Risk of a Lifetime

by Claudia Shelton

  She worked the rope on the final line. If she could get free, then Wilson would follow her. If she didn’t, he’d finish JB. She worked her fingers through the tight knot.

  Wilson jerked, facing the dock as he smashed the sharp end of the poker downward.

  She squinted to see if the blow had connected with JB but couldn’t tell. He hadn’t moved. What did that mean? Was he unconscious? Dead? He couldn’t be. This couldn’t be the end. Not like this.

  Wilson never looked down to see if he landed his blow as he yelled with rage. Livid, he threw the poker at her. The iron plummeted onto the ground and tumbled end over end into the lake. Suddenly, he staggered. Fell. Had JB jerked on the man’s legs?

  Wilson regained his footing, stumbled again, then hollering like a crazed man with no other words, he charged down the hill.

  Sinister. Loathing. Rage.

  He’d gone mad. All her analyzing in the world wouldn’t get her out of this. If he got to her, he’d kill her. And, JB? If he was still alive, Wilson would go back and finish him off after he finished with her.

  She struggled with the knot, her fingers scraping against the dry hemp. Hard and brittle, yet set like cement in the twines of the knot. Her hand slipped. Blade-like strands of rope sliced her fingers. Blood coated her hands, the rope. She fought to ignore her reaction to the sight. Fought to push the nausea aside. Widened her eyes to battle the lightheadedness.

  The closer he came, the more his face snarled with hate. Then he stopped. Glanced over his shoulder at JB.

  Crazed laughter escaped from Wilson’s mouth. “Too bad JB’s gone on to his maker.” He turned back to face her, laughing even louder. “Maybe I’ll just take you with me to South America. Shouldn’t take long to convince you to cozy up to me. Do what I say…when I say…how I say.”

  He charged forward. Tripped over his boots. Picked up a handful of rocks and threw them at her again and again. Like an angry child tossing their toy in the corner, he screamed through his sob. He’d gone over the edge of sanity. So crazy he had no idea what he was doing. He charged again.

  Why couldn’t she get the rope free? Her bleeding fingers fumbled. The more she pulled, the tighter the rope got. Her hand scraped, ripped open. A nail? The rope had snagged on a nail. She tugged the loop upward over the rusted metal till it finally popped free. Looking up at the scene on the hillside, she shoved away from the dock with the oar.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw JB push to his knees. Swiping his hand across the side of his head, he struggled to stand. Staggered. Tumbled down the hillside. Grabbed onto the sapling. Bad arm wrapped around the tree, he flung a flat stone aside, grabbing the clip he’d hidden underneath. She watched him claw his way back up the hill toward the Glock. His feet dug into the dirt, pushed. Pushed. Slid. The Kevlar snagged on a log. He shucked out of the vest’s protection. Dug his feet in again.

  Sirens wailed in the back ground. Closer and closer. She paddled and paddled, but got nowhere. More sirens joined in.

  Wilson turned in the direction she was looking. “Sonofabitch. You bastard, don’t you ever stay down? “ More crazed laughter. “You’ll never make it to one of your guns in time.” The man waded out into the water and grabbed the bow of the boat, hoisting himself inside, even as she pelted him with the oar. “You’re dead, Marcy Bradley.”

  The sirens stopped. Through the trees, red and blue lights flashed. Shouts from familiar voices echoed through the brush.

  She clawed at the man in the boat with all the strength she possessed. Grabbed a buzz bait lure from the bottom of the boat and scraped the hook across his face. “JB. The bait box. Bait box.”

  The man grabbed her hand and squeezed till she released her hold on the lure. The hook lodged in his cheek, and a trickle of bright red blood edged down his jaw line.

  Her husband rolled down the hill, staggered to the bait box, and reached inside for the extra gun. Wilson fired at him. The bullet clipped the wood at the edge of the dock. She walloped at the man’s knee JB had smashed before, but Wilson backhanded her before she could strike again.

  “Let her go.” JB’s voice was hard as steel. “Let. Her. Go.”

