Renee Ryan (21 page)

He’d been
watching
her?

“You’re Hunter’s woman.”

How could he know that?

“I’m Cole Kincaid’s brother.”

She was afraid now, so afraid, for Hunter. If anything happened to her, he would blame himself. He might even seek vengeance on her behalf.

She couldn’t let that happen.

Her fear grew white-hot with each breath she took, rolling unsteadily in her stomach and beating a dull ache behind her eyes.

A wave of nausea took hold. She pushed the sensation down and flung herself into a run.

Her pursuer followed hard on her heels, caught her by the arm and dragged her into the alley beside her mother’s brothel.

In an attempt to twist out of his hold, Annabeth stumbled twice. Never breaking stride, Cole’s brother continued jerking her along with him.

The snow was falling heavier, faster, cutting off visibility beyond a few feet in front of them.

There was no one left on the streets, no one to help her. She lifted up a silent prayer to God.

Fear continued pumping in her veins. Her breath came quick and sharp as she fought to keep the blinding tears at bay.

She needed to keep a clear head.

A swift wrench and she broke free of her attacker’s grasp. She made it five full steps before she felt a hand grip her hair.

A sudden yank and she went down. Hard.

Her attacker dragged her back to her feet and then pulled her deeper into the alley. He wedged her up against the building.

She jerked her knee up, kicking him hard.

Howling in pain, he leaned over her with evil intent.

She kicked again, landing blows wherever she could.

He cursed her, and then dug his fingers into her throat. She clawed at him in return, reaching for his eyes.

Catching her hands, he pinned them by her sides. She struggled, but he was too big, too strong and she was too small.

She sucked in a rough breath, suddenly remembering what Mattie had taught her to do if she was ever attacked like this.

Opening her mouth, Annabeth cried out for help at the top of her lungs.

She screamed and screamed and screamed.

He slapped his hand over her mouth. “Shut up.”

She bit his palm.

His red-rimmed eyes lit with rage and he called her a filthy name.

Pulling away from his hand, she screamed again.

“I said shut up.” He yanked his gun out its holster and pointed it at her head.

She went perfectly still, utterly silent.

Breathing hard, they eyed one another. Jamming the tip harder against her temple, he called her another ugly name.

She shut her eyes, refusing to react.

“Let her go, Rico.”

Her eyes flew open. That cold, angry voice belonged to Hunter.

Annabeth nearly collapsed in relief, but she didn’t dare look in his direction.

Rico had no such qualms.

With the gun still pressed to her head, he glanced at Hunter and snarled. “You got here quicker than I thought you would. This one must mean something to you.”

“Let her go.”

“Not a chance.” The gun never leaving her temple, Rico spun her around and yanked her back against him.

Using her as a human shield, he shifted until they faced Hunter together. “You think I’d let you get away with killing my brother? That I wouldn’t hunt you down? Make you pay?”

“Let her go.” This time, Hunter’s eyes were deadly calm as he spoke. Whatever he was feeling was carefully masked behind that cold, menacing stare.

He was going to fight for Annabeth’s life.

But he didn’t have a gun, or any weapon. Not even a knife.

Rico had all the advantage.

“You took the last of my family. Now I’m going to take yours. One member at a time.” Rico pulled the hammer back on the gun. “Starting with this little filly here.”

Chapter Twenty-One

H
unter checked his balance, sorting through his options at lightning speed. Ice-cold rage pulsed through his blood. He’d only experienced this surge of violence once before. When he’d found Jane dead in an alley similar to this one, lying crumpled and broken in a dark corner.

He pushed the memory away and focused on the present. On Annabeth. The woman he loved now.

Shifting his weight onto the balls of his feet, he moved his glance to Rico’s ugly face. The hate was there, in the other man’s eyes, smoldering inside the fury.

His past had found him again. In the form of Cole Kincaid’s wicked, younger brother, a man known for his fast reflexes and cold, spiteful heart.

