by Terri Reed
He drew in air and forced himself to push back the warmth burrowing deep inside him.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, careful to keep his voice low so as not to upset the toddler who stared at him with bright blue eyes.
“Following a lead the same as you,” Meghan replied in a soft tone.
Frustration roped a knot in his chest. “You’re interfering in my investigation. If you had a lead, you should have come to me.”
She arched an eyebrow. Distrust oozed off her in waves.
That rankled. “What do you know?”
“I know Christina and Burke Hennessy weren’t the upstanding citizens everyone believed them to be,” she said.
He frowned. It was no secret that there was little love lost between the Hennessys and the Fitzgeralds. Burke Hennessy had been a prideful bully but there’d never been any hint of illegal activity associated with the lawyer and his socialite wife. So what would have led Meghan to make such a judgment? Had she uncovered information critical to his case? “If you know something that will help in my investigation into Burke Hennessy’s death, you’d better tell me.”
“Keep your voice down,” she instructed with a pointed look at the toddler in her arms now squirming to be set free.
Reining in his frustration, he forced himself to let the questions go. There would be time enough for that later. “I’m taking Georgina into protective custody.”
In a low voice, she asked, “So you do think Christina’s responsible for her husband’s death?”
“I do.”
She nodded as if satisfied with his answer. “Do you have a car seat?”
His stomach sank. He hadn’t expected to find Christina much less the toddler. “No.”
“I do. So I guess we’ll be taking my car.”
She’d come prepared. Why? The question hovered on the tip of his tongue, but a strange sense of urgency tingled at the base of Ryan’s neck. Pushing back his need for answers, he said, “We need to go.”
“No one’s going anywhere!” A woman’s nasal voice invaded the room.
Meghan let out a gasp of alarm.
Ryan whipped around and found Christina Hennessy filling the doorway. The once-polished socialite now looked harried—her usually perfect blond hair mussed and her slacks and blouse wrinkled as if she hadn’t changed clothes in several days. An almost wild fervor glittered in her green eyes setting off alarm bells in Ryan’s head.
But the .38 revolver she held aimed at Meghan froze his blood.
A woman on the edge with a gun. A bad combination.
Beside her stood a muscle-bound thug with a nasty-looking scar running down the side of his face.
Anger directed mostly at himself shuddered through Ryan. He’d been so distracted by Meghan and the ridiculous soft emotions she had inspired that he’d let his guard down. He hadn’t heard danger approaching. His instincts had kicked in too late.
His skills were rusty. Too much time spent at a desk and not out in the field.
Where was Jackson? Ryan could only hope the rookie wasn’t lying dead outside.
Time to take control. Rapidly assessing the situation, he decided the best option was to keep everyone calm and his service weapon holstered. The quarters were too tight, the chances of someone getting hurt too great. He’d have a better opportunity of disarming Christina and dealing with her thug outside.
He slowly raised his hands in entreaty as he stepped in Christina’s line of sight. Hopefully, he provided an effective shield for Meghan and the toddler. “Let’s stay calm and talk about this.”
“Give me the kid!” Christina demanded, gesturing the gun with jerky movements.
“No one’s giving anyone anything.” Except for when you give me that gun.
Ryan’s heart hammered in his chest. Fear that she might accidently shoot one of them squeezed his lungs. He forced himself to remain calm, to sound composed. “Put down the gun, Mrs. Hennessy.”
Her lips drew back, baring sharp white teeth. “You’re a Fitzgerald. What are you doing here?”
“We were worried about Georgina.” Ryan eased forward a step.
Christina stepped to the side. “She’s fine. We’re all fine.”
Ryan mirrored her move. “Mrs. Hennessy, we need you to come in to the station house. We have some questions to ask you about Burke’s death.”
She frowned. “I’ve answered all your questions. I’m the one who found him.”
There was something decidedly off about this woman. Ryan knew he wasn’t dealing with a rational person. Best to appease her and keep this from turning into a deadly situation. “Yes, you did. We have just a few more things to clear up. Then you and Georgina can be reunited.”
