“Let’s talk about this . . .” Fear rose inside him. He could feel it, oily, weakening. The bastard had finally lost his fucking mind.
“Alex, get Janey out of the apartment. The bedroom has cameras. Natches has pictures and he’s on the phone with your stalker. Get her out of there.”
Alex was moving from the table as Chaya’s frantic, low voice came over his cell phone. Moving quickly, he pushed back from the table and rushed to the bedroom.
Janey was playing with the cat when he left. The fat little bastard was on its back batting at her fingers.
He’d left them in peace, knowing the cat still hadn’t adapted well to his presence.
“He has more pictures. Natches will kill you,” Chaya was hissing as Alex rounded the hall and jerked Janey’s door open.
Her head lifted from the bed in shock.
“Let’s go.” He didn’t wait for questions. He yanked the cat up as he grabbed her arm and pulled her
from the bed.
“Alex . . .”
“Move!”
Adrenaline surged through him as he heard Natches screaming, “Get her out. Get her out.”
He pushed her through the door, the cat tearing at his arm as he heard a window shatter. Then all hell exploded around them.
He felt the force of the blast shake the apartment as the cat jumped from his arm with a squall. Janey screamed as he threw her to the floor.
Searing, brilliant pain lanced his shoulder as he landed on top of her, dragging her beneath his crawling body, fighting to get her to safety as lights flickered, shattered, and the apartment went dark.
He still gripped his cell phone in his hand. He could hear Natches screaming. Blood was gushing down his arm, but Janey was alive.
The living room window had shattered. He had a second. Only a second. He had lifted her and thrown her into the kitchen doorway, to the other side of the wall, when another explosion shook the apartment.
Shrapnel exploded through the wall overhead as he protected her with his own body, curling around her as she screamed his name. He felt something else bury in his shoulder and gritted his teeth against the pain.
Hell, it was Iraq all over again. The explosions, the sound of nails and glass exploding around him, as sirens wailed in the distance.
“Safe,” he yelled into the cell phone, Natches’s screaming voice still echoing from the connection. “What the fuck is going on? I need the outside secured before the son of a bitch throws something through the fucking kitchen window.”
He dragged Janey across the room and jerked open the pantry closet beside the refrigerator, before shoving her into the narrow entrance and hunkering down beside her. He jerked the fridge door open, sheltering them with the heavier metal barrier rather than the thin wood of the pantry closet door.
“We’re coming. We’re coming.” Natches was yelling into the phone. “Zeke and the police are on their way. Chaya called from her cell. Fuck. Fuck. Alex, is she okay?”
“Alive,” Alex snapped. “Get me some fucking backup. I’m not taking her out without it and we’re too vulnerable here.”
He was bleeding like a stuck pig. Alex could feel the blood pouring from the sharp objects buried in the shoulder that he kept turned carefully from Janey’s huddled form.
“Is Janey wounded?” Natches was screaming.
“Negative.” God, he wished he had a weapon on him. “Natches, get here now.”
There was silence.
“You’re wounded.” Natches’s voice was lower. The other man was an asshole when he wanted to be, but he was sharp.
“Confirmed,” Alex breathed out roughly. “Get here, man. I’m unarmed. All weapons are in other areas.
We’re shielded in the pantry closet with no more than the fridge door. I hear sirens approaching, but we don’t know who the hell or what the hell.”
As he spoke, the back door shattered. Alex braced himself for more trouble. He disconnected the call and waited.
“Major. You in here?” Mark Lessing’s voice sounded from outside the door.
He remained silent, pressing a hand back to Janey in warning. He trusted his men with his own life. He didn’t trust anyone but himself and the Mackay cousins with Janey’s.
“Major, I’m sliding a weapon through. It will move beneath the refrigerator door.” Mark stayed in place, his voice military cold and efficient. “Clip is loaded. Tyrell and I have the door covered. Here it comes.”
He waited. A second later the Glock slid to his feet. Alex picked it up carefully, checked the clip.
“Did you catch the bastard?” he called back.
“Negative. We gave chase, but he got away. We came back in case we were needed here.”
“Mackays are on their way,” Alex told him. “Tyrell, cover the stairs. I’m not moving her until I have clear protection on all sides.”
The sirens were getting closer. Alex could hear Janey behind him, her breathing erratic. He knew she wasn’t wounded; he’d checked as he held her beneath him and again as he threw her into the closet.
“The first blast in the back distracted us, Major,” Mark bit out. “Hell, we’ve been out of action too long.”
Mark Lessing and Tyrell Grayson had quietly left the Special Forces when information that they were lovers had leaked to the head brass. They’d been out of the forces for several years, but they were still as sharp as any man on his current team. Whoever did this was just that fucking good.
“Alex, you’re bleeding. I can smell it.” Janey’s voice was faint behind him. “I need something to press against the wound.”
Hell. Her voice was thick with fear. He could feel her tension behind him, the fear that spread through her like an oppressive cloud. But damn if she wasn’t holding it together. There was no panic, not yet. She was shaking in shock, but holding back, waiting.
“There’s shrapnel still lodged in the wounds.” He suspected nails. “Help will be here soon, baby.”
