Chapter Ten
“How many do I have to hit for you to be satisfied?”
Ky looked over to where she stood at the side of the garage, the Glock in her hand, its barrel aimed at the ground. Her eyes had gone wide at the hidden supply of weapons Bannerman had in the pantry access room, but her only comment had been a muttered, “Why am I not surprised?” before she’d made her choice.
He’d watched her load the clip, then weigh and balance the gun in her hand like she did it every day of her life.
“This’ll do,” she told him.
He found a box of empty beer and wine bottles in the garage and set them up at varying distances from where he’d told her to stand. He wanted to ensure she was comfortable shooting up close and far.
“All of them.” He came and stood next to her.
“Are you kidding? All of them?”
“You might never get a second chance if a first bullet misses an attacker, so yes. All of them.”
She moved to the line in the grass he’d drawn for her to shoot from, mumbling something he couldn’t hear, but guessing it wasn’t something complimentary.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yup. Any particular order you want me to hit them in?”
He had to bite back the grin threatening to fly free at her snooty, disgruntled tone.
“Your call.”
Gemma nodded and planted her feet. He wasn’t surprised when she angled her body with one foot slightly behind the other in a Weaver stance—a more aggressive, weight-forward position—and not the triangular, or Isosceles stance. Gemma held her gun up to her face, lining up her shot, both elbows bent and close to her torso. Her brother-in-law, Josh, had been a New York City cop, and if he’d taught her to shoot, it made sense he’d taught her this way. Although the Isosceles stance was the more popular, Ky knew the Weaver was a power stance, and Gemma was a woman for whom power could have been a middle name.
She flexed her shoulders and neck, the motion so subtly erotic, it made his pulse quicken, and shifted her weight. From his viewing position behind her, he appreciated just how tall and lean she was. Narrow shoulders were relaxed and tapered down into a waist no bigger than a hand span. How many times in the past few days had he thought what it would be like to slip his own hands around that tiny area and pull her in close? Too many for prudence, that was for sure.
The first bottle, the one he’d placed the farthest from them, shattered into a thousand fragments. Before he could take a full breath, she’d hit the next two.
The final three closer ones she dispatched with equal ease.
When she turned to him and asked, “Satisfied?” in a tone filled with condescension, Ky had to physically restrain himself from running to her, lifting her up in his arms, and kissing the gorgeous smirk off her mouth.
Because he’d discovered how much he liked sparring with her—go figure that out—he pursed his lips and nodded. “Not bad.”
Gemma’s smirk grew into a self-satisfied grin.
“But they were all stationary targets. Really adept shooters practice with moving targets, so I really can’t gauge how well you’ll do with that. But for now, you’ll do.”
The squinty-eyed glare she aimed at him would have made a lesser man run for the hills.
“Trust me.” She dropped the empty cartridge case from the weapon into her free hand. “I can shoot those as well.”
He handed her another clip and watched as she loaded it.
“Let’s hope you never have to prove it to me.”
Gemma slapped the cartridge in place. Ky handed her a holster and waited until she fastened it around her waist.
After tightening it, she secured the gun in place, dropped her hands on her hips and asked, “Can we go now?”
She looked like a warrior armed for battle. Strong, self-possessed, and so bad-assed sexy standing in front of him, her bangs blowing back from the slight breeze surrounding them, her perfect chin tilted up defiantly. He could imagine her leading an army into a crusade against evil, each soldier following her blindly, minions pledged to fight for her, perhaps die for her without hesitation.
And he’d be one of them.
“Sure. Get your camera. I’ll secure the house.”
* * *
“I think we should head back,” Ky said.
They’d been walking for hours. The woods surrounding the cabin had, just as she’d hoped, provided her with an overabundance of perfect beauty to film.
They’d started out as soon as she’d secured her camera around her neck and checked the availability of the memory card for space. With the Glock on her hip, and Ky’s own gun in his hand, they’d ventured out from the back of the cabin, into the thick, lush woods surrounding it.
After a few moments the house was no longer visible. A mild sweep of alarm brushed through her, but when Ky looked down at a compass he’d pulled from his pants pocket, it dissipated.
“Were you a boy scout or something?” she asked, pointing to the compass in his hand.
His response had been a tiny lifting of his lips and an, “or something,” in reply.
