by Dawn Atkins
Milo’s ferocious growls made her turn. The ugly man’s face was wet with blood, and he was screaming. Behind her, the man by the kitchen was on the ground, and there was blood there, too.
She had to focus, even though she was dizzy and shaking, and she pointed the gun at the man fighting Boone. In the few seconds she’d looked away, Boone had gotten behind him. He had the man in a hammerlock, and Boone bellowed as he twisted the man’s head sharply to the right, the snap so loud she heard it over Milo.
Boone collapsed, writhing as he tried to get the dead weight off him, and then she heard another gunshot, too loud. It was the ugly man. He’d gotten Boone’s gun out and was trying to kill Milo. She aimed, but her tears filled her vision and she couldn’t see, and when she went to wipe them she heard another shot, and oh, God.
But it wasn’t Milo laying still on the floor. It was the ugly man, and the top of his head was blown away. She turned to the front door, to a stranger standing in the shadow, his gun raised. She pointed her weapon, but it was waving so much and she still couldn’t see, but she squeezed the trigger—
“Christie. Stop.”
She held her finger still at Boone’s command.
“Christie,” he said again. “Don’t shoot. It’s Nate.”
SHE DROPPED THE GUN AS HER brother walked slowly closer. He’d changed. His hair, which had always been dark like hers was now almost blond, and there were lines by his eyes and mouth that made him look years older. But it was Nate. He was alive.
“Hey, Chris,” he said, and then he was hugging her, and she was crying on his shoulder, still not believing that it was really him. “Man, I missed you.”
She couldn’t talk so she hit his back with both her fists, the mixture of relief and confusion so strong she felt as if the whole world had gone crazy. “Why? Why did you let me think you were dead?”
“I had to, Chris. I was trying to protect you.” He pulled back, and she saw tears on his cheeks. “I didn’t do a very good job of it, did I?”
“You bastard. Don’t ever do that to me again.”
“I’ll try real hard not to.”
She hugged him again, squeezing hard, but then she thought of Boone, and she broke away.
Boone was still on the floor, pressing his hands into his wound. He was terribly pale. This wasn’t good. “Towels,” she said over her shoulder. “And an ambulance.”
She crouched by Boone. “Baby? Let me help, okay? Can you lay back?”
He shook his head. “Call Harper,” he said, his voice just above a croak.
“Okay, we’ll call whoever you want, but you need to lay back so I can help. We’ve got to stop the bleeding, and the bullet might have gone all the way through.”
He looked at her with reddened eyes, then with a visible effort, he sat up straighter, wincing in pain she couldn’t even imagine.
Nate came back with towels. She gave him a glance when she heard him say, “Hurry,” into a cell phone. He dropped the phone next to him and got to his knees. “Let me.”
Christie crawled around to Boone’s other side, and put her arm around his shoulders. He was heavy as she helped him to his back. She found his hand and squeezed it in hers, praying harder than she ever had before.
Nate cut Boone’s jeans off his bad leg. The bleeding didn’t look too bad, but the wound was terrible. They rolled him over to look at the underside, and when Christie saw the back of his leg, she knew the bullet had passed through.
Nate, moving so quickly it was almost brutal, wrapped Boone’s thigh tightly in two towels, and twisted them together, forming a tourniquet.
“You have any liquor?” Nate asked, not even looking at her.
“Yeah.”
“Get it.”
She hated to let go of Boone’s hand, but she did. She ran to the kitchen, almost tripping over Milo. She got the bottle of bourbon and a glass, and ran back.
Nate threw the glass to the carpet, unscrewed the bottle, and after she got Boone in her arms again, he poured the liquor on the wound. Boone screamed and writhed in her arms.
“Hold him,” Nate said. Then he picked up his cell with his bloody hand and punched in some numbers.
“Seth? Get to Christie’s. Now.” He hung up just as abruptly.
Christie cradled Boone until he stopped moaning, wishing she could do something more. “Should I get some aspirin?” she asked.
“No,” Nate said. “It’s a blood thinner.”
“Where’s the ambulance?”
“No ambulance.” Nate looked at her. “There’s someone coming. Someone we can trust.”
“Nate, he could die.”
“He won’t.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, biting back her argument. It wouldn’t do any good. All she had to do was look around her to see that there was no point. Their lives were in danger every minute, and there was no place that was safe.
“How did you know?” she asked.
For a second, she thought Nate wasn’t going to answer. “I have someone at Omicron.”
“What’s Omicron?”
“These men, they’re Omicron. They’re the one’s who are trying to stop us.”
“Some day you’ll have to explain it all to me,” she said. “But right now, I think Boone’s ready to pass out.”
“That might not be so bad. The doc should be here any minute. She wasn’t that far away.”
Christie bent over Boone. She touched his pale cheek. “You hear that, sweetie? Help’s on the way. Just hold on, okay?”
“So, you two…?” Nate asked.
