by Lynde Lakes
Verdugo snickered. “Just great. If I fall in a hole and break my leg, I’ll sue you and the FBI. That oughta bring in a wad of greenbacks to set me up in Hollywood ’til my career takes off.”
“Shut up, damn it,” Nick said in a low growl. He flicked off his flashlight and traveled through the darkness by well-honed instinct made sharper by the desperation to save the woman who had stolen his heart.
Did Sara Jane know she wasn’t invincible? With De Fuego’s grandson, she’d been able to think on her feet and somehow outsmart him. But she had zero chance of dealing with this warped serial killer. Nick had never met the bastard, but he sure as hell knew what the man was capable of. Even killing the women didn’t satisfy him. He had to carve away their faces and mutilate their identity, torturing their souls and the souls of those who love them. An image of his sister flashed in his mind—sprawled in the cold, deserted alley—faceless, covered in honey, the air pungent with her blood. Nick clamped his jaw tight and ran faster, his lungs burning. Hold on, SJ, I’m coming.
Through the trees and brush, his saw a dim half-circle of light. Then, a flash of lightning lit up the sky, highlighting the Bowl’s stage and the big man holding a glinting silver object to Sara Jane’s throat. The man sat straddle-legged with Sara Jane pulled up against him. His eyes were wild, his movements jerky. In his agitated state, one misstep and he would drive that knife into her jugular vein. Nick drew his gun and aimed. His finger was remarkably steady on the trigger. Shift out of the way, baby, that’s right. Just as he started to squeeze, the killer swung Sara Jane back into the line of fire. Shit. Nick swallowed and took a deep breath. Cold sweat trickled down his back. He couldn’t lose it now. Her life depended on him.
The killer was absorbed in an intense discussion with Sara Jane. Play it cool, baby. Keep him calm.
Nick knew had to get closer for a clear shot. He gestured to Verdugo to circle the stage to the right and he went left, staying in the shadows.
He heard the whir of a helicopter coming in low overhead and glanced up. He couldn’t identify the chopper in the dark, but he’d guess it was Matt. Damn. The timing was wrong. The threat from above would force the killer into action.
And it did. With panic on his face, the killer stood, bringing Sara Jane up with him, shielding himself with her body, dragging her into the shadows.
Crouching low, Nick ran parallel to them.
A beam from the chopper spotlighted the killer and the glinting blade. Sara Jane shrank from it.
Nick fired.
Sara Jane buckled to the ground.
The night exploded with gunfire. A barrage of bullets came from above and Verdugo’s side of the stage. Nick winced as Verdugo’s bullet grazed his arm. A wild shot, or petty revenge? “Hold your fire, Verdugo!”
All shooting stopped, and there was only the whir of the helicopter hovering above.
The minute the gunfire stopped, Nick leapt onto the stage and ran to where the blood-splattered bodies lay, still as death, the scalpel still gripped in the killer’s hands. Nick kicked the blade away, dropped to his knees, and gathered Sara Jane into his arms.
****
Feeling the warmth and safety of Nick’s arms, Sara Jane opened her eyes.
“You’re alive,” he murmured, his husky voice choked. “Thank you, God.”
Blinking back a rush of tears, she basked in the relieved gaze of the dear man who had saved her from a horrifying death. Seeing the love glinting there eased the throbbing in her head and diminished the terror that had almost overwhelmed her.
Nick lowered his gaze and glared at her neck. “You’re bleeding! The bastard cut you!”
The urgency in his voice vibrated through her. If her hands weren’t tied behind her back, she’d hug him for caring so much. “I’ve had worse paper cuts,” she quipped, still trying not to cry.
He slipped off his kerchief, dabbed her neck gently with it, then tied it loosely around her throat. “You don’t faint from paper cuts, SJ.”
“Faint! Are you joking, UC? I’m a Ryan, and we don’t faint under fire. When you shot the killer, I simply buckled and dropped to the floor out of harm’s way. It was a darned good thing, too, with all the gunfire exploding over my head, riveting bullets into the killer’s body, flinging his blood like fat blobs of rain. All I could do was squeeze my eyes closed and pray a ricocheting bullet wouldn’t hit me.” She took a quick breath to fortify herself. Although still shivering inside, she refused to sound scared. “Now quit making a big thing out of nothing and untie me. I want to show you how Texas girls say thank you.”