  Wilson pulled her in front of him. She watched her husband brace into his stance on the dock. His right arm dangled useless. The gun in his left hand an extension of his straight arm. Wilson raised his gun to fire, and Marcy elbowed him in the ribs. Punched her foot back at his knee. The man flinched in pain, and she spun away.

  JB notched down ever so slight. “Dive, Marcy. Dive.”

  She jumped a split-second before shots rang out.

  Two from JB.

  One from Wilson.

  The water swallowed her whole.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  JB opened his eyes to a welcome sound. A heart monitor beeped his existence. The last thing he remembered, hot pain had drilled into his chest. He’d stumbled, plunging into the water. Cold, dark water.

  His head hurt like someone had banged him with a ton of steel. A groan escaped his mouth when he tried to raise his left hand to touch what felt like a bandage on his chest. Throbbing aches and pains radiated from every part of his body, including ones he hadn’t known existed. He let his hand drop back to the sheet. To heck with the bandage.

  Warmth against the fingers on his right hand stirred him back to the moment. He looked at the only peaceful spot on his body. Marcy…his wife slept with her cheek resting lightly on his fingers. The only part of his right arm and hand not sheathed in a cast. He flexed his arm muscle, and pain shot straight to his brain. No need to do that again anytime soon.

  He wiggled his fingers against her cheek.

  Her lashes fluttered. Her eyes opened. Her smile said everything.

  “We seem to be spending a lot of time at the hospital.” He sighed with the exertion. “How long have I been here?”

  “Three days.”

  She stood, then leaned and kissed him. Rested her forehead against his. Tears trailed across their lips as they kissed again. Hers? His? Didn’t matter.

  Marcy drew away enough to look him in the eye. “I thought I lost you.”

  “I thought I lost you, too.” He tried to raise his left arm again, groaned, and let it fall. Even now he wondered if she’d stay by his side or leave for the other room, so-to-say. He’d be content that she was there at the moment. “What about Wilson?”

  She shook her head. “You got him. He won’t bother anyone again.”

  JB nodded. His insides eased. The danger was over. Part of him hated Wilson for what he’d put Marcy through. Part pitied the man for the loss of Carla, the daughter he loved.

  The bed shook as Marcy reached for the nurse’s button, sending a fiery jolt across the side of his chest. How badly was he hurt? He moved his feet. Okay. His legs. Okay. His torso. Hot, searing, razor-edged pain. Not okay.

  Dr. Crowley entered the room, followed by the nurse carrying a syringe. She straightened JB’s good arm enough to give her access to the IV port.

  “What’s that for?” JB said.

  “You’re awake, so I figured you might want something to take the edge off.” The doctor grinned. “Now if you don’t want the shot, just say the word and—”

  “Okay. Okay, I get the picture.” Heck, yes, he wanted the shot. Bucking up for this damage wasn’t an option. “Only enough to take the edge off.”

  His wife winked and then nodded. He shook his head. What had they done to him? From the looks of the equipment, the feel of his body, and the grateful look on Marcy’s face, they’d done whatever it took to keep him alive. Even doc looked worried.

  Dr. Crowley evaluated the wounds. Listened to vitals.

  “Well?” JB asked.

  Doc charted and conferred with the nurse. She changed his bandages.

  “Let me know if any of this hurts, JB.” The doctor pushed and poked and prodded at most places not covered by a cast, needle, or gauze.

  JB grimaced. Groaned. Nauseated. What was that noise? Himself? Couldn
’t be. Not him. He could take anything. Always had, always would. Yet the noise he heard spew from his mouth didn’t begin to express the agony inside.

  “You can stop any time.” JB growled.

  Dr. Crowley paused. Looked him in the eye. “Does any of that hurt?”

  “Yes. It hurts.”

  “How much?”

  JB swallowed, blew out a quick breath. Clenched his teeth. “One heck of a lot.”

  “Good. We’ve finally got some honest communication going between us. Not like when you were here after the explosion.” The doctor grinned and left the room, followed by his nurse.

  Thank goodness they were gone. JB wanted no one but Marcy right now. Wanted to get an idea of where they stood.

