Rules in Defiance

by Nichole Severn

  Three gunshots exploded from over his head.

  The man above him straightened, those dark brown eyes wide a split second before he collapsed to the tile beside Elliot. “He wasn’t supposed to...kill Alexis.”

  Waylynn stared down at him, gun shaking between her hands, lips parted as though she couldn’t believe what’d just happened. Stray stands of long, blond hair puffed with her strained exhales. She let go of the gun, metal meeting tile loud in his ears, as he pushed to his feet, then stumbled away from him. She shook her head. “I’m not a monster. I’m not a monster.”

  * * *

  SHE’D KILLED HIM. The man who’d kidnapped her, strapped her to a chair and tried to burn her alive. And it’d been easy. It’d felt right. Because there was no way she was going to watch Elliot die right in front of her. She’d already lost too many people she cared about. Waylynn’s hands still shook as she pushed hair out of her face. Red and blue patrol lights claimed her attention as the EMT beside her finished checking her blood pressure and other stats in the back of the ambulance. She didn’t even know her attacker’s name, didn’t know why he’d targeted her. He’d known Alexis. That much was clear.

  But it wasn’t over. Not yet. The man who’d done those things tonight wasn’t the same one who’d drugged her and killed Alexis. At least, not from the small bits and pieces she’d been able to recover of that night.

  And Elliot...

  She’d shot and killed someone with his own gun in Elliot’s defense. What would he see when he looked at her after giving his statement to the Anchorage PD and the fire department? A monster as her attacker had claimed? Waylynn pulled the blanket around her tighter, ice freezing deep in her muscles. Odd, considering parts of Genism Corporation were still on fire.

  “Dr. Hargraves.” Officer Shea Ramsey, dressed in plain clothes, closed in on her from across the parking lot. Jeans, T-shirt, long curly hair burying her shoulders. Not on duty. “I heard everything on the radio. I’m glad you’re okay.”

  Surprise rocketed Waylynn’s pulse higher and she hopped down from the lip of the ambulance. “Officer Ramsey—”

  “Shea, please.” The officer motioned for her to sit, then took a seat beside her. A combination of pine and honey filled Waylynn’s lungs. Officer Ramsey’s caramel-colored eyes assessed the scene but watched the gurney being wheeled out the lab’s front doors by two men from the coroner’s office. “Have you talked to anybody about it yet? I mean, besides giving your statement to police about what happened? I can’t imagine what you’re feeling.”

  “No.” Waylynn stared down at her hands. She’d never shot anyone before. Never taken a life despite popular belief. But it was inevitable, right? That was what she’d been trying to prove all these years with her research. The warrior gene turned normal, healthy, happy individuals into monsters in the blink of an eye. It was genetics. Fate. She just hadn’t expected this day to come so soon. “What’s there to talk about? I shot a man—” she swallowed around the bile working up her throat, the sight of so much blood still fresh in her mind “—to save my best friend. Elliot wouldn’t be standing over there if I hadn’t.”

  And she’d do it again.

  “But he was your boss.” Officer Ramsey’s expression smoothed over. She narrowed in on Waylynn. “You worked beside him every day and you had no idea he wanted you dead?”

  Air rushed from her lungs. No. That wasn’t right. “What did you say?”

  “They didn’t tell you.” Shea Ramsey ran a hand through that mass of hair and pushed off the back of the ambulance. She shifted her weight between both feet in agitated movements. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean... I thought you knew Dr. Matthew Stover was the attacker you shot. Uniformed officers are at his house now. He had surveillance footage of you, recordings of calls from your cell phone, original newspapers from your trial fifteen years ago.”

  The blanket fell from her shoulders as Waylynn stood, attention on the gloved hand peeking out from beneath the white sheet on the gurney. That hand had started the fire meant to kill her, had pointed a gun at her head. Couldn’t be Matt’s. He was her friend, her supervisor, the one who’d given her a job when she’d needed it the most. He’d run the warrior gene trials based off her research, supported her, stood up for her against the board members’ threats to shut down the study because of funding.

  What had Elliot said before she’d put three bullets in her attacker? You don’t want her dead, which means you need her for something. Or you know her.

