SNOWBOUND: The Protectors Series - Book Two, page 17
She would have preferred not to invite him in. Seeing him had started her heart racing and had brought to the forefront every feeling she had for him. But after all they’d been through together, he certainly deserved better than to be left standing outside in the hall and she stepped back from the doorway.
John stood. Mallory cleared her throat to make introductions. “Gage, this is my brother, John, and his fiancée, Eve Collins. John, this is Gage Broderick.”
John met Gage at the door and extended his hand. “Thank you.”
Gage shook John’s hand. “No thanks necessary.”
Eve joined them. She cast a look to Gage and then to Mallory, then retrieved her coat and John’s from the hall closet. “John, let’s take a walk.”
Before John or Mallory herself could utter a word, Eve hustled John out the door. Now alone with Gage, the silence resumed.
Gage looked around. “You changed some things.”
“I replaced what was broken when Manning’s men came in here.”
“Looks good.”
Mallory closed the door but kept her hand on the knob, needing something to hold on to. “I heard you were required to return to Washington.”
“My boss, among others, wanted to know how I was involved in what went down over here.”
“How’d that go?”
“I’m back to work.”
Mallory felt happy for him. “I’m glad. You’re a good cop. How does it feel being back?”
“Right.” He gave her a level look. “How are you?”
“I’m fine, thank you. How are you?”
Gage’s eyes narrowed on her, assessing her. “Really, how are you?”
After Gage pulled her up the mountain, she’d been treated for the ribs Big Brute had broken and the concussion he and his associate had caused, but to Gage now she said, “Really, I’m fine.”
She couldn’t do with this him. Couldn’t stand here making small talk. Seeing him was one more assault to the delicate balance of her emotions. She felt her composure slip and turned the knob to open the door before she lost it completely.
“Mallory, we need to talk about how we left things.”
She didn’t want to hear reasons why they couldn’t be together. Her heart breaking all over again, she said, “Gage, I don’t want you to blame yourself for leaving the day that Manning got me. That wasn’t your fault. You have nothing to feel guilty about.” That guilt would have taken him over the mountain with her.
“Please. Hear me out.”
She didn’t want to do that. Not when his words were sure to pour salt on her bleeding heart. But he wasn’t going to let this go and she was now dangerously close to breaking down. That would only upset them both. So before she did, she would let him get it all out and then he would leave her for the last time. Swallowing tears she nodded
“When Ben and Josh were killed, something inside me died too,” Gage said. “I went up to that mountain never expecting to come down.”
Mallory rubbed the heel of her hand to her heart where it now ached for Gage.
He closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, he went to the new bookcase in her living room where among tomes on investigative procedure and recent bestsellers, were photographs of Mallory at various ages with her parents, brothers, and Cassie. He stood facing them, but Mallory didn’t think he was actually seeing the pictures.
“Up there,” Gage continued, “I was in a place where no one could ever be hurt again because of me. Where I couldn’t be hurt. I’d lost the two people I’d loved most in this world. I didn’t want to love anyone again.”
Mallory closed her eyes against the pain of those words. When she opened them, Gage had turned away from the photographs, back to her.
“As long as I live I will never get the sight of you hanging off that mountain out of my head.” Gage shuddered.
“You saved me. I’d be dead now if not for you.”
“If I could remove the hurt that Manning caused you, and all the hurt I caused you . . . ” He shook his head. “I can’t—”
Her heart squeezed. “I know you can’t—” Love me. “—change how you feel.”
“Change what happened.”
“You don’t have to do this, Gage. You have nothing to blame yourself for.”
He left the bookcase and came to stand in front of her again. The expression on his face was raw and open, unlike any she’d seen on him before. “You think because I’d left you and then Manning caught you, I came after you out of guilt.” His eyes blazed into hers. “Nothing I ever did with you was out of guilt.”
Mallory just stared at him.
He framed her face between his broad palms. “I came after you because I love you.”
