Mending Fences (28 page)

“Where are we going? We don’t have my keys, remember?”

Her face burned as he hit her cheek with the butt of the gun, scraping her. The warmth of her own blood on her cheek made her want to scream, but hysteria would only make her more likely to end up dead, so she clamped down on the urge to fall apart.

“My car is parked down the street a ways, but they’ll try to get me from behind. Oh, hell, this’ll be easy. I just threaten to blow your brains out unless they give me the keys to one of the cop cars. Climb in, drive away, get the kid…yeah, piece of cake.”

Greg pulled her against him, his arm around her waist, opened the door with two fingers of his gun hand. As the door swung inward, he screamed, “Anybody so much as breathes, the bitch is dead!”

She flinched as the barrel of the gun pressed hard against her right temple. “What if this doesn’t work, Greg?”

“Then you die. Showtime,” he said, nudging her knee with his. “Move.”

* * * *

Curran’s heart slammed to a stop when the house door opened. He bolted from the truck, rushed the line of deputies standing against their cars, weapons drawn. One pushed him back, and Jamie grabbed his arms as Victoria emerged from the house, a burly blond guy behind her. The guy had his arm locked around her waist—

And he held a gun to her head.

Fury and fear drove spikes through his heart. Curran surged against Jamie’s grip, breaking free for a moment before a Park City officer on site as backup shoved against his chest, sending him back a few steps.

Jamie grabbed him again, hard, pulling his arms behind him. “You’re not helping her this way, Curran. Chill out, bud.”

His gut knotted at the sight of red streaks trailing down her cheek. “Oh my God, she’s bleeding.”

Terror stood out starkly on her features, but even from here, the alertness in her eyes gave him hope. She was glancing around, assessing her situation.

And he, with all the money at his disposal, with his power, with his fame, with his ability to turn the world on end to suit himself, could do absolutely nothing for her.

The helplessness, the anger at his impotence gushed through him like water through a bursting dam. None of it mattered. Nothing he spent his life working towards meant a damn thing. The one truly important thing in his life was a finger-squeeze away from lost.

And he stood there, watching.

* * * *

The bright lights made her eyes water. Victoria blinked hard a few times, then focused on the ground at the edges of the lights, trying to see beyond them. Figures. Cops. A lot of them. She’d seen standoffs in the movies. Surely every one of those officers stood with their weapon trained on Greg. Trained on her, really. She made a great shield.

“Throw me the keys to that sedan, officers, and we’ll be on our way.” Greg managed to sound cocky, though the waver in his voice blew some of the effect. His breathing grew more labored, his arm squeezed against her stomach. He was scared.

There had to be something she could do. If he got her into a car, if they drove away, she knew they wouldn’t get where he wanted to go. If they were stopped in the car, well, the baby was for his mother, but Greg wanted vengeance on
her
. If he thought he was going down, there was no doubt in her mind, he’d take her with him.

An officer started forward, keys dangling from his fingers. “I’ll give the keys to you.”

“Back off!” he shouted, his voice harsh in her ear. “I said throw the fucking keys!”

Greg’s sweat and her own blood trickled down her skin. Her stomach churned and rolled. There had to be a way out of this. What could she do? They couldn’t take him down with her body shielding him…

When the officer took another step forward, Greg swung the gun away from her temple and shot the deputy in the leg. The man screamed and dropped to the ground. As Greg shifted the gun further to the right, yelling at the cops to get back, Victoria grasped the opportunity to act. She dropped, a dead weight slumping against Greg’s arm.

His grip broke and shots rang through the air as Victoria tumbled forward into the snow.

Chapter Fifteen

Noise exploded around her. Gunshots. Shouts.

Cold. Why did snow have to be so cold? With her hands bound behind her, Victoria couldn’t push herself up, let alone wipe the flakes from where they burned cold against her skin.

People surrounded her, a sea of black boots and brown uniform pants. Hands grasped her arms, and for a moment, panic ripped through her, but the grip was far more gentle than Greg’s had been. Something tugged at her wrists, then her hands shifted apart.

Sheer joy at being alive rushed through her, filled her. The crowd walked her away from the house as she brought her hands in front of her. Pain shot down from her shoulders, but the stretching ache in her hands and wrists as she flexed and turned them felt wonderful.

She looked at the faces around her, one female, the others male, all with shining badges pinned to their chests. She heaved a sigh of relief. The cavalry had come.

She looked back, over the shoulder of an officer. Greg lay in the snow, three officers looking over him, paramedics kneeling to work on him. The snow grew redder as she watched. Blood. Greg’s blood. Was it wrong to feel better about that?

Everyone seemed to be talking at once, and she tried to pick out individual questions. Why was her brain moving so slowly? She nodded her head. Yes, she was okay. She felt cocooned, insulated somehow, separate from the bedlam surrounding her. She vaguely remembered feeling this way before. Oh, yes. After Nate left that night, when she’d called the ambulance. She’d been so calm, so removed from everything.

She needed to get warm— “No, I don’t want to go to the hospital.” She needed a blanket— “I really am fine, I swear.” She needed—

“Victoria.”

Curran.
She honed in on his voice as he pushed past the officers surrounding her, focused on his face, on his amazing, incredible, handsome face, and how in the world had she ever thought him only mildly attractive?

Then her vision clouded. Tears fell from her eyes. A cry filled with all her fears, her need, her love for him tore from her throat.

Her strength flooded out of her as she threw her arms around his neck. Against the warmth of his chest, safe in the tight circle of his arms, she let go and wept.

She’s safe.
Curran held her as she shuddered against him, sobs wracking her entire frame. Tears obliterated his vision, coursed down his cheeks. She lived and breathed, and he owed God a lifetime worth of good behavior in exchange. He ran his hand up her back, caressed her hair, until he touched a matted spot near her ear and she whimpered in pain.