Christina jerked slightly. “Move out of the way,” she cried. “I want the baby.”
Odd how she kept referring to Georgina in such a distant manner. Not sure what to make of it, Ryan glanced at Meghan holding the now fussy toddler.
“Fine,” Ryan said, keeping his voice low and composed. “We can all move into the living room, okay? It’s a little cramped in here.”
Instead of retreating, Christina moved fully into the small bedroom. The thug hovered near the door, blocking them in.
“Out,” Christina said, motioning wildly with the gun.
A fresh wave of alarm that she’d discharge a stray shot rammed through him. He had to get Meghan and the toddler out safely. Keeping his arms wide and moving slowly, he reached his hand back. “Meghan, come here.”
Shifting the eighteen-month-old onto her hip, she eased toward him, slipped her hand into his and held on tight. Making sure he stayed consistently between Meghan clutching the baby and the madwoman with the gun, he moved them toward the door.
“Tell Muscles here to get out of the way,” he instructed.
The thug made a threatening growl low in his throat.
Christina snorted. “Go on, Jay. Lead them out.”
With a scowl, Jay led them back down the hall. Ryan positioned Meghan and Georgina in front of him and hustled them toward the living room. Christina filed in behind Ryan, ramming the muzzle of the gun sharply into his kidneys.
For a second he contemplated disarming the woman now, but if she got off a shot and missed him, the bullet could hit Meghan or the baby. A risk he wasn’t willing to take. He had to be patient. There would be a moment to strike.
He leaned in close to Meghan and whispered, “Be ready. Protect the baby.”
Her honey-blond hair tickled his cheek as she nodded.
In the living room, Jay barred the exit with his massive frame.
Helen Yorke lay in an unconscious heap on the floor. Horror shot through him. He sent up a silent plea, praying she wasn’t dead. He didn’t want anyone’s death on his conscience.
Georgina let out an unhappy wail.
Meghan made a distressed sound at the sight of Helen. “What did you do to her?”
Christina cackled, an unhinged sound that raised the fine hairs at the back of Ryan’s neck.
“She’ll be fine. Jay has his uses.” Christina attempted to step around Ryan toward Meghan, and Ryan could see Helen begin to stir. “Give me the child.”
Noting that Christina’s finger wasn’t on the trigger, Ryan seized the opportunity. He grabbed hold of the gun but also Christina’s hand and swung her away from Meghan.
Christina’s hold on the gun slipped. The revolver clattered to the floor and slid across the hardwood out of sight beneath the aged leather couch.
“Owwww,” Christina screamed in fury. “Jay!”
A roar echoed in the small house, arising from Jay’s barreled chest.
Meghan cried out a warning. “Ryan, watch out.”
Ryan pivoted. Too late. Jay jumped on Ryan’s back before he could get to his own holstered weapon.
Jay’s bulk drove Ryan forward. Pain shot up Ryan’s leg as his left ankle buckled. He hit the floor with a smack to his knees and nearly collapsed beneath Jay’s gorilla-size weight.
His injuries making him want to do a little roaring of his own, Ryan instead gritted his teeth and grappled with the thug, trying to gain the advantage. Ryan drove his head back into Jay’s pectoral muscle and thrust his hip up, creating an angle. Jay’s beefy fists cracked across Ryan’s ribs with painful impact. Ignoring the jarring hits, Ryan continued with the move, driving his hips across Jay and flipping him over.
Ryan wrapped his legs around Jay and yanked him down while hooking his forearms around Jay’s neck and squeezing.
Just as he’d thought. Gym muscles. All show, no go. It took a lifetime of grappling with three brothers to make a man a real fighter.
Georgina’s frantic cries bounced off the walls.
From his peripheral vision, Ryan saw Christina scrambling to recover her weapon from beneath the couch.
“Meghan, run!” he yelled.
