Chapter Twelve
A loud roar woke Riser. He bolted from the bed and rushed to the window in time to catch his truck disappearing down the driveway. “Shit!”
He raced from the room, screaming Laney’s name, all the while knowing he wouldn’t get an answer.
How the hell could he have been so fucking careless again?
Their last bout of raw sex, wild and frantic and fucking hot, had drained him completely. He’d barely managed to stay awake long enough to pull the covers over them before passing out. He’d sunk into a deep, dreamless sleep, a rare occurrence in his life, only to wake up to a nightmare. His key holder was empty. Laney’s clothes were gone, and Riser was standing naked and alone in his house.
How could he have believed she trusted him enough to take care of her problem? They’d connected on such a deep level, but that didn’t change her second-guessing her decision to leave the hospital. He was confident she’d give him the privilege of protecting her. Too confident.
His gaze fell on the kitchen table where they’d made love, the taste of her still on his lips. Her purse was slumped in a ragged heap, her cell phone right beside it. She’d left in a hurry. Riser snatched it from the table and quickly scrolled to the recent calls list. The area code for the hospital was at the top. Fuck.
He hit the redial key and pressed it to his ear. The phone rang twice before a female answered, “Red River Hospital pediatric unit.”
“This is Lily Browder’s father calling to check on how she’s recovering from surgery.” It was all Riser could do to keep his tone even, when his teeth were grinding and he had sawdust in his mouth.
“Mr. Browder? You just checked on her status fifteen minutes ago. Nothing’s changed since then. Did you have to leave the hospital?”
The black night faded to red. That bastard must’ve called Laney and told her something was wrong with Lily. It was the only reason she would have gone tearing out of here in the middle of the night—no purse, no phone, no goodbye—like a mad woman. “Thank you.” He ended the call without another comment, having gotten all the information he needed.
He quickly punched in Bo Lawson’s number, “Laney took the truck, she’s headed back to the hospital now. Are you there?”
“Yeah, I’m inside with Cheri and Lily. Mark’s here, but he can’t do anything. Lily can’t be moved and Laney’s not here. He’s prowling the halls.”
“Shit. I know she’s headed there.”
Riser let out a frustrated grunt as he crossed back into the bedroom and yanked on his pants, the rough slide of the fabric over his tender skin a tiny taste of the punishment he deserved. He had literally fallen asleep on the job. Every instinct, every ounce of training that had been hammered into him over the years had slid to the wayside beneath Laney’s soft lips and sweet moans. He was a prick, a certified asshole, and he sure as shit didn’t deserve a woman as sweet and caring as Laney. “What’s the ETA on that warrant?”
“Tomrrow morning.”
“That’s not good enough,” Riser bit out.
“It will have to be. I can’t make one magically appear in my hand.”
“Shit. I’m on my way. You keep an eye on that bastard. If he so much as lays a hand on her…”
Bo finished Riser’s sentence, “I’ll slap him in cuffs and haul his ass to jail.”
“Not if I get him first,” Riser muttered.
“We do this by the law, no hot rodding, you understand me? If I see any of your teammates in this hospital I’ll toss them in jail for interference. You got that?”
“Fine. But I swear to God, Bo, if you let him get Laney – there won’t be enough cops in this entire state to keep me from ripping his head off.” Riser hung up the phone.
He could call Ethan, but he sure as hell didn’t need the law poking its nose into his team or their activities.
But Bo Lawson had never seen Duke before. Riser had his phone back to his ear in a heartbeat. “Duke, bro, I need a favor.”
“Another bar fight?”
“Nope. Got a guy that likes to beat up on women who needs a little lesson.”
There was a slight pause before Duke answered. “Well now, why didn’t you say so in the first place. What do you need?”
Riser quickly rattled off the name and location of the hospital. Even though the very fabric of his DNA was screaming at him to go in alone, guns blazing, bombs throwing, and rip the bastard’s throat from his neck, he knew that was the exact opposite of what Laney needed. What she needed was the Riser from Task Force Scorpion, not the hotheaded lover bent on revenge.
He ran to the bathroom to take a piss and stopped in his tracks when he saw his discarded T-shirt lying in a heap on the floor. Like his hand was disconnected from the rest of his body, he reached for it, holding it up to his nose and inhaling her sent. She’d worn the shirt all night—well, except for the two times he’d taken it off—and he could still smell her on the fabric. He’d had her in his house, in his clothes, and in his bed. Riser was invested with enough force to crush granite.
He had to get her back safe and sound. No matter what.
He yanked on the T-shirt. It was probably silly, the kind of thing a guy would only do if his head was well and truly turned by his woman, but he needed that simple connection to Laney.
By the time he’d made it to the shed out back, he’d managed to get his rage pressed down into a cold, steel-like vice. He hammered the code onto the key pad and ripped the doors open, striding past the rake and shovel and push mower. At the back of the shed, he shoved a handmade bench out of the way and fingered the lock on the floor. Within seconds, he was climbing down the ladder into the subterranean room filled with his toys.
He hit the hidden light switch overhead and a green fluorescent light clicked on, illuminating his little collection. This was his own personal heaven of sidearms and grenade launchers. He had a few timer-release bombs too, and a whole bevy of other shit he could use to blow Mark’s fucking head off his shoulders.
Riser snatched a heavy, black duffel bag out of the corner and started tossing in what he needed for tonight. He added a few more rounds of ammunition that there was no way he’d actually use, but no way in hell would he be caught with his pants down. He tossed in some walkie-talkies and yanked the zipper shut.
Moments later, after locking up shop and sliding the wooden bench back into place, he yanked the cover off his bike and backed it out of the shop.
The crotch rocket started with a loud thrum. Riser secured the duffel bag over his shoulders like a backpack. Laney might have taken his preferred method of transportation, and that truck could fucking fly, but his bike could handle the curves faster and it would allow him to make up for lost time.
Riser flipped his wrist backwards and squealed out of the driveway, picking up traction as soon as he hit pavement. It was a race against time, and so far, he was losing.