He waved to the door, indicating she was to follow Brock, who had taken the lead.
Chin high, Ryanne wrapped her arm around the blonde's waist and, together, they swept out of the room, heading for the back alley entrance, near where he'd parked his truck.
Outside, cool night air wafted over him. Wind whistled.
The alley was empty. Usually homeless men and women waited for Ryanne to serve leftover food.
Apprehension pricked his neck, combat instincts flaring. Must have pricked Brock, too; he stilled.
Then he heard a gun being cocked.
"Get down!" he and Brock shouted in unison.
Jude shoved Ryanne, Savannah and Thomas to the ground, while Brock dove in the other direction, unsheathing a semiautomatic.
A shot rang out, and a sharp pain sliced across Jude's bicep. Warm liquid spilled down his arm. He twisted midair, taking the bulk of the impact upon landing. Then he turned, tucking Ryanne underneath his body.
Brock jumped to his feet and gave chase. Despite the pain in Jude's arm, he ushered the women and child into a corner and palmed his .44. Savannah was crying, but Ryanne was silent and pale. Thomas was smiling, as if they were playing a game.
No game. This was life and death.
Judging by the location of Jude's wound, he suspected Ryanne or Savannah had been the target.
Had he not pushed the women out of the way...
The bullet could have hit Ryanne. He could have lost her and the baby.
The baby! How was the baby?
"You're bleeding," Ryanne gasped out. "Jude, you were shot."
"Just a flesh wound." He'd been shot and grazed enough times to know the difference. "How are you?"
"Fine, I'm fine, but...you're bleeding," she repeated.
"This is nothing. You're sure you're okay?"
His fear must have proved contagious. No longer simply pale, she was chalk white. "Why? Do you know something I don't? Could impact hurt the baby?"
A cursing Brock returned, saving him from having to reply. "Shooter got away." He sheathed his weapon and drew the small flashlight he always carried. "You got lucky. Just a flesh wound."
"Told you," he said to Ryanne.
"Get him to a hospital," she cried. "And me! Now. This second."
The top of Jude's prosthesis dug deep into the underside of his knee as he stood, Ryanne cradled in his arms. "I'm taking her to the city," he told Brock. And then...it might be time to end Dushku once and for all. He'd warned the man. Hurt Ryanne, and pay.
"Put me down." She uttered the command without moving, clearly too concerned about his well-being to risk hurting him. "Please. I'll walk."
"I'll take care of the others," Brock said. "Go."
Jude hurried to the truck.
"Jude," Ryanne said, resting her head against his chest, her fingers tangled in his shirt. "Be honest. Do you think something happened to the baby?"
He blocked her voice, unable to reassure her--unable to reassure himself. Get her to the hospital, listen to reason later.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
RYANNE PERCHED ON the bench in her shower, hot water raining upon her. She was alone. A good thing. She wanted to punch Jude in the throat and hug him, all at the same time. Her heart hadn't stopped fluttering; the organ reminded her of a butterfly with clipped wings.
Tonight she'd had an ultrasound. Her first. It had been a rushed job to assure fearful parents their baby was alive and well. She'd hated and dreaded every moment--until at long last the heartbeat was found, strong and sure.
Jude's fear had fed hers and vice versa. And afterward, even though she'd been limp with relief, she'd still been tense, because Jude had refused medical attention until after the ultrasound.
What if he'd bled out during the wait?
Trembling, she drew her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her forehead against her knees. What a horrible night. Attempted murder. Jude injured. A taste of the terror he'd once lived with on a daily basis.
No, he didn't live. He couldn't live like this, with fear cemented in his heart, forming an impenetrable wall, and in his mind, shredding every joyous memory and leaving only despair. He simply existed.
After leaving the hospital, they'd visited with the chief of Blueberry Hill PD, as well as the sheriff of Strawberry Valley PD. Both men had appeared genuinely upset, and had promised to look into the shooting, but she doubted anything would be found. Men like Dushku knew how to cover their tracks.
Tears burned her cheeks as different facts bombarded her.
Jude had taken a bullet for her, and no one would be punished.