  “Dr. Hargraves?” Officer Ramsey’s voice sounded far-off, distant, and it wasn’t until Elliot barricaded himself in front of her path that she realized she’d bolted for the body on the gurney.

  “Waylynn.” His voice washed through her, threatened to distract her.

  “I need to see his face.” She angled herself to see around his bandaged shoulder, to see the body as the coroner loaded it into the back of his dark van. Her breath sawed in and out of her lungs, a combination of smoke and man spreading through her system. No. Wasn’t possible. Matt wouldn’t have turned on her like this. Her gaze snapped to Elliot’s, those mesmerizing gray eyes pulling her out of the haze of confusion, and a tremor cartwheeled down her spine. Would it always be like that? Would her body always want to give in to this unfiltered need to burrow into his arms whenever she laid eyes on him? Her heart beat too hard in her chest, but she met his stare straight on, hoping to appear stubborn and determined rather than out of her mind. “You said he didn’t want to kill me. He knew me. You said that.”

  “Yes.” He refused to budge. Sliding the hand of his uninjured arm up her neck, he framed her face. A muscle twitched in his jaw. “But seeing his face will only haunt you for the rest of your life. You have enough nightmares keeping you up at night. Trust me.”

  She did trust him. He’d saved her life. Three times now. Once by being willing to sacrifice himself for her safety. Nobody had ever done that before. Put her needs above theirs. Chancing one more glance at the gurney as the medical examiners shut the heavy van doors, Waylynn nodded. She closed the small space between them, the need for his touch so overwhelming. She buried her head in the hollow of his neck, exactly where she needed to be. A shiver rushed through her, warm tingles replacing the dread heating her blood. “Was it him? Was it Matt?”

  “He was carrying his Genism Corporation ID. Must’ve used it to get access to the building after taking you from the crash site.” Elliot wrapped his uninjured arm around her, pressed her tight against him. The steady rhythm of his heart helped control hers the more she focused on the sound, but the aftereffects of having taken a life still clung to her nervous system. “Explains how he knew how to disable the emergency system so the fire wouldn’t be detected until it was too late.”

  A tremor shook through her from the top of her head and worked its way all the way down to her toes. A sob gushed from her lips and she held on to him tighter. “I was afraid he’d killed you.”

  “Not going to lie.” Elliot planted a kiss at the crown of her head. “Being tasered and then shot sucks.”

  That earned him a laugh and suddenly, the fire, the betrayal, the explosion of bullets in her memory, it all slipped away. In such a short amount of time, Elliot had become the center of her universe. Her skin pimpled with awareness. Of him. Exhaust filled her lungs as the coroner’s van pulled out of the lab’s parking lot, but even with Matt Stover’s body in the back, the nightmare wasn’t over. Waylynn closed her eyes against the quick flash of memory from the scene at her apartment, but she couldn’t shake the knowledge her boss hadn’t killed Alexis. No. The man who’d forced her to write that confession at gunpoint was still out there. Maybe still targeting her.

  “Your lawyer is here.” Elliot’s voice dropped into dangerous territory. Sure enough, Blake Henson climbed out of his town car and headed toward them. On the other side of the parking lot, two black SUVs pulled up alongside one of the a
mbulances. The Blackhawk Security team had arrived. With one last kiss planted on the top of her head, he released her. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”

  “Considering I’m wanted for murder, there aren’t many places I can go.” A smile tugged at one corner of her mouth as he met with the other members of his team. From what he’d told her about them during their long talks and beers after work, she assigned names to the operatives she spotted.

  The one with the immovable expression had to be Sullivan Bishop, former Navy SEAL and the CEO and founder of the security firm. The tall, striking blonde...Waylynn guessed she had to be Kate Monroe, and her stomach sank a bit. Elliot had told her about one of Kate’s patients who’d killed the psychologist’s husband last year, but being back at work looked good on her. The others were easily identifiable. Elizabeth with her black leather jacket and fingernail polish and dark circles under her eyes. New mom. She’d met Vincent. Anthony Harris was most recognizable with a pair of aviator sunglasses and an armory strapped to his Kevlar. The woman at his side had to be his wife, the army investigator and newest recruit to the team, Glennon.

