she wasn't dead. When she finally managed to convince herself of that fact and opened her eyes, she saw Hammond lying on the floor, unmoving. A bullet wound gaped in his skull, blood staining the floor around where he lay.

  How? What? She blinked again and again, trying to focus her eyes. She saw Hammond sprawled before her then finally looked beyond his body and saw a pair of boots. Raising her gaze she locked eyes on Jake. He stood there, the pistol still gripped in his hand and aimed unwaveringly at the man prostrate on the floor in front of her.

  Their gazes clashed.

  Then she turned and looked again at the gory body in front of her. He was bleeding on her foot, the red fluid staining her white tennis shoe. There were blood spatters up her legs and on her arms. Horror overwhelmed her as she stared at the morbid scene.

  Oh My God. Oh My God. Oh My God.

  "Come here, baby." Jake stuck the pistol into the back of his pants and reached for her. He held out his hands and helped her to stand and then step oh-so-carefully across Bobby Hammond.

  God, don't let me slip and fall on his body.

  Jake pulled her close to him, wrapping his arms tightly around her. She clung to his neck, shudders quaking through her.

  His hands sank into her hair and he held her, just held her, rocking her against him. She slowly calmed, the shivers subsiding to one every few seconds.

  God, they were together, they were alive, and the kids were safe.

  Their lips met in a crash, the sweet taste of life filling them up.

  The wail of sirens filled the air as they held each other close. It was a beautiful sound.

  Everything happened swiftly after that. Nora and Joe came running up the stairs followed almost immediately by a dozen or so police officers.

  Of course all the noise woke the children, who began to wail from their rooms. Nora took off to see to the kids and Marty and Jake were quickly hustled downstairs by the cops to give their statements.

  The chaos went on for what felt like hours. The medics came and whisked Hollister away, and the coroner came to collect the two state troopers and Hammond. She talked to several detectives, telling them over and over again what had happened. That wasn't easy for Marty. She had to relive the experience, the fear, the panic, the certainty she was going to die. By the time she was finished retelling the tale her stomach rolled in protest and tension swelled in her head.

  Not only that but she couldn't wait to get cleaned up. The blood and gore on her clothing revolted her. She wanted to shower and wash it all away.

  Marty slipped away at the earliest opportunity and went to her room. She stripped off her bloody clothes and stood under a steaming hot shower, just letting
the water wash over her. No one could hear her cry here or see the tears streaming down her face.

  Bobby Hammond deserved to die. She certainly wasn't crying for him. The world was better without him. The kids would never have to deal with their crazy father again. Wasn't that best?

  But it was still a sad ending to a sad story. Two young police officers had lost their lives trying to protect her and the rest of the folks here at the farm. Detective Hollister was seriously injured but expected to live. The kids had been through more than any two four-year-olds should ever have to endure. Her heart broke for their damaged pasts.

  But they were starting new now. They had their Uncle Jake, a guardian who could provide them with a fine life, give them everything they needed. And most importantly, he loved them fiercely. She loved them, too.

  And she loved Jake, too. There lay the rub. She hadn't planned on him coming into her life. She had never thought of giving up her nomadic lifestyle. She hadn't planned on getting involved in the music world, falling in love with a superstar. She would have to completely change her lifestyle if she were to stay here.

  Is that even what Jake wanted? Did he want her permanently in his life?

  Is that what she wanted?

  Her adrenalin crashed and she let the pounding of the water on her back soothe her aching soul. She couldn't think anymore right now.

  By the time Marty returned downstairs, the initial bedlam was dying down, but word had gotten out to the media. The phone was ringing off the hook, a TV news van was in the drive, and reporters were arriving from all over.

  Not only was this a murder scene, it was the home of one of the most prominent men in country music. It had been big news when Jake's sister was killed by her husband and Jake got custody of the kids. This was the ultimate ending to the story and the press didn't want to miss it.

  Marty was gazing out the front room window at the activity in the yard when Jake stepped up beside her.

  "Look at them," Marty whispered. "They're like vultures circling a carcass."

  "This is the kind of news they feed on."

  "How do you stand it, Jake? How do you stand the lack of privacy, the constant intrusions on your life? This should be a private moment."

  Jake snorted. "Maybe it should, but even if I were Joe Blow the reporters would be all over this. The fact that I am who I am is the icing on the cake. But I know it will blow over eventually and life will get back to normal. Some other poor sap will become the main attraction for their feeding frenzy."

  Marty shuddered slightly. "I don't know if I could stand being watched all the time."

  Jake draped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. "Not all the time, Marty. Once I'm behind these walls, there are no prying eyes."

  His voice was intimate, his eyes filled with meaning. Yes, there were times when his life was hidden from the public view. But what about the rest of the time? Even a simple trip to the zoo had ended in confrontation because of his celebrity. Once again a wave of despair washed over her. Could she really tolerate the lifestyle he lived?

  Oh, sure, there were plenty of glamorous aspects to consider. The travel, the elite events, the red carpets. But what about the parts of life that really counted? What about intimacy and alone time? Would those be possible? Or would they also be fodder for the media?

  She'd always been a private person. Did she want to live life in a fishbowl?

  Chapter 27

  By the time dinner was over, Marty was exhausted, completely drained of all energy. The combination of lack of sleep and traumatic events caught up with her and she longed to climb into bed and call an end to this day.