“Let her go, Rico.” Hunter repeated the words, then moved a step forward. “It’s me you want to hurt.”

“True. But we both know your weakness is your woman.”

Eyes narrowing to two mean slits of hate, Rico used his free hand to yank on Annabeth’s hair, tugging until she cried out in pain.

Hunter surged forward.

“Stop right there.” Rico jammed the barrel of his gun harder into Annabeth’s temple. “Or I’ll shoot her dead.”

Hunter froze.

Hands rising in the air, palms forward, he forced his brain to work through possible solutions.

Only one came to mind. Infuriate Rico enough to get him to point the gun at Hunter.

The outlaw didn’t look well. His physique had gone from lean to gaunt and his skin was a sickly, pasty white. Although three years younger than Hunter, Rico’s eyes had the rheumy hue of an old man.

Perhaps his reflexes had slowed with the loss of his health.

“Last I saw you, Rico—” Hunter edged a fraction closer “—you were crossing the border into Mexico, chasing after some senorita who wasn’t your wife.”

Rico ignored the taunt. “When I heard you were getting out of prison,” he hissed, “I decided to come and finish the job my brother failed to do.”

Cole Kincaid’s brother was here to kill him.

Hunter had known this was a possibility. Though he hadn’t seen Rico in years, deep down, he’d sensed the man following him, waiting around the corner, gunning for him. Yet, he’d let his guard down, had allowed himself to grow complacent, convincing himself he’d outrun his past.

“I’m the one you want,” he repeated, smoothing all emotion out of the words. Spreading his hands out wide, palms facing forward, he offered up himself. “Come and get me.”

“All in good time. First, I’m going to kill your woman.” Rico pulled Annabeth tighter against him. “And you’ll have the pleasure of watching her die.”

The woman he loved was not going to suffer for his mistakes. Not this time.

Not.

This.

Time.

Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.

A moment of peace whispered across his soul. Hunter knew what he had to do.

Regulating his breathing, he edged another step closer and continued goading Rico. “What happened to your little senorita? She kick you out like your wife did?”

Rico growled.

Hunter set his jaw and edged another inch closer. He wanted to rush the outlaw, to end this standoff in a single move.

But that would endanger Annabeth’s life.

“Hunter, please.” Annabeth’s voice sounded desperate. “Stop taunting him.”

He ignored the plea and focused on Rico, only Rico.

The eyes that met his were cold and mean. Frantic. The man had nothing to lose. Wanted in six states, Rico had always been more reckless than his brother, more unpredictable. It was a trait that made him especially dangerous in a fight.

Hunter took another step forward.

“No, Hunter, don’t.” Annabeth’s voice lowered to a soothing octave, as if understanding the best way to get through to him was through calmness not panic. “Don’t let him turn you into someone you’re not.”

“You’re kidding yourself, little lady.” Rico pressed his lips to Annabeth’s ear. “He’s an outlaw at heart, just like me.”

Rico was partially right. Hunter had an ugly past. A past he had to put to rest once and for all.

“I won’t let him hurt you, Annabeth,” he vowed, eyes locked with Rico’s. He could hear his own breathing scratching in and out of his lungs.

“I’m not going to die on you,” she said in a plain, steady voice. “I know how to fall.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rico demanded as his finger shook over the trigger. “You speaking in some sort of fancy code?”

“Hunter, hear me, I know how to
fall,
” she repeated.

What was she trying to tell him?

A split second later, he knew what she meant. His thoughts turned very cool and clear, very precise.

“All right, Annabeth.” He adjusted his weight evenly on his feet, gave her one solid nod, and then said, “Fall.”

She instantly dropped to her knees and rolled.

The sudden movement caught Rico by surprise. He lost his balance and stumbled backward. The pistol slipped from his hand, landing at his feet. The impact released a bullet from the chamber. It whizzed past Annabeth, digging into the wall above her head.

Hunter flung himself at Rico even as he was aware, brutally aware, that the man was reaching for the fallen weapon, a look of twisted resolve on his face.

