Chapter Twenty-Two

Lacey took a panicky breath, barely able to fill her lungs because Russell’s weight was crushing her. Her face was pressed to the snow, and she couldn’t stop watching the puffs of white closing in on her as the shooter kept up an irregular blast of shots.

Above her, Russell hissed something, covering her head with his shoulders, her body with his larger frame, but pulling up a fraction so he wasn’t completely crushing her. He had a gun in his hand—a big, heavy gun that looked suspiciously like hers. Another bullet whizzed by, then white exploded not an inch from their faces. She felt the coldness of the snow on her nose and cheeks and sucked in a frightened breath. Before she could cough out a scream, Russell jerked her up, half dragging her over the ground to shove them both behind the bulk of a horse trailer. More shots cut through the air, sending soft puffs of dirt accompanied by a dull thud when the bullets hit the ground.

“Fuck, fuck. Don’t fucking move.” Russell grimaced. His face was streaked with sweat. His lips were so tight she knew he was clenching his jaw. He dug into the front pocket of his big jacket and pulled out his phone, just as something like a loud boom sounded not three feet from them. She barely held in her small scream as Russell threw them down and covered her again. When she managed to blink past the melted snow on her face, she spotted a man on the porch holding a rifle, shooting towards the hills.

“Mac, we’re under fire. Get your ass down here, now. How the hell do I know? Just call for fucking backup.” Silence, then Russell glanced at her before he darted up to look beyond the edge of the trailer. She practically jerked him by the jacket backwards. He grunted, but otherwise ignored her. “Look, I think he’s in the hills. On the north side, good two hundred feet or more.” He clipped his phone closed with a snap, but stayed quiet. When he did look back at her, she wanted to hug him. He looked so intense—like warrior intense. “All right?”

All right? What to say? They were being shot at, and she wanted to scream at him for looking so—well, frighteningly good at handling all this when she wanted to curl up in a ball under the trailer. Or her bed. “Yeah, great.”

By the looks of his deepening frown, he clearly wasn’t missing her fear.

“You’re doing great, baby, hold tight.” He flinched when another boom sounded but immediately cussed over his shoulder. “Shit, Mitchell, get back in the house. What the fuck are you doing? That’s a sniper, man. That piece of shit couldn’t hit the barn. Now, hoof it into the house!”

She’d never heard him so harsh. He suddenly lunged up and she heard him hit the porch then more cussing and someone talking, then a muffled sound. No more shots sounded near her, but she wasn’t moving an inch.

Within a few heart-pounding minutes, Russell landed near her in a squat—as if he’d never left her alone, outside, with a madman shooting at them. He now had a long rifle on his shoulder and a bag in his hand. “You stay right here. You’re hidden from where he is.”

“Oh, hell, no. You’re not leaving me here again!” Panic made her tremble. Another of those puffs and dull thumps sounded, closer this time, and she squealed. Russell grabbed her hand and squeezed but continued to squint up at the hills, making her nervous. God, she hoped he wasn’t going up there. No way. She was not allowing that. She concentrated on his face, ready to fight him if he suggested leaving her. A bead of sweat dripped from his dark sideburn and into the collar of his shirt. He’d taken his jacket off and only wore a dark T-shirt that clung to his sweaty body, despite how cold it was outside. He looked intimidating, but she geared up to dig her heels in if he even suggested leaving her again.

Suddenly he turned, gave her a look she couldn’t decipher, then jerked her up and over his shoulder and ran to the house. She nearly died from choking on her own spit trying to yell at him, but realised she shouldn’t. Coughing and gasping for air, she tried to hold on to the back of his shirt while he ran through the ranch house and up the stairs. The crazy man. She hung on as best she could, and her stomach jarred into his rough shoulder with each step.

Right when she thought she really might die from lack of air, he dipped and she was standing.

“Russell!” She stalled on his name at the look on his face. He looked deadly. Hard, cold and pissed off. “Russell! Please don’t—”

“Shhh, now. You stay put. I’m going out. The boys will be in the hills already. We get this guy, then we talk, all right?”

“No, no, Russell. No. This won’t—”

He cut her off with a kiss, jerking her to him so tightly she would have bruises. His lips crushed hers and he drove in deep for a quick, but thorough conquest. When she gave in, he pulled back enough to stare down at her with such intensity that she sucked in a ragged breath to tell him he wasn’t leaving her.

“No, Sunshine, stay here. Trust me to do this. Trust me.”

