by Rita Herron
Brack turned to the nurse. “Don’t leave her alone for a minute. Make sure a second person is with her at all times, too.”
Waverman glared at him with animosity in his eyes. “You aren’t suggesting that I would hurt Sonya?”
“I don’t trust anyone right now,” Brack snapped. Waverman started to lift Sonya, but Brack slid his arms beneath her first, and carried her to the gurney instead.
Waverman’s snarl hissed between them as he grabbed Brack’s arm. “That’s ridiculous. I care about her, Mister Falcon.”
Brack’s jaw tightened. He’d guessed as much. But she’d blown him off so he might be desperate for attention. He jerked his arm free from Waverman. “If you really care about her, then make sure she’s all right.” He pointed toward the door on the opposite wall of the room. “Where does that lead?”
“It’s a walk-through,” Snyder explained. “It goes into a hall that leads to X-rays and radiology.”
Brack headed toward the door, his mind spinning. What if Sonya wasn’t okay?
No, she’d been breathing…. The nurses and doctors would treat her injuries. He had to hunt her attacker. The guy could be anywhere in the hospital by now. He could be disguised, too. Maybe as a surgeon, orderly, one of the cleaning staff or a repairman.
Dammit. He’d been in the other room—if only he’d come in sooner, he might have caught the bastard.
SONYA’S LIFE flashed before her eyes as she stirred from unconsciousness. Her childhood. Her mother sewing dresses for her when she was a little girl. Her father teaching her to ride a bike. The Christmas picture of the three of them all in red and white.
The day he’d walked out and never come back.
Then meeting Stan. Falling hard and fast. Her wedding day when her mother had looked so sad. Their terrible fight.
The day she’d found out she was expecting a baby. Stan’s shocking anger at the revelation. Her own excitement. The distance that had dawned between them after that day.
Then giving birth to Katie. The pain. The fear that she wouldn’t make it. Then holding her precious little girl in her arms.
Tears trickled down her cheeks as she realized she’d almost died earlier and might have never seen Katie again.
“Sonya?”
She frowned and blinked through the fog coating her brain, then found Aaron Waverman staring down at her with concern. A nurse stood beside him, her head angled, studying her.
“How are you feeling?” Aaron asked.
“My head hurts,” she said in a croaky voice.
“Chloroform. But you’re going to be fine.”
She nodded, and he wiped the tears from her cheeks with a tissue. “Are you hurting anywhere else?”
She shook her head.
“Did you see the person who attacked you?” the nurse asked.
Sonya gulped back a sob. “No, he grabbed me from behind.”
The nurse frowned and checked the IV, and Sonya cleared her throat. “Where’s Brack?”
Aaron’s expression turned pinched. “He went to check with security. They’re searching the hospital now.” He squeezed her hands in his, and a sliver of unease tickled her spine.
“Don’t worry, Sonya, I’ll stay with you.”
Sonya bit down on her lip, praying Brack would hurry. She didn’t feel safe now, knowing that her attacker was on the loose. And she didn’t like Aaron touching her, didn’t want to give him the wrong idea.
Because the only man she wanted to be with right now, the only man she wanted to hold and comfort her, was Brack Falcon.
BRACK CONSULTED with the head security guard, who immediately issued a hospital alert and lockdown. Then he and the chief of security, Gladdon, searched several restricted corridors, service entrances and exits reserved for hospital staff.
Unfortunately they found nothing.
Finally Gladdon led Brack to their central surveillance room so they could view the security cameras. They studied the elevators and all entrances and exits, scrutinizing orderlies, doctors, nurses, delivery-and servicemen, along with paramedic teams and visitors. Unfortunately, no one stuck out as suspicious.
Damn.
“He had to leave the hospital some way,” Brack said.
“He could have hidden inside a linen cart or under a gurney,” another guard said as he viewed the tapes. “Or hell, maybe he climbed under a sheet and is pretending to be a dead body.”
Brack froze, contemplating the possibility. “We didn’t check all the body bags.”
