Cold Midnight Page 24

  “Wait for backup!”

  “Check the house!” Sam shouted back.

  An instant later, Sam thundered, “Shit!” And slammed out the back door.

  Chase raced through the house, gun braced in a badly shaking hand as he quickly searched for intruders, every second feeling like an eternity. His need to get back to Kylie was desperate, mind-numbing, but he had to make sure the house was clear, that no one remained who would sneak up on him. But, God, Kylie.

  He found Steve Burnett in the dining area, more blood everywhere. The man was dead, and Chase moved on without letting himself feel anything. There wasn’t time. Not yet, not when Kylie was in the other room, unconscious and bleeding.

  Satisfied the house was empty, he ran back to the living room, shoving his gun into his holster, and knelt beside her. Jesus, so much blood, all over her, and her shirt . . . he remembered seeing it in tatters on the floor somewhere. The motherfucking son of a bitch bastard had ripped it right off her.

  Hands shaking, he pressed two fingers to the side of her smooth, pale neck. A pulse, please God, I need a pulse. Please.

  Yes, there it was. Strong and steady. His shoulders sagged, and he let out a choked sound of relief. “Thank you.”

  She stirred, eyes fluttering. “What . . .”

  He smoothed his hand over her hairline, stroked her brow, her cheek, to reassure her. “It’s okay,” he said. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

  He scanned her body, ran his hands over her, looking for the source of all the blood. Had she been shot? Stabbed? What? When he found no wounds, he realized the blood wasn’t hers. It was on her, as though she had rolled around in it, but it wasn’t hers.

  And then her blue gray eyes opened fully, and even dazed they had never looked so stunning to him. His heart swelled, huge and hot, right into his throat. Relief had never felt so overwhelming. “Hey,” he said softly, and smiled.

  “Hey,” she breathed, then turned her head toward the dining area. “There’s a police officer . . .”

  That was when Chase saw the dark red blood soaking the beige carpet under her head. His heart knocked hard against his ribs. Oh, shit.

  She tried to sit up. “He’s . . . I think he’s . . .”

  He pressed her shoulder down, shaking again. She’s bleeding. Kylie was bleeding. “You gotta stay still, baby. Ambulance is on its way.”

  “But the officer . . .”

  He lowered his forehead to hers, closed his eyes as he held their clasped hands against his pounding heart. He heard the sirens in the distance. Hurry, hurry.

  “Everything’s going to be okay,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her damp skin. “It’s going to be okay.”

  His cell phone rang, and he glanced at the caller ID window without letting Kylie go. Sam. Relieved, he flipped open the phone with one hand. “Please tell me you got him.”

  Sam was out of breath. “I got him. The fucker’s dead.”

  45

  CHASE COACHED HIMSELF TO KEEP BREATHING AS he paced the width of the tiny, windowless hospital room then about-faced and strode the four steps back. Small and airless, the room was filled to the brim with a bed, a brown vinyl chair with a nicked-up wooden frame and a corner workstation stocked with simple medical supplies. The sharp odor of disinfectant scented the close space.

  His black soles scuffed the white tile floor each time he pivoted, but he kept going, needing an outlet for the rage building inside him. He had to keep telling himself that Kylie was okay. She’d struck her head on the coffee table, and the resulting wound had bled like a bitch, but it was small, no stitches required. The ER doctor had ordered a head CT scan to check for more significant injury but said it was just a precaution.

  He glanced at her, his stomach lurching all over again at the absolute whiteness of her still face. She looked small and vulnerable on the bed in the white hospital gown, an IV line snaking out of the back of her right hand. A clamp on her right index finger kept track of her pulse, its steady beat echoed by a monitor next to the bed. He told himself that the darkness of her hair made her look paler than she was, but that didn’t stop him from grinding his teeth, especially when he focused on the fist-size smear of purple along her jaw.

  The man who did that to her was dead. Sam had had no choice but to kill him in self-defense. And, at the moment, they had no idea who he was.

