by Joanne Rock
Castine’s screams echoed in her ears—almost as loud as her own shrieks for help—as she hit the deck outside the French doors. Already she heard other men’s voices nearby. The associates.
Help me, God.
She ran across the grass toward the water, away from the dock slip where she saw the shape of a foreign water craft. She had almost hit the surf when a gunshot rang out in the night.
DAMON HATED riding shotgun even under the best circumstances. Tonight ranked as the twelfth circle of hell.
“Where the fuck is her house?” He pored over the navigational maps in the back of an H65-A Dolphin helicopter out of Miami.
While he’d been with Lacey, one of Castine’s aliases had popped up on a commercial flight to Miami. The 9:00 p.m. out of San Juan that Lacey had skipped in favor of the 10:15.
The lead had raised red flags about the intelligence they’d received about the region around Rincon, alerting the Coast Guard’s Deployable Operations Group that the barge off the northwest tip of Puerto Rico was most likely a decoy. Damon hadn’t waited for permission to launch an op, knowing Stafford would have shot down the timetable. Instead, he’d tapped a friend with a private airstrip and flown to Miami himself.
But U.S. Coast Guard resources at the air station in Miami had required he take a back seat. Having command of the op didn’t mean he could fly it.
Still, the hotshot new guy at the controls of the chopper—the same aircraft Damon had flown every day of his career for the past three years—seemed to know what he was doing. If only the damned navigational maps showed the island that Lacey called home.
“I know this place,” the pilot yelled back through the headset to where Damon was forced to cool his heels in the cargo bay. “Every high-end developer in the world wants to sell private islands. Now that they’ve got the technology, these suckers are popping up faster than the maps can keep up with.”
Damon strapped on diving gear, as did a search-and-rescue seaman who would back him up. He didn’t know what they’d find at Lacey’s place, but he would be prepared either way. Two of the Miami fleet’s fastest cutters were on their way out to the island, while another short-range-recovery helicopter waited on standby if they needed help. Damon’s gut told him that Castine had planned on shipping his drugs out using Lacey’s house as a checkpoint to break up the larger payload into smaller parcels. Targeting Lacey’s matchmaking system had only been a sideline bonus to a bigger plan all along.
He kept the headset on while the pilot on the Miamibased helicopter slowed the engines, needing to hear any last communications before he strapped on the dive mask.
He hadn’t been in the water for a while, since he was usually the one at the controls. But for Lacey he’d take the plunge into the Atlantic himself.
“Your friend has company, Lieutenant.” The copilot’s voice came through the headset, his Southern accent as thick as Enrique’s. “I see two unidentified vessels in the slip and a cigarette boat—about a forty-footer—anchored about a hundred yards off to the east.”
The seaman in the dive gear pulled open the door as the aircraft slowed, allowing Damon’s eyes to roam over the inky water below. The winds were calm tonight, the chopper blades kicking up the majority of the air whipping around the cargo area.
“Good. That means she’s still there.” Damon didn’t need to explain who “she” was. Every man on board knew he wasn’t flying like a bat out of hell up the east coast just to stop a drug shipment.
The drugs allowed him to tap the Coast Guard. The woman fueled his every step. All these years when he’d put his job first were going to be paid back right now, when he needed to put Lacey before everything else. He wouldn’t let Castine touch her, and if that meant the drug runner ate a bullet tonight instead of standing trial in federal court, that was exactly what was going down.
Lacey had shown Damon a level of trust no woman had ever given him before, an honest piece of herself despite her own tendency to guard her heart. And she hadn’t shown her caring by giving up her career to follow him around the country for his job. Instead she’d held on to her work and the things that made her unique, the same way he always had. If one of them didn’t bend, they’d never be together. He didn’t know how to reconcile that, but he damn well had discovered in the past twenty-four hours that he would like to try. Women with Lacey’s strength and independence—whether she recognized it in herself or not—didn’t come along every day.