Mallory’s lips began to tremble. Her eyes stung with tears. Gage kissed her as the first one fell.
Against her lips he said, “I can’t change what’s happened, but I don’t have to let that be all there is for us. I want a life with you.” His voice was thick with emotion.
Mallory couldn’t blink fast enough to clear the tears blurring her view of him. Kissing him, she murmured. “I want that too. I love you so much.”
With Gage in Washington and her in New York, theirs would be a long distance relationship until they could get some things worked out, but for now all she could think was he was here holding her in his arms. “When do you need to go back home?”
Gage drew back from her. His gaze lit on each feature of her face before returning to meet her eyes. As his mouth covered hers again he said, “Baby, I am home.”
# # #
If you’d like to know when the next Protectors novel is released, sign up for Karen Fenech’s notification-only news here: http://ymlp.com/xgeubjejgmguu
Or here: http://www.karenfenech.com/books.html
PURSUED: The Protectors Series — Book Three
Available Now
Chief Of Police Mitch Turner is finally close to getting the evidence he needs to prosecute crime boss, Christopher Rossington. When Mitch's fiancée, Shelby, is attacked, he must consider the attack wasn't random, but Rossington's attempt to strike out at Mitch. Shelby insists she wasn't targeted but Mitch has questions—about the attack and now about her . . .
Dr. Shelby Grant appears to be living a fairytale life. She is doing meaningful work at her psychology practice and she's engaged to marry Mitch, the man of her dreams. But all is not as it appears. Nothing Mitch knows about her is the truth. She's been lying to him since the day they met and keeping a secret from him. She lives in fear he will find out what she is hiding. Her secret, if revealed, will destroy his love for her and will kill them both.
CHAPTER ONE
He was waiting for her outside the clinic. Shelby had no sooner stepped off the crumbling stoop of the faded, pre-second world war building and into the murky light of the one working street lamp when a man grabbed her from behind. She dropped her purse and briefcase onto the sidewalk that was littered with rotting garbage. She managed a startled shriek before he hooked her at the neck, cutting off her voice and his arm clamped around her waist, crushing her against his body.
Shelby clawed at her attacker’s arm. The man wore a light overcoat in deference to the nip in the air on the August night and her attempt to dig her nails into him was futile. She kicked back, striking him in the knee with the heel of her dress pump. He hissed in pain then his grip tightened, squeezing her wind pipe like a vise. She’d thought she couldn’t breathe before, but now she couldn’t take in any air at all.
No . . . No!
In her mind she shouted that to him, but in reality she wasn’t capable of making any sound other than desperate gasps for air.
Her attacker began dragging her down the sidewalk. She dug her heels into the cracked cement in an attempt to slow him down, but he was stronger and the dim light faded as they left the short street and entered the alley behind the clinic.
“Got a message for you,” the man said.
Shelby froze as a new and entirely different fear rose within her.
He brought his lips to her ear. “Tick. Tock.”
She didn’t need to ask who the message was from. Her insides quivered. She whimpered.
“Hey! You, there! What you doin’ to that woman?”
Shelby knew that voice. It was Joseph, the elderly maintenance man from the clinic. Her stomach tightened in fear for Joseph now as well as for herself. Any man sent to deliver this message would be ruthless and would have no qualms about killing Joseph. But, to Shelby’s relief, the man who held her must not have perceived Joseph as a concern. He didn’t even spare Joseph a glance. Message delivered, he released her. All of Shelby’s weight had been balanced on him and she fell onto her hands and knees on the stained and broken asphalt. He stepped over her and strolled out of the alley.
“Lady! Lady! You all right?”
Joseph again. Shelby coughed and struggled to get up but couldn’t manage to do so. Then Joseph was there in the alley with her. His face, worn and creased like old leather, bent to hers.