  Before she did, though, she stepped into each child's bedroom and gave each an extra-special hug. She loved them—there was no denying that fact.

  But did she love them enough to give up her world, to give up life as she knew it?

  Of course she was getting ahead of herself again. Jake hadn't said a word about a future together. She was worrying about something that was never going to happen. Jake was a superstar, a man recognized around the world. She was a nobody, an unknown. The thought of them forging a partnership, a union, was incomprehensible.

  So what if he had made love to her? He'd probably made love to a thousand other women. That didn't mean she was anything special.

  But, oh, he made her feel special. The memories of his touch sent goose bumps popping up across her skin. She'd never felt such closeness, such a bonding with another human.

  Would she ever feel it again?

  The thought hit her like a rockslide. Life without that intimacy would be a cold life indeed. She stumbled to her room, barely managed to change into a white cotton nightgown, and fell across her bed. She was asleep before another coherent thought could pass through her brain.

  Jake couldn't sleep. He kept envisioning Marty before him, that fucking Hammond standing in front of her pointing a pistol directly at her head. God, when he saw that he'd felt a cold, hard anger overtake him. He'd never hated anyone as much as he loathed Bobby Hammond. Bobby Hammond—tormentor of children, killer of innocent women.

  Jake hadn't been able to stop Hammond last time. He'd murdered his sister, took her away from her kids, from a brother who loved her. He wasn't going to get away with it again. He wasn't going to kill Marty.

  The thought flashed through his mind as he pulled the trigger. Bobby Hammond was a dead man…and he was the man who killed him.

  He finally fell into a restless sleep, a sleep filled with disturbing dreams and moments of wakeful fretfulness. Marty, naked beneath him. Marty, smiling in the sunshine. Marty, waiting bravely to die when Hammond confronted her in the closet.

  Jake didn't feel guilty for killing Bobby Hammond. No, if he was honest, he had to admit he'd taken a certain pleasure in ridding the earth of that varmint. But the thought of Marty leaving in just a few days—that was the thought really upsetting him.

  Could he really let her go? Could he stand not seeing her every day, not being able to kiss her or hold her close?

  It had only been a few weeks since he met the woman. How could he fall in love so fast?

  He didn't have the answer to that question. Only a hundred other questions.

  Was he really ready to say goodbye to other women? To his bachelor lifestyle, his carefree ways? After all, he was Jake Stryker. He could have almost any woman he wanted.

  Problem was, the only woman he wanted was Marty Donahue.

  Marty awoke just as the sun was creeping over the horizon. Memories of yesterday's events rushed through her, but she felt much calmer than she had last night. She sat on the edge of the bed and stretched, her gaze straying to the French doors that led onto the balcony. She couldn't resist the lure of the soft beams of sunlight playing there and made her way over to the doors and flung them open.

  Stepping out on the terrace, she drew in a deep breath of sweet dawn air. The world spangled with dew, the horizon was streaked with ribbons of coral, rose, and lavender. It was a new day, a new dawn. The world suddenly felt brighter, fresher, than it ever had before.

  Jake had finally fallen into a deep sleep, only to awaken as the first beams of morning light made their way into his room. He drew in a deep breath and stretched his arms far above his head, giving a bellow of contentment. Somehow he knew what he had to do now. His questions were all answered, his path lain out straight.

  A grin played across his beard-shadowed face as he climbed from the bed and made his ways to the French doors leading onto the balcony. Stepping out on the wooden terrace wearing only his boxer briefs felt liberating.

  Right up until he saw Marty standing there.

  Marty couldn't breathe. Jake stood there like a bronzed statue in the early morning sunlight, his body barely concealed by the close-fitting navy boxers he wore. His shoulder muscles rippled, his flat abs highlighted by a sunbeam. She blinked, wondering if she was still asleep, dreaming of Jake.

  But no. He was definitely real—and he
was headed her way.

  It was the first real moment they'd had alone since the shooting.

  And there was something purifying about it.

  Suddenly there was a connection that shot between them, an understanding so clear that it could not be denied. He reached out and took her hands, his gaze scanning over her, taking in her tumbling red-gold curls, the sweet curves of her figure outlined by the white cotton gown pressed against her body by the gentle morning breeze.

  She eyed him trustingly, her soul beginning to sing a quiet song, swelling within her as she looked into his eyes.

  "I love you, Marty Donahue."

  "I love you, Jake Stryker."

  "You remember the day you were trying to explain love to Bobby?" His deep brown gaze focused intently on her. She didn't answer, simply nodded.

  "I think that's the moment I knew I loved you. Because I heard your soul singing to mine."

  His words were so soft she had to listen closely to hear what he was saying, but her heart responded loud and clear. God, she loved this man.

  Then, right there on the balcony, clad only in his boxers, Jake dropped to his knee in front of her nightgown-clad body. "I know this isn't the most romantic place. I'm sure not wearing a romantic wardrobe, but I can't wait any longer. I have to know." He took her hand in his. "Marty, you came into my life and painted your way into my heart. I can't explain it, I don't understand it, but you are so important to me." He stopped, his breath catching in his throat, then continued. "As necessary as air."

  Marty's stomach fell to the floor. Was it supposed to feel like someone hit you in the gut when they proposed? He was proposing, wasn't he?

  "I love you, Marty. I've almost lost you twice now and I don't ever want to let you go. But you know I'm a package deal. I'm going to adopt the twins and I want someone who understands that…and who loves them. Like you do."