“Sir, I suggest we wait for the cutters to provide backup if this thing goes bad.” The hotshot set the aircraft to automatic flight control before he wrenched around in his seat to see Damon. “I can hover at fifty feet and wait for you, but you know I’ve got to get my ass back in the sky if those boats start shooting.”
“Affirmative.” Damon ripped off the headset and tugged on the mask, refusing to think he might be too late. “Half your fleet’s going to be in the water out here before dawn. I’ll get a ride home somehow.”
Flashing the thumb’s-up signal, Damon jumped out the side into the blackness below to find the woman he’d already fallen for.
BLOOD LOSS SLOWED her steps.
Lacey could hear Nicholas gaining on her, his footsteps pounding on the damp ground behind her. His footfalls echoed faster than hers.
The bullet had only grazed her, but the red-hot sting across her flesh had brought her to her knees. Not bothering to check it, she had scrambled to her feet and run toward the old boathouse, knowing she couldn’t swim with this wound or she’d lose too much blood too fast. The minor injury could turn deadly too easily.
“You really should just take the drug, Lacey.” Castine’s voice was suddenly in her ear, his sweaty stink filling her nostrils while her head swam. “You’ll feel better. Remember how good you felt at In the Flesh while you were on the dance floor?”
She felt his arms around her, lowering her to the ground. Wet grass clung to her back while her vision narrowed to Castine’s thin, haggard face above her. Still smiling, the ugly bastard.
“Get off me,” she snarled, furious to think he would touch her while she bled like a stuck pig, unable to defend herself.
“So fiery.” He rested more of his weight on her, a nauseating erection jabbing her leg. “You just need to take the medicine and feel better.”
He jabbed a pill between her lips, rousing another bout of fury. She couldn’t win this battle; she knew it deep inside. But she would fight until she was unconscious or dead, because she wouldn’t be able to deal with the aftermath otherwise. She understood that about herself now.
She was no man’s victim.
Spitting the pill as far as it would go, it was her turn to smile as Castine cursed like a lunatic. She wanted to piss him off to the very last second, to make sure he knew he’d picked the wrong woman to mess with.
In slow motion she watched him raise his hand to her. The lack of blood flow made the moment feel surreal and she wondered if she was dying. Her head throbbed. Her heartbeat was slow, but each pulse ached more than the last.
Maybe she’d taken some of the drug after all. She closed her eyes and waited for the blow, too tired to fight anymore.
A harsh gurgling noise came instead.
Pulling her eyes open, she saw Nicholas Castine with a knife in his chest. Above him, Damon stood dark and dripping like Poseidon come to land for a reckoning.
He hauled Castine away from her like so much refuse, the man who’d shot her a threat no more. Gratitude exploded in her chest, filling her insides with hope and joy despite the blood leeching thought and life from her body.
“I want you to know I love you.” Lacey was so happy he was there to hear it. If she died tonight—and she prayed that wasn’t even a remote possibility—she would rest a little easier knowing something very important had been said.
She wasn’t holding back on life, or love, ever again.
Chapter 13
Fifteen Hours Later
ACCORDING TO the Coast Guard press r
elease the next morning, the news was all about the pounds of drugs seized, the street value of the goods and the number of arrests made.
But as Damon waited for the E.R. docs to release Lacey, he had another take on the successes of the night. Lacey was going to be okay.
And really, that was all that mattered.
He braced his head on his hands, his elbows on his knees as he tried to squeeze the image from his mind of her turning white from blood loss on the beach. Her breath had hitched oddly. Her words had slowed.
But the ones she chose to say before she slipped into unconsciousness…that part he didn’t want to forget. She’d entrusted him with something more precious than he deserved. She loved him even though he’d sent her away without any plans to ever see her again.
The confession awed him. Humbled him. Made him realize he’d made Lacey pay for the trust issues someone else had foisted on him.
