Chapter Fifteen
The thunder of the gun was too loud. The men crashed to the floor as Shelly rushed toward them.
Bam. Bam.
Two more shots.
And…
John was on the floor. Not moving. There was blood streaming from his temple.
Blane staggered to his feet. His hand was shaking as he took aim again. “Let’s be real sure that you don’t come back again, asshole.”
Shelly threw her body at him. They collided with a force hard enough to make her bones shudder before they slammed into the little table nearby. It splintered beneath them, sending a lamp shattering to the floor. She rolled fast and surged to her feet, aware of blood spilling from her wrist where a thick, glass shard of the broken lamp had lodged. The shard was long and jagged, and it hurt like a bitch. “Stop!”
He still had the gun. The bastard hadn’t dropped it, but at least he hadn’t been able to shoot John again. And her body was between Blane and John now.
“I won’t let you do it,” Shelly swore. “You’ll have to kill me before you can get to him.”
But Blane…laughed. Laughed as he holstered his weapon. “Oh, Shelly, that was always the plan.”
She shook her head.
He bent and pulled a knife out of his boot.
Fumbling, she yanked the chunk of glass out of her wrist. More blood flowed, but she ignored the wrenching pain. She wanted to look back at John, to see if he was still alive, but she didn’t dare take her gaze off Blane.
“Can’t kill you with my service weapon.” Blane gave a little shrug. “That wouldn’t make sense.” His gloved fingers gripped the knife. “So I’ll use this, and then I’ll put it in John’s hand. My bullets are in him because, well, someone had to save the day after he attacked you, and, of course, I was just the man for the job.”
“Your plan is a whole freaking lot like Devin’s was!”
He smiled at her. Took a step toward her. She instantly slid back.
“It is,” Blane agreed. “Because we were working together. It was all supposed to be so easy.” His gaze darted over her shoulder. “Who the fuck knew a super soldier was going to come to your rescue?”
Her bloody fingers curled around the chunk of glass. She used her right hand because she could barely feel the fingers of her left. She didn’t want to look at her wound to see how bad it was. “You were working with Devin.”
“I just said I was, didn’t I? I mean, shit, what did you expect me to do?”
“I don’t understand. We were friends—”
“You and your brother had the company. You had all the money. God, Shelly!” A sharp bark of laughter came from him. “You didn’t even care about the company! You spent your days painting pictures and not even noticing the world around you! I thought at first that I could romance you, get you to marry me, and then I’d take what was mine. I mean, I always kind of liked you. But you screwed that up, didn’t you? Backed away from me before I had any real chance.”
“We were friends,” Shelly said again. She was talking mostly to buy herself time. To buy John time. She kept telling herself that he just needed time to heal. But Jay’s voice replayed in her head. I’ll make sure that you stay permanently dead. A bullet to the brain will do that to your kind.
“You know who else was friends?” Blane demanded, tossing her word back at her. “My dad and your father. They were such fucking good friends that they worked together up here in the mountains, they invented together, but your asshole of a father stole the ideas my old man created. He took the inventions. He patented them. He got all the money, and I got left with jackshit.”
Her heart surged in her chest. “That isn’t true.”
“It fucking is!” Blane screamed. “My dad didn’t think the shit they made was going to be worth anything. Thought they were just tinkering around. He signed the rights away. Let your dad pay him five grand for them. Five freaking grand! Then your dad walked away and made millions.”
Her breath came faster. Harder.
“My dad died when I was eighteen. I’d just found the papers he signed. I knew he’d helped to build that damn company. Your dad came to me. You know what he did?” Blane didn’t give her a chance to respond before he blasted, “Offered to pay for my fucking college. Like that was going to make us even. I asked him about my dad’s inventions. And your father lied to my face. He said the things he’d done with my father hadn’t helped the company. That he’d had to completely change them, redevelop them. Bullshit!”
“Blane—”
“I wanted what was mine. Even after your dad died, I had to stay on this godforsaken mountain, waiting, watching, as Charles got more and more money.”
And the rage inside of him had grown.
“Then Charles took a partner.” More laughter spilled from him. “But it wasn’t long before good old Charles found out that Devin had been taking money from the company.” Blane’s lips curled in a humorless smile. “I heard them arguing one day, outside of Sammy’s. Charles was going to fire Devin. Going to cut the man off without anything. And I saw my opening.”
Her gaze dropped to the knife in his hand. She had a flash of facing Devin again. For an instant, she could see his face so clearly. She’d accused him of killing her brother. His eyes had gleamed and instead of a confession, he’d just said, “Did I?”
Pain twisted in her stomach. “There were no signs of a forced entry at my brother’s house. The police thought he knew his attacker. That he let the guy inside. He didn’t even fight back because he didn’t see the attack coming.”
Blane glanced at the knife in his hand.
