His gut steeled with a double-clutch at the thought of just how damn long it had actually taken. “They found me dumped in an alley, a couple days and a lot of beatings later.”
She’d started to fidget. Grabbed a soda from the fridge. Took a few sips before she sat it on the counter and turned back to face him. “Go on.”
He gulped his second glass of water down. Filled it again. Rechecked to make sure the listening device on the counter was working.
How far should he go with this story? He’d always tried to protect her from the bad things in life. Never wanted to hurt her more than her father’s death and his career choice had already done.
Everyone had said she was fragile. To work around her childhood trauma. But he knew she could be strong when she needed to be. Otherwise, she’d never have made it through the case studies in college to become a counselor. Maybe he’d been wrong to not at least give her a chance to prove how strong she was to herself. Time to give her that chance.
She rolled her hands at him. “I said go on. Don’t worry, I’m okay.”
He braced his hands on either side of her as she once again leaned back against the counter. Stared her in her eyes. “They tossed me in a dark closet and brought me out every few hours to pelt me some more. I fought back. They didn’t like that, so they smashed my hand with a two-by-four. Tossed me back in the closet. I fought back again, so they smashed the other hand.”
She cringed.
He managed a light laugh. “No big wup.”
Gulping down the third glass of water, he realized the toll this telling was taking on him. “The next time I fought back, they started with the knife across my belly until one of them reminded the others that their boss didn’t want me killed.”
She’d pulled her eyes away from his stare. He should stop, but he couldn’t. She’d been right about this being hard for him, so they needed to walk through this together.
He tugged her into his arms and held her tight. “Every time things got bad, I thought of you, sugar. Of the good times we used to have.”
“Really?”
“Really.” Truth was she’d been what made him keep getting up off the floor to throw one more punch. Take one more breath in the cold darkness. Her. He’d have been hard-pressed to come out alive without their memories. “Made it easier thinking about you. The way you look first thing in the morning. Those mewy little sounds you make while you sleep. And your jasmine-scented hair.”
Twining his fingers in the soft strands, he nuzzled his nose against her ear. Lowered his lips to hers and kissed. One long, tender kiss.
She kissed back. Soft and light and sure. Then stared him in his eyes once again. “And the brand?”
He cricked his neck, lifted his eyes to the ceiling, and sucked in a deep breath. That had been bad. A breaking point. “The last time they opened the closet door, they said I’d be happy to know they had their final orders. Come on out, I was going for a ride. I tried to get to my feet, but stumbled getting up. They pulled me out. Held me down on a table. The jerk whose nose I’d broke the day before kept tossing my badge in the air. Then he snapped it into some pliers and held it over a candle flame.”
Feeling in his gut what had been about to happen, he’d focused on a water stain in the ceiling. Focused and focused and focused till he passed out from the pain of the brand. “And the rest is history, as they say.”
She kissed the mark, then eased her hands back around his neck. Caressed the tension from his shoulders. Trailed her finger back down his chest. God, he loved the feel of that. Back to where they’d started, he slipped his hands up under her sweater. She felt good and warm and—
The phone rang.
The listening device on the counter beeped. The bright red light flashed.
The world grabbed them back.
Chapter Seventeen
Marcy slumped against JB as he lowered her to her feet. He pointed to the device and put a finger in front of his lips, then reached for the phone. She knew to stay quiet as he played the phone call con that had been planned.
“Yeah, we plan on being at the party tomorrow afternoon.” JB pointed to the shirt he tossed in the corner, then covered the receiver as if it were a normal conversation. “Hey, Marcy, what are we taking to the barbeque?”
“Deviled eggs?” She could barely get the words out without her voice trembling. Setup routines might come easy to law enforcement folks, but she was a novice. Lying seemed ten times more difficult than telling the truth.
Especially when her mind was still trying to wrap itself around the torture he’d endured. She’d tried to listen as his wife, but then there was the moment when the pain had become too much to handle. Was then that she’d almost switched to her counselor mode, put up her shield of protection. But, she hadn’t…she hadn’t. She swiped her hand across her cheek. She would not cry. Would not let him know she might not be able to handle them being together for the long haul.
She tugged on the bottom of her sweater. Stuffed her bra in the pocket of her jeans. The implication of the past few minutes flew from her core to her brain and back again. He wanted her. They might be dead before morning, but skimming her fingers across the tanned hardness of JB’s chest had been ecstasy. Pure need, want, and lust ecstasy. That she wanted to finish.
Instead, she picked up his shirt and stood quietly beside him in the kitchen.
“…yeah, she said deviled eggs. I’ll bring a cooler of beer, too. What time?” JB pulled her against him and encircled his arm around her shoulders. “Two sounds great.”
How would she ever get through this? A shiver took her, and he squeezed her tighter.
“Yeah, it’s been a long day. Think we’re gonna turn in early tonight.” His cheek rested on the top of her head. “We’ll be there. See you tomorrow.”
He locked the key pad, powered off the phone, and shoved it in his pocket. They clung to each other for a brief moment, which ended in one long kiss before they broke apart. After pulling his black, thermal shirt back on, he strapped the Kevlar vest in place. He double-tied his boots, checked the back-up gun on his inner, left ankle, and strapped the knife holster on the upper part of his inner, right calf. The knife thingy was new, like the scars on his chest and the brand.