She nodded. “He saved my life. Big-time.”
“He’s a good man.”
“That’s what he said about you.”
“He’s also crazy.”
She laughed, but stopped it short, afraid she would start crying again. “You let me think you were dead, Nate. All this time.”
“I know. I’m sorry. And I’m even sorrier about what’s going to happen next.”
She looked at him sharply. “What are you talking about?”
“As soon as Seth and Kate get here, you and I are leaving.”
“No.”
“Yes. There’s no choice in this one, Christie. We’re leaving and we’re not coming back. You take some clothes, and that’s all. Leave your purse, leave your ID, leave it all. You won’t need it.”
She looked at Boone, his eyes closed now, looking so close to death she had to feel for a pulse. It was there. Weak, but there. “I’m not leaving him.”
“You have to.”
“No.”
“To save both your lives.”
“Nate, I can’t do that. I can’t just walk away from everything.”
“Yes, you can. And you will. I’ll help you. I’ll set you up with a new identity, a new job. We’ll get you a place to live. You’ll be fine. You just won’t be Christie Pratchett anymore.”
“What about Mom?”
“You can’t call her. Ever.”
“Jesus, Nate.”
“Would you rather she went to your funeral?”
Christie didn’t know what to say. He was asking too much of her. It wasn’t fair, none of it. Her home, her life. She’d just gotten it back and now it was being ripped into shreds before her eyes. “The police will be after me.”
“There won’t be anything here for them to find. No police report will be filed.”
“And my house?”
“Will go into foreclosure. It’s over. Let it go.”
She laughed, then. “Let it go? Let my whole world go? Just like that?”
“It sucks. I’m sorry. But it’s your only hope.”
She squeezed Boone’s hand again. “I want to go with him. Please, Nate.”
Her brother, looking so old it broke her heart, shook his head. “Say goodbye, Christie. You don’t have much time.”
THE CAR DROVE AWAY SLOWLY. Milo had curled up in the back of the dark sedan, and Christie turned in the passenger seat to stare back at her
house. There was only the one light in the shaded window, and she couldn’t even see shadows behind it, but she knew they were there. The doctor, a woman with strange blue eyes. Seth. Kate. And Boone.
He was alive when she’d stepped out the door, but would he be five minutes from now? Ten?
She’d never see him again. Nate said it would all be over someday, but she didn’t believe him. She was lost, as lost as a soul could be. Her heart had been left on a bloody carpet, in a house, in a life she used to love.
19
SHE TURNED OFF THE TELEVISION at nine-thirty. If she could fall asleep by ten, she’d get eight hours of sleep before she had to get back to the restaurant. Even after six months, the work still kicked her butt. The last time she’d been a waitress, she’d been eighteen, nineteen. Now she felt a hundred and nine, and it wasn’t getting any easier.
She went into the small bedroom to find Milo had made himself comfy on the queen-size bed. He, at least, could still make her smile. Not much else did.
Her world had become so very small. Work. Meals at home. A book. TV. Sleep. And Boone. He was the largest part of her, now. Thoughts of him filled the empty spaces. Filled her dreams.
All she knew was that he was alive. She chose to believe he was all right, but that’s because the alternative made her weep uncontrollably. In her head, he was healthy. Of course, in her head, they weren’t really apart. He was just in the next room, or away for the weekend. Then she’d wake up.
“Hey, big guy. You ready to go out?”
Milo got up slowly. His joints didn’t like Montana very much. Poor old guy. But he was still the best dog in the world. She hugged him, then walked with him to the back door. As always, she turned on the outside lights and stared through the window to make sure there was no one there. She scared easily out here, even though she was in a good part of town. Her neighbors were a minister and his family on one side, a school teacher and his wife on the other. Nice folks. She hardly ever spoke to them.
She let Milo out, and he went into sniff mode immediately. Christie watched him, debating a cup of tea before she went to sleep. Maybe she’d read a little, although her attention span sucked.
She wondered, as she did every night, what he was doing right now. Was he still in the house in Pasadena? In that awful bed? Of course, now it would be a toss-up as to who had the most dreary house. But still, if he were there, that would be a good thing. Because she’d be able to find him. If…
Milo was done and she let him in. He trotted right to the water bowl and made his usual mess. She didn’t mind. It gave her something useful to do.
After she mopped up, she filled her teapot and put it on the stove. It wasn’t even her teapot, really. Just another dollar bargain from the Goodwill. Most everything in here was. Not that she cared. When everything is stripped away, the important things become very clear. She wanted Boone. She missed him in a way that hurt.
The whistle made her jump, and she turned down the fire and got out the tea bags. Her big highlight of the day—picking out her herbal tea. Tonight, she went with chamomile.