“It’s you, Dr. Grant! Dr. Grant are you hurt?” Without waiting for a response, Joseph pulled a cell phone from the shirt pocket of his blue uniform. “I’m calling for an ambulance. You hold on, Dr. Grant.”
* * *
Chief Of Police Mitchell Turner took the next turn, taking him onto the interstate leading out of Blake County, New York. Cars sped by his SUV making a soft whooshing sound. His police radio was tuned low though he could still make out the nasal voice of the woman working dispatch tonight.
Mitch cast another glance at his rearview. A late model sedan and a compact were still behind him where they’d been since he’d taken the on-ramp and pulled out in front of them. No other vehicles had followed him onto the highway.
Ten minutes later he was still in the clear and turned onto the deserted stretch of road that would take him to his destination. Trees lined both sides of what passed for this road and rose high into the sky but moonlight filtered through the branches, lighting his path. Gravel crunched beneath his tires, making a silent approach impossible if he’d wanted one. He didn’t. He wanted the man he was meeting, Dan Harwick, to know he was on his way.
Harwick was working undercover, investigating Christopher Rossington whose business dealings were a front for organized crime. On the phone earlier today, Harwick sounded . . . tense. A first for the cool-under-fire Harwick. Another first for Harwick was this request for an unscheduled meeting tonight. Mitch had never known Harwick to alter a plan and it concerned him.
Harwick had told Mitch he’d be driving a pickup truck for the meet. Mitch’s headlights illuminated a truck parked at the edge of the road and Mitch was glad to see Harwick inside the vehicle. Harwick’s cheeks hollowed as he drew deeply on a cigarette and the tip of the smoke glowed red. Mitch flicked the high beams as they’d agreed and pulled up alongside the truck.
Without preamble, Harwick said, “We got trouble, Mitch.”
“Tell me.”
Harwick met Mitch’s gaze. “Rossington’s got a mole in our investigation.”
Mitch had taken care to keep a tight lid on the investigation, restricting access to information, keeping status strictly need-to-know but he didn’t ask Harwick how he knew about the mole or doubt that it was true. If Harwick said it, it was fact. “What do you know?”
Harwick took another drag on the cigarette then crushed it against the doorframe with a lot more force than was necessary to extinguish it. “Nothing. No face. No name. All I know is that our mole exists.”
Harwick’s anger was palpable. Mitch could well relate. There were only a handful of people working the Rossington case, and Mitch had selected each one of them. The mole could only be someone he knew. He tamped down on his rage for the moment. First things first. “What about you? How’s your cover?”
“Solid. They’re bringing me in deeper every day. Local business man, my ass.” Harwick sneered. “Fuck, Mitch, this guy is into everything dirty and depraved.” Harwick’s lips thinned. “I want to nail Rossington by his balls.”
Yeah, Mitch wanted that badly. “We’ll get him, Dan.”
Harwick gave one swift nod.
“I’ll be in touch,” Mitch said.
“What are you going to do about the mole?”
A rush of anger heated Mitch’s face. “I’m going to find that bastard.”
* * *
A 911 call would bring the police. Shelby couldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t let the police find the messenger. If her association with the messenger and the man who sent him was discovered . . . she couldn’t let herself think about the consequences of that without losing her mind.
As she sucked air into her starved lungs, she scrambled for a reason to stop Joseph but fear had numbed her ability to think and before she could come up with an excuse, Joseph had made the call.
She had to get out of here before the police arrived. Again, she tried to gain her feet but her arms and legs felt as strong as overcooked noodles.
“Should you be movin’ around, Dr. Grant? Better to stay put, I think,” Joseph said. “You should stay put till the ambulance gets here.”
“I don’t need an ambulance.” Her throat burned from the messenger’s choke hold on her neck and her voice came out raspy, belying her statement.
Deep crevices cut into Joseph’s brow and his eyes narrowed in concern behind wire-rim glasses. But when Shelby continued to struggle, Joseph grasped her arm. “Here let me help you, Dr. Grant.”