  Elliot greeted each of them with a smile and a laugh, as though they were family. Considering he’d spent the last year with them day in and day out, she imagined they were the only family he had left. They protected each other, fought for each other, supported each other. A strange sensation spread from behind her sternum. What she wouldn’t give to be part of a family like that again. To be loved.

  “Dr. Hargraves, I came as soon as I’d heard the situation over the police scanner.” With his perfectly pressed Italian suit, Blake Henson ripped her back into the present moment. Cruiser lights deepened the fine lines around his mouth as the sun rose above the peaks of the mountains, but it was the light color of his eyes that paralyzed her from head to toe. Light blue. Just as she remembered from the flashes of that night in her apartment. “From what I understand, you’re lucky to be alive. No permanent damage, I hope.”

  “Lucky. Right.” Had nothing to do with the fact her next-door neighbor had put himself in the line of fire to protect her. Waylynn took a step back. “I’m sorry you had to come all the way down here, but as of two hours ago, I’m no longer an employee of Genism. The board decided to...” She paused around the building lump in her throat as her conversation with Matt before the crash replayed in her head. “They decided to let me go. So I guess I need to find another lawyer.”

  “Considering the circumstances and the fact your direct superior tried to murder you, I think I’ll be able to negotiate with the board after all this damage is repaired.” Blake Henson stretched out his hand, a business card between his index and middle finger. “Call me tomorrow and we’ll work out the details to bring you back on board.”

  “Back?” She couldn’t believe it. She took the card from the attorney, her attention automatically lowering to the back of his hand. Searching for a scar that wasn’t there. Air rushed from her lungs and she relaxed a bit more. He might have the same-colored eyes as the man from her drugged memory, but she couldn’t imagine a reason for Blake Henson to drug her, kill Alexis and frame Waylynn for murder. He was one of the company lawyers. While his job might involve keeping company activities and indiscretions from the press, he’d never looked at her twice in the ten years she’d worked for Genism. The past couple of days had messed with her head. She’d become suspicious of everyone. “Thank you.”

  “Everything okay?” Elliot’s warmth tunneled through her clothing and straight to her bones as he wrapped his uninjured arm around her again. Relief spread like wildfire, but she drowned the urge to lean into him. Until they were alone.

  “Get your rest, Dr. Hargraves. We’ll talk tomorrow.” Blake Henson turned back the way he’d come and climbed behind the wheel of his town car. Within a minute, he’d swerved out of the parking lot and disappeared.

  “Everything’s fine.” At least, it would be. But right now, she wanted nothing more than to wash the smell of smoke from her clothes and gorge herself on real food. She studied the aftermath of the fire, the scorch marks and broken windows. An hour ago, she’d almost died in that building. Notching her chin higher, she tamped down another tremor shaking through her. “I’m ready for you to take me back to the cabin.”

  Chapter Nine

  A broken woman made the most dangerous kind of warrior.

  As Elliot led her back into the cabin, dried tear streaks cutting into the ash smudges on her face, he believed that 100 percent. She was a survivor. Always had been. And, damn, it looked good on her. Handing her the bag she’d packed at her apartment, he nodded toward the bathroom down the hall. Lucky the Blackhawk Security team had thought to grab it from the wreck. Otherwise, she might’ve been stuck wearing his MIT shirt again. He swallowed against the image of her dressed in nothing but that shirt earlier. “Why don’t you go clean up? I’ll round up something other than peanut-butter Oreos for—” he checked his watch “—breakfast, apparently.”

  Waylynn ran a hand over her arm, dead on her feet. She moved toward the kitchen. “You don’t... You don’t have to do that.”

  “You’re dead on your feet, Doc.” He gave in to her gravitational pull, closed the distance between them. Her perfume mixed with the smell of smoke became part of him. “You hired me to protect you. So I’m only going to say this once because I know you’ll push yourself over the edge if I let you. I need you fed, cleaned up and in my bed within the hour. No argument.”