He’d led her in every direction she’d asked to go, following the sunlight from above them.
She took hundreds of photos. The break in the canopy when the midday sun had peeked through, slitting light through the trees, giving the illusion the leaves were wet and shimmering like glass mirrors; the raging brook they’d happened upon, the water barreling over lichen-covered rocks, tiny white bubbles bursting around them as they came in contact.
A trio of foraging deer munching on several bushes had frozen in place when Gemma aimed her camera at them. Just as she’d captured three shots in succession, they’d bolted, their white tailes bouncing away from the noise. A monarch butterfly had decided to follow them at one point. When it settled on a leaf, Gemma played with all the stops on her camera, photographing the insect on zoom, in black and white, even out of focus. She couldn’t wait to transfer them to a computer and play with the composition.
In all, it was just the break she needed. She’d let her mind clear of the events of the past few days and simply enjoyed the beauty, the quiet, and the natural splendor surrounding them.
But she’d never for a moment forgotten the man walking with her, ever vigilant, his eyes darting and surveying every inch of ground they covered. Positioned a few steps in front of her at all times, guiding her way, alert to any noise and movement before she saw or heard it, Gemma knew even in this secluded, apparently safe environment, Ky was still protecting her from any and all potential threats.
He’d been patient and agreeable the numerous times she’d asked to stop to capture something with her camera. He hadn’t been chatty, peppering her with questions or making comments on her shots. Instead, he’d allowed her the pleasure to walk quietly, lost in her own thoughts, and simply be.
When was the last time she’d felt so comfortable with a man—with anyone other than her family, really—and didn’t need to keep up a conversation? Didn’t need to engage in small, inane talk to quell the nervous anxiety seeping through her? Didn’t need to explain why she was taking this shot, not another?
“How far do you think we’ve come from the cabin?” she asked.
“Hard to tell.” He consulted the compass. “We’ve circled around a few times. We’re facing the front of it now. We should get back.”
Gemma nodded and followed him.
A few minutes later they saw the cabin come into view. They were, as Ky had said, approaching it from the front road they’d traveled on the night before.
He disengaged the alarm and preceded her into the house, motioning for her to stay behind on the porch. He entered the cabin, did a quick, thorough sweep of the great room, and when he gave her the signal that it was safe to enter, she realized, with utter astonishment, that she’d obeyed him without hesitation.
The realization she’d blindly and compliantly consented to his command floored her. Never before with any other man had she followed what amounted to an order.
Why now?
Despite his primitive male sexiness and the fact that he made her quake at times with the sheer power of it, Gemma still wasn’t even sure she liked him, much less trusted him. She’d all but proven to him that morning she could defend herself if need be against an assault and he was aware she was as proficient in hand to hand combat as he was. She could take care of herself, and had been for most of her adult life.
“Are you hungry?” He re-holstered his gun. “There’s some canned soup I can heat. Some bread.” He’d moved to the kitchen and opened one of the cabinets. “It’s not much, but it’ll do.”
She didn’t answer him, still lost in thought.
“What’s wrong?”
He moved so quickly, before she could blink and lift her head he was standing in front of her, his hands locked on her upper arms.
She stared at his hands, securely, yet gently wrapped around her. Each finger was long and lean and she could feel his natural heat passing through them and burning into her skin. She lifted her head. His brows were pulled in tight to the center of his forehead, concern swimming in his eyes.
“Nothing,” she said, astounded her voice sounded as steady as it did, despite the cyclone of emotions spinning within her. “I’m just not hungry. I think I’ll go upstairs and lay down for a little while.”
“Are you okay?” His splayed fingers squeezed around her arms and she wondered if he realized he was doing it.
“I’m fine. I’m tired. The walk…” She shrugged. “It tired me out some.”
He kept staring at her, an unasked question burning in his gaze. Finally, he released his hold.
For the life of her, Gemma couldn’t explain why she suddenly felt lonely.
With a nod Ky said, “Okay. I can imagine you’re exhausted after not sleeping so well last night.”
He took a step back, dropped his hands into his trouser pockets. “If you get hungry, let me know.”
Gemma snuck one last look at him, then turned and walked up to the second floor. She could feel his gaze, following her, burning on her back the whole way and had to clamp down on the need to turn and look back down at him.
