Deceived (Private Justice Book #3): A Novel (32 page)

No reason to tarry, however. He went down as fast as he’d come up and swung back toward Sanders, who was having difficulty maneuvering his human shield down the staircase.

While he was off balance and paying attention to his footing would be the best opportunity to take him down. The gun jiggled every time they descended a step, and a well-timed lunge for his arm to shove it toward the ceiling was their best hope.

Waiting for Dev’s 911 call wasn’t an option.

Sanders could go ballistic any moment.

Two steps from the bottom, as Sanders jockeyed Kate down ahead of him, Connor made his move. Grabbing Kate with one hand, he jerked her out of Sanders’s grasp and pushed up the elbow of the man’s gun-toting arm with the other.

The pistol exploded, the silencer only marginally effective in the closed space.

Behind him, Connor heard Kate crash to the floor and moan. But the gun hadn’t been aimed her way. He’d attend to her once he dealt with Sanders.

Sanders was strong, though, with powerful arms and a solid midsection—and his strength was amplified by anger or fear . . . or both. His adversary also had a death grip on the weapon in his hand. If he hadn’t maintained both the firearm skills and fitness regime of his Secret Service days, he’d be in big trouble.

As they wrestled for control, Connor caught sight of Kate crawling toward them. Aiming for Sanders’s legs. Trying to help.

The distraction was only momentary; no more than a blip in his focus—but it was sufficient to give Sanders a very slight opening.

The man swung at him, and the side of the revolver scored a hard direct hit on his left temple.

Pain exploded in his head, and he staggered. Flashes of white obscured his vision. He fought for balance. Stabilized.

Too late.

Sanders had backed away and was holding the gun with both hands, straight out in front of him. He swung it between Kate, who was sitting on the floor near the bottom of the stairs, and him. His eyes were crazed, and his hands were shaking.

One twitch of his trigger finger, and someone would die.

Adrenaline pumping, Connor kept his posture relaxed through sheer force of will and shifted into Secret Service mode. Calm. Cool. In control.

“Greg . . . it’s over.” He kept his tone placid but firm. “The police are on the way. This will go much easier for you if you just give me the gun.”

“No.” The man shook his head. “You can’t take away my son. Not again. I won’t—”

The sound of breaking glass burst from the living room.

Sanders swung toward the noise.

A stumbling figure emerged from the shadows.

Sanders fired.

And as Connor watched in shock and horror, a little blond boy crumpled to the floor.

A
s her son collapsed like a marionette whose strings had been cut, Kate screamed and scrabbled toward him on her hands and knees.

“No!” The thunderous masculine bellow reverberated through the room, and someone tried to rush past her—only to disappear an instant later.

She heard the sounds of a scuffle, accompanied by guttural grunts and the dull thud of flesh hitting flesh. Felt the vibrating crash of her front door, as if someone had slammed it back with superhuman force. Swallowed past the bitter aftertaste of Valium on her tongue.

But her focus was riveted on the pool of blood forming under her son’s right thigh.

She moved beside him, desperately trying to coerce her brain to engage, to call up what she knew about first-aid basics.
Apply pressure to stop
bleeding.
Yes. That sounded right.

Ignoring the shards of glass cutting into her knee, she managed to balance herself without listing too much to either side, then pressed her palms to the wound and watched the steady rise and fall of his chest.

Please, God, let him keep breathing!

Moments later, a blaze of light erupted in the room, and she blinked against the glare. Voices spoke behind her. Deep. Male. She couldn’t make out the words. Didn’t try. Didn’t care about anything except keeping her son alive until help arrived.

Someone knelt on Kevin’s other side. She lifted her gaze, trying to clear her vision. Connor. And he was injured. Blood was seeping out of the corner of his mouth.

“I’ve got him, Kate.” He pried her hands off Kevin’s leg and pressed a towel against her son’s blood-soaked shorts. “An ambulance is on the way.”

Behind her, a man sobbed. She pivoted toward the sound. Sanders sat on the floor in the foyer, hands restrained behind him, head slumped. An armed man with dark red hair stood over him as the distant, faint wail of sirens pierced the night.

She turned back to Connor and cradled Kevin’s limp hand in hers. “He’s not going to d-die . . . is he?”

“Not if I can help it.”

That wasn’t the definitive reassurance she’d hoped for.

The sirens grew louder.

