“Maybe I can help you with a head injury, it’s the least I could do,” Tate said cupping Fiona’s breast. She leaned her head back into him and raised her arms to run her fingers through his hair. Everything he did just made her want him more.
“What can we do for you?” Tate asked nipping at her ear.
“There’s a guy downstairs who says Edgar sent him,” Liam began.
“Rensselaer? Tall bugger, gingernut?” Tate said. “Don’t get any ideas, love, you are mine.” She giggled as he spoke quietly in her ear, still holding her close, his fingers running the length of her torso, making her feel wonderful.
“That’s him, carry on,” he said and closed the door. When she and Tate finally came down stairs Liam had already left, and she couldn’t blame him. She wasn’t looking forward to seeing him, either.
Later, as she stared at the work of her students, reading the same line over and over, she realized that she was completely unable to concentrate. Tate Dylan monopolized her thoughts. She had thought she was over-sensitized when she went to Thanksgiving dinner, but after a night of extraordinary sex, she was way past over-sensitized and slipping into semi-shock. Like a high school freshman, she was almost giddy when she thought of how he made her feel.
That was not the first time Tate made her feel like a kid, and he was twelve years older than she was. The thought of his endearing smile made her grin to herself as she stood and stretched and made her way back to the kitchen to make tea. She filled the kettle with enough water so if Rensselaer wanted some, it would be hot for him. She didn’t know where he was, he was not a chatty fellow. She leaned against the table and looked at her small back yard. The bird feeder was empty, and there was a white plastic bag caught in the branch of her dogwood, flapping in the breeze.
Finding the tin of thistle seed she opened the back door to her garden. It was chillier than it had been the past few days, and she thought to get this done quickly since she hadn’t grabbed a jacket. She put the tin on the patio table and pried it open and scooped the seed up and poured it into the feeder. She heard a shrill whining sound and realized her kettle was hot, but the plastic bag in the dogwood was going to bother her so she pulled the patio chair over to a spot underneath it and stepped up, snatching it from the bare branch.
Without fully understanding what had happened, she suddenly found herself bent over a broad shoulder and being taken at a brisk pace to the far gate in the fence, easily snatched from the patio chair as the bag was from the tree. She pounded ineffectually at the man’s shoulder, and screamed for all she was worth.
“Freeze,” she heard someone say as she took a breath, she lifted her head and there stood Rensselaer in a stance she’d seen in every cop movie, legs shoulder distance apart, gun in both hands leveled on the man who held her. The man holding her stopped, turned quickly, and she heard the gunshots, and watched the surreal image of bright yellow chrysanthemums flying up her too quickly to track, she could only put her hands out to meet them.
The next thing she knew, Sam was lifting her up in the same fashion, slung over his broad shoulder and bounced her into the house, stepping over Rensselaer who was cupping his bloody abdomen and looking very pained. It would piss her off later that this seemed to be the preferred method of getting her from A to B, but right then it was all happening too fast to realize it bothered her.
“Stop Sam, don’t leave him,” she said but Sam ignored her. He tossed her down on her kitchen floor like the sack of potatoes she had imagined herself to be and thrust a phone at her.
“Stay down. Call 911. Do it!” He handed her a small pistol from his boot. “Shoot anybody you don’t know,” he said and went back out for Rensselaer. He moved swiftly and had Rensselaer back inside with the door locked by the time a dispatcher was on the line. She explained her situation to the dispatcher while Sam administered first aid to Rensselaer. Oh God, she didn’t even know his first name and she may have gotten him killed. She reached up and turned off the heat under the screaming kettle and there was a collective sigh. That was when she realized she still held the plastic bag in the same hand she held Sam’s gun.
“Thanks,” Rensselaer said weakly. She nodded.
“Towels,” Sam said and she scuttled off to the bathroom and grabbed a couple and brought them back. “Hold this here, just like that, be firm, don’t worry about hurting him, he’s a Marine.” Sam smiled at her. She vaguely remembered Sam had been Army. Sam got up and stepped to the window and looked out. “Stay here, Fiona.” He watched her nod and went to the front of the house to look for bad guys, she guessed.