Joseph hovered at her side as she ignored pain in her middle where the messenger had squeezed her, and made her way from the alley and back to the street. Her purse and briefcase were in front of the clinic where she’d dropped them. Shelby bit back a moan of pain and bent to snatch up the items. She dug inside for her cell phone. Her hands were shaking so badly the phone slipped in her grasp. She let out a whimper of frustration and fear, then locked her fingers around the phone and sent a text message. One asterisk. The man who’d sent the messenger to her tonight had devised a single star as their signal to meet.
He had to meet with her tonight — now. She had to assuage the anger that had prompted him to send her this warning. She squeezed her eyes shut. She had to drive home the depth of her commitment to him. Though how he could doubt that, doubt her . . .
Shelby opened her eyes and stared at the phone, willing to see an asterisk in response. Praying to see one. Seconds ticked by and the screen remained dark.
Tick. Tock.
Fear filled her and a scream began to build. She bit her lip hard to suppress it, breaking the skin and tasting blood.
“Dr. Grant, you want to call someone?” Joseph said. “The Chief? You’re shaking something awful and no wonder at all. Here, let me call Chief Turner for you.”
Calling the man she was engaged to marry would be the normal thing to do, but Mitch was the last person she wanted to see now.
“No!” In her anxiety, in her panic, the word erupted from her before she could stop it. Joseph’s frown deepened at her vehemence. She swallowed and tried to think, tried to sound sane. She pushed hair back from her face. The strands were damp with perspiration brought on by fear. “No need to call Mitch, Joseph. No need to worry him.” She swallowed. “I just — just want to put this behind me and go home.” Though his intervention had done her more harm than good, she couldn’t discount that Joseph had put himself in harm’s way for her. There hadn’t been many people in her life who would do that. Ignoring her stinging palms, where bits of gravel had cut into them when she’d landed on the ground in the alley, she reached out and clasped Joseph’s arthritic hand. “Thank you. Thank you for everything you did tonight.”
Joseph ducked his head and mumbled something but she didn’t catch the words. Her attention became riveted on an ambulance and the patrol car right behind it that turned onto the street.
Both vehicles screeched to a halt at the curb, sirens blaring, roof lights flashing. Neighborhood residents, no doubt alerted by the wailing sirens, poked their heads out their front doors. Some left the confines of their homes to stand on their lawns and peer across the street while others ventured nearer, taking up positions on the chipped sidewalk and the brown grass in front of the clinic.
A cop and a medic exited their respective vehicles and began closing the distance to Shelby. She didn’t want a report of this incident. She needed to send both the medic and the cop on their way.
As the men reached her, and she was about to do just that, a black SUV she knew all too well pulled in behind the cop car. The driver’s side door was flung open and before the SUV had rocked to a stop, Mitch charged out. Her stomach clenched then dropped.
Mitch was dark-haired and tall with a hard, tough body. Standing above those around him, his eyes, a deep penetrating blue, landed on her. He kept his gaze trained on her as he made his way through the men and women that blocked his path to her.
Shelby tilted her head back to continue to look at him as he stopped in front of her. “I thought you’d be home by now.”
Was she going into shock? Of all the things to say to him, that had to be the most inane. Mitch must have thought so as well because his gaze on her intensified.
“Had a meeting,” he said softly.
He still wore the charcoal-gray suit he’d had on when he’d left for the police station that morning, though the tie was no longer knotted and hung loose on his crisp white shirt. The jacket was open, showing his paddle holster and cell phone on either side of his belt.
His brows were low, his handsome face pulled taut with worry. He lifted a hand to her neck and his gaze hardened. It was obvious by his expression that the skin there was marked. So much for keeping what had happened today from him. Her struggle with the messenger had left marks on her that she would never have been able to hide from Mitch.