Janey wiped at her tears, barely holding back sobs. She could feel them tearing at her chest, but she couldn’t distract him, not yet. Horror filled her at the thought of the blood she could smell. And she could see it from the dim light the refrigerator cast, the shadow of it running down his side. She wanted to touch him. Oh God, she needed to touch him, to make it stop, and she didn’t dare move.
He had already proven he would shield her from death, take it himself first. If she distracted him and caused him to be hurt more or, worse, killed, she couldn’t live with that.
So she capped her hand over her mouth as she had learned as a child. The tears fell, but she kept the sobs inside. She kept the fear and the pain inside, hid it where it couldn’t distract him, couldn’t cause him to be hurt worse.
She used to do that when she was small. Sobbed inside while she held everything back. Dayle didn’t hit Natches as hard if she didn’t cry. If she didn’t seem to care.
But she couldn’t stop the tears now. Alex was bleeding, and he was bleeding bad. He had been hurt trying to protect her, just as Natches had been so many times. The reasons why didn’t matter. The fact was, it was all her fault.
“Mackays are pullin’ in, Major,” Mark Lessing called into the kitchen. “We have four coming in hell-for-leather, sheriff and city cops behind them.”
Janey could hear the commotion outside now. Tires screaming, sirens blaring. Alex was leaning against the doorframe, but he held the handgun easily and his body was tense, on guard.
“Alex, we can go out now,” she whispered, swallowing back the tears that would have filled her voice.
“Not yet.” His voice was hard.
“You’re bleeding to death on me,” she snapped. “Stop being so stubborn.”
“I know what I’m doing, Janey.” His voice was hard, forbidding.
A sob escaped her. She couldn’t help it. She couldn’t hold it back. “Alex, please,” she cried, her voice ragged with pain. “Please, Alex, don’t bleed to death on me. Please.”
Alex turned slowly. The dim light from the refrigerator shadowed across her face. Tears ran from her eyes like small streams. The green was darker, filled with horror and fear. And with pain. Because she could smell his blood, because she knew he was hurt.
She wasn’t sobbing; her breathing was rough, labored, but there were no sobs. The tears were all the more heartbreaking for the lack of sound.
“Come here, baby.” He angled his body, still sheltering her, but allowing his good arm to wrap around her and pull her to his chest. “I’m okay.”
“Where is she?” Natches’s furious yell penetrated the dark room. “Janey!”
The closet and refrigerator doors were jerked aside as Alex came to his feet, dragging Janey with him.
Then a dark shadow reached for her. Hands gripped her, trying to pull her away from Alex.
“No!” She couldn’t see who it was. A part of her knew it was Natches, knew he was trying to drag her away from Alex, but the insanity building in her mind locked in place. “Alex!” She tried to hold on to him as she fought the hands dragging at her, kicking out, sobbing, trying to wrench away and stay by Alex’s side.
“Dammit, Natches, let her go.” Alex curled his arm around her chest and jerked her to him.
Natches froze, the serious end of Alex’s Glock in his face, hard, brutally flat gray eyes locking with his.
“She’s in shock. She’s terrified. Let her fucking go.”
Natches released his sister carefully. He could see the other man’s pale features, the blood that ran down his arm, the glitter of pain in Alex’s eyes. But he was holding Janey to him as though she alone could keep him on his feet.
“Hell!” Natches moved back, aware of his cousins, Sheriff Mayes, and the city cops behind them. “Zeke, we have to get them to safety. He’s wounded.”
“Ambulance is en route.”
“No ambulance,” Alex growled, stepping from the closet, aware of his own bare feet, and of Janey’s.
“Mark, you and Tyrell have your ride?”
“Right outside,” Mark confirmed. “Ready to roll.”
“Natches, you and Dawg head to my place and secure it. Rowdy, you’ll go in front of Mark’s vehicle, Tyrell will cover from the back.”
“Dammit, Alex,” Natches protested.
“Alex, the EMTs will be here in minutes and we need your statements,” Zeke snapped.
“Then you can get them at my house,” he snarled, keeping Janey close with his good arm as he felt the blood trickling down his back. “Take a look at this fucking apartment, Zeke. She’s not safe here and someone is deadly serious about this. My house is safe.”
Natches and Dawg were already leaving. He could hear Natches cursing as they ran down the stairs, promising to gut and castrate him, but they were going.
“Alex, that shoulder’s bad,” Rowdy told him calmly, his dark green eyes concerned. “Let Mark patch you up in my truck and Tyrell can follow us in. Zeke can wait for the investigator. After they finish going through everything, they can come to the house.”
“Please.” Janey whispered the word against his chest. He could feel her tears, hotter than his blood, against his flesh.
“Let’s go!” He nodded before turning to Zeke. “Cover us to the truck. Bring the investigator when you’re finished here. First blast was in the bedroom. Second was in the living room. He had time to run to the front after tossing the first device. First landed on the bed is my guess. Second landed in front of the couch.”
Janey held on to Alex as they moved for the door. She kept her arms around him, terrified he was going to fall on her, that he had waited too long, bled too much.
But he didn’t let her go, and he wasn’t weak. Despite her efforts to help him, he practically lifted her off her feet as he rushed her down the outside steps. And he didn’t let her go. Not once did his arm relax from around her until he was pushing her into the back of Rowdy’s dual-cab pickup followed by Mark Lessing and a blurr of orange fur as Fat Cat wailed plaintively and planted himself on the other side of Janey.