The son of a bitch had hurt her. A fierce appetite for vengeance, a hunger to tear the guy apart coiled in Curran’s gut. The desire to help Victoria swamped his own need, banking his anger. Loathe as he was to separate himself even a hair’s width from her, he had to see to her injuries. “Victoria, honey, let me look at you.”

He tried to set her back from him, so he could examine her, but she tightened her arms around his neck.

“Please,” her smoky voice broke. “Don’t let go of me.”

His heart ached for her. “Never, honey, never. But you’re hurt. Let me see.”

She squeezed him again, then relaxed enough for him to ease her back. The skin across her right cheekbone was scraped, bloodied and oozing, beginning to purple. He gently grasped her chin, turned her head to the side. Blood caked her hair behind her left ear and down her pale neck.

Too pale. She trembled in his hands, jacking his protective instinct sky high. He looked past her, focused on the paramedic who stood nearby, holding a blanket. He nodded, and the man draped the blanket over her shoulders. Curran released her long enough to wrap the wool around her, then curved his arm about her waist.

The paramedic examined the cut on her cheek and said, “If you’ll come with me, ma’am, we can get you fixed up.” She nodded, and Curran walked with her toward the ambulance. She stumbled once, and his heart followed suit. He swept her into his arms and carried her the rest of the way, grateful for the opportunity to hold her.

Victoria felt the tiniest bit more stable, linked to reality by Curran’s touch. She swiped at her damp eyes and sat in the ambulance, allowing the paramedics to clean her injuries. Every moment out of Curran’s arms was torture, but she couldn’t exactly sit on his lap while the EMT bandaged her cheek.

The other paramedic tsked when he cleaned the hair behind her ear enough to look at the wound. “We’ll need to take you to the hospital for this one, ma’am. It’s a small cut, but it’ll still need a couple of stitches.”

Curran leaned in to look at the wound and she tightened her grip on his hand. “I don’t want to go to the hospital. It takes forever, and if it’s stopped bleeding, what does it matter? I don’t care if it scars.”

“Ma’am, we can’t force you to go, but we strongly recommend it,” the paramedic said. “It’s more than a question of scarring. There’s also infection to consider.”

A strange, happy look crossed Curran’s face, and he ran his thumb along her jaw, then withdrew his hand from hers. “Give me a moment. I have a solution in the truck.”

She clamped down on her desperation as he jogged toward the big red pickup. He leaned in through the passenger side and rummaged in the glove compartment for a moment, then returned, his long strides swallowing the snow-blanketed ground.

Curran raised his hand and showed the small tube of liquid stitches to the paramedics. One of them laughed and the other said, “Well, that’s definitely an option.”

Victoria’s brow furrowed. “You’re going to glue my cut?”

Curran grinned and nudged her knees, urging her to turn to the right. She shifted, giving him better access to her injury.

“Trust me, honey.” She felt pressure as he held the injured skin together, then a cold wetness trickled against her scalp.

“Last fall, Robby took a tumble in the barn and gashed his arm. The thought of stitches terrified him, so the ER doc glued it.” He leaned closer, his warm scent comforting her. His breath played against her scalp as he blew softly, helping the glue set.

She sat quietly under his ministrations, everything around them fading. She loved him, with every particle of her being, and he was here for her, had been the whole time. She’d never told him she loved him, never dared lay herself that far on the line.

None of her insecurities mattered now. She wanted him to know, even if this wasn’t meant to work out and they went their separate ways after she moved into her new place. Brushing so close to death gave her a new perspective on her life, and she’d never forgive herself if she didn’t tell him how she felt.

As Curran declared the glue dry, a deputy approached. “Miss Linden, can you answer a few questions for me?”

“Yes.”

“Did you know your assailant?”

“Yes.” She looked up at the officer, comforted and encouraged by his gentle smile. The authorities had always been good to her. “His name is Greg Fielder.” Curran drew a sharp breath, and she glanced at him. Her heart tripped at the dark anger in his eyes. She focused on the deputy. “I’d feel a whole lot better if you tell me he’s dead.”

The deputy nodded, as if he understood her need. “Yes, ma’am, he is. Can you tell me what he wanted?”

“His brother went to prison in California for assaulting me, and was killed by another inmate several weeks ago. Greg wanted payback because I testified. In his mind, it was my fault Nate died.”

She told him what had happened, from how Greg had surprised her on the porch to the moment she dropped against his arm. The deputy noted her injuries, then closed his book. “You’ve obviously had a long evening, Miss Linden, so I won’t keep you further, except to ask if you know how to reach Mr. and Mrs. Campbell.”

She nodded, looking back at the house. “They were in Hong Kong when I spoke to them last. They’ll be home in a few weeks. Mr. Campbell’s cell number is programmed into my phone, and that’s probably in my purse or maybe in the SUV, I really don’t remember.”

The deputy wrote the information in his book. “We’ll look for your phone. If you could come to the station in the next couple of days to sign a statement, that’d be great. How are you feeling?”

“If you’re asking if I feel the need to go to the hospital, the answer is no.”

The deputy glanced at the paramedic hovering nearby, who shook his head. “She’s a lucky lady, came out of this one pretty well.”

“Do you have someplace to stay for the next couple of days?” the deputy asked.

The words were so close to those spoken to her in the hospital by Danielle, the abuse center counselor.
Do you have anywhere to go? Can you go home?
Her mother made it clear that home was no longer an option. She’d gotten what she deserved for living with a man who hadn’t married her.

Curran’s thumb caressed the back of her hand. She turned her gaze to him. She opened her mouth to ask, to beg if necessary, but he spoke first. “I’ve got her, deputy. She’s coming home with me.”