Trusting His Instincts, page 21
A shot hits the side of the van as I jump out. Another whizzes close to my ear before I duck. “Indigo! Takin’ fire!”
She drops to one knee, lifts her rifle, and sends half a dozen shots across the parking lot. “Get to the building. I’ll cover you.”
My knee threatens to buckle on my first step, but I grit my teeth and run for the door. It’s too hot to touch. Yanking my sleeve down over my hand, I try the knob. “Son of a bitch!” Even through the fabric, it burns.
There has to be another entrance. Some way in that isn’t the temperature of molten lava. But there’s so much smoke. Why didn’t I insist we take the warehouse sooner?
On the east wall, there’s another door. This one’s a mite cooler. But it won’t budge. It’s not locked—the knob turns easily—but even when I throw my shoulder against the metal, nothing happens.
“Whiskey, I can’t get in. The door won’t budge!”
West grunts, then I hear a single shot from his M4. “Metal expands.” Another shot. “You need the battering ram. Or another way in.”
I hightail it back to the van. Inara’s still laying down cover fire. “Fucking asshole just won’t die,” she mutters as I pass her.
The portable ram weighs close to forty pounds. More than once, I stumble, off balance, as I drag my ass back across the parking lot and around the building. Adrenaline lends me strength I shouldn’t have, but the pain in my shoulders almost sends me to my knees on the first hit.
The second connects solidly, but the door doesn’t buckle. A third is off center.
“Nash!” I yell, swinging with everything I have in me. The metal screams, and I’m starin’ at a wall of flames bigger than hell and half of Texas.
“Nash!” I lift my sweater over my nose and mouth, and step into the firestorm. There’s so much smoke, I can’t see shit until I trip and land on something big and bulky and…oh, God.
The man I love is face down, covered in blood. He doesn’t stir. Neither does Angelo, who’s lying next to him, holding Nash’s hand.
For a split second, I can’t move. Nash would want me to save his father first. But…
“If you die on me,” I scream as I hook my arms under Angelo’s and drag him back toward the door, “I’m never gonna forgive you!”
The inferno spits at us, and sparks hit Angelo’s legs. In a heartbeat, his pants catch fire. Dropping him on the asphalt, I strip off my sweater and start beating at the flames. Nash is still in there, but I can’t let his father burn.
“Move!” West shouts. I leap out of the way, and he jumps on top of Angelo, wrapping him in a thick, wool blanket to smother the flames.
Racing back inside, I roll Nash over. He starts coughing and jerks when I grasp his arms. “Don’t fight me!” I snap. “We’re gettin’ out of here.”
His eyelids flutter and he stops flailing. Each step feels like a mile. He’s got thirty, maybe forty pounds on his father, and I’m fadin’ fast. But then Graham’s at my side. “I’ve got him. Trust me. We’re right behind you.”
Trust me.
Last week, those two words wouldn’t have meant spit to me. But now, I can let go. Nash is alive, and my family’s got my back.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Nash
“Darlin’? Can you open your eyes for me?” Gentle fingers caress my cheek.
My throat burns, and I start to cough. Panic has me struggling to sit up. Everything’s hazy, like I’m seeing the world through a dirty window, but nothing could hide Raelynn’s blond hair. Or the bright pink streak across her forehead.
Someone hands her an oxygen mask, and she presses it over my nose and mouth. “Just breathe. You’re safe. We’re all safe.”
After a few seconds, I can’t not hold her. The mask hits the bed, and then she’s in my arms. “Thought…I’d lost…you,” I wheeze.
“I’m too ornery to die.” Her tears drip onto my shoulder, and I start crying too. Until a man clears his throat from behind her.
“I’ll be outside.” West touches her arm briefly, and Raelynn grabs his hand.
“Thanks for stayin’ with me. I couldn’t…”
“Had to make sure you didn’t test that knee,” he says, a hint of a smile curving his lips. Turning to me, he sobers. “Nash, your father’s in the ICU with severe smoke inhalation. His doctors don’t think he’ll need to stay there more than twenty-four hours though. He also sustained second-degree burns to both legs and his hand. He’ll have some scarring, but overall, he was lucky.”