With that, the silly man was gone. A door shut, another slammed, more voices and he was gone. She stood there, too stunned to move.

The panic grew impossible to control. She felt exposed, naked and vulnerable. This was so wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. She was in his room while he was out there, doing what? Oh, God. She scrabbled at the door, fought with the stupid handle and finally got it open. A loud sound, like a scuffle followed by a man falling, carried to her, then boots sounded on the hardwood floors. A low groan and oh, God, whoever had been out there shooting was now in here? How was that possible?

She edged back, not stepping, but sliding her feet back so she wouldn’t make a noise until she could slowly shut the door, thanking God the hinges didn’t creak. She backed away, and at the same time as she heard boots stop outside the door. It was her worst nightmare. She had no gun, no one was here to protect her, and outside that door was someone who wanted her dead.

Nothing happened. Whoever stood outside hadn’t tried the handle yet. She watched the small glass knob closely, but her vision swam. Blinking several times, she spun around in a circle, looking for an escape route or anything she could use as a weapon. Windows. Two. Second floor. But maybe she could reach the roof? No weapons stood out other than a bedside lamp. She knew Russell probably had something in here, but not a gun. He was very safe, her big SEAL—no guns out lying around for her sailor. She’d bet her last dollar Russell kept them all safely locked up, or in a place where his nephew couldn’t get hurt by them. She knew it. And now she needed one, and there wasn’t one.

She covered her mouth to hold in her laugh. She’d bought the Sauer thinking to protect herself, but the fact was, she didn’t know if she could kill a man. Take a life. Now that the moment was here, could she do it? She gave herself a quick once-over. Her legs were shaking and she was surprised that her heart hadn’t jumped out of her chest. So much for her bravery. But she knew, knew what would happen if that door opened. She’d not survive this time.

Her lungs burned and she realised she’d not been breathing. She couldn’t get enough air in, and only managed short, shallow breaths. A duffel bag on a chair caught her eye. She spotted a knife hilt sticking out from under the green canvas and her heart raced. She dove for it, glancing at the windows trying to gauge whether she could make it out of one when the door crashed into the wall.

Her heart nearly burst, but she managed to reach the bag and tuck the knife in her jeans, then back up to the wall and turn to face whoever had entered before he saw her hide the knife. She hoped. Lance, her client from weeks ago, stood there, his big body filling the doorway. But this time, instead of jeans and a shirt, he was dressed in white and blue BDUs, his over-tanned face covered with a white ski mask. There was a gun in his right hand, pointing steady and straight at her chest.

“Well, Sarah Fletcher, you’ve led me on a chase, haven’t you?”

Oh, God. Her stomach bottomed out. Actually, hit her toes. She was so dead. The heavy weight of the knife seemed like a joke compared to the reality of the gun aimed at her heart. Her throat dried as the certainty of her situation settled over her. This man was going to kill her.

She swallowed twice and fisted her hands to keep the tremors hidden. Something gave her enough strength to realise she needed to appear calm.

“A chase? I was here all the time.” Why hadn’t he killed her that first day? If this was the hitman, why wait? And why not kill her now?

“Yeah, here, or down there in your snug home, all safe and waiting for your knight in shining armour. Where is your SEAL now?”

She refused to answer him. He must know where Russell was, but if not, she wasn’t telling him. “What did you do to his uncle?”

He pulled off the ski mask and smiled, that fake grin from before. The gun didn’t even move. “He’ll live. He’s some old man—he’s got a bump, nothing more. But you, you’re a SEAL’s daughter, and now you want to be a wife to one, huh?”

A wife. Did she? To Russell? Yes—yes, she did. He hadn’t asked, but she knew he would. He loved her. He would save her, too.

“If he wants me, yes.”

Rage filled his dark eyes. Hadn’t they been blue before?

“And you’d do anything for him, wouldn’t you?” he snarled.

“Yes, I would.”

“Really? Anything, huh? Tell me, Sarah Fletcher, what would your daddy say to you whoring yourself for a man?”

“Did you know my father?” She edged farther away, but he held the gun aimed right at her, following her movements like a snake.

“I knew him. Fuckin’ pain in the ass.”

She refused to show how much that pissed her off. Her dad had not been a pain in the ass—his men had loved him. All of them. Even Russell.

“That piss you off, babe? Well, let’s see how bad you want to live, shall we?”

Live? Why live? Then she knew. He reached down and began unbuttoning his BDUs with one hand, jerking the gun with the other hand for her to move closer. “Come on, babe, on your knees. You do it right, and I might make you my new pet.”

