In the Arms of a Stranger (Entangled Ignite) (26 page)

“No, damn it!” she said, gripping his arm tighter. “You’re much more than my husband’s partner. You’re the man I love.”

He stilled. Didn’t move for a long moment.

“Oh, Abby,” he said at length, so quietly she barely heard it. He raised her hand to his mouth and brushed the gentlest of kisses on her fingers. “I wish…I so wanted a lifetime for us.”

Behind her, she heard the final blast of the siren as a cruiser turned onto the road to the substation, then the crunching of the tires. She looked over her shoulder. The cruiser came to a jerky halt and a patrolman got out. She knew him, Eddy Pilcher. They’d gone to high school together. Gun raised, he ran toward Brooks, still prone on the ground.

“Abby? Where are you?” Eddy called out.

“Go on,” JP whispered. “Tell them everything. And trust Ethridge.”

“Abby!” Eddy called again. “I have Cole and Steve in the cruiser, they’re fine!”

“JP, I know him—” She turned back around.

JP wasn’t behind her. She searched, her eyes darting among the shadows, the trees.

A second cruiser screeched to a halt, two troopers rushing out. One ran behind the substation. “Ron’s back here,” he called out. “Hurt bad, just like Steve said!”

Someone opened the passenger side door of Eddy’s cruiser. Her brother and Cole climbed out, looking around for her.

She peered once again into the trees, but JP was truly gone. And she knew in her heart he would not be coming back to her. She bowed her head for an instant, swiped her tears away, then straightened and called out, “Eddy! I’m coming out!”

She ran out of the trees and down the hill. Cole was talking animatedly to Eddy, his hand in Steve’s.

She ran to him, lifted and hugged him, holding on tight, kissing his hair, his cheeks, never, ever wanting to let him go. As she did, Steve quietly told her what had happened, cloaking it in terms of their game. With only one bullet, JP had drawn Boyle out by running into the open, taking a hit from one of the two shots Boyle had fired. JP had then shot Boyle once, wounding him seriously enough that he could do nothing when JP took his gun from him. That was what he’d used on Brooks.

Cole hugged her, squirmed, and asked to be put down.

“It was a fun game, Mommy,” he said with a grin. “Mr. John said I could be a cowboy, like my daddy. He knew my daddy.” Cole’s excitement was palpable. “He told me to take care of Unca Steve. I did, didn’t I, Unca Steve?”

“You did, Cole. You were a great cowboy.”

Abby couldn’t stop the tears. She lifted Cole into her arms again and held him close. “I’m sure you were, baby. I’m so proud of you.”

It was a happy ending. She should be crying for joy. And she was. Truly.

But a part of her heart, deep inside, was aching with sadness.

And crying for the man who’d saved them all, then disappeared into the night.

…

You won’t feel the bullet that kills you
.

Wade Price had said that once. JP hoped to hell Wade was right. If the searing pain in his arm was anything to go by, this wasn’t that bullet. JP had stopped the bleeding by ripping off the sleeve of his shirt and tying it around his upper arm.

He’d get out of there long before they brought out the dogs. But first, he wanted one last look at Abby.

He didn’t examine his motivation, just put it off as being a fool. He wanted to punish himself. Or maybe get himself killed. The thought of living the rest of his life without her held zero appeal.

Two more cruisers converged on the substation—an ambulance making its way carefully over the rough drive. JP carefully looked through the trees at the clutch of people standing there.

Abby was holding Cole in her arms, his head on her shoulder. Her brother had his arm around them both. The boy was smart and strong, a boy his father would have been proud of. A boy JP was proud of.

Steve had called the police using Boyle’s cell phone, told them what had happened, then contacted local cops close to the cabin where he’d been so his own son and his friend could be found, JP had called Jonathan Ethridge and made the man promise to take care of Abby. Ethridge had sworn blue streaks trying to make JP trust him enough to turn himself in.

Not gonna happen
.

Both Abby and Steve were now talking to one of the troopers. The cop nodded several times, looked back toward Brooks, who was being lifted onto a gurney, then opened his cruiser door and reached inside. Scanning the woods around him, the trooper spoke into his radio.