Despite the look in his eyes that was now lethal, Mitch wrapped his arms gently around her and drew her against his body. “Are you hurt anywhere else? Did he—”
She didn’t need to clarify what he was asking. She shook her head quickly, hastening to reassure him, of this, at least, and ease his fear. “No.”
John stood. Mallory cleared her throat to make introductions. “Gage, this is my brother, John, and his fiancée, Eve Collins. John, this is Gage Broderick.”
John met Gage at the door and extended his hand. “Thank you.”
Gage shook John’s hand. “No thanks necessary.”
Eve joined them. She cast a look to Gage and then to Mallory, then retrieved her coat and John’s from the hall closet. “John, let’s take a walk.”
Before John or Mallory herself could utter a word, Eve hustled John out the door. Now alone with Gage, the silence resumed.
Gage looked around. “You changed some things.”
“I replaced what was broken when Manning’s men came in here.”
“Looks good.”
Mallory closed the door but kept her hand on the knob, needing something to hold on to. “I heard you were required to return to Washington.”
“My boss, among others, wanted to know how I was involved in what went down over here.”
“How’d that go?”
“I’m back to work.”
Mallory felt happy for him. “I’m glad. You’re a good cop. How does it feel being back?”
“Right.” He gave her a level look. “How are you?”
“I’m fine, thank you. How are you?”
Gage’s eyes narrowed on her, assessing her. “Really, how are you?”
After Gage pulled her up the mountain, she’d been treated for the ribs Big Brute had broken and the concussion he and his associate had caused, but to Gage now she said, “Really, I’m fine.”
She couldn’t do with this him. Couldn’t stand here making small talk. Seeing him was one more assault to the delicate balance of her emotions. She felt her composure slip and turned the knob to open the door before she lost it completely.
“Mallory, we need to talk about how we left things.”
She didn’t want to hear reasons why they couldn’t be together. Her heart breaking all over again, she said, “Gage, I don’t want you to blame yourself for leaving the day that Manning got me. That wasn’t your fault. You have nothing to feel guilty about.” That guilt would have taken him over the mountain with her.
“Please. Hear me out.”
She didn’t want to do that. Not when his words were sure to pour salt on her bleeding heart. But he wasn’t going to let this go and she was now dangerously close to breaking down. That would only upset them both. So before she did, she would let him get it all out and then he would leave her for the last time. Swallowing tears she nodded
“When Ben and Josh were killed, something inside me died too,” Gage said. “I went up to that mountain never expecting to come down.”
Mallory rubbed the heel of her hand to her heart where it now ached for Gage.
He closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, he went to the new bookcase in her living room where among tomes on investigative procedure and recent bestsellers, were photographs of Mallory at various ages with her parents, brothers, and Cassie. He stood facing them, but Mallory didn’t think he was actually seeing the pictures.
“Up there,” Gage continued, “I was in a place where no one could ever be hurt again because of me. Where I couldn’t be hurt. I’d lost the two people I’d loved most in this world. I didn’t want to love anyone again.”
Mallory closed her eyes against the pain of those words. When she opened them, Gage had turned away from the photographs, back to her.
“As long as I live I will never get the sight of you hanging off that mountain out of my head.” Gage shuddered.
“You saved me. I’d be dead now if not for you.”
“If I could remove the hurt that Manning caused you, and all the hurt I caused you . . . ” He shook his head. “I can’t—”
Her heart squeezed. “I know you can’t—” Love me. “—change how you feel.”
“Change what happened.”
“You don’t have to do this, Gage. You have nothing to blame yourself for.”
He left the bookcase and came to stand in front of her again. The expression on his face was raw and open, unlike any she’d seen on him before. “You think because I’d left you and then Manning caught you, I came after you out of guilt.” His eyes blazed into hers. “Nothing I ever did with you was out of guilt.”
Mallory just stared at him.
He framed her face between his broad palms. “I came after you because I love you.”
Mallory’s lips began to tremble. Her eyes stung with tears. Gage kissed her as the first one fell.