Gladdon ordered the guard to continue watching the tapes, then they hurried back to the morgue. First they checked the body receiving room, then the neighboring one where the bodies were stored after autopsies.
“They’re transported from here to the funeral homes,” Gladdon explained. He turned to Snyder. “Is there any other exit?”
“How about the vent system?” Brack asked.
The men glanced up, but the vents were bolted by thick screws. A possibility for escape, but all the screws were clearly still in place.
The medical examiner, Snyder, tugged at his glasses. “You know there used to be an underground exit in here,” Snyder said. “It was installed as an escape route into the underground tunnels in case of a nuclear attack or leak of some kind.”
“Where is it?” Brack asked.
Snyder motioned them to one end of the morgue room where he conducted the autopsies. In the corner, a metal grate covered the floor. Brack knelt and noticed that the bolts had been removed.
He silently cursed. “You’re right. Look at his.” He snapped the metal grate off. “The attacker used it to escape. Get me a flashlight. I’m going to crawl down and look around.”
Snyder fidgeted. “The tunnels are supposedly haunted by the ghosts of those people who died from typhoid.”
Brack grimaced. He’d heard the rumors. But he refused to let gossip keep him from chasing a killer. Especially the man who’d attacked Sonya.
Gladdon handed him a small flashlight and a two-way radio, and Brack lowered himself into the hole.
As he descended the metal stairs leading downward into the tunnels, acrid smells of wastes and sewage, along with odors of decay and blood, filled his nostrils. Brack sucked in a sharp breath, forcing himself to adjust to the vile odors, then canvassed the dark space with the flashlight. His senses honed, he paused to listen for sounds of footsteps, an animal, man, anything to alert him that the tunnel was occupied.
Nothing except the hollow echo of something pinging against stone. And maybe in the far recesses, a low moan.
Ghosts of the dead? Or was someone trapped down here? Maybe the killer had left another victim in the tunnel?
Fearing the worst, he strode through the narrow tunnel of steel and stone, padding slowly so as not to alert the killer of his presence if he’d hidden inside.
He followed the hallway about a mile, then noticed a walled-off section, as if someone had blasted the room closed. Perhaps to hide or trap the bodies of the dead the town spoke of.
Left or right? He wasn’t sure which way to go. He listened and thought he detected a noise to the right, so he veered in that direction. The darkness was blinding, the odors suffocating, the small, narrow space claustrophobic.
Mice skittered through the black interior. The hiss of a snake. The pinging of water cascading down rock. He came to several more turnoffs and corners, other areas blasted shut, and realized that the tunnels were more intricate and far-reaching than he’d first thought. They comprised a maze of streets, virtually like a city underground. He also passed several rooms which held remnants of trash, food wrappers, ragged blankets and a metal barrel that looked as if it had been used for a fire. Some of the indigent and homeless must have discovered the rooms and had sought shelter in the tunnels. The people lived like moles….
An hour later, he had to face the fact that he’d lost the killer. He could be anywhere in the maze. Or already above ground. He’d discovered two—no, three—openings to the ou
tside, all which dumped a person on the edge of the town into heavily wooded areas.
He turned to head back the other way when the flutter of wings caught his eye. Suddenly a bat dove toward him. He shined the light at it and managed to fend it off, then began to jog back through the labyrinth of dark tunnels, anxious to return to Sonya.
But a sound behind him jarred him, and he pivoted. Something slammed into the back of his head—the butt of a gun, maybe? He spit out a curse and sank to his knees, fighting to stay conscious as the world disappeared into darkness.
THREE HOURS had passed. Sonya stared at the clock on the hospital wall of the ER, her throat tight with worry. She’d been treated and had insisted that she was ready to go home.
But where was Brack?
He’d been gone way too long simply to have checked the hospital. Something had happened to him. Aaron Waverman had offered to drive her to his house for the night and take care of her. But she’d declined, certain Brack would return any moment. Certain they would leave the hospital together. She’d almost died, and she wanted to hold him, forget her reservations and kiss him tonight.
Maybe even more….