“Lucky you were there, you mean,” Raelynn says. “West came runnin’ with a blanket like a gen-u-ine super hero.”
The former SEAL slips out the door, and I take my first good look at the woman sitting on the bed next to me. The bright pink streak is a stretchy bandage wound around her head and over her left ear. Two black eyes, a deep gash on her cheek, bruises at her throat… “Shit, Raelynn. What did they do to you?”
“I could ask you the same question, darlin’.” She takes my hand, gently touching my swollen fingers and the red welts around my wrist. “But I don’t want to. Can I just…hold you for a while?”
Lying back, I let her snuggle against my chest. “I never should have left you,” she says softly. “If I’d stayed…”
Talking hurts, but I can’t stand the guilt in her voice. “No. You saved me. Fuck. You found my father and saved him too.”
She lifts her head and brushes a tender kiss to my bruised and split lips. When she pulls back, tears glisten in her eyes. “I love you, Nash.”
Hearing her say the words should make me the happiest man in the world, but instead, all I can think about is how I almost gave up in that warehouse. “Enzo told me his men had killed you,” I manage. Tightening my arm around her waist, I stare up at the ceiling to hide my shame. “When the fire started, I figured…that was it. We were going to die, and I…I didn’t care.”
“Darlin’—”
I shake my head and find the courage to look her in the eyes. “My dad said something about my ‘friends.’ Then my ‘girl.’ That’s when I knew I had to stay alive. I had to see you again so I could tell you…I love you too.”
Raelynn
The thick brace makes every step awkward as fuck, but all that runnin’ didn’t do me any favors. I’m getting a lecture from Doc Reynolds when we get back to Seattle. He said as much this mornin’ when he called to check in.
West dropped off some new clothes for Nash an hour ago, and I help him on with his t-shirt. More than a dozen cuts and twice as many bruises cover his torso, but he was lucky. A couple of bruised ribs, two dislocated fingers, and a mild concussion. In a few weeks, he’ll be good as new. Physically, at least.
I watched him sleep for hours before I lost the battle with my heavy eyelids and passed out with my head on his chest.
“You going to tell me what happened here?” he asks, skimming a knuckle over the soot-stained pink compression wrap.
“Discharge paperwork,” Graham says, poking his head into the room. “Nash is officially sprung.”
I step back, pulling my hair over my bandaged ear.
“Shit. I interrupted something. Sorry.” The youngest member of Hidden Agenda slips back into the hall, his cheeks flushing a dark crimson.
“Is he always that…?”
“Adorable? Yes.” At his wounded look, I take Nash’s hand and bring it to my heart. “He’s gay, darlin’. And even if he weren’t, you’re the one I love.”
I can’t kiss him the way I want. Not with his bottom lip split in two places. Or all our various injuries. Still, we’re alive. Together. If only the future didn’t have more questions than answers.
Graham pushes off the wall when we emerge. “Your dad’s awake, Nash. He’s one floor up. Elevator’s this way.” The young man sticks close—West’s orders, I’m guessin’—until we reach Angelo’s room. “I’ll be out here. Take as long as you need.”
“Do you want to go in alone?” I ask, though I keep a firm grip on his uninjured hand.
“No.” Nash glances through the small window in the door. His shoulders slump. “I don’t know what to say to him. He let me believe he was dead for twenty years. And…” He cups my cheek, his thumb skating just under my eye. “I almost lost you because of it.”
The raw emotion in his voice chips away at the tenuous control I’ve fought to maintain since he was taken. He’s not wrong. But in the end, Angelo was willing to do anything to save his son.
“He made mistakes, darlin’. And he knows it. I ain’t sayin’ he deserves a father of the year award, but give him a chance to explain.”
Nash holds my gaze for so long, I start to worry, but after a heavy sigh, he nods, and we walk through the door together.
“I never should have sent you away,” Angelo says, his voice weak and raspy from the smoke. “But I didn’t know what else to do. Duncan was convinced there was a mole in his office, so getting you out of the system was the only option.”