  She eased her hand under the sheet, rubbing her fingers back and forth on the inside of his ankle, then returned to her place in the chair next to the bed. He missed the heat of her skin against his.

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me Truman used to be FBI? Still does some work for them?” She shot him one of her gotcha looks.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” This wasn’t what he wanted to talk about right now.

  “Don’t pull that with me. My mother and I had a nice, long talk about marriage and the law. You and Truman and my dad.” Her voice didn’t sound sad or angry, just mater-of-fact. “What gets me is, all these years, I thought she’d played it safe with a simple businessman for a husband, when it was just the opposite. Guess you don’t always know what’s going on in someone’s life.”

  Not sure of where this conversation was headed, he stayed quiet. He glanced around for a pitcher of water. None. Not even a glass of ice chips. Nothing in sight to ease the pain of waiting for her to get to the point. He guessed a man waiting for the verdict of a jury must feel about the same way. ‘Cause his future was in her hands, and her answer might be no. Might already have his bag packed and sitting on the porch.

  Well, she had another think coming this time. He might have left easy the last time. But he planned to go down fighting this time. Fighting for her. For them. Hell…why didn’t she get this over with and say what she was gonna say?

  She covered his fingers with her own. “I always knew you were one heck of a lawman, but these past days have made me see just how good you are. The FBI, the DEA, the…the…well, any of those initialed agencies would be lucky to have you.” Her fingertips rubbed against his palm. “I’m so damn proud of you.”

  Here it was. Her way of pushing him out the door. “So what are you getting at?”

  “I just wondered if you had considered staying in Crayton.” She fidgeted with the edge of the sheet.

  Stay? Of course he planned to stay. With her? Depended on Marcy. He was who he was—the law—now and forever. If that wasn’t good enough for her, then so be it. He’d never doubt himself again. “You trying to go back on your promise to show me how much you care?”

  She tilted her head and stuck out her tongue, crossing her eyes. “No. It’s just, before Landon left town yesterday, he asked the doctor when you’d be able to get back to work.”

  “Sounds like he was in one damn awful hurry to leave Crayton.” Couldn’t the man see the police department might need a little help at wrapping up the case?

  “That’s not it. He got a phone call that his wife wasn’t doing well, and he needed to head home.” She blinked, then rapidly batted her eyes. “Did you know she has cancer? They found out the day he was late to that past assignment you worked together. The one that started this whole thing.”

  JB hadn’t thought he could feel any worse, but he’d been wrong. Cancer? Diagnosed that day? Explained a lot…one hell of a lot. “I didn’t even know he was married.”

  Was that how he wanted to keep living? Always keeping your personal life secret. Trying to protect your family by never sharing the bad times with others. Not even the good times. At least if you had a community like Crayton around you, there were people who cared enough to be there as you celebrated accomplishments. And there to see you through the pitfalls.

  As soon as the fuzz of pain and medications got out of his body, he’d call Landon. See if there was anything he could do to help the guy.

  “Anyway, I figure you’ll be going as soon as you’re well.” Marcy brushed her fingers against the sheet covering his legs. “Seems the FBI doesn’t want you to quit. They think you’d be perfect for some position in the Springfield office.”

  JB rolled the idea around in his head. Kept coming to the same conclusion. He and the FBI needed to part ways for good. But he still planned to work in law enforcement. “Do you want me to go, sugar? I mean, I did make you a promise.”

  “No. I don’t ever want you to go.” She laid her cheek against the hospital gown covering his chest. “That’s one promise I won’t hold you to.”

  “I guess if you need me that much…” He gave a fake put-upon-sigh. “…then I’ll have to stay.” That should rile the Marcy he loved.

  Her head popped up. “Need you that much? I don’t need you. In fact, you can leave any time you want.” A mischievous expression belied her words. “Go ahead. Leave. See if I care.”

  “I think you care more than you say.” He grinned and reached for her with his uncast arm. If she could feel the pain that small movement caused him, she’d know how much he cared.

  She came to him willingly, taking in his tongue as it swept against her lips. Gave as much in return.

