Eleven
called his name.
Booker groaned and cracked his lids. Holy Christ, his head hurt. His left side was no picnic either, so he rolled right and pushed himself up. Pain sliced through his skull and he pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes in a pitiful attempt to keep his jumbled brains from seeping out.
“Goddamn it, Spaniard! Pick up the fucking phone!”
Booker turned toward the voice. Everything came back to him in a rush.
Kissing Ellie. Talking to Brandon on the phone. The phone.
Booker found it on the ground beside him and he put the thing to his ear. “Bran,” he croaked, shoving to his feet. A muffled thank fuck drifted through the line. “Owen was here. Ellie—” Booker searched for any sign of her. “How long was I out?”
His head felt as if it had been split open. He felt around and sure enough, he found a gash the size of the Grand Canyon on the back of his head, compliments of the bloody rock jutting out of the ground.
“A couple of minutes. I heard the shot. Are you hit?”
Booker glanced at the wound in his left shoulder. No exit wound and still bleeding. “I’ll live.”
“I called Hank after I heard the shot. He’s on the way. ETA: twenty minutes.”
Booker didn’t have twenty minutes. “I’ve got to find Ellie.”
“Owen tracked her with the locket. I heard part of an argument before everything went quiet.”
He needed a weapon.
As he took the first step toward the cottage, Ellie’s scream broke the silence.
He spun toward the sound, dizziness making him stagger sideways like a drunk.
The house. She was in the house.
Growling with fury, Booker knew he didn’t have time to get to his gun. He charged ahead, ready to take on Owen unarmed, before he remembered the ax. Willing his legs to cooperate, he doubled back, closed the short distance to the woodpile. Using his good arm, he jerked the handle of the ax, freeing it from the stump.
I’m coming, baby. Hang on.
Wanting to conserve energy, he didn’t bother lifting the blade. He let it drag the ground as he forced his legs into a sloppy jog.
The uselessness of his left arm reminded him that Owen had a gun. Booker slipped through the back door without a sound.
A shot rattled the walls.
Fear and adrenaline flooded Booker’s system, giving him a brief reprieve from the pain. Moving fast and quiet he made his way through the house and up the stairs.
Heart hammering in his chest, he followed the sounds. He flattened against the wall outside the room, drew in a breath, and slipped through the doorway.
Blind rage assaulted him when he saw Owen holding a gun to Ellie’s head. Her face was tear-stained and bruised.
Her eyes widened when she saw him. The fear and regret in her eyes was his undoing.
She was not dying today.
Booker swung the ax. His strength and aim were off, but the blade found purchase in the arm holding the gun.
Owen roared in agony. The gun dropped to the floor. He clawed at the blade, knocked it loose.
Before Owen could recover, Booker dove for the gun. Training and instinct took over. He palmed the grip, rolled to his back, and fired a bullet directly into Owen’s skull.
The force from the shot threw Owen back and he fell to the floor, dead.
Booker stretched his neck, searching for Ellie. She was slumped on the floor. Her arms were wrapped around her knees and she was rocking slightly.
Fuck. He never wanted her to see this side of him. His life hadn’t been all sunshine and roses. There were dark, ugly areas he had hoped to shield her from. He didn’t want her to be afraid of him, or afraid of what she’d seen.
He rolled to his knees and hobbled over to her. His strength was running out. He’d lost a lot of blood and the bullet in his shoulder would need to be removed ASAP. Might need a few stitches in his noggin, too.
“Ellie? Baby, are you okay?”
She jumped, as if his voice startled her. He reached for her, needed to hold her, to feel her warmth and the beat of her heart.
“Don’t,” she said, stopping him before he could touch her. “I can’t—”
Booker dropped his ass to the carpet. “I won’t…” he swallowed hard. “I won’t touch you, but I need to know if you’re hurt. Did he—”
“I’m fine. Bruised, but fine.”
He pursed his lips and nodded, reminding himself that the guy who had hurt her was already dead. “All right, then. That’s good.”
“We need to get you to the hospital,” she said softly. “You’re bleeding.”
He didn’t realize she’d noticed. “I’m okay. It’s better if we don’t leave just yet. Hank should be here any minute and then we’ll go.”
She nodded and turned to rest a cheek on her knee.
How was he supposed to fix this? He couldn’t change who he was. The things he’d done. “I’m sorry, Ellie. I wish you hadn’t witnessed what I just did. I never want you to be afraid of—”
She looked at him then. “I stabbed him with a screwdriver,” she blurted. Fresh tears sprang and ran down her cheeks.