“But why didn’t you come with me?” Nash and I sit side by side in the hard plastic visitor’s chairs. I rest my hand on his thigh, squeezing gently. He listened as his father explained how he’d survived the shooting, the 911 call, and begging Duncan to keep Nash safe.
“My father forbade it.” Angelo’s shoulders slump, and his hand shakes as he clutches the thin hospital blanket to his chest. He’s weak, and a little loopy from the amount of morphine they’re giving him. “He insisted the only way he could stop Enzo DeLuca was with my help. He said he…needed me.”
Tears glisten in Nash’s eyes. “I needed you! And you sent me to live with a stranger. I couldn’t take anything with me except Mae’s little stuffed sloth, and the only reason Frank let me keep that was because I swore I’d run away if he didn’t.”
“Nathan—Nash—I’ll regret what I did for the rest of my life. But all I can do now is try to fix my mistakes.” He turns his gaze to me. “Your boss came to see me this morning. The big one with the scars.”
“Ry—”
“Code names only,” I say sharply, cutting Nash off. “What we do ain’t legal. Go on, Angelo. What did Romeo have to say?”
The older Rossi swallows hard before he’ll look his son in the eyes. “He brought a man from the FBI with him. Special Agent Moss has been investigating me, and he has enough evidence to send me to prison for twenty years.”
“No…” Nash leans forward and takes his father’s hand in his. “Dad, I can’t lose you again.”
Angelo smiles. “‘Romeo’ knows people, son. Moss offered me a deal. Give up the ‘family business,’ help him shut down my suppliers, and I’ll only do a year.”
Nash studies his father, clearly wary. “And after that?”
I’ve worked with Ryker long enough to know exactly what he’d demand before he let the FBI anywhere near Angelo. The man has connections all the way to the White House.
“The Rossi name is a death sentence, son. But ‘Romeo’ offered me a new one.” Angelo’s exhausted. Each word is weaker than the last. But the hope in his eyes burns bright. “I lost twenty years with you. I’ll give up one more for the chance to see you again. To get to know the man you’ve become.”
“Dad…” Nash hugs his father, and both men start to cry. I slip out of the room so they can have a few minutes alone, and lean against the wall next to Graham.
“Did you know about the shit with the FBI?” I ask.
He nods. “It was Connor’s idea. Moss wanted to arrest Angelo on the spot.”
“When’s it gonna happen?”
Graham angles a glance at the nurses’ station. Two men in suits stand at the desk. “As soon as Nash leaves. Angelo won’t be released from the hospital for a week, but he’ll have round-the-clock protection.”
“We sure that’ll be enough?” While the doctors worked on Nash the previous night, Ryker went after DeLuca and his son. Their car flipped over on a sharp turn. In what would have been the textbook definition of poetic justice, the impact sparked a fire, but Hidden Agenda’s leader ain’t one for prolonging the inevitable. He shot them both in the head, then let their bodies burn.
Graham gives me an “Are you kidding?” look. “Tank’s sticking around for a few days. Long enough for Ry and Dax to make some calls and get a couple of guys they trust to take over.”
“I’m guessin’ you think I don’t know nothin’ from nothin’ now.”
Nudging my shoulder, Graham stares down at me. “I’ve been where you are, Raelynn. Remember?”
“Yeah. I do.” My first mission with Hidden Agenda was to rescue Graham’s boyfriend, Quinton. I was a stranger to him then. Hell, we’d gotten off on the wrong foot only days before, but he still trusted me when it counted. And last night, I finally returned the favor.
I swallow the lump swelling in my throat, and give the younger man a quick, one-armed hug. “Never got a chance to say thanks. For pullin’ Nash out of that building.”
We share a quiet moment, neither of us quite sure what to say, until Graham smiles. “That’s what we do.”
Nash
West hands me a brand new smartphone. “About time you upgraded to something made in this century,” he says. “Raelynn has your new number. Figured you’d want one local to Seattle.”
“What do I owe you?” As soon as I say the words, I regret them. First, because there’s no fucking way I can afford a brand new device, then, because West gives me a sideways glance and shakes his head.