After she shut the bedroom door, she clasped her hands together and realized they were shaking. She laid her camera carefully down on the dresser top, every movement precise and slow, un-holstered the gun and put it alongside the camera. Mindlessly, mechanically, she crawled into bed, not bothering to pull the covers up over her body. On her side, with her knees drawn up to her chest, she closed her eyes, and on a ragged breath, fell almost instantly to sleep.
And dreamed of a God-like man with eyes the color of a calm sea.
* * *
Shadows from the afternoon sun played along her face, forcing her eyes open. Gemma rolled to her back, stretched, and listened as her stomach told her it was time she gave it something to eat.
The great room was empty, the bedroom he’d used as well when she peeked in. The entire downstairs area was quiet. Too quiet.
Knowing Ky would never purposely leave her alone, she nonetheless gave in to a few seconds of panic when she couldn’t find him. A slow, dim, thudding sound came from what she thought might be the garage, so she moved through the kitchen’s back door after disarming the alarm, and out to the building.
The sound was loud, accompanied now by grunting noises. Fear pounded through her. Gemma pulled her gun from its holster and crept along the side of the house. She stopped at a small window facing into the garage, held her breath, and peeked in.
The noises she’d heard were coming from Ky. Her fear flew when she realized he was pummeling the punching bag suspended from the ceiling.
The moment she wished she had her camera in her hand, she bolted back to the house, ran up to her room and was back at her viewing spot within a few seconds, the lens pointed at the powerful image in front of her.
Ky was slathered in sweat, his hair stuck flat to his head. His hands were wrapped in gauze as they’d been in the safe house basement. Shirtless, the muscles in his neck and chest flexed with each roll and thrust of his arms as they connected with the bag. The St. Michael’s medallion bounced against his neck with each move he executed. Moisture poured down his torso, dipping and pooling in the curves and indentations of his abdominal muscles.
Gemma snapped dozens of pictures, alternating the settings on her camera with every shot. She wanted to capture each and every movement he made without worry of blurring or distorting the image.
He was simply magnificent to watch, even more so because he hadn’t a clue he was being observed. Free and unfiltered, every motion he made was pure and raw, true to form, and unadulterated. His breathing was coarse but controlled, heavy sounding but not labored. A few times she heard him suck in air then let it out in a natural, easy rhythm as his fist connected with its target.
The bag swung and shifted with every hit as if it weighed nothing more than a fistful of cotton balls. Gemma appreciated just how powerful and focused Ky’s punches were when he jabbed two fists in rapid succession and the bag swung away from his body with such a force, he had to sidestep it on the recoil.
It was at that moment he became aware of her.
Standing square with him now, Gemma saw his face fully for the first time and not in profile. Her heart actually missed a few beats, then made up for the deficit by rebounding to a skipping cadence.
Primal, savage fury encompassed his features. His eyes were so filled with heat she was astounded she didn’t burst into flames when they lit on her. His luscious full mouth was open, dragging in huge gasps of air; his massive shoulders rising almost to his ears with each inhalation. Visible steam floated from the heated sweat evaporating off him.
Ky dropped his hands to his sides as he watched her, silent.
“I’m sorry,” Gemma blurted, clutching her camera to her chest. “I didn’t want to interrupt. I woke up…I couldn’t find you and I got worried…I’m, I’m sorry.”
She clamped her mouth shut.
Ky shook his head and, like a dog shaking wet fur, his sweat fanned and danced around him. He pulled one of his wrapped hands to his mouth, saying first, “You don’t have to be sorry.”
Like she had once before, Gemma said, “Here, let me help.” She swung her camera from its strap to rest on her back. She crossed to him and felt the temperature in the air surrounding him shoot up a good twenty degrees. Taking his hand from his mouth, she pulled it down and began to unfurl the wrapping.
With her eyes trained on her task, she could feel his penetrating stare covering her. She wanted to look up at him but was fearful once she did, she wouldn’t be able to look away. Ever.
She was eye level with his chin and watched, mesmerized, as moisture pooled in the deep indented notch at his throat. She swiped her tongue across parched lips and, in one insane moment of mind-numbing lust, wished beyond everything she could lap the area dry.
And then proceed to lick the rest of him.
When she felt her own cheeks flame with heat, she cursed her fair skin.