It was over
. Abby and her family were safe. That was all that mattered. JP really needed to leave, before more cops showed up. He turned, orienting himself quickly. He had to maneuver around the substation, up, then downhill to a creek. If they brought in dogs, the creek would give him a few minutes head start.

He’d reached the ridge above the creek when he heard her.

“JP!”

Why the hell was she shouting like that, tromping through the dark woods? She was going to get hurt.

“JP!” she yelled. “Ethridge says to come in. He knows what Brooks and Ron did!”

JP stopped. Turned. She was behind him, alone, but couldn’t see him.

“He believes you! They aren’t coming after you!”

Right
. He had to get away. She couldn’t find him or he’d never have the strength to leave again.

“Give yourself a chance, JP,” she called again, as if she knew he could hear her. “Give
us
a chance.”

He turned away again, away from the overwhelming temptation. It would take time before they investigated and believed him, if they ever did, even if Ethridge backed him. The Agency wouldn’t want the adverse publicity of a public scandal, and there would be many in power who would refuse to believe that Brooks, with his twenty plus years of service, had anything to do with treason and murder. Even if they could get the pictures off the phone, what if they were no good? Blurry or unreadable? They were inadmissible, anyway. It was his word against Brooks’s.

He took a step. A voice in his head—
no, in his heart
—made him halt.

The Agency might believe Abby and Steve, the voice argued, despite their bias concerning Wade. Forensic evidence should back up their story. If JP gave himself up now, with their help, the Agency might actually listen to his explanation of how Brooks and Boyle had orchestrated the botched jobs, the Jordanian hit. And every other sabotaged job on Wade’s list was burned into JP’s memory.

There was a chance it could go his way, the voice urged.

A chance
. Versus the emptiness of a future without Abby.

A chance was all he needed
.

A twig snapped behind him. He spun, rifle up.

“Are you coming back or trying to get away?” Abby’s question startled him. She stood at the peak of the ridge.

“Damn, Abby!” he said, his heart thundering, and lowered the rifle. “I could have shot you!”

“No, you wouldn’t,” she said, walking toward him. “Not even by mistake.”

“Honey, you heard what Brooks said. What he called me.”

“Brooks is a murderer, a traitor, and a liar,” she snapped, then her voice softened again. “
You
are a sniper. Like Wade. I know the difference. You rid the world of evil, but only as a last resort.”

“We were good at it, Abby, the best.”

She’d reached him now, and he realized she needed to know all of it. She had to understand.

So he told her. About the last op—the hit on the terrorist leader and the diplomat hostage who was killed—by someone else. “The shooter had to be Frank Boyle. He was the only one other than Wade or me who could do it.” JP took a breath. And told her how Wade had made his flight but he had missed his, had tried to call to warn Wade but it had been too late.

“By the time I got to a place I could call again, he was probably already dead, taken out by Boyle or one of Brooks’s hired thugs—those men in Ocean Springs.”

“But Wade knew something was wrong. Why didn’t he tell you?”

JP pushed out a breath.
If only he had
. “That was Wade. He always played things really close. When it involved a colleague, he would need hard evidence before he’d say anything damning. He knew the dates Boyle was gone, and that they coincided with the dates of the sabotaged ops. That’s all he had until the end.”

He couldn’t see her clearly, wasn’t sure he wanted to. He never wanted to see fear or disgust on her face. “Do you understand? We were snipers, Abby. I am a sniper. I kill people. It’s what I do. It’s what I’m good at.”

“You could have killed Brooks and Ron, but you didn’t. I saw what they did to Wade. And both of them were willing to hurt a child,” she said, outraged. “That’s what you stopped. Evil. You and Wade used what you knew because you had to. Someone has to stop the evil.”

“It’s a lot more complicated than that.”

She was right in front of him now. “I know, but I also know you, just as I knew Wade. Maybe not everything, but the important things, as you said. That’s what I know. You are both good men.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“We can make it that simple. Come home with me,” she said, her eyes pleading in the moonlight.

