by Rebecca Deel
“I didn’t think it wise to go from being friends straight to telling her I love her and don’t want to live without her. I don’t want to scare her off. She’s just now becoming comfortable with me, with my touch.”
Josh laughed softly. “Don’t sell yourself short. She’s been okay with you touching her from the beginning. Shocked Del, too.”
Feminine laughter drifted through the night breeze. Sounded like the ladies were having a great time. Ivy’s laughter helped him relax a little more. He’d been concerned about her reaction to those pictures. The nature of them had to be unnerving, especially given her history. “Tell Del I owe her for this.”
“Not necessary, Alex. You’re family to her just as you are to me and the rest of the Cahill clan.”
He stared off into the darkness, unable to say anything until he’d gotten his emotions under control. After the cold reception from his mother and brother, it was good to remember he did have family, a family that would stick no matter what. They were a family by choice. He wasn’t sure yet about the solidity of the renewed connection with his father. Chances were good he wouldn’t have much contact with him after this was over. His mother would make sure of that.
A brush of fabric alerted them to the approach of one of their teammates. Quinn stepped around the corner.
“Possible problem, Major.”
“Alex is lead on this one.”
“Yes, sir.”
Alex straightened. “Tell me.”
“Slow moving SUV has been making the rounds of the neighborhood.”
“Get a plate?”
“Yep.”
“Run it through Fortress. See what they make of it. Let me know if it keeps circling. And stay alert.”
“Roger that. I’ve got first watch. Nate’s covering the second shift. Rest a few hours, Alex. You won’t be much good to your girl if you’re dead tired.” A moment later he was out of sight.
“Might be the media, scoping the place, hoping to catch someone for an interview,” Josh said.
“If so, it’s the first pass by here. They’ve been camped out at the hospital, getting updates from hospital personnel and Dad’s public relations point man.”
“Whoever it is, we’ll be ready if there’s trouble.”
“Alex?” Ivy closed the French door behind her. “Um, I’m going to go to bed in a few minutes.”
“That’s my cue to collect my gorgeous wife.” Josh rose, squeezed Alex’s shoulder as he passed. “Good night, kitten,” he murmured to Ivy as he walked inside.
Alex stood. “Come here, angel.” He held her in his arms a few minutes, her head resting over his heart. Just being able to hold her like this was such a joy and filled him with a measure of peace. “I’m glad you’re here, Ivy.”
She didn’t say anything, simply hugged him tighter.
He threaded his fingers through her hair, enjoying the feel of her springy curls brushing over his hands. Knowing Quinn would be making another pass through the backyard soon, Alex gently lifted Ivy’s chin and kissed her. Long minutes later, he drew back, rested his forehead against hers. “Can I walk you home, angel?”
Ivy laughed. “Sure.”
Holding her hand, Alex led her through the darkened house upstairs to the room she and Stella would share. “I’ll be in the room beside yours if you need anything, baby.” He dropped a brief kiss on her lips and nudged her toward her room.
After her door closed, Alex slipped into his own room. He’d barely begun checking his weapons when a light tap sounded on the door. Rio came in, closed the door behind himself.
“What’s up?” Alex asked.
“What happened between Ivy and your brother?”
He straightened. “When I walked into the office, Porter had Ivy boxed in against the wall. He was angry, yelling at her for being in Dad’s space. She was in the middle of a full-blown panic attack. I yanked Port away from her and carried her outside.”
“Bad?”
“It took several minutes to calm her down. How did you find out about that?”
“One look at Ivy and I knew something was wrong. She played the episode down, but she’s been doing so well the past month the fear in her eyes surprised me.”
His lips curved upward. “She recovered pretty fast.”
Relief crossed Rio’s features. “Excellent.” With a nod, he left.
Nice to know his team medic was keeping such close tabs on Ivy. He dropped onto the bed, grabbed his weapons, checked again that they were in perfect condition. After making sure each was loaded with an extra magazine at hand, Alex readied himself for bed. Lights out, he crawled into bed, hoping the night would pass peacefully.