“Kate . . . what did he do to you?” Connor’s eyes were hard, a simmering rage banked in their depths.

She tried to articulate clearly, even though her mouth felt like mush. “Valium. Kevin too.”

“How much?”

“Me, about four 5 mg tabs. Kevin . . . don’t know.”

Connor shifted toward the red-haired man. “Dev . . . find out how much Valium he gave the boy.”

The sirens intensified, drowning out the conversation taking place in the foyer—but in less than thirty seconds, the other man called back. “Two.”

After that, Kate had difficulty keeping track of what was happening. The condo was suddenly overrun with people and lights and noise. A paramedic tried to separate her from her
son, but she tightened her grip—until Connor dropped down beside her with some wet wipes.

“Why don’t you let me clean up your hands? We’ll stay close by while the man does his job.”

She looked down at her blood-covered fingers—and lost the remains of her dinner.

Connor cleaned that up too.

As he finished, another paramedic knelt beside her and slapped a blood pressure cuff around her arm.

“I’m fine.”

“Let’s make sure of that.” Connor entwined his fingers with hers and gave them a slight squeeze.

“Your knee is bleeding.” The paramedic leaned close to examine it.

“Glass.” She swept a hand toward the remains of the Waterford vase that had stood on her end table. “Just a cut.”

The man put a dressing on it anyway.

Kate fell silent. It was too much effort to speak. Let Connor talk to the man. She was more interested in tuning in to the conversation between the two paramedics treating her son. Nothing ominous jumped out at her—but neither did she understand half their terminology.

When the rumble of male voices beside her stopped, Connor touched her shoulder. “Did Sanders do anything else to you, Kate?”

She shook her head.

The paramedic examined her fingernails and her lips, flashed a light in her eyes. “It wouldn’t hurt to pay a quick visit to the ER.”

“No. I’ll be fine.” One of the paramedics treating her son rose, and she looked up at him. “How is he?”

“Bleeding’s under control. No evidence of arterial damage. We’re getting ready to transport.”

She attempted to stand, but without Connor’s assistance, she’d never have made it to her feet.

“If you’re the mother, you can ride with us.” The paramedic slung a medical bag over his shoulder. “Might not be a bad idea for him to see a familiar face if he happens to wake up.”

Tears welled in her eyes. Spilled out.

She was as much a stranger to her son as the paramedics.

He would see no familiar face.

Apparently recognizing she was on the verge of a meltdown, Connor stepped in. “We’ll follow you to the hospital.”

She didn’t argue. The first time she spoke with her son, she wanted not just her heart but her brain to be functioning at full capacity.

Keeping one arm around her, Connor steered her toward the door. He paused en route to say a few words to the man with auburn hair, who handed over a sweater. Only when Connor guided her arms into the sleeves did she realize her blouse was hanging off. After a short exchange with one of the police officers, Connor continued toward the exit.

As they passed Sanders, he turned red-rimmed eyes her direction. Connor angled his body to block her view of the man who’d killed her husband and stolen her son—but he couldn’t shield her from the man’s choked, grief-laced words.

“I love him as much as I loved my own son—and I always will. Tell him that . . . please.”

She stumbled as they exited, and Connor tightened his grip as he looked down at her. “Would you like me to carry you to the van?”

Yeah, she would. She wanted him to lift her off her feet and sweep her into his arms and make all the problems in her life go away. But no one could do that. So she settled for second choice.

“No, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to lean on you.”

“For as long as you want to.”

How about forever?

He tucked her closer—making her wonder if she’d actually spoken those words.

No matter. They were true.

And once she knew Kevin was out of danger, she was going to focus on creating a forever that included
both
of the special men in her life.

Giving in to a yawn as the first faint streaks of dawn lit the sky outside the windows of the deserted surgical waiting room, Connor studied Kate as she slept on the couch across from him. She’d hardly stirred since she’d let herself fold after the doctor relayed the good news about Kevin—no major veins or arteries had been damaged, nor had Sanders’s bullet nicked a bone. They ought to be getting a summons to the recovery room any time.

He could use a few minutes in a recovery room himself—an emotional recovery room. His adrenaline was still pinging from their close brush with death. Any of them could have been killed last night.

Ruthlessly he shut off that line of thought. Better not to dwell on that while it was fresh enough to spike his blood pressure and twist his gut.