“You must be the boyfriend from Puerto Rico.” A woman’s voice barked down at him from above, drawing Damon out of his thoughts. He looked up to see an endlessly tall blonde in Birkenstocks and a pink tiedyed skirt, carrying a poodle. “The one who bolted the last time my twin was under a doctor’s care. You can feel free to dash, now that I’m here.”
Damon wanted to set her straight, but she pivoted on her heel and took off for the nurses’ station, already calling to one of the people in scrubs around the desk.
“I’m next of kin for Lacey Sutherland. Could I speak to someone about her condition?” She tucked her little dog into a carrier that looked like a handbag, effectively smuggling the furry mutt past the No Pets sign.
“Hold up.” Damon found his voice and shot to his feet, but not before a nurse had reeled off Lacey’s condition and assured the other woman that her sister would be released shortly.
The woman turned back to him. Her blue eyes were similar to Lacey’s, but the resemblance ended there. Where Lacey was curvy, this woman looked more like an American Gladiator. Her long hair was darker than Lacey’s, each strand arrow straight, her bangs cut straight across her head.
“Still here?” She smirked at him with the smartass attitude of a woman who wanted to fight. But then, her sister had been shot and she probably thought he was to blame.
Perhaps not without reason.
“I’m not going anywhere.” He extended his hand, hoping to get off on a better foot. “Damon Craig.”
“Laura Sutherland.” She ignored his hand. “And why should I trust a man who left my sister in an E.R. once before after a drug trip? Her first and only, I might add?”
“I left during a follow-up visit the next day because I thought I had the chance to nail the bastard who gave her the drugs in the first place.” Had he made a bad call? “I was worried he would come after her again if I didn’t track him down.”
Laura looked thoughtful. Her little dog barked inside its denim carrier. Heads turned in the waiting room, looking for the source of the sound while Laura appeared oblivious.
“But you failed to stop him.” Laura’s expression lost some of its haughty coolness as a hint of fear showed through. “He shot her. She could have died.”
The thought chilled him all over again. He’d spent hours in a wet flight suit after he’d brought her here, but even now that he was dry, the memory of what could have happened—of how close she’d come to death—froze him inside.
“I did everything in my power to make sure that didn’t happen.” And still it almost hadn’t been enough. If the Dolphin helicopter pilot had been even a fraction of a second slower…
“Is it true the man is dead?” Laura lowered her voice and pulled a dog bone out of her purse before passing it into the carrier.
“Yes.” His eyes went to a nurse in purple scrubs pushing through a set of double doors at the end of the hall. Lacey’s nurse. “He won’t bother her again.”
“Lieutenant Craig?” The silver-haired nurse waved him toward the doors. “The doctor is finished with her. You can take her home now.”
“Thank you.” He crossed the waiting room with Laura at his side, then held the door for her.
Would Lacey remember what she’d said to him the night before? He’d seen her briefly after the docs stitched her up, but then he’d had to meet with members of his team who’d finished out the op without him. He’d taken an unconscious Lacey to the boathouse until it was safe for the helicopter to pick them up, unwilling to expose her to any of Castine’s crew until the cutters were in position to board the boats. Damon had stanched the bleeding and kept her warm for the next ten minutes that felt like hours. He hadn’t reported for an official debrief, but his connection with Lacey had bought him some time. He’d filed basic paperwork on a laptop Enrique had brought to the hospital for him while she’d slept.
Damon followed the nurse to Lacey’s room, turning down a maze of hallways threading throughout multiple wings. She sat up in bed, the color returned to her cheeks. The blue hospital gown gaped around her shoulders, the material slipping down one arm while she edged closer to the side of the bed.
“Thank God you’re here.”
For a moment, he thought the greeting was for him, but Lacey pointed a finger at her sister. “Please say you brought clothes.”
Damon regretted not thinking of it himself. Her shirt had been torn off her by the son of a bitch who’d wanted to hurt her. Damon had nearly lost his mind thinking about what a nightmare she’d been through.
Was still going through. No doubt the memories of what had happened would haunt her for a while.