At four o’clock, he woke to gunfire.
CHAPTER NINE
Ivy woke to the sound of glass breaking. The next thing she knew, she was on the floor on her belly with Stella on top of her, gun drawn and pointed at the bedroom window. What on earth was that? Did somebody throw a rock at the window? Or was it worse, like a bullet?
Something wet dripped on her hand. She realized then that her cheek stung. Flying glass, maybe, or she’d scraped her cheek when she hit the floor.
The door slammed open. “Ivy!” Alex’s stocky form filled the doorway, his weapon up and tracking the room.
“On the floor. I’m okay.”
“Stella?”
“I’m fine. Where’s Nate?”
“Rio and Quinn are checking on him as we speak.”
Ivy dragged in a breath, heart slamming against her chest wall. “Can I get off the floor now?”
“Not until we know the shooter’s gone.”
“Do you need to go help?”
“Your safety is my priority, angel.”
“Please, Alex,” Stella said. “Go check on Nate.”
“Stay here until one of us comes to get you.”
“Ivy?” Del called from across the hall after Alex left. “You okay?”
“Just peachy. Talk about an explosive ending to your honeymoon.”
Her cousin laughed. “Never a dull moment around these guys. Did you remember Stella’s nighttime advice from our last scary adventure?”
Ivy grinned. “You bet I did.” When she and Del had been in protective custody during the summer, Stella had warned them to make sure to dress in clothes they could run in. Her advice had saved their lives. “Black workout gear. My tennis shoes are at my fingertips.”
“Same here. Josh insisted.”
“Smart man,” Stella said.
“Good looking, too.”
“You’re a little biased, Mrs. Cahill,” Ivy teased.
“You bet your boots, Ms. Monroe.”
Footsteps sounded in the hall. “We’re clear,” Alex said. He stepped into the room and flipped on the light. He came around the end of the bed as Stella rose to her feet. “Ivy, you’re bleeding.”
“What?” Stella spun around to glare at her. “You said you were fine.”
Ivy scowled. “It’s just a scratch. I think.”
Alex reached down and scooped her off the floor. “I’ll have Rio take a look at you after he finishes with Nate.”
“Where is he?” Stella asked.
“Kitchen.”
She rushed out the door.
Ivy smiled. “Looks like the marshal is sweet on our chef.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s mutual.” Alex carried her swiftly down the stairs and into the well-lit kitchen. He seated her across the table from Nate. The chef sat beside Stella who held an ice pack to the back of his head while Rio cleaned a cut on Nate’s forehead.
Nate snorted. “You didn’t carry me in to be doctored and Rio says I need stitches.”
“You’re not as pretty and have a hard head,” Alex said. He reached into the medic’s kit and grabbed gloves and packets of swabs. He tugged on the gloves, ripped open a swab pack, tilted Ivy’s head toward the light and set to work.
She winced as the alcohol hit the cut.
“Sorry, babe,” Alex
murmured. He glanced at Nate. “What happened? How did he get the drop on you?”
“Stupid fire engine siren. Didn’t hear him until he was on me.”
“Get a look at him?”
“Nope. Got hit from behind. Knocked me out for a couple minutes. Shooter was gone by the time I woke to Josh’s ugly mug.”
A siren drew near and cut out. A minute later, footsteps echoed on the hardwood floors. Not one of the Delta unit, Ivy realized. They never made a sound. Alex drew her attention as he checked the rest of her face for glass slivers, then examined her hands and arms.
“Well, do I need stitches, Dr. Morgan?” she asked.
Amusement glittered in his eyes. He tapped her nose. “Smart aleck.” He turned as the footsteps came to a sudden stop.
“Alexander!” A blond-haired cop stood in the doorway to the kitchen, his expression one of shock. “I thought you were dead.”
Alex’s eyebrows rose. “Where did you hear that?”
Clay Shannon, his childhood friend, shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable. “From your mother.”