He shook his head, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Sweetheart, your spunk blows me away. Anything you want, you’ve got.”
Her body trembled with the loss of his strong, protective arms as he moved away. He grabbed one of the killer’s knives, circled behind her and kneeled. It took several minutes to cut through the rope on her wrists. She felt the freedom of last thread giving then Nick kissing the scraped, raw flesh beneath it. After a moment, he gently massaged her stiff arms. His thoughtfulness brought another rush of tears. She blinked them back, and as he circled back into sight, she followed him with her gaze. He was broad-shouldered and magnificent. Her fingers ached to touch him, to reassure herself that he was real and she was really safe. He faced her and knelt at her feet to cut the rope around her ankles. Like lightning, she bent, clutched his biceps and drew him to her.
His eyes widened. “Did I miss something? I thought you were in a hurry for me to cut you loose.”
“I was. So I could do this.” She planted a kiss on his lips. It was meant merely as a down payment. But when he dropped the knife, threaded his fingers through her hair and responded with fierce passion, she opened her mouth to him, letting desire override the awareness of the bloody scene around them and how close she’d come to dying. Suddenly, she couldn’t think of anything but getting closer to him. She moaned as their tongues entwined and fueled the fire raging between them. Thunder rolled across the sky, followed by gentle rainfall. She shuddered and pressed herself closer to Nick’s firm, warm chest, clinging with everything in her to the heat and blazing emotion between them.
Verdugo cleared his throat. “Should I go get the horses?”
Nick ended the kiss and looked around as though coming out of a daze. Raindrops glistened in his hair, clung to his eyelashes. “No, we’ll all go. We need to get Sara Jane away from this carnage and to a doctor ASAP.” A tendon in his jaw twitched. “If your cell works, call the sheriff,” he continued. “Tell him to send the coroner.”
“Cells don’t work here,” Sara Jane said. “He’ll have to wait until we get out of the dead pocket.”
Nick nodded and picked up the knife he’d dropped and sawed through the rope that bound her ankles. She watched him, feeling embarrassed and disoriented. It was then that she noticed the blood soaking his shirt sleeve.
“Nick, you’re hurt.” She’d seen spots of blood on his sleeves, but thought, like the blood splattered on her, that it belonged to the killer.
He shrugged, scowling meaningfully at Verdugo. “Just a graze. Friendly fire.”
The cold, sarcastic edge to his voice told her that he wasn’t so sure it was an accident. “Let me see,” she said. “I know first aid.”
“Later. No time now.”
Sara Jane sighed. Nick the dispassionate FBI man was back in charge, reminding her exactly who he was.
****
Nick yanked two neatly folded tarps and several tangled ropes from the killer’s trunk. Feeling a new pressure building, he glared at the gnarled mess. “Damn, wouldn’t you know this wouldn’t be easy?”
“What are you doing?” Sara Jane asked.
“Before we leave, I have to protect the body for forensics.”
“Can I help?”
He shook his head. “I shouldn’t even be doing this. The less contamination of the crime scene the better.” He hoped she knew the impatience in his voice wasn’t aimed at her. H
is arm hurt like hell, making everything more difficult and the full impact of the storm was only minutes away.
Quietly, too quietly, she sat by his side with her legs drawn up, her head resting on her arms. She seemed oblivious to the lightly falling rain. He needed both tarps for the body or he would have given her one to cover up.
Verdugo paced under an overhang at the rear of the stage, his shoulder hunched and the collar of his denim jacket turned up, smoking a cigarette. “Better hurry,” he said. “It’s coming down harder.”
Ignoring the superfluous weather report, Nick wrapped the bloody corpse in the tarpaulin and secured it with the ropes. The mummy-like wrap would protect the body from the elements and marauding animals until the sheriff and his forensics team arrived. The FBI SWAT team would probably be right behind them and they could hash out the jurisdiction.