“We buy them a case at a time.” Raelynn eases herself down on to the couch in the Five Points hotel suite. “You don’t want to know how many we go through in a year.”
“Where’s…everyone else?” I ask. Graham is at the window, texting, but Tank, Inara, and Ryker are nowhere to be seen.
West starts the hotel’s water kettle and spoons coffee grounds into a collapsible French press. “Ry’s on his way back to Seattle with Inara. Tank’s watching over your dad.”
I have so many questions, but the first one I have to ask is, “You brought a coffee press with you?”
Raelynn’s laugh soothes me like nothing else. “West is damn serious about his coffee, darlin’.”
“Tactical genius doesn’t happen without caffeine,” the former SEAL deadpans. “You two probably want to shower and sleep, but give me ten minutes first.”
“Only if you’re makin’ enough to share. I’ve been chewed up, spit out, and stepped on.”
“Means she’s tired,” Graham calls from the next room. “I speak Texan.”
“His boyfriend grew up there.” Pouring the water in a slow circle, West inhales deeply. “Nectar of the gods, according to Cam. None of us have slept much in the past thirty-six hours.”
“I got at least two hours overnight.” Raelynn settles back on the sofa, her hand finding its way to my thigh. “Despite Nash’s snorin’.”
“I don’t snore!”
“You did last night, darlin’. Smoke inhalation.” Leaning in, she brushes a kiss to my cheek and drops her voice to a whisper. “You can saw wood every night for the rest of our lives and I won’t care, because it’ll mean you’re safe. With me.”
“I’d tell you to get a room,” West says, retrieving three mugs from the little kitchenette and setting them on the coffee table, “but there’s a perfectly good one through that door. After we talk about a few things.”
The coffee helps me focus as West, Graham, and Raelynn tell me what happened after they got to Chicago. Meeting my father, discovering one of his men was loyal to Enzo, invading the DeLuca compound. And more.
“The chef and the housekeeper are being debriefed by the FBI. They turned on Enzo in a heartbeat. Apparently, he didn’t believe in paying them very well.” West shakes his head. “Asshole.”
“We tried to send you a message through your father,” Raelynn says. “When the call came in with your location, Angelo said you could go back ‘west.’ Did you catch that?”
“I don’t remember anything from that call except how badly I wanted to warn my dad not to come. I didn’t know you were here—that you were even alive—until the fire started.”
I’m suddenly so tired, not even one of Adam’s double espressos would help. “What happens now?” I ask.
West drains his mug. “You and Raelynn rest. The plane will be ready whenever you are. If you need more than another day in Chicago, Graham and I will go back to Seattle, but a couple of the Boston crew can come take our place.”
The SEAL pushes to his feet, but I reach for his arm. “You don’t think we’re safe here?” Truthfully, I’d return to Seattle right now if I thought I could do much more than stumble into the next room and collapse onto the bed. But I have to know.
“I think some of the most dangerous and unpredictable assholes go into organized crime. The Five Points is the safest hotel chain in the world, but we don’t take chances. Not where family’s concerned.”
The sun sets outside the large picture window in our bedroom. I slept for six hours with Raelynn in my arms, and room service delivered steaks, buttery potatoes, asparagus, and two slices of chocolate cake when we woke up.
But now, Raelynn strips off her tank top, and I get a good look at the deep purple bruises covering her stomach, back, and arms. I know I don’t look much better—not with all the cuts from falling shards of glass—but she hasn’t said a word about what Enzo’s men did to her, and I need to know.
“Tell me about this?” I ask, fingering the pink compression wrap around her head.
She leads me into the bathroom and sheds her knee brace before leaning against the counter. “Enzo wanted to know what you’d told me. Whether they had to worry about anyone else knowin’ they were after you.” Her eyes pinned to the floor, she unwinds the stretchy bandage to reveal a blood-stained piece of gauze covering her left ear. “They were spittin’ mad when I wouldn’t talk.”
Her fingers tremble as she loosens the single strip of tape holding the white fabric in place.