Behind him, Ivy gasped, slipped her hand into his, melting some of the chill caused by Clay’s statement. No surprise his mother had made such a statement. In her mind, her oldest son was dead. She’d cut him out of her life with the precision of a sharpened scalpel as soon as his feet stepped off the porch the morning he left for basic training. Cynthia Morgan had been furious that he defied her plans for him to attend law school and then follow in his father’s footsteps. It never mattered that Alex hated politics and all the behind-the-scenes maneuvering and deal-making taking place. All she’d ever seen was the dawning possibility of a Morgan political dynasty. There were already too many such dynasties. The Washington elite didn’t need another. Worse, he had no patience for people with hidden agendas. He was an up front kind of man, called things as he saw them. Wouldn’t make him popular with the politicians or lobbyists.
Alex’s lips curled. “Not true, obviously. How have you been, Clay?”
“Great. Married, two kids, eleven years on the job.”
“Why aren’t you behind a desk by now?”
His bark of laughter brought back some good memories of football games, pizza nights, all nighters to finish their senior English papers in time to graduate. “I’m a field training officer, a job I really enjoy.” He grinned. “Never did like paperwork too much. What about you?”
“Military. Now I train bodyguards.” Among other things.
Clay visibly shifted from old friend to cop. “Tell me what happened here.”
Alex was just finishing his sit rep when Porter arrived in the kitchen, his mother at his side. She took in the crowded kitchen at a glance. “What is going on here? Who are all these people?” she demanded of Clay.
As if Alex didn’t exist. And he guessed in her mind he didn’t. “Friends of mine.”
“More thugs like you, I suppose.”
“That’s enough, Mother,” Porter said. “Dad asked him to stay here, to watch over you. You may not like it, but he’s the best qualified man we know to keep you safe.”
“We’ll see about that. I don’t want them here. I intend to make sure your father understands that. I won’t have murderers in my house.”
Stella gasped. Ivy’s hand tightened around his. He glanced at her, concerned the stress might trigger another panic attack. But no, his lady wasn’t afraid. She was downright furious. Pride in her strength and resiliency grew inside him. Oh, yeah, his angel was going to come back stronger than ever. He couldn’t wait to see her at full tilt.
“Well, now,” Rio said mildly as he finished the last of Nate’s stitches, “Nate here is a professional chef. Josh is a cop. Quinn and Alex train bodyguards to protect people. I’m a medic and train bodyguards and other first responders in first aid. Stella is a U.S. marshal. Del’s a bookseller and Ivy’s a college professor. None of us have a career as murderers.”
His mother’s chin went up, her face flushed. She shifted her attention to Clay. “Why are you here?”
“Someone shot out one of the windows. I was just about to go see the damage.”
“I’ll take care of this, Mother, and get the window replaced,” Porter said. “Why don’t you go on and get ready. You have a lot to do today.”
“You’re a good boy, Porter.” With another cold glance at Alex, she left the room.
Well, Alex thought. Guess he’d lost his golden halo when he left for basic.
“Sorry,” Rio said. “Couldn’t help myself.”
“Good job derailing her, though,” Clay muttered. He turned to Alex. “Show me the window.”
Alex helped Ivy to her feet, signaled the Nate and Rio to stay put. In the lobby, Josh and Del were talking to another officer. Looked young to Alex. Too young. Maybe this was Clay’s rookie. Josh glanced up as they approached, shook his head, expression grim.
Just as he’d figured. The shooter was in the wind, no doubt long gone before the cops arrived. If there’d been any trace of him, his team would have found it.
Alex stopped Ivy when she started to enter her bedroom after Clay. “Let me get your shoes, angel. Glass is all over the floor.” After he made sure no glass slivers were inside them, he handed them to her. The white curtains were billowing in the early morning breeze. Smelled like rain was on the way.
He eased closer to the broken window. Unless the shooter had been on the neighbor’s roof, he’d likely been standing a few feet from the house. Making a point that he or she could get to Ivy whether or not he had protection on her.