Against her lips he said, “I can’t change what’s happened, but I don’t have to let that be all there is for us. I want a life with you.” His voice was thick with emotion.
Mallory couldn’t blink fast enough to clear the tears blurring her view of him. Kissing him, she murmured. “I want that too. I love you so much.”
With Gage in Washington and her in New York, theirs would be a long distance relationship until they could get some things worked out, but for now all she could think was he was here holding her in his arms. “When do you need to go back home?”
Gage drew back from her. His gaze lit on each feature of her face before returning to meet her eyes. As his mouth covered hers again he said, “Baby, I am home.”
# # #
If you’d like to know when the next Protectors novel is released, sign up for Karen Fenech’s notification-only news here: http://ymlp.com/xgeubjejgmguu
Or here: http://www.karenfenech.com/books.html
PURSUED: The Protectors Series — Book Three
Available Now
Chief Of Police Mitch Turner is finally close to getting the evidence he needs to prosecute crime boss, Christopher Rossington. When Mitch's fiancée, Shelby, is attacked, he must consider the attack wasn't random, but Rossington's attempt to strike out at Mitch. Shelby insists she wasn't targeted but Mitch has questions—about the attack and now about her . . .
Dr. Shelby Grant appears to be living a fairytale life. She is doing meaningful work at her psychology practice and she's engaged to marry Mitch, the man of her dreams. But all is not as it appears. Nothing Mitch knows about her is the truth. She's been lying to him since the day they met and keeping a secret from him. She lives in fear he will find out what she is hiding. Her secret, if revealed, will destroy his love for her and will kill them both.
CHAPTER ONE
He was waiting for her outside the clinic. Shelby had no sooner stepped off the crumbling stoop of the faded, pre-second world war building and into the murky light of the one working street lamp when a man grabbed her from behind. She dropped her purse and briefcase onto the sidewalk that was littered with rotting garbage. She managed a startled shriek before he hooked her at the neck, cutting off her voice and his arm clamped around her waist, crushing her against his body.
Shelby clawed at her attacker’s arm. The man wore a light overcoat in deference to the nip in the air on the August night and her attempt to dig her nails into him was futile. She kicked back, striking him in the knee with the heel of her dress pump. He hissed in pain then his grip tightened, squeezing her wind pipe like a vise. She’d thought she couldn’t breathe before, but now she couldn’t take in any air at all.
No . . . No!
In her mind she shouted that to him, but in reality she wasn’t capable of making any sound other than desperate gasps for air.
Her attacker began dragging her down the sidewalk. She dug her heels into the cracked cement in an attempt to slow him down, but he was stronger and the dim light faded as they left the short street and entered the alley behind the clinic.
“Got a message for you,” the man said.
Shelby froze as a new and entirely different fear rose within her.
He brought his lips to her ear. “Tick. Tock.”
She didn’t need to ask who the message was from. Her insides quivered. She whimpered.
“Hey! You, there! What you doin’ to that woman?”
Shelby knew that voice. It was Joseph, the elderly maintenance man from the clinic. Her stomach tightened in fear for Joseph now as well as for herself. Any man sent to deliver this message would be ruthless and would have no qualms about killing Joseph. But, to Shelby’s relief, the man who held her must not have perceived Joseph as a concern. He didn’t even spare Joseph a glance. Message delivered, he released her. All of Shelby’s weight had been balanced on him and she fell onto her hands and knees on the stained and broken asphalt. He stepped over her and strolled out of the alley.
“Lady! Lady! You all right?”
Joseph again. Shelby coughed and struggled to get up but couldn’t manage to do so. Then Joseph was there in the alley with her. His face, worn and creased like old leather, bent to hers.
“It’s you, Dr. Grant! Dr. Grant are you hurt?” Without waiting for a response, Joseph pulled a cell phone from the shirt pocket of his blue uniform. “I’m calling for an ambulance. You hold on, Dr. Grant.”