“Of course.” Laura hurried over to the bed and dropped her purse, the dog carrier and a backpack on the mattress. “To show my love, I didn’t even torment you with a Grateful Dead T-shirt. See?”
Lacey snapped up the white tank top and a pair of blue shorts.
“Endlessly thoughtful of you. Will you help me change?” She directed that request to Laura, as well, making him feel like an intruder when he just wanted to scoop her up and steal her away from everyone.
But if he was going to make a case that they should try being together, he didn’t want her to think he would take her away from her family and her friends. His job had a way of doing that with no help from him.
He stepped out of the room and shut the door behind him to give Lacey privacy. What would it be like to spend time with her that wasn’t for the sake of protecting her? Would she welcome his presence in her life, or had her half-conscious confession been a fanciful rambling in her gratitude for being saved?
“Come on in, big guy.” Laura hauled open the door and waved to him, her poodle in her arms. “She wants to see you.”
Damon turned to see her, knowing this might be his only chance to say the right things and prove to Lacey he was a good match for her after all.
LACEY HAD NEVER BEEN so nervous.
How did a woman thank the man who saved her life? A man she now knew she loved, even though he didn’t seem to want any part of a deeper relationship?
“Look, kiddies.” Laura packed up Lacey’s torn clothes and personal belongings in one of the hospital bags. “How about I head out to the island to see what I can clean up before you come home? Maybe Captain America can get you settled into a hotel nearby until the house is ready.”
Lacey stifled a grin, wondering how Damon would deal with her bossy twin.
“She’ll be in good hands,” he assured Laura, not appearing fazed in the least to take orders from a six-foot girl bully.
In fact, Damon eyed Lacey with the intent stare of a man who wanted to be alone with her. Soon.
Her heart picked up speed in spite of everything she’d been through.
“Yes, well, just bear in mind she needs rest and recovery.” Laura held Brillo out to Lacey for her to pet before she stashed him in his carrier. “I’ve got my eye on you, Lieutenant Craig.”
Damon nodded.
When he didn’t speak, Laura arched up on her toes the extra inch or two needed to reach Damon’s cheek. She plant
ed a kiss on his jaw.
“Thank you for protecting my baby sister.” And with that, she plowed out the door, shoving it wide to make way for her and all her bags, a tornado of determination.
Leaving the room suddenly very, very quiet.
“You saved me,” Lacey remarked, needing to fill the silence and address the huge thing that he’d done for her. “I’ve never been so scared in all my life.”
He moved closer to her, his flight suit wrinkled and stiff from his time in the water the night before. It all seemed surreal today. God, he’d been a sight to behold when he’d appeared out of nowhere, dripping with anger and the sea.
“But you didn’t let that stop you from fighting.” He sat down on the bed beside her, his presence enough to make something glow inside her. “I saw you jabbed him in the eyes.”
“I wasn’t going to let him hurt me without a battle.” Her old insecurities were part of her past—ghosts she didn’t have to worry about anymore. “But he would have won if you hadn’t arrived. How did you know he was here?”
“My team got word that one of Castine’s aliases was used on the flight to Miami that left before yours last night. I heard about it a few minutes after your plane was in the air so I borrowed a friend’s plane to get to the mainland while I waited for approval to coordinate an interdiction flight out of the Miami base.” He picked up her hand and carefully lined up their palms. Turning his hand two degrees clockwise, he threaded their fingers together, filling all the valleys with his strength.
“He brought his drugs and his boats with him.” She hadn’t been able to process it all last night, but this morning she’d woken up with the need to fill in the blanks. “Do you think he planned to use my house as a drop-off point all along?”
She studied his face in the afternoon sun slanting through the white hospital blinds. His jaw dark with stubble. The slash of a depression perfectly centered in his chin. Dressed in his flight suit with the Coast Guard’s Semper Paratus Always Ready patch stitched on his chest, he could have been the poster face for the armed forces. There was something fearless and noble etched in the lines around his eyes, but maybe she only saw that because she’d been a witness to what this man could do.