But if he’d had any doubts about whether Kate was the one, they’d evaporated when Sanders had pressed the barrel of his gun against her head. Because all at once he’d realized he couldn’t imagine a future without her. He’d tell her that too—after he gave her some space with Kevin. The two of them needed time to reconnect; that had to be the first priority.

But while they were doing that, he intended to stick close.

“Connor.”

At the soft summons from the doorway, he glanced over. Dev motioned him into the hall.

Stopping beside Kate to adjust the blanket he’d finagled from a nurse—and to caress her cheek—he took a long, slow breath, then joined Dev.

Cal was there too.

“Nice souvenir.” The senior partner nodded to the purple bump on his temple.

He touched it gingerly and winced. “Could have been a lot worse.”

“So I heard. Secondhand.”

Connor looked at Dev.

“I rang him an hour ago, when I was wrapping up with the police.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” Cal fixed him with the narrow-eyed look that had probably served him well in police interrogations.

“It wasn’t a three-man job.”

“I live closer to your client’s condo than Dev.”

Connor shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I didn’t want to wake Moira. And I didn’t expect Dev to show up—just to call 911 if things got dicey.”

Cal planted his fists on his hips. “Let’s get one thing straight. Both of you.” He included Dev with a flick of his eyes. “We’re a team. Marriage doesn’t change that. You need me, you call. Got it?”

Pressure built in Connor’s throat. Moments like this reaffirmed his decision to join forces with his college buddies at Phoenix. Partners didn’t come any finer than the two men standing in this hospital hallway with him at the break of dawn. “Got it.”

“Good. What’s the latest?”

He filled them in on Kevin’s prognosis, then addressed Dev. “How did you get there so fast last night?”

“I didn’t take time to dress for the occasion.”

Connor inspected his wrinkled T-shirt and gym shorts. “I can see that. Nice look. Early Goodwill, right?”

“Very funny.” He shot him a disgruntled look before lifting one shoulder. “You rarely send out an SOS—and I’ve learned to trust your gut. If you smelled trouble, I figured there was trouble—and I didn’t see any reason to sit around waiting when I could be lending a hand. But you had it under control when I got there.”

“Barely. Did Sanders confess?”

“Nope. He clammed up tight.” Dev smothered a yawn. “But based on what we uncovered during our investigation and the DNA results we should soon have in hand, he’s history.”

“Plus, he spilled the story to Kate while he was waiting for the Valium to kick in so she could accidentally drown too.” He fisted his hands, and a muscle beside his eye twitched.

“Didn’t the police show up here yet?” Dev glanced around the deserted waiting room. “I figured they’d be hot on your heels.”

“They were. But Kate was too groggy to give a coherent statement. They said they’d be back later.”

“Speaking of your client . . . are you staying awhile?” Cal glanced toward her.

“Yeah.”

“Let us know if you need anything.”

“I will. And listen . . . I appreciate the above-and-beyond effort on this case. From both of you.”

Dev waved his thanks aside. “Goes with the territory.”

He’d used that line on Kate once too. It had been a lie then. It was a lie now. What Cal and Dev had done went way beyond the requirements of business partners. It spoke of friendship and caring and commitment. He’d tell them that too—except embarrassing his friends wasn’t on his agenda for today. “I’ll check in later.”

“We’ll hold down the fort.” Cal started toward the exit, Dev falling in beside him.

“Do you think Nikki’ll make coffee today if I show up like this and tell her I’ve been working all night? Use the sympathy ploy? Or should I stop at Starbucks?” Dev’s voice drifted back toward him.

“Stop at Starbucks.”

“Even after I got that teddy bear for her kid?”

They disappeared around a corner, and Connor shook his head.

It was nice to know some things never changed.

As he prepared to rejoin Kate, his phone began to vibrate and he pulled it off his belt. Might as well take it out here rather than risk waking her.

But as he noted the name in caller ID, he changed his mind about the waking part. If this was what he thought it was, rousing Kate was going to be his top priority.

Someone was calling her name.

A man.

“Kate? Sweetheart? Can you wake up?”

Connor.

From the depths of a dark, cavernous place, Kate struggled toward the light.

Toward Connor.

When she at last opened her eyes, he was sitting beside her—in a place she didn’t recognize.

It looked like a doctor’s waiting room.

No . . . it was a hospital!