“Kiss my butt, asshole.”

He paused, his gun steady and watched her just as steadily. She could see the outline of his erection under the material of his pants.

Her fear escalated. She couldn’t hear anything beyond the jerk’s heavy breathing. If he so much as got near her, she’d bite his dick off. Or maybe he’d loosen his pants enough that she could trip him. Panic started to set in, making her tremble. The knife pressing against her spine taunted her. Gathering her courage, she swallowed and slowly moved one hand back against the wall, towards the knife handle.

“Ah, so you want it rough? I like it rough, too. I was holding off on rough, but we can do it that way first.”

“If you touch me, you’re going to die.”

He smirked and continued on with his unzipping. “I don’t think so. Your man is halfway to the hills, and we have plenty of time to waste here until he gets back.”

Fear made her knees weak. He wanted Russell here?

“Ah, come on now. He won’t mind. Not for long. Can’t let him live. He’s seen me. So have you. Can’t have that.”

Oh, God. He was serious. He started towards her, his belt keeping his pants securely in place, taking away the option to try to trip him. She kept her eyes on his face, her hand closing in on the handle now. He seemed so absorbed in whatever fantasy his sick mind had conjured up that he didn’t notice.

“You’re going to be dead soon. Russell will kill you. If he doesn’t, Mac will. But you are going down.”

He stalked her. Each time she tried to move away, he followed, but she managed to get him so that he wasn’t between her and the door. Still, now he was only a few feet from her.

“Come on, don’t be shy. I know you gave it to the SEAL. Russell, is that his name?”

As if he didn’t know. She refused to speak, but inched back another step, running out of room. Russell’s dresser was at her back now, and this sicko was moving in and she was out of options. She pulled the knife free, held it up like a shield and braced her legs.

He looked amused. “You know, if you’re going to pull a knife you’d best know how to use it.” Without any warning, he jumped her, knocking the knife out of her hand without her even knowing how. Her back hit the floor and the air rushed out of her lungs when he landed on top of her. She was choking, crushed, but she still fought to free her hands. The gun landed on the floor and skidded out of reach above their heads. She gasped when one hand broke free from his grip but, before she could do anything, he grabbed both her wrists in one of his fists and squeezed them tightly. The pain made her weak, but she twisted her hands and jerked her body, trying to break free. He shoved her chest down hard and squeezed the bones of her wrists until she was certain he’d break them.

Suddenly, he pulled up and slapped her across the face. She gasped and jerked back to face him and he hit her again. Her head hit the floor next to them with the force of his blow and she felt blood ooze from her burning mouth. Pissed off, she kicked her legs, trying to tangle hers with his and break free. When she couldn’t, she screamed. He hit her again, this time so hard she felt blood fill her mouth. His other hand grabbed her throat and cut her scream off. Blinking up at his devilish face, she tried to stay alive, awake, as he crushed her.

She wasn’t going to make it. She could feel her ribs nearly breaking, and she couldn’t catch her breath. She gave one more attempt to get free, driving her head into his face to crush her forehead to his nose. The next instant, he was gone. She gasped for air past the pain in her throat. Her body felt shaky, her face hurt and her ribs dug a sharp pain up her side, but she struggled up, gaining her knees and grabbing the gun that lay not two inches from where he’d held her down. Sharing the space with her, Russell and Lance fought like men possessed, nearly running her over in their battle.

She hunched over and tried not to breathe too deeply as she watched Russell. He had turned cold and hard. The killer the Navy had trained him to be. She winced as he landed a fist on Lance’s face. Russell pressed forward, landing two more furious jabs, then tried to tackle Lance to the ground.

God, it looked like Russell was going to kill Lance. Lance was just as determined. He hit Russell in the stomach repeatedly before throwing a punch to Russell’s head and narrowly missing. None of it slowed Russell’s attack. He simply stalked Lance like prey, circling and circling him until he found an opening, then landing blow after blow. Another strike on Lance’s face, and blood glistened down the assassin’s split lip. Lance spat and rubbed a wrist over his mouth with a nasty grimace.

“That’s it? All you got, sailor boy?” After his taunt, he spat on the bedroom floor and ducked down, charging Russell.

Both men hit the wall. A painting crashed to the floor. Russell’s back hit a dresser, shoving it along the wall two feet before he tore the other man off and tossed him up against the closet door. Lance ducked Russell’s fists and broke away to hit him in the face with enough force that Lacey screamed.