* * *
Chief Of Police Mitchell Turner took the next turn, taking him onto the interstate leading out of Blake County, New York. Cars sped by his SUV making a soft whooshing sound. His police radio was tuned low though he could still make out the nasal voice of the woman working dispatch tonight.
Mitch cast another glance at his rearview. A late model sedan and a compact were still behind him where they’d been since he’d taken the on-ramp and pulled out in front of them. No other vehicles had followed him onto the highway.
Ten minutes later he was still in the clear and turned onto the deserted stretch of road that would take him to his destination. Trees lined both sides of what passed for this road and rose high into the sky but moonlight filtered through the branches, lighting his path. Gravel crunched beneath his tires, making a silent approach impossible if he’d wanted one. He didn’t. He wanted the man he was meeting, Dan Harwick, to know he was on his way.
Harwick was working undercover, investigating Christopher Rossington whose business dealings were a front for organized crime. On the phone earlier today, Harwick sounded . . . tense. A first for the cool-under-fire Harwick. Another first for Harwick was this request for an unscheduled meeting tonight. Mitch had never known Harwick to alter a plan and it concerned him.
Harwick had told Mitch he’d be driving a pickup truck for the meet. Mitch’s headlights illuminated a truck parked at the edge of the road and Mitch was glad to see Harwick inside the vehicle. Harwick’s cheeks hollowed as he drew deeply on a cigarette and the tip of the smoke glowed red. Mitch flicked the high beams as they’d agreed and pulled up alongside the truck.
Without preamble, Harwick said, “We got trouble, Mitch.”
“Tell me.”
Harwick met Mitch’s gaze. “Rossington’s got a mole in our investigation.”
Mitch had taken care to keep a tight lid on the investigation, restricting access to information, keeping status strictly need-to-know but he didn’t ask Harwick how he knew about the mole or doubt that it was true. If Harwick said it, it was fact. “What do you know?”
Harwick took another drag on the cigarette then crushed it against the doorframe with a lot more force than was necessary to extinguish it. “Nothing. No face. No name. All I know is that our mole exists.”
Harwick’s anger was palpable. Mitch could well relate. There were only a handful of people working the Rossington case, and Mitch had selected each one of them. The mole could only be someone he knew. He tamped down on his rage for the moment. First things first. “What about you? How’s your cover?”
“Solid. They’re bringing me in deeper every day. Local business man, my ass.” Harwick sneered. “Fuck, Mitch, this guy is into everything dirty and depraved.” Harwick’s lips thinned. “I want to nail Rossington by his balls.”
Yeah, Mitch wanted that badly. “We’ll get him, Dan.”
Harwick gave one swift nod.
“I’ll be in touch,” Mitch said.
“What are you going to do about the mole?”
A rush of anger heated Mitch’s face. “I’m going to find that bastard.”
* * *
A 911 call would bring the police. Shelby couldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t let the police find the messenger. If her association with the messenger and the man who sent him was discovered . . . she couldn’t let herself think about the consequences of that without losing her mind.
As she sucked air into her starved lungs, she scrambled for a reason to stop Joseph but fear had numbed her ability to think and before she could come up with an excuse, Joseph had made the call.
She had to get out of here before the police arrived. Again, she tried to gain her feet but her arms and legs felt as strong as overcooked noodles.
“Should you be movin’ around, Dr. Grant? Better to stay put, I think,” Joseph said. “You should stay put till the ambulance gets here.”
“I don’t need an ambulance.” Her throat burned from the messenger’s choke hold on her neck and her voice came out raspy, belying her statement.
Deep crevices cut into Joseph’s brow and his eyes narrowed in concern behind wire-rim glasses. But when Shelby continued to struggle, Joseph grasped her arm. “Here let me help you, Dr. Grant.”