Booker jerked back, surprised. For the first time, he noticed the blood on her fingers. “You did what?”
He glanced at Owen and saw the evidence for himself. A blue screwdriver handle dangling from Owen’s side.
“I didn’t have a choice,” she whispered on a sob.
Relief washed through him as she scrambled for his lap. She wasn’t afraid of him. She was afraid of herself.
Booker knew all too well what she was going through. Ellie hadn’t killed Owen, but the intent had been there. Coming face-to-face with the realization that she had the capacity to take a life would be a real mind fuck.
He gathered her against his good side and held her while she cried. He kissed the top of her head. “You did the right thing and I’m proud of you. He didn’t give you a choice. It was either him or you. And when those are the stakes, the answer is always you. Do you hear me? Always. You.”
#
months later
Austin, Texas
Booker leaned against the bumper of his truck, watching as Roman and Brandon loaded the last of the boxes into the moving van. His shoulder wound had healed, but he wasn’t back to functioning at full capacity, making him extra grateful his buddies had shown up to help.
A door opened and Ellie stepped out of the house and into the garage. Booker took a moment to enjoy the sight of his wife while she was unaware.
His wife. Officially. Again. They had done the informal courthouse nuptials thing the previous week, neither of them wanting anything more than to be wed. They planned it specifically to coincide with his family’s move to Montana. Two birds. One stone.
He was the luckiest man alive.
His family had welcomed Ellie back into the fold as though she’d never left. In a way, she hadn’t. She had always been the one who held his heart. She made him whole. She made him happy. And he’d move hell and earth to make sure she was happy, too.
Ellie caught him staring and sauntered over.
“Hey, you.” She walked into his waiting arms. “Noah rigged a laptop and has a ball game on. Ketcher said the steaks would be done in about ten minutes. Are you guys about done out here?”
He kissed her softly. “You’re perfect, you know that?”
She laughed. “Because I offered you a ballgame and a steak?”
“Don’t underestimate the power of good meat,” Roman joked as he and Brandon joined them.
“Here, here,” Brandon said.
Booker bent and put his mouth next to her ear. “No, querida,” he said for her alone. “Because you’re breathing.”
He was just about to nuzzle her neck when he was rudely interrupted.
“All right, you two. That’s enough,” Brandon said, wiping the sweat from his face with a towel. “I have something to tell you.”
Ellie stayed within the circle of his arms, but turned so she could face the other men. The position put her ass against his groin, so he wasn’t about to complain.
“What’cha got?”
“The firm Ellie used to work for has hired Alec to do some forensic accounting of Owen’s clients,” Brandon said. “It appears Owen used some of the money that cycled through Dean Sanchez’s businesses to fund his own political campaign.”
Roman whistled. “Embezzling laundered money from a crime lord? That takes some balls.”
Ellie tensed. “Dean is still in jail, though, right?”
“The combined evidence of what Alec uncovered with what the feds already had compelled the judge to deny bail, so yes. He’s behind bars while he awaits trial, where odds are they will put him away for a long time.”
Booker felt Ellie’s muscles ease. Her chest deflated. “Then it was worth it.”
They all knew what it was.
The first month after the it, Ellie had struggled. She had nightmares and bouts of self-doubt. Things were a little better now, and they’d keep getting better because his wife was a fucking rock star who could handle anything.
He bent and placed a kiss on the side of her neck. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she whispered back.
“Or for fuck’s sake,” Roman complained. “You two are the mushiest people I know.”
Ellie escaped his arms and went to pat Roman on the cheek. “Your turn’s coming.”
“Forget it.”
She glanced around. “Where are Adam and Sully?”
“Beer run,” Booker told her. “They’ll be back any minute.”
“All right,” Ellie said, walking backward toward the garage door. “You guys get your butts in the house when they get back, or your food will get cold. And I made a tarta de queso for dessert. Abuelita’s recipe. You won’t want to miss it.”
“What kind of tart?” Roman asked.
Booker shoved Roman’s shoulder. “A Spanish cheesecake, dumbass.”
“Oh, God,” Brandon groaned. “My favorite. With all of you moving away, it’ll probably be the last time I’ll get to have some. Unless … are you sure I can’t convince you to stay in Texas, Ellie?”
Ellie snagged Booker’s gaze. She gave him a saucy wink.
“Sorry, Bran. Montana already made me an offer too tempting to refuse.”