  “I care a lot. So no matter where you go, no matter what you do, I’ve decided to go with you.” She poked his shoulder, then laid a kiss on the same spot. “No matter how much you aggravate me.”

  “What if I get hurt?”

  “Look at yourself, JB.” She palmed her hands up in front of her and gave him the once over. “Do you think you could be hurt any worse than this and survive?”

  There was the crux of the situation. Might as well lay the cards on the table.

  He formed the question first in his mind, then took as deep a breath as he could muster right then. “So what happens if a bullet finds its target, and I don’t get up?”

  “I faced that possibility, Jean Bernard Bradley. Back on that hillside when Wilson slammed the poker down at your head, I couldn’t tell if you were still breathing or not. And as I jumped into the water, the sound of the guns exploded around me, and all I saw was the jerk of your body on impact.” Big tears spilled from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks unabated. “I thought you were dead.”

  She swiped the back of her hands across her cheeks. “I was sinking in that cold, dark water, and all I could think was that you were dead. That I’d drown because you weren’t there to pull me out. But, I fought…I fought to reach the air again. To live. And one stroke at a time, I made it to the top. I survived, because I kept fighting to live.”

  He longed to reach out to her but knew she needed to walk through this emotion on her own. He’d done the same last year when he thought he’d die. When he discovered he wasn’t invincible and that all he could do was fight till the end. His own survival back then had made him see that no matter what, he just needed to get up one more time. Throw one more punch. Struggle for one more breath.

  “Guess I’m stronger than I thought.” She smiled.

  “You always were. I’ve just been waiting for you to figure that out.” Now that she had, JB wondered what effect that would have on their future. Was she so strong she wouldn’t need him at all? Or strong enough to let him be there for the good times and the bad? “You still haven’t answered my question. What happens if I don’t make it off the ground one day?”

  “Well, it all goes back to what you said about the hazards of being a lawman. We’ll face that if and when that ever comes.” Sucking in an extra-extra-extra-deep breath, she managed a tiny upturn of her lips, then kissed him sweetly. “Besides, loving a man like you is already one damn big hazard in itself.”

  He couldn’t argue with her there. Except he’d like to go on record that she wasn’t a wal
k-in-the-park herself. But he wouldn’t. He lived for her sassy comebacks and stare-down arguments. Besides, she only called him by his full name when she was stone-cold serious.

  “That sounds good, sugar. But I was thinking—”

  “Don’t you dare try to talk me out of this,” Marcy focused her eyes on his and lifted her chin, then lowered the rail and nudged him to move over. “You’re my husband, and I belong with you. We can go to Springfield or St. Louis or all the way to Washington, D.C., if that’s what you want.”

  With what strength he had, he scrunched himself across the bed till he rested against the other rail. “I was trying to tell you that I’m never leaving you, sugar. Not even if you pack my bag and set it on the front porch. And for now, let’s just stay in Crayton. Soon as I’m well, I plan to talk to Sheriff Davis about getting my old deputy job back.”

  She jerked a quick nod, and smiled. “Good. That means you can be the new sheriff.”

  “Sheriff? What about your uncle?”

  “Says he’s calling it quits. Gonna let the younger guys carry the load.” She fluffed every pillow on the bed. “Deputy Evans says they couldn’t pay him enough to do the job. He and Kennett have already endorsed you as their choice.”

  Sounded like he’d been the topic of conversation as he lay there knocked out the past few days. Sheriff? Maybe.

  From what he’d heard around town, Crayton was getting a new factory next year and an expansion on the medical center, plus an outlet mall had just broke ground midway between the lake and the city limits. The town was ripe with growth, and he was ready to settle into a police department that needed his background.

  Funny how life gave you what you wanted if you managed to stay alive long enough. JB held the covers back and motioned Marcy to climb in beside him.

  “Do you think it’s okay?” His wife glanced at the door.

  “Do you think I care if it’s okay or not?”

  She shook her head and giggled, then shimmied into the space he’d made between him and the rail. Every shake of the bed jolted shots of pain through him. First one spot, then another. She finally settled in. Nestled her head against his chest. Cuddled. Nestled again.