Nick crouched beside Sara Jane. She looked pale. He gently kissed her temple. He noticed then that her face was swollen and bruised. If he hadn’t already killed the Honey Killer, he would beat him to a pulp now. “You’re going to be all right, I promise.” He had to believe that. He scooped Sara Jane into his arms.
“I’m perfectly capable of walking,” she said.
“Sure you are.” Her ankles were cut, swollen, and her feet were bare. “But I want you in my arms for a while, okay?”
She gave a little smile and rested her head against his neck. God he loved her.
Verdugo trailed just behind them. Nick wrestled with his mixed feelings about him. He already had a low opinion of the bastard for making moves toward Sara Jane when she was thirteen, and getting shot by him lowered that gut-reaction another notch. But the wannabe actor had led him to Sara Jane, and for that he would be forever grateful.
Lightning flashed across the sky and the rain came down in sheets. Heading for the sound of the helicopter’s slowly rotating blades, they waded through ankle-deep puddles. Thick elms shielded them from the worst of the downpour, but they still got soaked. Sara Jane didn’t complain, she just cuddled closer and settled even deeper into his heart.
Nick ran as fast as he could. The longer Matt had to wait for them, the more dangerous the lift off. The sound of the slowly rotating helicopter blades grew louder, leading them to the clearing where the chopper waited. Nick lifted Sara Jane up into the waiting arms of her father.
In the process, the kerchief slipped down and Matt gasped at the thread of blood across her neck. “How bad?” he asked, glancing at Nick.
“Not deep, but we need to get her to emergency,” Nick said, hoisting himself into the chopper.
Matt stooped and gently lowered Sara Jane onto a bed of folded down seats covered with blankets. “How are you really, little darlin’?” The worry and tenderness in his voice brought a lump to Nick’s throat.
“Just peachy, Daddy,” she said in an exaggerated drawl, “other than being chloroformed, almost raped, slammed around and a knife held to my throat…”
Matt swore. “Luke, get us to emergency fast!”
“Don’t have a heart attack, Daddy. I’m fine. Nick’s the one who took a bullet.”
Matt darted a look at Nick. His gaze followed the line of blood dripping from Nick’s sleeve. “They’re both hurt,” he shouted to Luke, then he faced Nick again. “What about the killer?”
“Dead. I wrapped the body and left it for the sheriff to handle. It was a choice of getting help for Sara Jane quickly or waiting around for forensics. I could have had Verdugo haul the body out on his shoulders, but he would have balked at that, and taking the body from the crime scene would complicate the paperwork and make it more difficult for forensics.”
“I would have done the same thing,” Matt said.
Verdugo started to climb inside, but Matt shook his head. “Get the horses and take them back to the ranch. And when you get in range, call the sheriff.”
Nick felt a twinge of satisfaction. Leaving Verdugo behind was at least a small payback for the jackass’s wild shot. Sara Jane half-rose. Nick crouched beside her and eased her back down. “You just relax.”
She barely nodded.
Nick felt the vibration in the craft increase and the sensation of going up. He prayed they could make it out of the storm system without getting struck by lightning. Nick knew Matt and Luke were worried too. The tension inside the six-passenger cargo chopper was as electrified as the storm outside.
Nick dabbed at Sara Jane’s rain-streaked face and hair with the edge of the blanket. Her teeth were chattering. He re-adjusted the kerchief around her neck and tucked the dry section of her covers under her chin. She kept blinking and rubbing her head.
“Head hurt?” he asked.
She nodded, and then winced from the pain. “The killer kept slamming me down on the stone floor.”
Nick’s throat went dry. She hadn’t had time to recover fully from the last concussion.
****
Holding Sara Jane’s hand, Nick listened while the doctor gave his prognosis.
“Your X-rays show a new hairline fracture about two-millimeters from your earlier fracture. It may be weeks, even months before you have the clarity of thought that you once had. The main thing now is to avoid further injury. You have to stay off horses for at least six weeks.”
Sara Jane frowned and gently traced the gauze bandage hiding the razor-like cut across her neck.
“That will heal and fade over time. If the scar doesn’t disappear to your satisfaction, we can have a plastic surgeon look at it.”