There she stood. The temptation of his life, bathed in the night, so strong and brave, and—unbelievably—willing to give him a chance. She could do so much better than him; she could have that calico cat life. Sunshine all around. Instead of darkness. His darkness.

“What sort of life would that be for you?” he argued. “Either I’m in prison, or…hell, I don’t know. If things work out and I can prove I’m innocent, then what? Do you want the same kind of life you had with Wade? Me gone for months on end? Unable to tell you where I am?”

“I’d know. I’d know that you’re one of those men who selflessly protect us.”

“You make it sound like a good thing.”

“It is. However it turns out, whatever you decide, we can do this,” she said. “Please, give us a chance.” Her fingers touched his cheek, her body brushing his.

When had she gotten so close?

He wanted to. God how he wanted to reach out and hold on. Never let go.

And that’s what he did. He reached out with his good arm and pulled her close. “I love you, Abby Price.”

“I was beginning to think you’d never say it.”

“I love you,” he repeated, giving her a quick kiss. “I’ll say it every day for the rest of our lives.”

She pulled back and whispered against his mouth. “I like the sound of that.”

“You’re a brave woman, Abby. I’ll be sure I tell our children.”

She smiled and he kissed her quickly, one more time, afraid he’d lose his nerve, then took her hand and began walking back toward the substation.

“So. Do I know you well enough
now
to know your real name?” There was a smile in her voice.

He turned to look at her, the lights from the substation casting an ethereal glow around her.

“James Patrick,” he said.

“Then that’s what we’ll name our son.” She pulled his hand to her lips for a kiss and resumed walking out of the woods.

“Son, huh?”

“Well, we can’t name our daughter James Patrick,” she said.

“Two kids?”

She stopped and looked up at him. “You said children. You don’t—”

“I love kids. I want kids with you.”
Yeah, a family
. Cole—the three of them. More. “But I was thinking along the lines of a coed baseball team.”

She laughed. “If you want a whole baseball team, you’d better find someone else.”

“There’s no one but you, Abby,” he said, holding her gaze. “There will never be anyone but you.”

Then, with the state police lights flashing ahead of them, and the dark woods behind, he kissed her again, tasting the promise of forever.

Epilogue

Six months later

Abby stood on the deck outside the master bedroom JP had added to his Arkansas cabin, waving to the last of their departing guests. She hugged herself against the chill of the winter afternoon.

They’d married quietly four months ago amid the turmoil of establishing JP’s innocence, slipping away, just the two of them, to find a justice of the peace. That made it legal. But today, today had been the day they’d celebrated formally with family and friends.

She and JP had arranged a simple ceremony in a tiny one-hundred-year-old country church. JP had been so handsome standing at the altar that he’d taken her breath away. The new gray suit he’d worn had fit his broad shoulders to perfection and accentuated his powerfully graceful body. Gorgeous stained-glass windows had reflected brilliant colors off of his dark hair, making him look like a hero from a romantic tale. She still wore the feminine, champagne-colored blouse and matching pencil skirt she’d chosen, along with a pair of sexy high heels her two new sisters-in-law had insisted were perfect with the outfit. She’d doubted their choice until she saw the look JP gave her from the front of the church, a look that made her heart skip and her thoughts hum with possibilities.

JP had done this for her, telling her he wanted them to always remember the church, the cake, all the trappings of a wedding day.

And he’d given her a sprig of honeysuckle, which she now held to her nose, inhaling the heady fragrance. He’d worn it as a boutonniere and had placed it behind her ear just before kissing her so passionately in the car after the ceremony that she almost forgot that family and friends were waiting for them. He wouldn’t tell her where he’d found it in the middle of winter, only said it reminded him of her. Love, generosity, and passion. She smiled through her tears, then laughed when he added tenacious.

Their guests had come here to celebrate after the ceremony, and the house still held the joyous memories of fun and good wishes. The wedding cake, created by JP’s mother, had been a beautiful and delicious confection. Her friends Rachel and Angel had driven up with Doc Sam. Several teachers from her school and two of JP’s old Delta friends had also come. His older sister, Janey, and her husband, a friend of JP’s, had been visiting for over a week, putting the finishing touches on the new construction and helping Abby decide on furniture. Steve, who’d been taking care of Buck and Muffin for them, his wife and little Stevie, JP’s mother, and JP’s little sister, had driven up three days ago. They’d talked and laughed and cooked. And laughed some more.