Disregarding his directive, Meghan handed the screaming toddler to a now conscious Helen. Meghan launched herself at Christina and knocked her aside. The woman went flying on her backside and slid to a stop. Her beige slacks hitched to her knees. A cream-colored sock sagged at her ankles. Her brown loafers had dirt on the bottom.
In her hands, she held the gun. “Not another step!” she screamed at Meghan.
Meghan halted, skidding in her heeled sandals on the hardwood.
Christina jumped to her feet and yanked Georgina from Helen’s arms.
Keeping the revolver aimed at Meghan, Christina said, “Deputy Fitzgerald, let Jay go or your friend here dies.”
“Christina, no,” Helen pleaded. “Don’t do this.”
“Shut up!” Christina swung the gun in Helen’s direction.
Helen cowered away.
Ryan’s gaze locked with Meghan. The panic in her eyes seared him. The situation had gone horribly out of his control. And it was his fault. Frustration clawed like a hungry lion through his veins. For a second he tightened his hold on Jay, wanting nothing more than to finish what he’d started.
But doing so jeopardized everyone in the room.
Abruptly Ryan released him.
The big man scuttled to his feet and then landed a vicious kick to Ryan’s side. Pain zinged through him.
With helpless rage, he watched Christina Hennessy and her henchman head out the door with Georgina. He yanked out his phone and dialed 9–1–1.
Meghan launched herself at Christina with a ferocious yell. “You can’t take her!”
Jay backhanded Meghan, sending her flying to the floor.
Fury propelled Ryan to his feet. His ankle gave out and he stumbled. The phone flew from his hand and landed with a clatter against the floor. Jay took off.
Meghan scrambled for the phone. She found it and then rushed to Ryan’s side as he painfully hauled himself to his knees. She offered her shoulder as support, wrapping her arm around his waist and helped him to his feet. His torso was on fire. Most likely a cracked rib.
A dark bruise marred Meghan’s fear-filled face, making him feel worse than the blows he’d suffered.
“Stay here!” Untangling himself from her, he hobbled out the door.
A black sedan disappeared around the corner with tires squealing. Automatically, he noted the license plate number.
At the curb an unconscious Jackson lay crumpled on the ground beside the front wheel well of his vehicle, blood covering his face. Fearing for the young officer, Ryan limped to his side and bent to check his pulse. He was alive. Unsure of the extent of Jackson’s injuries, Ryan didn’t want to do any more damage by attempting to move him.
He hobbled to the back of the vehicle, noting that all of the tires had been slashed, and grabbed the first-aid kit.
Rage pounded at Ryan’s temples in rhythm to the throbbing in his ankle and side. He pressed a wad of gauze to Jackson’s wound.
Self-recriminations swamped Ryan. He’d made an utter mess of things. Christina had escaped with Georgina. Jackson was down. The car was useless.
He was a cop, knew the importance of being proactive and vigilant. And had always lived up to that responsibility, regardless of the cost. He’d sacrificed a friendship to protect an innocent person. He’d done the right thing.
He’d never forgive himself if anything happened to the little girl because he’d failed to stop Christina and her thug, thus putting Georgina in danger.
Meghan came hurrying out, his phone pressed to her ear. She skidded to a halt, her heeled sandals sliding on the sidewalk. She handed him the phone. “Nine-one-one.”
After identifying himself, he explained the situation and gave the license plate number of Christina’s getaway car. The dispatcher assured him the local patrol officers would respond immediately and an ambulance was on its way.
“We’ll need two,” he said before hanging up.
Helen staggered out of the house. Despite her own knock to the head, when she spotted Jackson, her mothering instincts sent her straight to him. Leaving Ryan leaning against the side of his vehicle, Meghan rushed to help Helen to sit on the curb next to Jackson.
Ryan slammed his palm against the hood of his vehicle then wobbled. Every second he stood there Christina and her goon were getting farther away. His gaze grazed over Meghan’s car and the temptation to pursue the perps grabbed ahold of him and squeezed. He fought the instinct; the last thing he needed to do was leave the scene of a crime. He had an officer down and a civilian hurt.