Joseph hovered at her side as she ignored pain in her middle where the messenger had squeezed her, and made her way from the alley and back to the street. Her purse and briefcase were in front of the clinic where she’d dropped them. Shelby bit back a moan of pain and bent to snatch up the items. She dug inside for her cell phone. Her hands were shaking so badly the phone slipped in her grasp. She let out a whimper of frustration and fear, then locked her fingers around the phone and sent a text message. One asterisk. The man who’d sent the messenger to her tonight had devised a single star as their signal to meet.
He had to meet with her tonight — now. She had to assuage the anger that had prompted him to send her this warning. She squeezed her eyes shut. She had to drive home the depth of her commitment to him. Though how he could doubt that, doubt her . . .
Shelby opened her eyes and stared at the phone, willing to see an asterisk in response. Praying to see one. Seconds ticked by and the screen remained dark.
Tick. Tock.
Fear filled her and a scream began to build. She bit her lip hard to suppress it, breaking the skin and tasting blood.
“Dr. Grant, you want to call someone?” Joseph said. “The Chief? You’re shaking something awful and no wonder at all. Here, let me call Chief Turner for you.”
Calling the man she was engaged to marry would be the normal thing to do, but Mitch was the last person she wanted to see now.
“No!” In her anxiety, in her panic, the word erupted from her before she could stop it. Joseph’s frown deepened at her vehemence. She swallowed and tried to think, tried to sound sane. She pushed hair back from her face. The strands were damp with perspiration brought on by fear. “No need to call Mitch, Joseph. No need to worry him.” She swallowed. “I just — just want to put this behind me and go home.” Though his intervention had done her more harm than good, she couldn’t discount that Joseph had put himself in harm’s way for her. There hadn’t been many people in her life who would do that. Ignoring her stinging palms, where bits of gravel had cut into them when she’d landed on the ground in the alley, she reached out and clasped Joseph’s arthritic hand. “Thank you. Thank you for everything you did tonight.”
Joseph ducked his head and mumbled something but she didn’t catch the words. Her attention became riveted on an ambulance and the patrol car right behind it that turned onto the street.
Both vehicles screeched to a halt at the curb, sirens blaring, roof lights flashing. Neighborhood residents, no doubt alerted by the wailing sirens, poked their heads out their front doors. Some left the confines of their homes to stand on their lawns and peer across the street while others ventured nearer, taking up positions on the chipped sidewalk and the brown grass in front of the clinic.
A cop and a medic exited their respective vehicles and began closing the distance to Shelby. She didn’t want a report of this incident. She needed to send both the medic and the cop on their way.
As the men reached her, and she was about to do just that, a black SUV she knew all too well pulled in behind the cop car. The driver’s side door was flung open and before the SUV had rocked to a stop, Mitch charged out. Her stomach clenched then dropped.
Mitch was dark-haired and tall with a hard, tough body. Standing above those around him, his eyes, a deep penetrating blue, landed on her. He kept his gaze trained on her as he made his way through the men and women that blocked his path to her.
Shelby tilted her head back to continue to look at him as he stopped in front of her. “I thought you’d be home by now.”
Was she going into shock? Of all the things to say to him, that had to be the most inane. Mitch must have thought so as well because his gaze on her intensified.
“Had a meeting,” he said softly.
He still wore the charcoal-gray suit he’d had on when he’d left for the police station that morning, though the tie was no longer knotted and hung loose on his crisp white shirt. The jacket was open, showing his paddle holster and cell phone on either side of his belt.
His brows were low, his handsome face pulled taut with worry. He lifted a hand to her neck and his gaze hardened. It was obvious by his expression that the skin there was marked. So much for keeping what had happened today from him. Her struggle with the messenger had left marks on her that she would never have been able to hide from Mitch.
Despite the look in his eyes that was now lethal, Mitch wrapped his arms gently around her and drew her against his body. “Are you hurt anywhere else? Did he—”
She didn’t need to clarify what he was asking. She shook her head quickly, hastening to reassure him, of this, at least, and ease his fear. “No.”