At least her baby had a strong heartbeat.
Jude could have died.
Her baby was the size of a grain of rice.
Dushku was capable of murder. What if he decided to end Jude? The baby?
Jude wasn't her husband, so the doctors and nurses hadn't given her any updates when he was taken to a private room to have his wound stitched.
Her baby could have perished in between one blink and another, and there would have been nothing she could do to stop it.
Ugh! The back and forth thoughts were giving her whiplash. And really, this was another helping of the torment Jude lived with--existed with--on a daily basis.
If he continued on this path...
Only destruction awaited him.
He had to fight and defeat the fear. Not just for Ryanne, not anymore, but for himself. Fear wasn't healthy. Mentally, emotionally or physically. He would put himself in an early grave, his life filled with pain and regret.
But how could she help him? He'd coexisted with the monster for so long, he might not recognize himself without it.
What's more, tonight had only exacerbated the problem. He'd barely spoken to her on the drive home, had asked her the same question three times. Are you okay?
The stall door opened. Jude reached inside and shut off the water. "Let's dry you off." He offered his hand and helped her stand. His gaze remained just over her shoulder as he wrapped a towel around her. "You'll be happy to know Belle and her lords and lordettes are asleep in the sunroom."
He was shirtless, a bandage on his arm, wearing only a pair of boxer briefs. After wringing out her hair, he pulled one of his T-shirts over her head, gently tucked her arms through the holes.
Radiating a quiet but savage tension, he carried her to bed.
"I'm not exactly a lightweight, and your arm--" she began.
"Is fine. Just a little sore. And you are a lightweight."
When he pulled away, she tugged on his arm, careful of his wound, urging him to lie beside her. "Stay with me tonight," she beseeched. "Please."
A pause. A twitch of the muscle under his eye. Then he removed his prosthesis and curled into her. As one minute bled into another, she waited for the tension to drain from him.
It didn't.
"Talk to me," she begged. "Tell me what's bothering you."
"I keep replaying the shooting inside my head. How close you came to... How quickly I could have lost you."
"But you didn't."
"I want to kill him," he admitted.
"No. If you were locked away--"
"I wouldn't be caught. I promise you, no one will ever find the body."
"No. You won't just risk your freedom, you'll risk your heart." She dug her nails into his chest. "Besides, someone else would simply rise up in the ranks and take Dushku's place."
"Ryanne--"
"No, I don't want to talk about Dushku anymore." She wanted Jude. No ultimatum. No thought for any moment but this one. "Kiss me. Make me forget tonight ever happened." Let me do the same for you.
He required no further prompting. With an animalistic groan, he slanted his lips over hers, his tongue seeking entrance. No, demanding entrance. He kissed her with fervor and heat, nothing held back.
He was passion unleashed. "Tell me I'm your boyfriend. Say it. At least admit that much."
Love f
or him consumed her. Love and need. Being without him these past few days had been hellish. Now she had a fever, and he had the cure. Was Jude perfect? No. Would they have their fair share of problems? Probably. Did she want to live without him? Never. Was he perfect for her? Absolutely.
"You're my boyfriend, Jude Laurent."
Brutal satisfaction tightened the muscles in his face. "And you, Ryanne Wade, are my girlfriend."
His big hands kneaded her breasts. As her nipples puckered for him, he grazed his thumbs over the aching peaks, his touch almost desperate. But then, her touch was just the same. Perhaps even more so. Almost lost him. She attempted to caress, savor and brand every inch of him all at once; she failed, but enjoyed every second as she reaffirmed he was here, he was well and they were together.
Now and always?
He kissed a path down her body, sucking on her nipples through her T-shirt, then rucked up the cotton and tongued her navel. With no panties to impede him, he slid a finger deep inside her, wringing a cry of bliss from her.
"Spread your legs," he rasped. "That's it. Wider. I need another taste of you."
Cool air met the fiery heat of her core, and she shivered. Again he kissed a path down...down...his head hovered between her thighs, the warmth of his breath incendiary, sweeping her up in a maddening frenzy.