Shelly swallowed. Blood kept dripping onto the floor near her as her wrist bled and bled. “Devin didn’t kill my brother, did he?”
“Devin was supposed to take out the bodyguard your brother had tailing you.” Anger roughened Blane’s voice. “Turns out that asshole was harder to kill than we thought.”
Her shoulders stiffened, her spine straightened, and an ice-cold rage filled every vein in her body as she tightly gripped the chunk of glass. “You killed my brother.”
“I was just taking back what was mine. Years I spent up here, watching him get richer and richer and—”
She flew at him. Ran straight for him and slashed him with the chunk of glass. He wasn’t prepared for her attack. The jerk had still been going on and on about how he deserved his cut of the money. She sliced him across the face, cutting into his cheek. He yelled and instinctively lifted his hand to shield his face. People always cared so much about their faces. He was so busy defending himself that he wasn’t striking back.
She sliced again, cutting across the arm he’d raised. Then she drove the chunk of glass at his stomach, shoving it as hard as she could.
He stumbled back.
“My brother worked for everything he had! So did my father.” Her breath heaved out. “I saw your dad’s old designs years ago, you dumbass. They didn’t work. They never worked. Only no one said anything to you because we didn’t want to tarnish your memory of your dad. My father gave him that five grand because your dad was broke, and he needed a loan from a friend. There was never any partnership—”
His hand closed around her throat. His left hand grabbed her throat and his right brought the knife up to her face. He put the blade right on her cheek. “You fucking bitch.” He squeezed her neck harder, choking her, and she could only gasp. Spittle flew into her face as he demanded, “Did you think a chunk of glass was going to stop me?” His breath blew over, and the scent of alcohol was so strong. He’d gotten his liquid courage, then he’d come up there to kill her.
She thought he’d slice open her cheek. But he didn’t.
He laughed at her again. “Glad you gave me a few wounds,” he muttered. “It’ll make my story more believable.” He stopped choking her but moved the knife down to her throat. “Got anything you want to say?”
Not to him. “I love you, John.”
Blane’s eyes widened. “What the fuck—”
“Sweetheart, I love you, too.”
Blane hauled her forward. Twisted her around so that her back was against his chest and his arms looped around her. He kept the knife at her throat, cutting into her skin so that blood spilled from her neck. Not deep enough to kill, but the threat was there.
And she saw John. Standing near their Christmas tree. Blood dripped down his temple, covering the side of his face. His shirt was wet with blood, too, as if he’d been shot in the chest, and she remembered hearing the extra blasts of gunfire.
“No!” Blane screamed. “I shot you in the head! I heard what that bastard said in town—a shot to the head will kill you! I shot you—”
“Shelly’s scream warned me. I was able to dodge a direct hit.” John’s smile was absolutely terrifying because it promised death. “You grazed my head. The bullet didn’t go into my brain.” He waved toward his chest. “These wounds took me out for a bit, but as you can see, I’m back now.” He pointed at Blane. “And you’re a dead man.”
Shelly was smiling. She couldn’t help it. A knife was at her throat, but John was back. She’d bought him the time he needed. Blane wasn’t going to win.
“Stay away from me!” Blane blasted. “Or I will slice her from ear to fucking ear! She’ll be dead before you can reach me.”
Was it true? Or was John faster? She could see the struggle on his face. He wanted to lunge forward, but…
Blane pressed harder on her throat. She didn’t make a sound, she wouldn’t give Blane the satisfaction of making her cry out, but Shelly felt more blood slide down her neck as the pain deepened.
“Why won’t you just die?” Blane’s voice was shaking. So was the hand that held the knife as it cut across her skin. “Shit, I was so afraid that you’d remember me. I met you before. Charles introduced us the same day I killed the bastard. He’d hired you to watch Shelly, but I swear, you’d fucking gotten some kind of crush on her. You were telling Charles that you wanted to meet her, that you wanted to explain who you were. You thought you were going to have some kind of chance with her, and that would have screwed up everything. So I had to act. I took out Charles. Devin went after you, and then Shelly…”
Her right arm lifted, moving slowly.
“Devin wanted to kill you right away, but I thought maybe I’d try my old idea of marrying you, Shelly. I mean, too many deaths would have looked suspicious. No one could connect John and Charles, but both you and Charles? Siblings dead within such a short period? That would have been too much, too soon. So I had to bide my time. I knew you’d come up here for the holidays. You always do. That was going to be my chance.”
“You…sabotaged my car, that first night…”
“No, that was Devin.” He laughed. “I sabotaged my own car because I knew no one would ever suspect me then.”
She hadn’t suspected him. Shelly felt his mouth against her ear as he said, “You were either going to fall for me, or you were going to die.”
“She’s not dying,” John snapped.
No, she wasn’t planning to die. Shelly had too much that she wanted to do in this world. Moving as fast as she could, not stopping to worry about what might happen next, she drove her right elbow back into Blane’s stomach, knowing she’d be hitting the same area she’d wounded earlier.