  Chase tore his gaze away from Kylie and hooked his hands behind his neck, leaning his head back and closing his eyes as her account of what happened replayed in his head over and over. That bastard was going to rape her. And then he was going to kill her.

  The rage dug his fingers into the nape of his neck until he felt his skin threaten to give under his nails. He needed to get a grip, get control. He was no good to her, to anyone, if he let violence take over. But, God, he wanted to pound the life out of someone, make someone pay for hurting her, for terrorizing her. It didn’t help that her assailant was dead. Nothing helped.

  “Hey.”

  He opened his eyes to see Kylie watching him with a small smile. He fought the urge to let his body fold, to fall to his knees at her bedside. Instead, he returned her smile with his own, lazy, “Hey.”

  Resting his hip on the edge of the bed, he stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. She was so warm, so alive, and the knowledge stirred up a new surge of gratitude. “How’re you doing?” he asked.

  “I’ve been worse.” She turned her head against his hand, closing her eyes briefly as though his caress sustained her. Then she opened her eyes and met his gaze. “The police officer . . . he’s dead?”

  Rage and grief billowed up inside him like rolling clouds of choking black smoke. Steve Burnett had been a good man, a good cop. He nodded slowly. “Yes.”

  She absorbed the news with a soft, hitching sigh, tears welling into her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

  He skimmed his thumb under her right eye, catching the first tear, amazed that she’d let it fall. “Shhh, it’s not your fault. He was doing his job.”

  “That could have been you . . .”

  He leaned forward and kissed her, so fucking grateful for the warmth, and responsiveness, of her lips. “It’s okay. I’m right here.”

  She cupped his face with her hands and deepened the kiss, her tongue sweeping between his lips before she tore her mouth away and pressed her cheek to his and held him there, her fingers in his hair, stroking, holding, her body trembling.

  He drew back to smooth away the tears spilling over her pale skin, marveling that she was letting herself cry. This was different. She was different. She wasn’t trying to hide her emotion, wasn’t even trying to control it.

  “I love you,” she whispered, her smile wet but glorious.

  The words shook his world, made it light up like the sun had just exploded, and he almost laughed. He wanted to drag her against him, feel the beat of her heart against his body, rejoice in the simple fact that she was alive. But the threat of causing her discomfort held him back, so he cupped her chin, smiled into her eyes and responded with a gentle, reverent kiss.

  He felt her sigh against his lips, and a shudder of want rolled through him. The reverence of the kiss turned desperate for a moment, and he had to force himself to back off, to let her breathe.

  When they parted, they both shifted so she could snuggle against him, her head resting against his chest. “I’m sorry,” she said, stroking her fingers over the triangle of skin exposed at his throat. “I’ve been a total idiot.”

  He closed his eyes and ran a hand lightly over her arm, her hair. Everything felt like silk, like life. “I can’t argue with that,” he murmured. “Can I ask what changed your mind?”

  She drew in a shaky breath. “When I realized that I was going to die, all I could think about was how much time I wasted running away from love. Away from you.”

  His cell phone started to ring, but he tuned it out. Nothing was going to end this moment too soon. Nothing.

  She lifted her head to look up at him.
“Shouldn’t you get that?”

  “It can wait.”

  Smiling, she trailed a finger over his lips, laughing softly as he nipped at it. “We have a lot to work out. Quinn . . .”

  He nodded as he drew her closer. “We’ll figure it out, Ky. If anyone can, two strategists like us can.”

  He held her for a long time, listening to her breathe as she drifted in and out of sleep for about half an hour. Eventually, he’d have to show her the picture of Mark Hanson he’d stashed in his pocket. He’d have to ask her if he looked familiar to her at all, as a possible assailant from ten years ago. He’d have to ask her specific questions about the attack today, to try to figure out why the guy came after her in the first place.

  “You’re so tense.”

  He glanced down to see Kylie with her head back and gazing up at him, her eyes sleepy.