She glanced at the bandage on Nick’s arm. “What about him?”
The doctor’s blue eyes twinkled. “He got off easy. Just a graze. Some antiseptic and a bandage was all he needed.”
Sara Jane gave a half-smile and closed her eyes.
“She’ll need watching for forty-eight hours,” the doctor told Nick. “She won’t like it, but wake her every hour.” The doctor handed him a prescription. “This will make her more comfortable.”
After they arrived back at the ranch, Nick carried Sara Jane up to her room. Since leaving the hospital, she’d been dazed and disoriented from the pills, floating in and out of consciousness. As he lowered her to the bed, she gave him a faint smile and closed her eyes again. He kissed her forehead, tucked the covers under her chin, and just sat beside her, holding her hand, not talking except when he awoke her on the hour to be sure she was still with them.
He brushed back a tendril of hair from her face. Sleeping, she looked soft and vulnerable, but she had proven herself to be a very strong, courageous woman. Even though tied up, she had dealt with the killer, calming him the best she could, delaying what she probably believed was inevitable death. Nick shuddered, thinking of what might have happened if she’d lost her cool.
Sara Jane’s family drifted in and out, offering to take over so Nick could get some sleep, but he refused to budge. He’d promised Sara Jane that he wouldn’t leave her side.
Two long days later, she had finally passed the crisis. When she headed for the shower, Nick stepped next door to his adjoining room to get some sleep. He fell in a heap on the bed, let out a big sigh and closed his eyes. When his cell phone jangled a minute later, he was tempted to ignore it, but he could see by the read-out that it was his boss.
“I need you in San Antonio,” he demanded. “Today.”
Nick hoisted up his bone-tired body and packed. God, he didn’t want to leave. But with Sara Jane out of danger, there wasn’t any excuse to stay.
It was only now sinking in. Somehow he had plunged into a two-for-the-bullet world. By bringing down the Honey Killer, he’d saved Sara Jane and laid his sister to rest at the same time. But it was hard to let go of the obsession. And it had been an obsession, he knew that now. After Shirl was murdered, nothing else had mattered to him but bringing her killer to justice. His boss had considered his tunnel focus risky and ordered him off the Honey Killer case. But when the murders continued and the killer wouldn’t deal with anyone but him, they were forced to put him back on
the case. Then the real Honey Killer went after Sara Jane. Nick knew it was the catalyst that defined him. When he saw that deranged bastard holding a scalpel to her throat, it was no longer vengeance that drove him. At that instant, he’d thought only of protecting Sara Jane.
Because that was who he was—a protector—not some self-appointed one-man nemesis. He’d grown up protecting Shirl and his entire professional life, in the military and with the Bureau, had been about protecting people. In his anger and pain over losing Shirl, he’d forgotten that and let vengeance govern him. Vengeance! That had never been his MO. Hell, by now the roll of protector was probably embedded in his DNA. So when Matt asked for his help, he’d had to accept. And as it turned out, the job of protecting Sara Jane had allowed him to regain his sense of balance and become true to himself.
Not that it had been easy. Protecting her had turned into one of the most frustrating, heart and head confusing, sexually arousing times of his life. Not to mention the wear and tear on his honor. He’d wanted her from their first kiss—maybe even from the moment he’d laid eyes on her. It was only out of respect for Matt that he hadn’t made love to her.
So how could he make it work with her on a permanent basis? Something he wanted with all of his heart. No, that was an understatement. He had to have her in his life. Somehow, she had gotten all tangled up in who he was down deep below the surface. She’d become his family, his own to protect at all costs.
But he couldn’t see himself as a rancher or her as a city girl. It was crazy. This was the only woman he wanted that he hadn’t made love to—and the only woman he was positive he wanted in his bed forever.
Damn. He wasn’t even sure she felt the same way about him. Would her love be strong enough to work through some sort of a compromise?
Without knocking, Sara Jane sailed into his room, trailing her tantalizing just-showered fragrance. Her eyes blazed as she glared at the packed suitcase on his bed. “Dad said you were leaving. Why? Are you chomping at the bit to escape something, or to get back to something?”