As she poured the hot water, she heard Milo whine. She stopped pouring, stopped breathing. Milo hadn’t whined like that in six months, and the sound pushed her panic button. Carefully, slowly, she put the kettle back down. Walking normally, forcing herself to keep breathing, she went into the bedroom and got her gun from under her pillow. Without even thinking about it, she released the safety. That was the other thing she did here in Bozeman. She went to the shooting range.
Milo was in the living room, and he was staring at the front door. Christie walked up next to him, and touched his head. He licked her hand, then watched the door some more.
A moment later, someone knocked.
She debated ignoring it, but her lights were on. She walked to the side of the door and stood up on her toes. Pulling back the curtain, she looked at the front stoop.
It was a man. A big man with dark hair, and her heart started beating harder. At first glance, from the side, he looked like Boone, but that couldn’t be. Boone didn’t know where she was. Nate had made sure that no one did. But damn, it sure looked like Boone.
He knocked again, and she saw his profile. A cry escaped as she put the gun down on the table by the door, then jerked the locks open. Her hand shook so hard she almost broke the knob. But then it was open, and oh, God, it was him. “Boone.”
He lifted her into his arms, and kissed her over and over, spinning her around and inside, where he kicked the door shut. Then he kissed her again.
He tasted like Boone, like everything she remembered. It wasn’t possible, he couldn’t be here, but she touched his face and it was his face.
“Christie,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “I can’t believe it’s you.”
She laughed. “That’s my line. How are you here? Is it over?”
He studied her eyes as she studied his. So green, so beautiful, with that incredible crease right above his nose. She kissed him right there, and then on the lips again.
He put her down, but she still felt as if she were flying. “Tell me, dammit. How are you here?”
“It wasn’t easy. But I found you. Dammit, Christie, I’ve missed you so much.” He swallowed hard. “I had to find Nate first. He didn’t want to give it up, believe me. But he told me to tell you to keep the good thought. Things are happening. Slowly, but they’re happening.”
“So it’s not over?”
“No, baby, it’s not. We still have a long way to go. But I was miserable without you. If we have to live like this, then I say we do it together. You and me. It won’t be fun, but it’s not fun now, right?”
She cupped his face. “I knew I loved you for a reason.”
“You do, huh? Love me?”
She nodded, so incredibly sure.
“Then you’re cool with this? With us?”
She kissed him again, and this time she took her sweet time. It was everything she remembered, and so much more. Her hands explored his back, his butt, then went back for seconds.
When she finally pulled back, he was smiling at her. Not that loopy grin from when his mouth was all bangedup, but the beautiful smile she knew from her dreams. “How’s your leg?”
“Ugly, but useable.”
“Good. That’s good.”
“No,” he said. “This is good. This is worth everything. I love you, Christie. I’m not willing to lose you again.”
“Well, isn’t that something,” she whispered. She touched his lips with her fingertips, then leaned in close. “Because I’m not willing to be lost.”
In November 2006, look for Jo Leigh’s next
Harlequin Blaze novel, RELENTLESS, part
of an exciting new miniseries featuring
more of Kate, Seth and Nate.
ISBN: 978-1-55254-473-0
FORBIDDEN FANTASIES BUNDLE
Copyright © 2006 by Dawn Atkins, Cara Summers, Jo Leigh.
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
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About the Authors
Dawn A
tkins
Dawn knew she wanted to be an author since she put fat pencil to blue-lined paper. Though she always wanted to be a professional writer, she wasn’t sure she had the "stuff" to become a published novelist. She graduated from college with a teaching degree and taught elementary school — second and third grades (the best) — and then began freelance feature writing for newspapers and magazines, local and national. Eventually she left teaching for public relations work. Today she’s the writer/editor for the Arizona Education Association.
She met her husband, David, in 1980. They married in 1985, taking their Hobie catamaran to San Diego for their honeymoon.
Dawn published two stories in True Love magazine in the early ‘80s. Getting brave, she wrote a sexy romance, which was promptly rejected — sniff. Busy with career changes, marriage, and having a child, she set aside her plans to write novels until 1996, when she dug out that rejected book and rewrote it. Two years later, she sold the first of two short romantic comedies to Kensington Publishing. Then in 2000 she began her career writing sensual and funny romances for the Harlequin Temptation and Duets lines, where she’s happily crafting stories she loves.
Most of her hobbies — sailing, scuba diving, and playing the piano (badly) — are on hold now, as she devotes all her non-family spare time to writing.
She lives in the Phoenix area with her husband and 11-year-old son, who can’t believe his own mother is a real, live author.
She lives to hear from fans. You can reach her at [email protected].
Cara Summers
Did Cara Summers always dream of becoming a writer? Absolutely not!
At the age of six, she wanted to become the next Mother Teresa. At eight, her goal was to become a P.I. and drive a car just like Nancy Drew’s. In junior high, her interests shifted to science, and she believed that brain surgery was in her future. Then in high school and college, she threw herself into the performing arts and set her sights on a career as a Broadway musical comedy star!