“How are you holding up?” Rensselaer asked her and she laughed.
“Me? I’m fine. Are you okay?” He shrugged.
“I’ve been hit worse.”
“I didn’t even think, I’m so sorry. You could have been killed because of a plastic bag.”
“I almost said ‘there are worse reasons,’ but there really aren’t, that would be the worst,” he said a little raggedly and grinned at her. She laughed. He was in so much pain and he was making an effort to get her to laugh.
“Thank you for stopping him. I don’t even know your first name.”
“Karl. You sure you’re okay? I don’t want Tate kicking my ass.”
“Please stop asking, you’re making me feel ridiculous,” she said and he smiled at her. Sam came back in and knelt next to Karl putting his fingers on his neck.
“You’re gonna be fine, man,” Sam said. He looked at Fiona and reached for the gun she held with a white knuckle grip and tucked it safely away. “Ambulance just pulled up with a pretty little EMT.” He hopped back up and went to the door just as the doorbell rang. There was a flurry of activity, through which Sam kept physical contact with Fiona. “I’ll take you in the car when the police are done out there,” he pointed at the body in the backyard.
“Okay, thanks.” The police had been alerted to the attack the day before and had increased their rounds in the area. A second ambulance was called when they realized the man in the backyard was still alive. Fiona started to feel very cold again, and stood in front of the fireplace hugging herself.
Sam waited with her in the living room and took her hand. “You’re not gonna go into shock or anything, are you?” She hissed when his hand touched hers. They were ragged from catching her fall.
“No. Will Karl be okay?”
“Sure, no arteries, no organs, the resilience of youth, he’ll be fine. You wanna go?”
“Yes,” she said and he put her in the SUV in her driveway and drove at a nearly stately pace to the hospital. He called Liam on the way and explained what happened.
They hurried and then they waited. Liam burst into the waiting room after maybe thirty minutes of waiting and held Fiona to him.
“More years off my life, Fifi, you’re killing me.”
“I’m fine, Liam. Please don’t fuss,” she said and Liam looked her in the eyes.
“You’re not fine.” He looked at her bandaged hands and she pulled them away and crossed her arms.
“You’re right, I’m not fine. I feel like I’m causing a lot of pain and misery,” she motioned to where she imagined the surgery was. “That guy’s just a kid, he didn’t sign up for this, he’s a bodyguard for a rock band, for God’s sake, and I’ve gotten him mixed up in this; whatever this is. He never signed up for this.” She was pretty sure she just repeated herself.
There was a loud commotion down the hall and both Liam and Sam moved in front of Fiona when Tate burst past the nurse’s station into the waiting room and made directly for Fiona.
He buried his face in her hair and held her to him so tightly she could scarcely breathe. He pulled away and felt for injury, and looked into her face.
“I’m fine,” she let one tear slide down her cheek. He looked closely at her and ended up at her hands. “They’re fine.”
“Physically, maybe, but you’re angry as hell,” he said and Liam got a little angry. Tate saw her, he really understood, and Liam wanted t
o hate him, but he was making that very difficult.
“Rensselaer?” Tate looked at Liam.
“In surgery, shot in the abdomen,” Sam said.
Tate pulled her close again and moved off to the uncomfortable chairs with Fiona and held her in his lap. “Edgar gets notified when his people are hurt, and he called me at the studio. He didn’t know anything, just that Rensselaer was hurt. You didn’t answer your phone and I didn’t know anything, Fi. I’ve never been more frightened in my life.” He pushed her hair from her face tenderly and she closed her eyes at the contact, letting the soothing pleasure wash over her. She put her head on his shoulder and let him hold her, cradled in his lap.
“Thanks for coming,” she said quietly.
“Of course I bloody came, love,” he said.
Connor strode into the room and all eyes but Tate’s and Fiona’s tracked him, he was that kind of man. With a glance he had Liam and Sam join him where Tate sat with Fiona.
“Ordinarily I’d let you be,” Connor said to her. “But you’ve involved my people now, and I need to know what the fuck is going on before anything else happens.” Fiona cringed and tried to sit up but Tate held her still.