  “No need to worry,” he said, stroking the hair off her forehead. “That’s just how I always am.”

  “Do you need to go do something?”

  He smiled at the drowsy question. “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Cop stuff.”

  “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

  “Not already.”

  He sighed. “I do have a few questions I have to ask you, if you’re up to it.”

  “Okay.” She shifted off him and settled back against the pillows while he got up.

  When she focused on him, she looked as tired as he felt, and he considered putting this off for a while longer.

  “I’m fine,” she told him and smiled. “And I’m not just saying that.”

  Drawing the photo of Mark Hanson out of the back pocket of his jeans, he handed it to her. “Do you recognize him?”

  She peered at the picture for a long moment, her stillness telling him that she somehow knew she was looking at the photo of a suspect in her attack. “He’s so young.”

  She raised her eyes to his, and they were so haunted that unease settled in his stomach like a greasy burger. “Do you recognize him?” he repeated.

  She looked back at the photo, and he heard her breath catch almost imperceptibly. “He’s wearing braces.”

  “And that’s significant because . . .”

  “I thought at first that the one guy had a razor blade, or something, between his teeth, like he was going to use it to cut me.”

  A roar began in his ears. Jesus. Every time they talked about it, some new, horrific detail came out.

  Her voice cut through the noise in his head. “I realized I was seeing braces, but I never mentioned it for the description. I don’t think I even remembered the braces until now.”

  He tried to think clearly. “Could this be that attacker?”

  “I don’t know.” She shook her head, frustrated. “You could show me a picture of anyone with braces and maybe it would ring a bell.”

  “What about his eyes?”

  She tried to hand the photo back to him without looking at it again.

  “Look at his eyes, Kylie.”

  Her gaze locked with his, and for a moment, her fear was so stark, so shocking, that his breath caught in his throat. This was Kylie McKay without her defenses, and it suddenly terrified him. What if he screwed this up? What if he let her down?

  She dropped her gaze back to the photo and examined it until her forehead creased. “We might have gone to school together.”

  “His name’s Mark Hanson. He was in Quinn’s graduating class. Do you remember speaking to him or any kind of interaction?”

  “It was a long time ago, but no, I don’t think so.”

  “Could he have been a friend of Quinn’s? Or Jane’s?”

  She arched a quizzical brow. “Jane’s?”

  “I’m just trying to prod your memory.”

  “I don’t know. I mean, he does look familiar, but I don’t know why. I probably just remember seeing him in the halls at school. What makes you think he might have been one of them?”

  “He’s dead, Ky. He disappeared at the same time as your attack, and earlier today, his body was found at the construction site for the tennis center.”

  “Oh my God.”

  As she paled, he took her hand and stroked his thumb over the back of it as he delivered the rest of the bad news. “The side of his skull was crushed, possibly with the same baseball bat used on you.”

  She stared at him. “Then he was one of them.”

  “I think so, yes.”

  “And you think the other one killed him?”

  “It’s a strong possibility, yes.”

  She grasped his hand with both of hers and looked him straight in the eye, her gaze so intense his heart tripped. “Quinn is not a killer.”

  He used his free hand to cover their clasped hands. “Trust that I’ll do everything in my power to help prove that. Can you—”

  Loud voices outside the door, one of them high-pitched and pissed, cut him off.

  Kylie cast him a panicked glance. “That sounds like Jane.”

  “I arranged for a guard outside your door. She can’t come in unless you want her to.”

  “I can’t keep my sister out . . .” She trailed off and sat back to rub at her forehead. “God.”

  “Head hurting?”

  “A little.”

  He gently lifted her chin with his fingers and smiled into her shadowed eyes. She’d really had a crappy day, and it was painted on her face in the dark smudges under her eyes and the ugly bruise on her jaw. “A little?”

  “More than a little,” she conceded.

  “Want me to run interference with Jane?”

  “That’s not necessary. I can handle her.”