Standing toe to toe with this man who defined the word male, Gemma felt every part of her body that made her a woman scream out with desire and want.
And she did want him—in the purest, most sensual, mating sense.
When the drenched gauze fell freely, unwound from his hand, Gemma rolled it into a ball and finally ventured a look up at his face.
If she wasn’t mistaken, that dark, graphic, just barely constrained force she saw mirrored back at her told her he felt the same way she did. Her detailed and creative imagination went into overdrive, giving her a full and erotic sense of what the two of them would be like if they ever fell together.
Oh my! Bad imagination.
Her nipples pulled into two tight, painful pebbles beneath her bra. Stomach muscles she didn’t even know she possessed cramped and clenched as her lower body tensed. When she pressed her thighs together in a purely involuntary move, she felt the area at the top of them throb and moisten with need.
“Want me to do the other one?” she asked before she gave into the urge to jump up and wrap those throbbing thighs around his waist.
It took him a moment before he replied, “I’m good, thanks.”
Gemma took a mental step, and a few physical ones, back as he removed the second gauze.
“You got some sleep, then?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Feel better?” He reached out for the gauze she still held. She dropped it into his hand, careful not to touch him because she didn’t know how she’d react if she actually did, and then he tossed both over his shoulder and into a trash pail.
“Yes.”
It was his turn to nod. “Let me grab a shower and then I’ll see about dinner.”
“Let me help,” she said. When his eyebrows shot up his forehead, she realized how he might have misinterpreted her meaning. “With dinner, I mean. Cooking. You’ve…you’ve been doing everything. All the cooking, and such. I want to help. And I can cook. You know who my sister is, after all. I know my way around a kitchen. Even an unfamiliar one.”
She came slamming to halt. She never babbled, so why did just having this man look at her with a question in his eyes cause her to turn into a nonstop chatterbox?
Taking a deep breath, she counted to three, then said slowly, enunciating each word clearly, “You go have a shower. I’ll make dinner. Deal?”
He bent over, grabbed his gun from its resting spot on the floor, said “Deal,” and then moved by her and into the house.
Once she was alone, Gemma flattened a hand over her shaking abdomen and took in a deep, slow breath. There was no sane reason the thought of Ky naked and standing in the shower, lathered in soap and essence of, well, man, should make her knees goes soft and her thighs tremble.
But when she passed the closed bathroom door on her way to the kitchen and heard the shower kick in, they did just that.
Bad knees.
* * *
Ky was starting to realize the benefits of a brutally cold shower. Not only did it cool off the total body swelter his workout had heated him with, but it helped tamp down the lust raging through him.
Walking around in almost a full state of arousal for hours on end was starting to take a toll on his body and his nerves.
From the moment Ky’d watched Gemma hit all her targets like a sharpshooter, to the hours he’d spent with her in the woods, watching her work, his body had been on hyper alert.
Taking an hour to try and sweat off his ravenous desires, he’d almost gotten his body back to normal when he saw her watching him, her camera poised. The workout may have calmed him for the moment, but the sight of her in the garage had him hard and pulsing in an instant again.
This is insane.
He was charged with keeping her safe from a madman. He couldn’t do that if every time he looked at her all he could envision was what color those beautiful eyes would turn to when she came; what her skin would taste like as he ran his tongue over every inch of it; the noises she’d make when she fell apart in his hands.
Insanity. Lusting after a woman who didn’t even like him and only tolerated his company because she had no other choice.
With her brother-in-law, the other agents, even with Jon, Gemma had smiled and spoken to them as if they were old friends. With him, she continued to be reserved and quiet, nervous and unsure, all traits he didn’t think she usually possessed.
He wasn’t naive by any sense of the word—he knew when a woman liked him, desired him, wanted to be in his company.
Gemma Laine gave no indication she felt any of those things. In fact, she’d been peeved he hadn’t let her go off on her own to wander through the woods. She may have yielded to his demand to go with her, but he knew she hadn’t been happy about it. They’d walked for hours with barely a few sentences said between them.
It was obvious his desire was one sided, which was probably a good thing since he had a job to do. If his ego was a little bruised because of it, well, he’d just need to live with it.
Ky toweled off, dressed, and checked his gun before inserting it back into his shoulder holster. He needed to remember why they were hiding out here. He had to keep his mind alert and focused, his guard up, to make sure nothing happened to either of them. He had to do his job, no matter what was going on in his mind.