Where had he been the past few years? What had he done? She wanted to know, yet part of her didn’t. She figured he’s share what he wanted, when he wanted. Following his advice to be his wife, not his counselor, was exactly what she planned to do. She’d listen with love whenever he decided to talk…even if it was years from now. No more counseling techniques would float between the two of them.
She watched as if a moviegoer at the cinema. The film an action-adventure flick. The hero hot and dangerous. The woman in trouble and willing. Together, they’d run the gamut and come out in each other’s arms by the time the credits rolled. Only two things wrong. This wasn’t a movie. And the credits might be their obituaries.
He cupped her face in his palms as he kissed her one more time. Her fingertips stroked his cheeks. Tender and deep, their kiss sealed their commitment to stay alive.
Holding her hand, he walked to the hallway. “You about ready for bed, sugar?”
She nodded. He pointed to his mouth for her to talk.
Stretching, she stepped into the bedroom, then crossed to the bathroom. “I’ll be there in a sec.”
“Good. I’ll lock up and get the lights. Meet you in bed.” JB headed to the living room to make the round of typical get-ready-for-bed sounds.
Thinking to the upcoming run and the cold weather, Marcy scurried to the toilet. Once finished, she opened the door, and the nightlight’s soft glow illuminated enough for her to see what looked like two people snuggled in bed. She jerked on an intake of fearful breath before JB pulled her to the side and covered her mouth with his hand. Pillows…he’d scrunched pillows in bed.
Next, he bundled her in his down-filled parka she kept in their closet. After she pulled a pair of ear warmers on, he
topped them with a ski hat, and finally, she tugged on her wool gloves. She realized the temperature would have dropped outside since the sun went down. Plus, the weather forecast had been for a cold front to move through sometime in the next few days. After JB pushed thermal gloves over her wool ones, she figured he planned on a blizzard overnight.
Back in the truck, before they came inside, when she asked him why they couldn’t stay at the house and wait for the creep to make his move, JB said this looked like a highly professional job. Staying at the house to see what might happen was a risk he wouldn’t take with her life. Hopefully, the police would nab the guy, and they’d be back by noon tomorrow. If not, they’d be safe somewhere else.
She’d understood. For the first time, she also understood that if it wasn’t for him protecting her, he’d be hell-bent on finishing the job himself. Maybe her needing protection meant safety for him. She planned to keep that thought until a better one popped into her mind.
“Snuggle on over here, Marcy. Get yourself warm.” The rehearsed dialogue rolled off his tongue.
“No. I’m fine on my side.” Her mind raced to remember what came next.
“Well, I do mind. Now snuggle up, I’m cold. Good night, Marcy.”
She fake-giggled. “Good night, JB.”
He tugged her down the hallway, their footsteps quiet on the carpet. Role play finished at the guest room window as he donned a pair of night-vision goggles. Then he fitted her with a pair right before he lifted their backpacks, opened the window, and dropped them to the ground. He lowered himself out the window.
Leaves crunched to the back of the house. He plastered himself to the wall like a sticker on a notebook, then dropped to the ground. Flat on his belly against the dirt, legs spread, boots dug in, gun drawn and aimed, he was in combat mode. Ready to shoot, run, or fend off attack.
All she could do was wait inside, peek over the window sill, and listen. She knelt, leaving her gloved hand on the sill. After a few more crunches that sounded more like a scampering possum, his hand covered hers and tugged. She climbed out into his waiting arms. He positioned her backpack and locked it in place, then tweaked her nose with his finger, grinning as he settled his own pack in place.
For having her bundled for extreme cold, he looked casual in his clothes, except she knew the Glock and holster were strapped over his shoulder out of view. Knew they both had on Kevlar vests. Once she touched him, though, she felt the softness of layers of sweaters beneath the light jacket, coupled with the thermal wear she’d seen when he raised his jeans to position the knife on his calf. He’d stay warm.
He’d mentioned he needed to be able to react hard and fast. Fingerless gloves and lack of a hat caught her attention. The gloves she understood for the gun, the knife, but he should wear his hat. She pointed to her own then him. He shook his head, pointed to his ears and the surroundings. She got it…he needed to hear.
Again, the crunch of leaves. This time from the front of the house. He tensed and spun in that direction, gun raised, finger on the trigger.
Her heart rate notched up as fear grazed her senses. She’d heard people in counseling talk about the taste of fear. Until now, she hadn’t known what such a thing would taste like. Now she did. Not so good. Wouldn’t be easy to forget. Her breathing jumped into overdrive as she tried to ignore the vile taste permeating her senses. She had to get her control back. The last thing he needed was for her to hyperventilate.
JB pushed her back and stepped in front of her. Held his hand for her not to move. The rocker on the front porch squeaked with movement. Wind? Was there enough to move the chair? More crisp, brittle sounds of breaking, dried leaves littering the ground.