Family, just what Abby had always wanted. And though she loved them all, she was more than ready to have the house to themselves. She really wanted some alone time with JP. Lots of it. Cole was off with Steve for a few days, and the Blackmon clan had driven off to celebrate Janey’s pregnancy. More family, more joy.

Abby wandered inside into the new master bedroom and gently placed the honeysuckle beside the framed photo of her and JP at their quick wedding. Next to it was one of the three of them—her, JP, and Cole, grinning, with hammers in hand as they’d worked together on the new addition. Soon she’d add a picture of this wedding to the collection, one of them alone and one with Cole all dressed up in his first suit.

She smiled, remembering how worried JP had been about Cole liking this, his new home. Cole had, of course, but they’d needed more room, privacy. Somehow JP had made it happen, building them a master suite and a deck, using the physical labor of construction as therapy for his arm, working around trips to Langley and endless debriefings. Waiting and waiting for the decision that would clear him.

They’d learned that Jonathan Ethridge, who hadn’t initially believed JP, had looked into the Jordanian op, then pulled strings to keep JP out of prison while the investigation moved forward. It had all fallen into place when CIA techs deciphered Wade’s bloody note. It had read:

Framed. Ron—frank Boyle back.

Finally today, during the reception, Ethridge had called to say he was coming with news. He’d arrived just after JP had hugged his mother good-bye. That had been over fifteen minutes ago.

Unable to wait any longer, Abby paced nervously back out onto the deck, praying that Ethridge had come through for them, that the twisted and convoluted ways the government worked would not tear JP away from her.

But no matter what happened, they’d figure it out, because nothing mattered more than their lives together.

As she heard Ethridge’s car drive away, JP’s footsteps echoed on the deck.

“Hey, babe,” he said, rounding the corner, still in his suit, but with his tie loosened and his top shirt button undone. He handed her a single sheet of paper, official Agency stationery. She scanned it, her pulse pounding hard.
Please, please, please
, she repeated silently as she scanned the typed words, until finally, her gaze fastened on a single one:

Exonerated
.

She let go of a shaky, joyous breath, her heart soaring. “Really? It’s over?”

“Thanks to you.” He pulled her close for a kiss, then pulled back slightly. “And, take a look at this.” He handed her an envelope.

“What is it?” She was suddenly wary.

“Just take a look, babe.”

She opened it, and stared at a notice of a bank transfer, trying to understand. “Wow. That’s a lot of money.”

“Over a year and a half of back pay,” he said with a smile. “Enough to pay off our construction costs and give us time to decide what we’ll do.” He unbuttoned the top button of her frilly blouse. “Now we can afford to clear some land for a pasture, build Buck a stable that Muffin might decide is worthy of her presence.”

“You’re sending mixed messages,” she said as his fingers feathered across her chest.

“Oh?” He bent to kiss her neck. “What’s mixed about this?”

“You’re not going to tell me”—she shivered as he kissed his way to the top slopes of her breasts—”what Ethridge said?”

“I’d rather do this, but if you insist,” he said with a teasing glint in his eye, “we can go back to being that old married couple and talk first.”

She tipped her head back and smiled. “I want this, as you called it, but I also want to know what he said. So give.”

He nibbled on her earlobe and sighed dramatically before explaining. “Ethridge said the FBI wants to recruit me. After working two years as a special agent, there’s a good chance I could qualify for their Tactical Section Hostage Rescue Team.”

He said it neutrally, but she’d sensed his restlessness for weeks, so an opportunity like this was great news. “Is that something you’d like to do?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you’d want to,” she said.

“No, I mean, what do
you
think about it?”

She met his gaze, considering how this would impact them. “Hostage rescue would mean that sometimes I won’t know where you are.”

He paused, took a breath. “Probably.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That I have to talk to my wife.”