Tears pricked at the backs of her eyelids. What if he was hurt? What if he needed her? What if she’d made a mistake and lost a chance to be close to someone who might really matter in her life? The heat between them had been combustible, the need she’d felt intense.
But she’d grown so accustomed to denying herself any pleasure that she’d been a martyr in a ridiculous attempt to protect herself.
Ironically, she’d fallen for him anyway.
She paced the small ER cubicle, her heart thumping wildly. There, she’d admitted it. Finally been honest with herself. She had feelings for Brack Falcon. A brooding loner who related to the very animals she’d first thought had attacked her.
The door creaked open and Brack suddenly stumbled in. He looked bleary-eyed, disoriented, and reeked of sewage and body stench. “Sonya?”
A nurse appeared and grabbed him on one side. Sonya raced to him, and braced him with her arm around his waist. “What happened?”
“I tracked him in the tunnels below the hospital. But he hit me over the head with the butt of a gun.”
“Here, sit down,” Sonya ordered.
The nurse helped her guide him to an exam table.
“Get a doctor in here, stat!” Sonya cried.
The nurse rushed to call a doctor while she coaxed Brack to lie down, then leaned over to examine the back of his head. A deep, bloody gash marked the back of his skull.
“You need stitches,” she said quietly. She brushed a strand of his hair from his forehead and their gazes locked.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She nodded. “And you’re going to be fine, too, Brack, but you may have a concussion. Just relax, and let me do my job.”
He grunted in pain or frustration, she wasn’t sure, but did as she said.
Dr. Waverman rushed into the room, and her stomach knotted, but she followed his command as he administered meds, cleaned and stitched Brack’s head wound.
How could she do anything else? After all, she had to trust him this time.
But for some reason, she sensed Aaron was less than happy at Brack’s return.
He wouldn’t have followed Brack into the tunnel and assaulted him because he sensed they were getting close, would he?
No, he had been in the ER. But then he had left for a while, and she hadn’t seen him the last hour….
BRACK’S HEAD hurt like the devil, but his pride smarted even more. He couldn’t believe this killer had gotten the drop on him once again. And now having Waverman treat him was like another slap in his face.
Sonya squeezed his hand as Waverman focused on the last stitch, and he pressed her hand to his thigh, feeling connected in a way that made his chest tighten. He’d been pissed when he’d regained consciousness in that tunnel, but his fear for Sonya had forced him to drag himself up and slog the mile back to the hospital.
Dr. Waverman finished the last suture. “You should spend the night, let us watch you for a concussion.”
“No way.” Brack dropped his feet to the floor and stood, determined to prove he’d regained control.
Sonya gripped him by the arm. “Brack, maybe you should listen.”
He angled his head toward her. “No. But if you need to rest, I’ll stay here and guard your door.”
“I’m fine,” Sonya insisted.
Waverman made a disgusted sound. Sonya thanked him, and the tension thickened as she assisted Brack out the door. “You didn’t get a look at him?” Sonya asked as they wove their way to his SUV.
“No. It was too dark.” He pulled away and unlocked the door, but she insisted on driving again. He didn’t argue. His head was still swimming, and he felt disoriented from the meds.
Inside, the vehicle seemed small and steamy as she cranked up the heater and guided the SUV from the hospital parking lot.
“What did you find underground?” Sonya asked.
“A whole series of tunnels.” Brack leaned against the back of the seat. “They’re spread underground like a small city. Some areas have been blasted shut. I’m assuming that’s where those bodies were buried years ago. And there were a couple of areas where it appears that the homeless have taken up residence.”
Sonya gaped at him. “Maybe the sounds we’ve heard aren’t ghosts but people walking around down there.”
“It’s possible. I found a couple of openings leading above ground, too. They dump you out at the edge of wooded areas.”
“You think this guy probably escaped through one of those?”
Brack nodded. “Stop by your house and pack some things, Sonya. You’re staying with me until we catch this guy.”
The fact that she didn’t argue made him realize she must be truly scared this time. She should be. This psycho had come too close to killing them both.
Anger surged through Brack at the thought.