“She’s one of your people now, you bloody gobshite.” Tate said. Connor looked him over.
“That wasn’t entirely unexpected.” He looked at Liam. “Who are these people, what do they want with her, and how do I keep mine safe?”
“I can’t tell you that information,” Liam said.
“Like hell you can’t,” Connor stood to his full height, which was not even an inch more than Liam’s.
“My fiancé stole diamonds, they think I have them,” Fiona said.
“Fiancé?” Connor said.
“Diamonds?” Tate said.
“Fiona!” Liam said.
“Have you got them?” Tate asked.
“No, I’d give them back, I don’t want them. I don’t even want the one he gave me.”
“He gave you one?” Liam said.
“The ring, the engagement ring,” she sounded miserable.
“Where’s your fiancé now, lass?” Connor asked her as he gave Tate an exasperated look.
“He was killed in France a few months ago. Until Friday I thought it was just a matter of his being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but Liam told me the rest of it then.”
Connor looked at Tate. “You knew about the fiancé?”
“Aye, she told me that on Thanksgiving, trying to keep me at bay. As if. The diamonds are new, though.” Fiona looked at him and seemed to come to a decision.
“You all need to be safe, and that means staying away from me until this is settled.” She struggled to get out of Tate’s embrace. “Let me go, Tate.” It was said quietly and he released her, not wanting anymore fingers bruising her lovely skin. She stood a little unsteadily.
“I’m not going anywhere, Fi,” he said moving forward in his chair.
“Yes, you are.” She looked at Connor for help. “You are going to New York for your thing with Johnny Fallon, and then you’re going back to Ireland. It’s been fun and all. Call me next time you’re in DC, and maybe we can hook up again.”
Tate stood up and grinned at her. “Jimmy Fallon, love. I’m glad ye’ve got a day job, because you’d be dreadful at treading the boards.”
“I don’t even know what that means,” she said so close to tears she felt her lip quiver. Tate hugged her again.
“Ah, Fi.”
“Your acting, love, it’s rubbish,” Connor said. “Look, I’m not about splitting you up, I’m trying to keep my family safe, and now it would appear that Sarah Bernhardt here is now a part of it.” Tate grinned at him over her head. “So gentlemen, Sarah, what’s it to be?”
“Rensselaer shot the man who tried to snatch Fiona, he’s in surgery, too. He will be questioned when he’s conscious,” Liam said. “We’ll have more information at that time.”
“Will there be a guard on him?” Connor asked.
“Yes, we do know what we’re doing.” Liam gave him a scathing look.
“Which brings me to my next question,” Connor glared at Liam. “Just who the hell are you?” Fiona pulled away from Tate to hear his response.
“Liam McBride, I’m with the State Department, I’m one of the conflict diamond guys,” Liam said. “I’m also Fiona’s brother.” Connor’s eyes went wide as he looked from Fiona to Liam. They were night and day. She looks more like me than him, he thought and his eyes went even wider as he thought it. She does look like me. He wondered if Tate had seen it yet.
“Connor Damon,” he took Liam’s hand. Inside Liam was screaming like a little fan girl, but on the outside he was remarkably cool.
“I’m sorry about your man, Rensselaer,” he said instead of “I’m a big fan.”
“Thank you, you wouldn’t think it’d be so bloody hard to keep our women safe,” Connor rolled his eyes.
“This happens a lot?”
“Far too often,” Connor said, once was far too often.
“I always figured you were CIA,” Fiona said and Liam scoffed. Tate just brought her close again and Connor had to look away so as not to laugh. Tate had it bad, and he completely understood, but he never thought the day would dawn when Tate Dylan fixated on one woman. If Fiona doesn’t get him killed, this fixation will make Christie very happy.
“You might know my wife’s father, Alasdair Fleming,” Connor said and Liam’s eyes went round. Tate thought that was the first time Liam had even remotely resembled Fiona, she did that same thing with her lovely eyes. He took her hand and led her back to the chair. Connor sat, too, but Sam and Liam remained standing.
“Only by reputation,” he said.