His eyes narrowed. How did the shooter know which room had been assigned to Ivy? He turned. “Did you open the curtains or look out the window, angel?”
She shook her head. Her gaze darted to Clay. “I have to have a light on when I sleep, though.”
Ah. Should have thought of that. Wonder what his mother would say to blackout curtains on this window? “I’ll rig something up to protect you better but let you sleep.”
His arm circled her waist as he surveyed the wall opposite the broken window. No bullet holes. Ground shot, then. His gaze tracked to the ceiling. There, in the ceiling near the door, a hole. “Clay.”
The policeman turned, his gaze going to the spot Alex indicated. He whistled. “Good catch.”
“Should be a bullet casing on that side of the house. One shot. Probably a nine mil.”
“And you know this, how?”
“Military.”
“I know a lot of military guys, Alexander. I’ve never asked about identifying a weapon by sound. Is that the norm for the military as a whole?”
He shrugged. “It is if you’re a sniper.”
Clay’s gaze sharpened. “How good?” he asked, his tone flat.
“Black ops. And no, I didn’t shoot my father. If I had, he’d be in the morgue, a point I’ve already made to the feds.”
“I questioned your father right after the shooting, just before they took him to surgery. Know what he said? Alexander. Over and over. You sure there isn’t anything else you need to tell me?”
His eyes narrowed. “FBI cleared me.”
“Good to know.” He turned back to his perusal of the ceiling. “Think the bullet might be intact?”
“Yeah.” Alex grinned. “You’ll have to climb into the attic to find it. Good luck with that, especially if you step wrong and bust through the ceiling. Mother would not be happy if that happened.”
Clay scowled. Then his expression cleared. “This sounds like a job for a rookie.”
“Alex.” Josh signaled that he needed to talk to him.
He gave a nod, turned to his friend. “Do what you need to do.” He gave Clay his cell number. “I want to know what you find. Now, I’ll ask you the same question. Got anything you need to tell me, as one professional to another?”
His friend studied him for a moment, then said, “Come with me.”
Josh’s eyebrow rose as they walked past. Alex shook his head. He didn’t have a clu
e what Clay was up to. The cop led the way to his cruiser. He leaned in, grabbed something and stood. In his hand was a CD. He handed it to Alex. “I’m going to hunt up my rookie. Probably take me a few minutes.” With that cryptic remark, he walked around the side of the house.
Hand clasped around Ivy’s, Alex motioned for Josh to follow them inside. He took them to his father’s office, booted up the computer, and made a copy of the file. He frowned. Video. What kind? “Need to take the original back to his cruiser.”
“I’ll take it,” Ivy said. She held out her hand. “There are cops wandering around out there and I saw Quinn and Rio, too. I’ll be fine.”
Everything in him wanted to tell her no. He reminded himself that she couldn’t be caged again. He would lose her if he tried, even to protect her. The shooter was gone. Too many people and too much activity going on to escape if he did try something. Besides, the shooter had made his point. For now.
He handed her the CD without saying anything. She gifted him with a blinding smile and walked out.
Alex forced himself to turn back to the computer. “Let’s see what’s so interesting.” He clicked on the file. The monitor filled with footage of the front walkway and porch. “What did you want to tell me earlier?”
“One of the neighbors caught a glimpse of a black Lexus speeding from the area around the time of the shooting. Caught a partial plate. Cops are running it through DMV, but it might take a while. That’s from a security cam.” Josh leaned closer to the monitor. “Time stamp is an hour before the shooting.”
Alex sped up the footage until the time read only minutes before the assassination attempt. At 6:30, his father stepped out on the porch, clad in his suit and tie, carrying a briefcase, ready for another day on Capitol Hill. At the bottom of the porch steps, he stopped, dropped his briefcase, put his hands up.
Alex’s stomach knotted. The shooter moved into camera range. Dressed in black from head to toe, hoodie pulled over his head, a .38 in his hand. Seconds later, the weapon bucked. His father fell backward, sprawled across the stairs, blood staining his white shirt an obscene crimson.