  “How about I detain her for a few minutes to let you get your thoughts together?”

  “That’d help.”

  He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Relax and let me handle things for you for a while, okay? I know you can do it, but you don’t have to anymore, not alone.”

  She caught his face between her warm palms and kissed him on the lips. “Thank you.”

  As he closed her door behind him, he spotted Jane McKay in the hall, toe tapping in barely restrained impatience.

  46

  “HELLO, JANE.”

  Kylie’s half sister wore perfectly creased khaki slacks and a tucked-in, sunshine yellow linen blouse, her blond hair brushed back behind her ears with bangs falling over her forehead. Her makeup looked freshly applied. She seemed oblivious to the nurses and orderlies buzzing around the nurse’s station about six feet away as she eyed Chase as if she were the bull and he waved a fiery red cape.

  “Are you the anal-retentive control freak who decided I need permission to see my own sister?”

  “Kylie’s fine,” he said, ignoring her question. “We’re waiting on some test results for confirmation.”

  Jane blinked and let her arms drop to her sides, as though she’d realized she’d let her frustration dictate her priorities. “What happened?”

  “A man broke into the safe house and tried to kill her.” He carefully watched Jane’s reaction to his blunt words.

  She took a step back, her hand going to her throat as the heightened color in her cheeks faded away. “And you’re sure she’s all right?”

  “She has some bruises.”

  “Wait, she was at a safe house? Why?”

  “It was a precaution.”

  “So if she was at a safe house, why wasn’t she safe?”

  “We’re still sorting out what happened.”

  She squared her shoulders, the determined glint returning to her dark brown eyes. “Then I’d like to see my sister now, detective.”

  “I have a few questions first.”

  A blond eyebrow arched in challenge. “I don’t have time for questions.”

  “Make time,” Chase replied.

  Jane, her chin inching up, shifted her gaze to the police officer standing guard at Kylie’s door. “I’d prefer not to do this here, if you don’t mind.”

  Chase g
lanced at the guard and angled his head. “Take a five-minute break. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Once the guy was out of earshot, Chase turned back to Jane. “How did you know Kylie was in the ER?”

  Jane sighed. “I don’t understand why this is necessary,” she said, her voice low as she darted a glance around at the ER activity. A baby had started to cry somewhere behind one of the curtained cubicles. “You’re acting like I’ve done something wrong just because I showed up to help my sister.”

  “Please answer the question, Jane.”

  “Fine. A friend of mine is an ER nurse. She called me, and I called Quinn. You can tackle him when he gets here, if you want. May I see Kylie now?”

  “A few more questions first.”

  “This is ridiculous—”

  “What’s your relationship with Wade Bell?”

  Jane sighed and folded her arms, looking away as she tapped her foot. “I know you already think you know, but you’re wrong.”

  “Then set me straight.”

  She stared at the door to Kylie’s room for a few moments. “Does she have to know?”

  “I don’t plan to tell her anything that’s going to hurt her unless she asks me point-blank.”

  Jane’s laugh was humorless. “You think my answer is going to hurt her? That’s unlikely.”

  “The doctor told me he was with you yesterday morning.”

  “That’s true. But there’s no relationship.”

  Chase’s patience slipped. “Perhaps you’d like to clarify.”

  Jane gripped the elbows of her crossed arms. “Wade and I spent the morning together, yes. But it was nothing.” She looked away. “It was a mistake.”

  “How so?”

  Her usual detachment returned, and she met his gaze head on. “I thought he wanted me, but he just wanted a substitute.”

  “A substitute?”

  “Come on, detective. You’re not that slow. He couldn’t have Kylie, so he settled for what he thought would be the next best thing: me. And I was stupid enough to go for it. But joke’s on me. He’s still in love with her.” Her voice cracked, and she stopped, a muscle in her jaw tensing. She gave him a pained smile. “Can you imagine? Twenty-six and still failing to measure up to big sister.”