He took a quick glance at himself in the bedroom mirror and nodded, determined to keep himself in check now. He knew he could do it—he had to.
The smell of tomatoes simmering hit him the moment he opened the bedroom door.
“It smells great out here,” he said.
Gemma turned from the stove, continuing to stir a steaming pot of something, and in that moment he knew he’d just lied to himself yet again. There was no way he could keep his body, mind, or imagination from reacting to her.
She’d pulled her bangs off her face with a headband and for the first time he realized she had a well-defined heart-shaped peak on her forehead, the base separating her face into two perfect sections. Her features were so symmetrically balanced, if she weren’t the one taking photographs, he could see her in front of the lens, gracing the covers of beauty magazines.
“I found a box of pasta and what I’m pretty certain is a quart of Kandy’s homemade sauce.”
Ky moved to stand next to her and dipped his head to get a whiff of the sweet-and-spicy smelling brew. Gemma gave a little jump when his shoulder bumped her arm, but Ky just closed his eyes, ignoring it, and took in the heady aroma.
“If this tastes as good as it smells, I’ll need the recipe for my mother.” When he turned his head and opened his eyes she was staring at him. She was eye level since he’d ducked his head, and all it would take was a subtle shift on either of their parts to bring their lips together.
Her gaze flicked to his mouth and it took every ounce of will Ky possessed not to move in and discover exactly how she tasted.
He pulled upright and sidestepped away from her.
The little shudder he caught her make solidified in his mind how she felt about him.
He watched as she took a breath and flexed her neck from side to side in a move that had his mouth watering. She’d done the same thing that morning before proving what a good marksman she was, and it elicited the same reason from him now as it had then: he went concrete hard.
“You’re out of luck with that request.” She went back to stirring the sauce. “This is one of those recipes of Grandma’s that Kandy will never share. It’s strictly for family.”
Something he wasn’t and never would be.
She’d set the table and put bottled waters at each place setting.
“There’s no wine,” she said as she poured the sauce into a serving bowl. “I really wish there was wine.”
He grinned at the wistfulness in her voice. “Water is fine.”
He waited until she had everything ready, then sat with her.
“This is beyond delicious,” he said after his first forkful of the sauce-laden linguini.
“No lie.”
They ate in silence for a few moments, the only sounds the movements of their forks across the plates.
Raised in a family with six brothers and a sister, Ky was used to mealtimes being loud and lively. At the safe house, Jon had always been able to keep the conversation flowing, eliciting responses from Gemma without any effort. Sitting here quietly, just enjoying the meal was a rare treat. He wondered if she felt awkward with the silence, but when he stole a glance at her, she seemed content enough.
After a while she cleared her throat. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ll be honest with me in your answer?”
Taken aback by the question and the hidden implication behind it, he said, “Of course I will. I’ll always be honest with you.”
Gemma considered his words, then nodded. “How much longer do you think we’ll need to stay here?”
The question wasn’t what he expected, but she’d asked for the truth, so he gave it. “I wish I could tell you, give you an exact date and time, but I just don’t know. My division is doing everything it can to find Ritandi, but until he’s in custody, he’s a threat to you, so we have to keep you out of sight. I’m sorry I don’t have a better answer.”
Her shoulders fell as she stared down at her plate. “I figured as much.”
His heart broke at how resigned she sounded. They ate the rest of the meal in silence.
“Since you cooked, I’ll clean up,” he told her once they were done.
“No, I’ll help.” She shrugged and picked up her plate and utensils. “There’s nothing else to do.”
She washed while he dried, both remaining silent.
When the kitchen was cleaned and everything put away, Gemma leaned against the sink and sighed.
“What’s wrong?” Ky asked, standing across from her, his hands dipped into his pockets.
Her full mouth pulled down into a frown and her arms crossed over her chest. “What if he isn’t caught?”
“Ritandi?”
She nodded. “What if your men can’t locate him?”
“They will, believe me. The access to his money has been cut off. His passport has been rescinded and he’s been tagged by the FTA both here and abroad. We know his closest contacts and they’re being watched. Believe me, he’ll be found.”