The gun trembled in her hands, but she forced herself to hold it ready. She could do this. She could.

Russell nearly managed to knock Lance down with a hold on his waist, but Lance gripped Russell’s waist and shoved him back. When Russell stumbled, Lance bent and quickly drew a long blade from his boot, swiping at Russell with a nasty snarl.

He sounded more animal than man to Lacey. She lifted the gun and tried to aim, but every lesson her father had ever taught her had been wasted because fear had her shaking. What if she hit Russell by mistake?

Metal glinted in the sunlight, and Russell barely caught Lance’s arm to prevent him from stabbing the sharp steel down into his chest.

She sucked in a breath. Why didn’t Russell kick him away? Why didn’t he turn to her and take the gun? He had to know she had it.

Instead, the two men struggled together until she wanted to shoot Lance.

Right when she thought she’d have to pull the trigger, Russell twisted in Lance’s hold. She watched him twist Lance’s arm until she expected the arm to break under the strain. The knife dropped, and Russell hit Lance with a brutal uppercut to his jaw, sending him toppling backwards and down to the floor.

Before she could process what was happening, Russell was on top of Lance, one fist rising and falling with a sickening sound of flesh hitting flesh. She looked away and covered her mouth with trembling fingers. If she could have, she would have covered her ears to muffle the dull cracks of fists on flesh, but she didn’t dare in case Lance managed to get up.

Silence suddenly echoed through the room.

When she got up the courage to look again, Russell met her eyes and everything else fell away. Relief filled her in a whoosh, and her legs felt weak. Her hands started to shake and she feared she’d drop the gun, but Russell gripped her hands and prised her fingers off the stupid thing. Within her next inhalation he hauled her into his arms. He was sweaty and hurt, she knew, but his heart was beating steady and fast under her cheek. Her own pulse raced, and she began to shiver. Shock, she knew, but the trembles grew until Russell cursed and bent to scoop her up.

“It’s all right. It’s all right. I have you. I have you, talk to me. Sunshine? Come on, now.”

Her eyes stung with tears at the breathless, panicked tenor of his voice.

“Sunshine, talk to me, here. Come on. Did he hurt you?”

She tried to answer, she really did, but all that came out was a sob.

Russell exhaled and nearly crushed her in his arms. One big hand ran up and down her back, and his other curled around her waist while he rested his cheek on her head. She could feel his body tremble. Unsure why, she sucked in a ragged breath and pushed to gain some room. He reluctantly released his death grip on her waist, and she tipped her head back to examine him. He was bruised, his lip cut, his jaw red and swollen and it looked like one eye was darkening, but he was alive.

“He got in, Russell. I told you not to leave me.”

He grimaced. “God, I’m so damn sorry. So fucking sorry, look at you. Look at your bruises. I’m going to kill him.”

“Russell. I want him gone. I want…” To be safe. Another sob broke past her control.

“I’m going to take care of this. I am. Trust me, Sunshine. Trust me.”

“Russell…”

He hushed her with gentle, all-too-brief kisses. “Trust me. Come on, now, we have to secure this asshole. Didn’t I tell you not to let shit like this in our house?”

She choked at that, and stared up at him. Our house?

“Come on, don’t look at me like that. We need to get moving. Come on. Can you stand up for me?”

She sniffed and brushed her hair behind her ear. “That guy was a weirdo, Russell. Don’t leave me again. Promise?”

Underneath her, she felt Russell’s thigh tighten. He tipped her head up, cupping her neck with his hand, and brushed her bottom lip with his thumb.

“Never again, all right? I won’t leave you.”

She nodded, biting her lip at his hurt face. He’d saved her. He’d been trying to keep her safe, and he had. She reached up and kissed his cut lip. “Russell, you’re all busted up.”

He grinned down at her, breaking her heart with the happiness she saw in his grey eyes.

“This is nothing. Come on. Let’s take the trash out.”

She shook her head and tried to smile. “God, you are awful.”

“And all yours. Don’t forget that.” Grey eyes narrowed; Russell leaned in and brushed a kiss to the side of her mouth. “I love you, Sunshine,” he husked in her ear.

Her heart lifted, feeling as if it had bubbled up and pressed against her throat. “I love you too, Russell.”

He growled and wrapped her up tight in his arms. They both heard the footsteps on the stairs, but this time neither of them cared when Mac grumbled and told them he’d got the sniper chick on the hillside and they needed to get a room.

She was home. This was her room. She had Russell. He had her. They had each other. There’d be no more running scared.