Connor took a deep breath and let it out through his nose. He turned to Fiona. “Will you be joining us in New York? It might throw the diamond people off, and Tate will be happier for it.”
“I have to teach tomorrow. I can see cancelling class for a few days, but not if I go up to New York with my rock star boyfriend. That won’t float.”
“I’m going to have Edgar put a man on Tess, just to be safe. I’ve some pull with the State Department, aye? We can keep Fiona safe, mate,” he said to Tate. “Excuse me while I make a call. I can feel my wife’s anxiety from here.” He stood and walked away from them.
His first call was to his wife. “Connor,” Genna breathed into the phone.
“Karl’s still in surgery, he was shot in the abdomen. Fiona’s fine, a little shaken, though, and Tate’s in love, believe it or not,” he said succinctly.
“Will Karl be okay? Is there any news yet?”
“Nothing yet, my love. Is your da home yet?”
“No, do you have his number?”
“Yes,” he said and she knew enough not to ask too much about it. “I’m putting security on Tess, love. And tonight you, and the boys are going home, I need you out of the line of fire, aye?”
“We’ll discuss that when you get back,” she said and he exhaled loudly. “When are you getting back? I miss you.”
“Genna, I can’t bear it if you’re hurt, you and the babe.”
“Come to me, Connor.” She was his own personal siren.
“Yes, I’ll leave here in ten minutes or so. And Genna, lock the doors. I need you to be dog wide.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Oh, sorry. Be very careful, my love.”
“You’re frightening me.”
“Good.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too. I’ll be home soon. Bye.” He was not going to underestimate the criminal element again, he nearly lost the person he loved most the last time he did that. Tess could easily be used as bait if the diamond people knew what she meant to Fiona. She’d have a bodyguard if it bloody killed him. As for the boys and his wife, they’d be under his protection and that of his retinue, but it was time to get out of town and back home where the local law enforcement was run by the next door neighbor.
Connor strode back to Tate and Fiona.
“I’m off, and I think you should go home. Edgar’s coming in with Piper, they’ll take the next watch with Karl and let us know as soon as they know something. I’ll have Mikey come round and pick you up tomorrow morning, the flight’s at 11:55. Be ready at 9:30. Christie has packed your things.” Tate nodded. Connor looked at them both. “Try to get some sleep, you look like extras in The Walking Dead.” He chuckled.
“He’s right, let’s go, we’re both knackered,” Tate said and nodded to Liam. “Who’s coming with us?”
“We both are,” Liam said and led the way out the door. Tate put his jacket over Fiona’s shoulders and she looked adoringly into his face as camera flashes fried her eyeballs. She stumbled, suddenly unable to see, but Tate had her firmly around the waist.
“Connor, Connor, Tate,” the photographers shouted to them. Fiona looked shell shocked, but Connor and Tate merely walked swiftly to the car.
“I can only say that one of our security lads is in surgery right now from a gunshot wound. You know as much as we do. I won’t say any more about it until his family have been informed, aye?” Connor said as he plowed through the crowd and opened the car door for Fiona.
“Who shot him?” One reporter shouted.
“Who’s the girl?” Another reporter shouted.
Connor looked affectionately at Fiona. She looked exceptionally tiny in Tate’s coat, and Tate wasn’t a big man. He closed the door on Fiona and Tate, tapped the roof and turned to the crowd.
“That’s all I will say to ye now, lads. One of ours is hurt and we’re grieving, leave us be.”
Connor then climbed into his own hired car amid camera flashes to get home to his wife.
***
An hour later Fiona and Tate were lying in her tub, her back was across his chest and he clung to her. Tate had received word that Rensselaer was out of surgery, but Fiona’s guilt was overwhelming her. He talked her into a relaxing bath and found that he could lie in a tub with her all day, he’d never felt so at ease with a woman. He liked how their bodies fit together, and how her small nipples poked out of the water and her breasts floated around with only the slightest movement of the water. He liked the look of his darker hand splayed out on her fairer skin, rough against smooth, man against woman, the yin and the yang. He liked just about everything to do with Fiona Brooks. After a long while Tate spoke.
Bassist Instinct (The Rocker Series #2) Page 16