“But when?” She yanked the headband from her head and scrubbed her fingers into her temples. Her bangs swished back across her forehead, perfectly aligned once again, the peak hidden from view. “It could take years. Am I supposed to spend the rest of my life running from him? Hiding out? Not able to work? Never seeing my family?”
He told himself it was because her voice broke on the last word that he moved toward her and pulled her into his arms. She looked so forlorn, all he wanted to do was comfort her, keep her from falling apart. The moment she slipped her hands around his waist and laid her head down on his chest he knew he’d told himself yet another lie.
He shouldn’t touch her. He knew it. But the need raging within him to offer whatever he could to this woman was beyond something he could fight.
“I can’t live like this,” she mumbled against his shirt. “This isn’t my life. I’m not the criminal, but I’m the one caged and cut off from the world. It’s not fair.”
Because he agreed, he whispered against her temple, “No, it isn’t.”
The delicate aroma of cherries drifted up from her hair. Ky closed his eyes and rubbed his hands down her back. She felt like a piece of porcelain against his fingers, delicate and fragile, her skin smooth and soft wherever he rubbed. But he knew the strength under that velvet covering, the backbone forged in steel. In all the time they’d been forced together, from the initial attack in her apartment, to the gun spree at the safe house, she’d never cracked. Even now, when he’d expect any other woman to dissolve in tears or rant and rave at the situation, Gemma was angry more than anything else.
Well, he could deal with anger. He didn’t know what he’d do if she ever fell apart.
“I promise, we’ll get him.”
Gemma pulled her hands from around him and shifted back. Her gaze scrutinized his face, darting back and forth between his eyes, looking for what, he didn’t know. She seemed fascinated with his mouth all of a sudden, her attention focused on the lower part of his face.
Her tongue slipped out and fanned her bottom lip while she regarded him. Why hadn’t he noticed before how it was so much plumper than the top one? It glistened with the moisture her tongue had drawn across it. Ky tensed, every nerve in the lower part of his body firing with longing.
He knew he shouldn’t, but the need to know what she tasted like was too powerful a temptation to defy. Ky bent, just a fraction, as Gemma pushed upward toward him, their gazes locked.
With eyes wide open, his lips pressed against hers, gently, just a slow, thoughtful graze. He thought she’d push him away, verbally castigate him—or worse. But she didn’t. She leaned into the kiss. Soft and smooth and warm, the feel of her lips pulled him closer. He wanted more than just a simple taste he realized in that moment. He wanted to devour her.
A tiny sigh pushed from somewhere deep within her. Gemma slid her hands around his waist again, her lips exploring his—sampling, wanting.
He could feel her heart jackhammering against his chest, or was that his own pounding against her?
A quick swipe with his tongue and she opened for him, inviting him in, the warmth of her accepting response urging him on. He tasted spice and sugar, arousal and need all mixed together in a heady blend that had him reeling.
The hands at her back slipped down to cup her perfect ass, molding her to his body, showing her everything that was happening to him. He nipped at her mouth, skimmed his lips down her chin, across her jaw. He swallowed a chuckle when she palmed his head between her hands and dragged his lips back to hers, telling him what she wanted without words.
And he was happy to give it to her.
He felt her tug his shirt from his pants, the feel of her soft, strong hands on his bare flesh sending him into orbit. He hissed when she raked her nails across the small of his back and then slipped them under his waistband to hold on, grinding her body against him.
Her hot and impatient mouth never left his, her tongue caught around his own as she sucked it into her mouth. He pushed her back until she hit the counter and then snaked his knee between her legs. A whimper whistled from her lips when he ground his thigh against her heat and felt her pulsing response.
Ky snaked his hands up under her shirt, up her torso, sliding his thumbs across hard and pebbled nipples through her bra. Her breasts were heavy in his hands, filling them with each breath she took. While his tongue wound around hers pulling her deep into his mouth, he squeezed those perfect mounds of flesh and felt Gemma’s response when she double fisted his hair and tugged.
Every warning bell he possessed sounded and pinged in alarm, but he ignored them all. This is what he wanted. She was what he wanted.
It would be so easy to simply haul her up in his arms and to his room where he could help them both disappear into one another for a few hours. Just as the thought to do so bloomed, they were wrenched apart by the piercing shriek of the house alarm blasting through the air.
“Wha—?” Confusion drenched her face when Ky pushed her out of his arms and immediately grabbed his gun from its holster.