“Run, Annabeth.”

She scrambled to her feet and dashed toward the street. She moved quickly. But not fast enough. Rico had the gun pointed straight at the back of her head.

Hunter vaulted into the line of fire.

His fingers closed over the gun.

Eyes wild with fury, Rico pulled the trigger.

Hunter weaved to his left. The bullet caught the top of his ear, nothing more than a nick. He continued his pursuit, rounding on Rico with unleashed fury.

This time, the outlaw pointed the weapon at his heart.

Hunter grabbed for the gun, caught hold of the barrel and wrestled the outlaw for control.

Rico’s smile turned cold, ice-cold, and he pulled the trigger again. Hunter swerved right.

The bullet hit the ground behind him.

He caught Rico’s wrist, wrenched the gun free.

Another shot. Pain exploded in Hunter’s chest, but he finally had control of the weapon.

He tossed the pistol to the ground, kicked it out of reach. His vision blurred. Then cleared. Then blurred again.

Working through a cold sweat, he closed his hands over Rico’s throat.

The outlaw kicked out, catching one of Hunter’s legs.

They went down together.

Rico rolled out from under Hunter, crawling on his hands and knees. He glanced frantically around him, caught sight of his gun and reached out.

Before the outlaw could close his fingers over the weapon, Hunter hauled him to his feet. “Fight me like a man.”

Rico sputtered. His face was red from exertion and turning redder by the minute.

Anger morphed into a need to draw blood. It would be so easy to wrap his hands around the man’s worthless throat, Hunter thought, to squeeze until he took his last breath.

But that was the old Hunter. The man he was now left vengeance to the Lord, and justice to the system.

Taking Rico by the shoulders, Hunter slammed him against the wall, subduing him with a forearm pressed to his neck.

Slowly, as if coming out of a dream, he became aware of footsteps pounding in the distance, growing closer by the second.

Letting the last shreds of anger slip out of him, Hunter glanced briefly to the street beyond. His vision tinged gray and, for an instant, the world shifted under his feet. A dizzying wave of nausea crashed over him and his mouth went dry.

His grip slipped.

Rico shifted.

But Hunter recovered quick enough to send the outlaw back against the wall.

More footsteps joined the others, several pairs of feet sounded, coming faster, louder, closer.

The world shifted beneath Hunter’s feet again. He swallowed, even as he heard his name being called from behind him.

In the next moment, Trey Scott appeared in his peripheral vision. He pried Hunter’s arm free. “You can let him go. I’ve got it from here.”

One more shove and then Hunter stepped back.

He watched as Trey cuffed Rico. The seasoned lawman used as little sensitivity as possible without actually inflicting injury. It was a fine art honed through years of practice, and far more consideration than the outlaw deserved, considering he’d tried to hurt Annabeth.

Desperate to find her, needing to assure himself she was indeed safe, Hunter waited until Trey dragged Rico off then swung around and searched for her.

He came face-to-face with a gathering crowd. But no Annabeth. He pushed forward, but moved too fast and lost his balance. He stumbled a few steps to the right, then to his left, knocking into a few bystanders.

Since when did a simple shift in position throw him into a full stagger? And why did his head hurt? Why was his vision turning black?

Pulling in a deep breath, he set out again.

This time the crowd parted and Annabeth came into view.

Seeing him, she quickened her pace. “You’re all right. Oh, Hunter, I was so worried. I didn’t want to leave you, but I had to get help. Sheriff Scott sped ahead of me and—”

She cut herself off and gasped.

“You’ve been shot,” she rasped out.

In the next instant, her eyes filled with tears, eyes that were no longer locked on his face but his chest.

Baffled, he followed the direction of her gaze, and noted the blood on his shirt. A large, red stain spread across the white linen from his shoulder to his ribs.

He slowly became aware of the pain that burned a path from his shoulder to his brain.

“Hunter. You’re swaying. Here, hang on to me.” Annabeth reached to him, caught him by the arm, shifted beneath to support his weight.