  Her mouth thinned as she crossed her arms and shifted her weight onto one foot. Defiance sparkled in those ocean-blue eyes as she hitched one knee to the side, every bit the brazen, smart-mouthed woman he couldn’t get out of his head for a minute straight. Hell, her middle name was defiance. She’d pushed at his boundaries at every turn, buried herself beneath his skin to the point he didn’t know how to get her out. Wasn’t sure he wanted to, to be honest. “You realize I killed the last man who tried to boss me around, right? You sure you want to go down this road?” Sadness colored her voice.

  She wasn’t in the mood for joking. Elliot had embraced a special kind of darkness that allowed him to become whomever he needed to be in order to get the job done. He’d tricked dozens of targets into handing over their money, convinced them they were getting the better end of the deal, made them trust him. And she blew that all straight to hell when she looked at him like that. Like she was up for the challenge. And, damn, if that wasn’t the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. “I think I can handle it.”

  “Be careful what you wish for.” Leaning into him, she planted her palms on his chest and rose on tiptoe. Her mouth leveled with his ear. His blood pressure shot into overdrive as she dropped her voice. “The devil comes disguised as everything you think you want.”

  Her fingertips brushed across the oversensitized skin down his arms as she headed for the bathroom, not a single glance back. His heart restarted as the bathroom door lock clicked into place. Seconds ticked by. A minute. He didn’t know how long he stood there debating whether he should give in to the temptation to knock on that door. Elliot curled his fingers into fists. The moment he gave in, there would be no turning back. All too easily, he imagined her under the shower spray, nothing between them but rivulets of water, and every muscle he owned urged him to follow through.

  No. He wouldn’t barge in on her. She’d been through more than most the past two days. They both had, and he wasn’t about to take advantage. He’d keep as much distance between them as he could in a tiny cabin. Which wasn’t much. He forced his feet toward the kitchen instead of down the small hallway. Wrenching open the fridge door with his injured arm, he slammed a hand over the bullet wound in his shoulder. The pain kept him in the moment. Kept his mind on getting a meal together and nothing more.

  The sizzle of olive oil and chicken in the pan drowned her approach, but the slight humidity crawling through the kitchen announced she’d finished in the shower befor
e she appeared in his peripheral vision. “What’s for breakfast?”

  He didn’t dare meet her gaze as he chopped asparagus, but everything about her—the way she spoke, how she brushed her hair behind her ears, even how perfectly she fit against him—drew him in. Always had. Tossing a pinch of salt and pepper into the skillet, Elliot faced her. And the air rushed from his lungs. The world’s most exotic, alluring women had nothing on the blonde beauty in front of him. Baggy sweats and an oversize T-shirt hung off her lean frame but didn’t detract from her overall attractiveness. If anything, his mind wandered to all the possibilities hiding under the thin fabric of her shirt. “Asparagus sweet potato chicken skillet.”

  He cleared his throat. Her hair hung in wet strands, accentuating the sharpness of her cheekbones and vividness in her stare. He tightened the grip on the knife in his hand.

  And sliced his finger clean open.

  Dropping the knife, Elliot reached for the hand towel hanging from the oven and wrapped his finger as fast as he could. “Damn it.”

  “Are you okay? Here, let me see.” Waylynn hurried around the counter and took his hand in hers, mere inches between them. Smooth skin brushed against his as she studied the wound, but he barely noticed the pain. Every sense he owned had heightened in awareness. Because of her. Because of the concern etched into her expression, the sympathy in her voice. His heart thudded hard behind his ribs, almost as if the damn thing were trying to reach her. He’d kissed her once to prove there was nothing between them. No heat. No passion. It’d been rushed and rough. And he’d been dead wrong. There’d been nothing but heat. Nothing but passion and, hell, he couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss now. Couldn’t stop thinking about the next one either. “Doesn’t look like you’ll need stitches.” She raised her head. “Something’s burning.”

  He blinked to clear his head of her, her words registering through the Waylynn-induced haze. Damn it. Elliot ripped his hand out of hers and spun toward the skillet. Sure enough, black smoke and the scent of burned oil and chicken filled the kitchen. He twisted the knob to shut off the gas and exhaled hard. “I think we’ve had enough fires for one day. How about I go get us something?”