He tugged her close behind him and edged to the corner of the house. Flattening herself to the siding, she tried to blend in with her dark coat and gloves. He’d made sure neither of them had any light color clothing on. He inched a small corner mirror out in front of him. She glanced over his arm to see the reflection. Nothing.
Turning back to her, he holstered the gun. Evidently, he thought it was nothing more than the wind.
She looped her thumbs under the backpack straps across her chest. That had been their I’m-ready-to-go signal years ago when she’d gone hunting with him. He did the same with his, then turned and headed in a low crouch to the tree line. She followed close behind.
Her vision focused, cleared, and she stumbled, crashing into him. He turned, catching her with one arm, then jerked his eyes to the left. The semi-automatic strapped to his thigh was in his hand before she realized JB had moved. The one she thought of as his SWAT gun. Her heart raced, pounding fast and heavy. He never wore that unless the situation was wild. Unpredictable. Dangerous beyond dangerous.
And, she’d never seen him pull it…until now.
He pushed her in front of him, then turned and walked backwards behind her.
The taste in her mouth deepened. What the hell had he seen?
Patting her coat pocket to make sure her own gun was still there, the enormity of their situation bombarded her. After about twenty steps, he motioned her to stop. She steadied herself and stood beside him. Ready and waiting to follow his order. He nodded and hooked his thumbs under his straps—she did the same.
They moved forward as one as the woods closed in behind them.
Chapter Eighteen
JB flipped the image through his mind as he shortened his strides so Marcy could keep up. What had zipped around the back of their house as he turned to catch her? A fat raccoon? A wolf? Or something more ominous? Maybe a shadow, nothing else. A shadow. His gut instinct warned otherwise. As professional as the hits had been so far, the perp wouldn’t chance entering the house before the people inside had a chance to fall asleep. He would wait. Wait until they were sound asleep, then charge in to wreak his chaos.
The couple trekked through the trees and brush, downed limbs tangled in mud from tiny hillside rivulets. A slight mist of rain helped cushion the sound of their footsteps on the fallen leaves. The hike stayed uneventful. He stopped, pointed to a few deer making their way through the night, trying to stay warm. For an instant, it seemed like old times. He heard her breathing lessen just a bit. A shared moment, fingertips, and a memory. Then the moment passed, and they trudged on through the darkness of the forest.
The sound of a truck revving its engine signaled him they were close to the next leg of their journey. He tucked her close behind him until glimpses of the road ahead flickered through the brush. They crept to the edge of the tree line. The truck idled close to a hundred feet down the gravel road. Inching through the cover of trees and darkness, he positioned them straight across from their ride. His mind, eyes, and instincts sharpened to the surroundings. Was this the right truck? The right driver? Or, had someone else come? Figured everything out?
A lighter flickered in the driver’s area. First time got his attention. Second time, he got enough of a look at the man behind the wheel to risk their lives. Marcy leaned into JB as he pointed to the open, passenger door on the rear cab of the truck. Interior lights dark, only a small, directed, pin-sized glow of light beamed from the floor bed.
“When we break the trees, all you have to do is get in the back seat. I’ll be right behind you.” He tightened his fingers around the sleeve of her coat. “Understand?”
She nodded. “Are you sure it’s Cain?”
“Yeah.” At least he hoped the driver was Cain. If JB’s instincts had been wrong in trusting the man, then it wouldn’t matter, because their lives wouldn’t be worth the price of a bullet.
“Are you sure?” She glanced at the truck and back to him, her eyes wide with fear.
Ignoring her question, he eased his Glock from the shoulder holster, and then hung his arm back down his side, finger on the trigger. “Get ready.”
Grasping the straps, she hefted her backpack further up on her shoulders, the look on her face focused and intent. He looked behind them one last time and scanned right, front, left.
> Up the road, headlights beamed in the distance, growing in size. The man in the truck jumped out, ran around the back side, a shadow of a pistol in his hand. JB shoved Marcy to the ground and crouched beside her. Looked like Cain’s build. Who was behind the wheel of the approaching car, though?
JB handed Marcy the Glock and released the semi-automatic from his thigh. If he was wrong, they’d need everything he had. There’d be no time to run. No time to disappear. No time to think. Reaction meant everything. Would his timing be better than the perp’s?
The man stopped by the back fender. Headlights closed on the scene. Marcy shivered as she braced on her elbows, gun focused straight ahead and tight in her grip. JB locked the semi-automatic’s handle into place, ready to fire. Didn’t matter who heard the click. Too late for stealth.
“Hold where you are.” Cain’s voice rasped. “I got this covered.”
The car pulled to a stop along the truck. “Car trouble?”
Cain wandered back around the rear fender, zipping, readjusting his pants, his coat. “No. That last beer made a beeline straight through. Had to stop for a nature call.”
A man’s laugh floated through the air. “Been there.”
“Thanks for stopping, though.”
The car drove away, the taillights disappearing around a bend in the road. Cain jumped in the driver’s seat and started the truck.
“Now.” JB tugged Marcy upward.
She ran to the open doorway and launched inside. He braced himself as he landed on her a second later. The truck was moving before he got the door slammed.
Settling to the passenger side floor bed, JB motioned Marcy to the other side. “Who was that?”
Risk of a Lifetime Page 15