He yanked on her hand and tugged her behind him. “Where’s your weapon?”
“Up-upstairs, I—”
“Get up there. Now. Lock the door.” He pushed her toward the staircase.
She wouldn’t let his arm go. “What—?”
“Don’t argue Go. Now.” He shoved her up the first riser, then ran to the front window. He hit the light switch next to the door and the room was thrown into late afternoon darkness. The sound of Gemma’s feet as she ran up the staircase was muffled under the continued boom of the alarm.
The bedroom door slammed shut.
He spied the incandescent glow of a vehicle’s lights as it came slowly up the gravel drive. Whoever their visitor was, he wasn’t trying to hide his arrival.
A bold tactic, or a stupid one?
The engine cut and the driver door opened. Ky’s Glock was ready as he stood behind the front door, waiting, his muscles tensed, his breathing sparse.
The automatic lock shifted on the door.
Their visitor knew the entrance code.
Ky had only a moment to consider that before he flattened himself against the wall. The door pushed open and a large figure crossed the threshold.
Without waiting, Ky struck.
Jumping from behind the door he slammed into the figure’s back, shoving him to his knees.
“Don’t move!” he barked, the Glock aimed at the man’s head.
His command went unheeded.
An arm as thick as a tree trunk shot out and swiped at Ky, clipping him behind the knees. He fell back, flat on his ass, knocking a table lamp to the floor, his gun bouncing out of his hand. Before he could right himself, the behemoth straddled him, his ham-sized hands pressing Ky’s shoulders into the floor. Unable to move his arms or use his hands, he arched his back, lifted his pelvis and scissored his legs. The hulk barely moved, but Ky was able to shift him so the grip on his shoulders slackened and the man fell forward. Without waiting or taking a breath, Ky shoved, shot up and spun around him, twisting his arms around his neck in a chokehold.
The man flailed, trying to grab and smack at Ky’s face. Ky locked his knees together and tightened the hold.
“Who sent you?” he snarled into the man’s ear.
An elbow with as much force behind it as a speeding train, slammed into his midsection. A loud “oof” blurted from him, and he strained to keep his stronghold. Another jab, this time a little lower had Ky shifting back to avoid any damage, and his attacker took that split second of movement to toss Ky over his shoulder.
Flat on his back again, Ky reached out and grabbed one of the man’s forearms, rolled with it and repositioned himself on the man’s back, shunting his arms around the massive chest, imprisoning his attacker’s arms to his sides.
The room was thrown into stark light, stunning him. Just as Gemma pounded down the stairs, screaming something he couldn’t make out clearly due to the alarm’s unceasing squawk, the giant pried Ky’s arms apart and shot both his elbows back, knocking Ky back again.
Instinct and training waved through him like a tsunami. Ky jumped up and back onto the intruder, who was still on his knees, his hands flattened on the floor, his breathing harsh and labored.
A right hit to the man’s temple knocked him over onto his back. As he’d had done to him, Ky straddled his legs and dropped two quick hits to a massive jaw.
All the while Gemma continued screaming behind him. A gunshot exploded in the room, paralyzing Ky from landing his next hit.
With one hand gripping the intruder’s collar, the other poised to deliver another punch, Ky looked over at the fireplace where a large, round and jagged hole pierced the brick overlay, dust and mortar blowing from it.
He was dumbfounded when he spied Gemma, glaring down at them, the Glock in her hands.
“I’m charging your sweet ass for that,” he heard the man tell her. “Can you please disable the alarm,” he added. “I’ve got enough of a headache now from being pummeled.”
“Oh, my God, you’re bleeding!” Gemma ran to the kitchen, the gun still in her hand.
It was then he realized what Gemma had been screaming since she flew down the stairs.
Their invader wasn’t a threat.
She came back into the room, a dish towel in her hand, shoved her Glock at Ky and then pushed him out of her way, taking his place.
“Here.” Gently, she pressed the towel against the man’s bleeding cheek.
He reached up and laid his hand over hers while she held it in place. Ky’s eyes narrowed at the tender gesture and his immediate, irrational jealous response to it.
“Thanks, but you’re still paying to fix my fireplace, Cleo,” he said.
Gemma sat back on her haunches and shook her head.
“What are you doing here, Rick?”