His duty was to stay put.
So he would. For now. But this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
TWO
Seeing Ryan faltering on his feet unsettled Meghan. He was usually so in control. She hurried back to his side. “You need to sit,” she insisted and helped him to the curb next to Helen.
Tall, broad shouldered. Lean and muscled in his uniform, the man was ruggedly handsome with no hint of weakness behind the stony wall he put up every time she came near.
“This is unbelievable!” Ryan pounded one fist on his thigh.
Meghan drew away at the explosive wrath. Old fears spurted to life bringing back horrifying memories of her previous existence. Her ex-husband had had an explosive temper. And a mean streak as wide as the ocean. She had the scars to prove it. Her danger barometer rang a resounding alarm. The last thing she needed in her life was a man who couldn’t control his anger.
Needing space, Meghan paced as she battled to maintain her composure as well as her peace of mind.
She could feel Ryan’s gaze like a touch as he traced her path. He was angry. Well, so was she. At the situation, at him. So much for her composure. She’d had Georgina in her grasp. Ryan was supposed to have protected them. She glared at him. “This shouldn’t have happened.”
He met her gaze, his icy-blue eyes dark with fury. “No, it shouldn’t have.” He shook his head, his face filled with self-loathing. “I let myself be distracted.”
She frowned. “Distracted? By what?”
His gaze cut over her before he looked away. The muscle at the side of his jaw visibly pulsed. For a long moment she stared at his profile, at the angular lines of his cheekbones and straight nose, until something clicked in her mind. Did he mean he’d been distracted by her?
Her pulse tripped over itself. Her thoughts rewound to the moment inside the house when she’d been holding Georgina. Meghan had looked up to find Ryan in the doorway. She’d heard his voice long before he had appeared, so seeing him wasn’t a surprise. But the look on his face…that had left her reeling.
She’d known from the get-go that this man was dangerous, on so many levels. It didn’t help that every time she saw him she felt a flutter of feminine excitement.
Men in uniform could do that to a girl. And admittedly, Ryan filled out his blue uniform in a very eye-catching way that any woman with blood in her veins would notice.
But that didn’t mean Meghan would repeat her past mistakes. She’d gone down the hunky-guy road before with disastrous results.
Not going there again. Especially not with a Fitzgerald. She didn’t trust him. Couldn’t even say she liked him.
Though admittedly, the wistful, almost yearning expression on Ryan’s handsome face as he had watched her holding Georgina had both confused her and sent her pulse skittering.
Then he’d opened his mouth and all she’d registered at the time were the cold blue eyes and the hard set to his jaw that she’d grown used to seeing over the past six months in her campaign for more to be done in bringing her cousin’s murderer to justice.
“Have you given any consideration to what could have happened had Christina and her thug returned before I got here?” Ryan asked, his blue gaze drilling through her.
She lifted a shoulder in a slight shrug. “But she didn’t.”
“Dumb luck.”
Her gaze narrowed. “I don’t believe in luck, Deputy Chief. I wouldn’t have thought you did, either, considering you’re a churchgoing man.”
“My faith isn’t the issue here. What concerns me is your lack of regard for your safety. For the safety of little Georgina.”
His words drilled a hole through her anger. Guilt wormed its way to the surface. She probably had been too rash in coming here alone. “I should have called you,” she conceded.
“You think?” he muttered. “If you hadn’t been here, I would have been able to control the situation.”
The censure in his tone dug at her, setting her defenses firing. “You don’t know that. Christina Hennessy’s crazy. You saw proof of that. You believe she killed her husband.”
Saying the words aloud felt like stepping into rush-hour traffic. She and Ryan had no control; they didn’t know when they’d be hit. Little Georgina’s life hung in the balance at the hands of an unhinged gun-toting woman and a muscle-bound criminal with no aversion to pounding on people.