"Jude." Her back curved and her hips lifted, as she tried to force his mouth on her. "Do it. Please."
One second passed, two. The agony of anticipation only intensified her need for him.
"I love your sweet pleas." The bed tilted as he leaned over and switched on the lamp. Light spilled over them both.
Beautiful Jude. Savage pleasure glittered in eyes no longer navy but black, the pupils blown. The scar that bisected his lips only added to his brutal appeal, reminding her of his strength, his will to survive no matter the blockades. The muscles in his chest bulged, covered in her scratch marks.
"So lovely," he said, his voice thick--and then he licked between her thighs.
A sound--half moan, half scream--left her as her arms shot overhead, her fingers curling around the headboard. Her spine arched, a thousand tremors moving through her at once. He devoured her until she writhed against him, begging incoherently for release. Then his fingers joined the play. First one, then another. They worked in tandem with his tongue, his wicked, wonderful tongue.
"You like this," he rasped. "You've never been so wet."
The moment, the very second, he licked her again, she shot off like a rocket. The orgasm tore through her, her tremors rocking the bed. As she collapsed onto the mattress, limp, she expected him to glide his massive length inside her. He rolled to her side instead.
Their panting breaths blended as she climbed on top of him, ready to ride him to release.
"No," he grated, his hands on her waist, holding her still. "I meant what I said. No sex until you agree to marry me."
He thought to deny her the pleasure of his pleasure? "Oral is sex," she pointed out.
"All right, I'll rephrase. No penetration until you agree to marry me."
"You sure?" She cupped her breasts, and his gaze lowered, suddenly riveted on her nipples. "Your fingers had no problem penetrating my--"
"I know what my fingers did." His grip on her tightened as he flashed his teeth. Sweat glistened on his brow, and a passion-fever flushed his cheeks. This man wanted her. Wanted her bad. The knowledge electrified her.
"Well. Blue balls is a serious condition. I'm sure it must claim the life of at least one male every year." With her coyest smile, she inched down his body, tucked his underwear beneath his testicles and let her mouth hover over the glistening head of his erection. "If you'd rather wait for marriage, feel free to stop me any time..."
A vein throbbed in his brow. His hands fisted on the sheets as a strained sound left him.
"I'll take that as a please, darling Ryanne, keep going," she said--and gobbled him up.
*
JUDE HELD A sleeping Ryanne in the crook of his uninjured arm all night and deep into the morning. Sunlight seeped through the window curtains, but didn't reach the bed. Unable to rest, his mind too chaotic, he'd gotten up a few times to ensure she would have everything she needed when she awoke. A glass of water and a handful of saltines; he'd also reattached his prosthesis in case she was too sick to walk into the bathroom on her own.
What was he going to do about Dushku?
Ryanne was right. Killing him would do no good if someone else--someone worse--took his place.
At first Jude had wondered if Savannah had set him up. If it comes down to me or you, I'll send your loved ones flowers. Then he'd smartened up. She adored her boy, and would never willingly place him in a dangerous situation.
As Ryanne began to stir, Jude hid his emotions behind a mental wall, a difficult feat but one he just managed. He'd done it many times for missions, allowing him to focus on facts. This time, he needed an answer to his questions: Why? Why had Dushku opted for such a public attempt on Savannah's life? Why not follow her, sneak into the cabin and shoot her while she slept? Perhaps Brock or Jude could have been framed for the crime.
Had someone other than Dushku wanted her dead?
To Jude's knowledge, she had no other enemies.
Had one of Dushku's employees taken it upon himself to remove his boss's problem?
Possible, but not likely. The consequences for disobedience had to be steep.
Perhaps Dushku had acted on emotion rather than logic?
The idea had merit, but it would mean Savannah's defection with Thomas had pushed the old man past his limits. Perhaps he truly loved the boy. Though why risk the boy getting hurt accidentally?
A soft sigh drifted from Ryanne as she stretched, her body rubbing against Jude's. Air hissed between his teeth. Last night she'd wrung him dry, sucking on his shaft as if it were her favorite candy. He'd enjoyed every second, and yet, denying his body's need to sink inside her, to fill her up and brand her, had left him...sensitive.