He let out a howl of pain, and she surged forward as his hold loosened, just for a moment, thinking this was her chance.
But Blane grabbed her. Caught her arm and nearly dislocated her shoulder as he spun her back toward him. He brought up the knife, drove it down at her—
“She’s not dying.” John’s words. Only this time, they were said right next to her. Because he was there. He surged in front of her and the knife hit him. It sliced over his chest, but he just drove out his fist, slamming it into Blane’s jaw.
Blane staggered back. The knife flew from his fingers. He scrambled, trying to get his gun.
But John was on him. John jerked the fellow to his feet, and John had Blane’s gun in his hand before the sheriff could even make another sound.
John pointed the gun right at Blane’s chest.
Blane stilled.
Shelly’s right hand was at her throat, trying to stop the blood that kept sliding down her skin. Her left hand hung limply at her side. She didn’t feel the pain from that wrist any longer.
“Do it,” Blane challenged John. “Pull that trigger. Let Shelly see you kill again. Let her see, let her know what she’s going to be sleeping with for the rest of her life.”
She knew exactly what John was and that BS crap Blane was spilling would never change her opinion of him.
John didn’t pull the trigger. He glared at Blane.
Blane started to laugh. “I’m going to tell the world. Tell them what a freak you are. You’re going to get hauled back to that lab. Be trapped there, kept as a prisoner—”
“No,” Shelly’s voice was quiet and clear. “You’re the one who will be a prisoner. You’re going to be locked up. Put away for the rest of your life.” She lurched toward John, feeling a wave of dizziness wash over her. “And if you try to spread stories about him, who do you think will believe you? After all, no one can come back from the dead.”
Rage twisted Blane’s face. Such stark fury. “It should have been mine! The company, the money—all mine!”
“Don’t worry, Sheriff,” John told him coldly. “I’m sure you’ll get exactly what you have coming to you.” Then John drove his fist into Blane’s face again, knocking the guy out. Blane crumpled to the floor.
It only took John seconds to cuff him, using the handcuffs that had been on Blane’s belt. John secured the cuffs tightly in front of Blane’s body. And then John was reaching for Shelly. Pulling her into his arms. Holding her tight.
As tightly as she held him.
“God, baby,” John whispered. “That knife at your throat…” And he pulled back, his hands moving to gently touch her skin. “Shit, we need to get you to town. You’re going to need stitches.”
“I-I meant what I said.”
A furrow appeared between his brows.
“I love you,” Shelly told him.
His face softened. His eyes gleamed. John pressed a soft kiss to her mouth. So tender.
“We’re getting you to town,” he whispered against her mouth. “Then after you’re patched up, I’m taking you to bed. And keeping you in my arms until Christmas is over.”
Sounded good to her. She swallowed and forced her lips to curl. Her stomach was twisting and dizziness slid through her again as the adrenaline started to crash, but she didn’t want him to think she was weak so Shelly just stiffened her spine.
John grabbed Blane and started hauling him back outside. With her right hand, Shelly scooped up the gun that had been left behind, and she followed him out. John dumped Blane into the back of the sheriff’s cruiser. John left the back door open as he glared at the unconscious man.
As she stood on her porch, Shelly saw the bright glare of headlights coming her way. She frowned into the glare, but John didn’t seem worried. He turned toward the approaching vehicle, putting his hands on his hips.
The vehicle’s doors opened. Sawyer Cage and Jay Maverick jumped out.
“We got here as fast as we could!” Jay called. “Good thing we were near this way when Sawyer got your distress signal—”
“Behind you!” Sawyer bellowed.
Shelly’s gaze flew to John. No, behind John. Blane had jumped from the back of that cruiser. He held a gun in his still cuffed hands.
Back-up weapon. The bastard had a back-up weapon hidden on him.
Blane was aiming that weapon at John. At his head.
No! Shelly had a shot. She took it. The bullet blasted from the gun she held, and it found its target.
Blane’s mouth gaped open. His eyes whipped to her. He fell, collapsing in the snow, and the white soon turned to red beneath him.
Sawyer and Jay ran toward Blane’s collapsed form, but John—John hurried to Shelly’s side. She was still aiming the gun.
“Baby…” His voice was hoarse.
The light-headedness she felt got worse. Just how much blood had she lost? Shelly glanced down at her left wrist. Blood soaked her hand. And the porch beneath her was covered with a pool of her blood.
“I think…I do need those stitches…” Her body swayed.
John scooped her into his arms. “Shelly?”
Her eyes started to sag closed. She’d stopped Blane. John was safe. And she…
“Love you,” Shelly whispered, and she felt John’s arms tighten around her. He’d take care of her, she knew it. Things would be okay.
After all, they had to be. This was Christmas. She and John were just starting their new traditions.
Everything had to be okay.