He nuzzled her hair, and she leaned up against him.
His wife
. It sounded so natural, so very good.

“If I say no?” she asked.

“I’ll get the contractor’s license, like we discussed.” His response was quick and without hesitation.

In an instant, she was sure. “Go for it,” she said. “Do what you do best.” The hero part, the part of himself he’d willingly deny. To make her happy.

“Abby, I don’t have to.”

“Yes you do. Oh, you’d be a good contractor, but that’s not who you are. Be who you are, JP, do what needs doing. And I’ll be who I am.”

“Not the little wife who’s left behind.” He tapped her chin affectionately.

She laughed. “No, I don’t think I’ll ever be that again.” She’d come so far…or maybe it was just a case of understanding that she
could
do more than just sit at home and wait.

“You’re a country girl. What will you do when we’re sent to a field office in a big city?”

“Be me. A mom. A teacher. Your wife.” She hugged him closer, her arms beneath his jacket absorbing his warmth, then looked up.

“Be your take-charge self, babe. That’s what I like.” He said it with a teasing smile, one that made the brilliant winter-blue sky above them pale in comparison. “I like a woman who knows how to handle her man.”

“So I finally figured out how to handle you, huh?” she teased back.

“Sweetheart, you’ve known how to handle me from the moment I saw you.” There was no teasing this time, just the deep sexy rumble she knew so well.

He held her eyes as he took the precious letter from her hands, and carefully placed it and the notice of back pay in their respective envelopes. His gold wedding band glinted in the sun as he slid them into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “Now,” he said, finally pulling her tight against him, his arms around her waist, “about family.”

“I’m glad you and Steve get along so well. I love your mom. Cassie and Janey are the sisters I never had. And Janey’s husband is wonderful. ”

“I’m talking about
our
family. Cole is mine now. He’ll know Wade through us. But if I remember correctly, we said something about more children.” He ran one hand up under her hair, cupping the back of her head, tilting her face up to look at him. He kissed her full on the mouth, just enough to tempt her.

“I nixed the idea of a baseball team—”

He stopped her with another kiss, this one longer. “I know.” His voice dipped lower. “I was thinking one or two, whatever the market bears. Maybe give Janey’s baby a cousin to play with.” He resumed unbuttoning her frilly blouse, his fingers warm against her skin. “But we’d have to start right now.”

“Now?” She sounded breathless, even to herself. He always made her breathless.

“We’ve finally got the house all to ourselves…” He gave her a quick, but tantalizing kiss. “I’d like to find out what a bride wears under a skirt like that.”

She smiled, undoing his shirt buttons so she could run her hands down his chest.

“And those high heels are sexy as hell,” he said, rubbing his finger along her lower lip. “I had some very unholy thoughts when I first saw you in them at the church.”

She laughed. “I’m scandalized.”

He cupped her left breast. “It doesn’t feel like you’re scandalized,” he said, rubbing her nipple through her lacy bra.

She shivered in response and leaned forward to kiss his neck, stroking one hand down his chest to his stomach and dipping beneath his belt. Desire and passion burned through her.

“Whoa,” he said raggedly, pulling her hand away. “Let’s go inside.” He swung her up in his arms and walked across the deck to the French doors.

“You did this four months ago, you know,” she said against his neck.

“I know, but this is the official, stamped, and sealed beginning of our lives. I’m carrying you over the threshold again.”

She smiled, inhaling his scent, loving his strength, cherishing him.

“I think I knew…,” he said, as he opened the doors.

“Knew what?”

“When I carried you home the night of the storm,” he said. “You felt right in my arms. Perfect. The one for me.”

“And you’re the one for me,” she said.

“No doubts?” he asked, suddenly serious.

“Never,” she said, meeting his gaze.

“In that case,” he said with devilment in his eyes, “let’s see what’s under that sexy skirt.”

She giggled, and held on tight as he swung her around and stepped through the doors, the beginning of their new lives together.

He gave her a kiss that was long and slow and sweet. “I love you, Mrs. Blackmon,” he said.

“I love you, too, Mr. Blackmon,” she whispered against his mouth. “And I always will.”