He hissed in pain, then pushed the sensation to a back corner of his mind. All that mattered was that Annabeth was safe. She was alive.

“Annabeth, my darling.” He lifted his hand to her face. “I...”

That’s all he got out before he slipped to the ground and then...

Nothing.

* * *

“Hunter!” Annabeth dropped to her knees, uncaring that people were gathering around them, pressing in from all sides, stealing their air. “Can you hear me?” Panic threaded through her words. “Say something.”

His face was draining of color, turning a sickly shade of green. Putting pressure on his chest wound, she desperately tried to staunch the bleeding. She swung her gaze into the crowd. “Somebody get a doctor.”

Nobody moved, except to draw in for a closer look at the man in her arms.

Just then, Mattie appeared at the edge of the crowd. She shoved and pushed and ordered people to step aside. When the command didn’t move them fast enough, she shouted, “Get out of my way!”

At last, she made it through the bulk of the crowd. Leaning over Annabeth, she eyed Hunter, her gaze resting on his bloody shirt. “Don’t let up on the pressure.”

“I know. He’s been shot,” Annabeth said unnecessarily, her voice thick with rising hysteria.

“Yes, darling, I can see that.” Mattie brushed her fingertips across her forehead. “Come, let’s get him inside.”

She motioned Jack forward.

“No.” Annabeth refused to let go of Hunter. “We can’t move him. Not until the doctor arrives.”

“I’ve already sent for Shane.”

Shane, as in Shane Bartlett, the doctor connected to Charity House, the one who also treated Mattie’s soiled doves. Yes, Shane would fix Hunter.

Squeezing back tears, Annabeth dropped a kiss to his lips. “I love you,” she whispered.

His eyes fluttered open. “It’s going to be all right, my love,” he assured her. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

Those were supposed to be her words. She was supposed to comfort him. Instead, he—the noble, decent, good-hearted
hero—
was attempting to soothe her.

For his sake, she forced herself to remain calm. “I love you,” she said again.

“Love you, too.” He unleashed a smile, then his eyes closed again.

“Annabeth, darling, move aside so Jack can get Hunter off the ground.”

She leaned over him one last time. His face had gone paler still, completely gray, and his breathing had turned shallow.

“Don’t you die on me,” she whispered then moved back so Jack and another man could lift Hunter off the ground.

Dr. Shane Bartlett arrived less than five minutes after they got Hunter settled on a large settee in Mattie’s private parlor. When it was deemed the bullet had to be removed at once, Shane tried to banish Annabeth from the room.

She refused to go. “What can I do to help?”

“You can get me clean linens and fresh water.”

With efficient, capable hands Shane got to work. So did Annabeth. While Shane removed the bullet she provided him with an unending supply of linens and water. There seemed to be a lot of blood. Thankfully, Hunter remained unconscious throughout the surgery, which was probably for the best: the pain had to have been excruciating.

Annabeth prayed for his life, lowering to her knees when her legs gave way.
Lord, please, guide Shane’s hands.

After nearly an hour, Shane stepped back, and began washing the blood from his hands in a basin of fresh water.

“That’s it,” he said. “That’s all I can do. The rest is in God’s hands.”

Annabeth climbed hastily to her feet. “Is he all right? Will he live?”

Shane rolled his tired gaze to meet hers. “He’s young and strong, Miss Annabeth. He should heal just fine, providing he doesn’t get an infection, or fever.”

She heard what he wasn’t saying. “And if he gets either of those?”

“Now, Annabeth, let’s not create problems before they even occur.” Mattie moved to stand beside her. “Isn’t that right, Shane?”

“It’s always wise to remain positive,” he agreed, then went on to explain how best to care for Hunter in the coming days. “Keep a close eye on him. Change the dressing on his wound every four hours. If you see any redness, or it becomes discolored and warm to the touch, send someone to get me at once. The same goes if the bleeding starts up again.”

“I’ll not leave his side,” Annabeth pledged.