The tires churned on the icy asphalt but Sonya managed the turns with ease, then parked in front of her house. He checked the exterior, then strode inside and scoped out the house before he allowed her entry. She rushed inside and packed a bag, and within minutes, they arrived at Falcon Ridge.
Knowing she had been attacked earlier made him hyperaware of his surroundings, and he scanned the perimeter of Falcon Ridge as he climbed from the SUV. Thankful for the state-of-the-art security system Rex had installed, he opened the door and they entered together.
He built a fire, then turned to her, the fear he’d experienced when he’d first found her on the floor of the morgue clawing at his sanity. But he couldn’t touch her. He smelled like sewage and sweat and blood. “I’m going to clean up. If you want to do the same, you can use the extra room where you stayed the other night.” He removed the key from the hook on the wall and laid it on the table between them. The last time he’d done so, she’d locked the door, shutting him out.
She stared at it for a long minute, then left it lying on the table and walked up the stairs. He watched her, his heart pumping wildly at the realization that she trusted him now.
But what would she say if he came to her bedroom? Would she welcome his touch? Would she turn him away?
His body knotted with turmoil, he stripped, climbed into the shower and scrubbed his body, careful of the fresh stitches, then stood and let the hot water beat away the tension throbbing through him. The adrenaline that had driven him through the tunnel until he found Sonya safe in the hospital had waned, and in its place desire for her simmered below the surface.
Temptation ripped at his nerve endings. She had left the key on the table. He’d seen a second of hunger flare in her eyes. Would she let him love her tonight?
He closed his eyes and envisioned her standing next to him. Saw her naked body with water cascading over her curves. The subtle play of light and shadow dancing off her soft skin. His body hardened and pulsed with need.
He
wanted her so badly he physically ached. Wanted to hold her and love her and make her his in every way.
“Brack?”
He jerked his eyes open. Through the frosted shower door, he saw her standing inside the bathroom doorway. She wore a long silky robe, and her hair lay in loose waves around her shoulders. God…she was so damn sexy. “Sonya?”
“I was worried about you,” she said softly. “You’ve been in here a long time.”
His tongue felt too thick to talk. Desire raged inside his blood as he contemplated dragging her into the shower with him.
It took every ounce of his willpower to resist.
He rinsed the soap from his body, then grabbed a towel and dried off quickly. Willing himself to move with caution, he wrapped the towel around his waist, then stepped onto the bath mat. Unfortunately, he inhaled her scent, and his sex thickened and jutted below the towel.
He tensed, hoping he wouldn’t frighten her with his obvious desire, but they both might have died tonight and he desperately wanted to touch her.
NERVES PINGED inside Sonya as Brack stepped from the shower. Water droplets clung to his dark hair, and the moisture glistening on his chest painted his bronzed skin in a golden glow. His eyes skated over her, and beneath her thin robe her body responded as if he’d touched her with his bare hands. He was so tall, imposing, darkly handsome—irresistible.
He wanted her, too. Raw hunger and heat darkened his eyes, and his arousal pulsed thick and big beneath the towel. Her nipples budded to stiff peaks, begging for his touch. His mouth. Warmth pooled in her belly, and her legs wobbled as if they might buckle. She’d never craved a man as she did him.
“Sonya?” He stalked toward her, dragged her into his arms, and molded her mouth to his.
She sank against him, gripped his bare arms with shaky fingers and opened to him, savoring the potent hunger firing his kiss.
He tasted like man, wild and primitive, solid and comforting, bold yet tender. He ran his fingers through her hair, then lower over her shoulders, then he slid one palm over her breast. She whimpered and clung to him, a desperate need building inside her as he traced a finger over her aching nipple. His low moan stirred her passion, and she raked her hands over his broad back, pulling him closer, urging him to take more. He groaned and slid the robe down her shoulders then let it fall into a puddle at her feet. His hands roamed over her back, her waist. Then he cupped her hips and pulled her into him so his erection brushed her thighs. Erotic sensations zinged through her, mind-numbing and exhilarating. He felt thick, hard, strong, powerful, needy. She wanted him inside her.