"Morning," she rasped, her lashes fluttering open. As he grazed his fingers over the ridges in her spine, a sweet smile played at the corners of her lips.
Every day, every second, this woman grew in beauty.
And someone nearly took her away from me.
In a rush, his emotions scaled the wall he'd erected, so swift and ravenous they reminded him of zombies he'd once seen in a movie; those zombies had crawled on top of each other, each one like a rung on a ladder, until someone finally reached the top of the wall and every zombie spilled over. An apt comparison. His emotions had risen from the dead. All the fear, all the dread, all the rage. Each flooded him, stronger than before; perhaps they'd been pumping iron and shooting up steroids. He'd lost so many things in his young life, but Ryanne and their child would not be added to the list--no matter what measures he had to take.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
"Surprisingly well. My stomach is calm." She draped her arm over his chest, resting her chin on top of her hand. "But yours isn't, is it? You're all worked up again."
Silence would serve him better than truth.
"Do you need another tongue-lashing, cowboy? Or perhaps you'd like to take me for a morning ride?"
The desire that had simmered in his blood now began to boil. Resist! Marriage was too important to him. Ignoring her question--barely--he said, "Let's talk, get to know each other better."
The flash of a grin. "All right. What do you want to know?"
Everything. "If you could trade lives with someone for an entire day, who would you choose?"
Her brow wrinkled with confusion before she laughed outright. "Why would I want to trade places with anyone? You look at no one else the way you look at me."
Boiling hotter...
He kissed her temple, barely resisting the urge to claim her lips. "How did I ever resist you?"
"Don't know. It's one of life's greatest mysteries. But what about you? Who would you want to trade places with?"
&nbs
p; "I think...you. I'd seduce myself again and again."
She snorted. "If I hadn't already lo--liked you, I would have started just now."
Lo--liked. Had she almost said she loved him?
"Next question," he said. The more he learned about her, the more he lo--liked her, too. "If you had to spend the rest of your life on a deserted island, but could only take three men with you, who would you choose? One has to be from a book, one from a movie and one from real life."
A slow smile spread over her face. "My fictional man would be Owen Perkins from Naked Pursuit by Jill Monroe. He would be my silver screen hottie as well, since the book was made into a Lifetime movie. And my real life man would be...hmm...let's see...let me think..."
Jude smacked her butt. "First, what's so special about this Owen guy that you need two of him, and second, you have to think about the one from real life? Seriously?"
"First, Owen is a sexy fireman and I have a new appreciation for his line of work. Plus, he's very good with handcuffs--something else I'm beginning to appreciate. I'd like to keep you trapped in this bed forever. Second, I guess I'd pick you as my real life hero."
"You guess? And I hope you're serious about the handcuffs because I will be buying a pair."
She giggled, an adorable girlish giggle that caused his chest to ache.
The phone on the nightstand suddenly buzzed, letting him know the security feed from the Scratching Post had just hit his in-box. They stiffened in unison, all thoughts of love and sex gone.
He swiped up his cell and opened the video, dreading what he'd find. Another fire? Another gunman?
Instead, he watched as his in-laws knocked on the front door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
HOW HAD RYANNE gone from almost being shot to wanting to be shot?
Easy: the arrival of Jude's former in-laws, Russ and Carrie Jones.
After checking the security feed, Jude dressed in a hurry and gently requested Ryanne do the same. Get your ass in gear, shortcake. I don't want you out of my sight.
As she'd donned a lace blouse and a pair of unripped jeans, wanting to look her best, curiosity had gotten the better of her, and she'd willingly trailed Jude downstairs.
First introductions were made. Names only. Then the couple had fawned over him, worried about his injury, wanting every detail.
"Your message last night scared me to death," Carrie said. "Someone shot you, but you don't want us to worry about it if we hear gossip, because you're fine. Well, we're worried. We need more information, Jude. We hopped in the car first thing this morning. Your friend Brock told us where you were staying, so here we are."