Wicked Release (28 page)

Both Dr. Moore and Sam were bloody from fighting. Dr. Moore had a scalpel clutched in his palm as a weapon. Jess clicked the safeties off and aimed one of her guns directly at Moore's head. “You,” she said. “Drop the knife and get your back against the wall.”

His snarl sounded like something a caged animal would make, but he did what she said, his hands going in the air.

“Walters!” a voice called from somewhere behind her.

“And you,” she spun, facing Lyle, his hands clutched around his leg, the Swiss Army knife sticking out of his thigh. “You fucking killed my sister.” She stepped closer, cocking the gun.

“Jess,” Sam said. But his voice sounded far away. She heard her name again. And then again, but she just kept advancing on Lyle.

“She thought you were friends—and you shot her in the chest.”

Lyle's eyes were calm, his expression filled with a satisfaction that Jess wanted to wipe clean. “What do you care?” he asked. “Oh, she told me all about you. How you'd never call, never visit. She knew what she was getting into with this business. She couldn't possibly have believed she was getting out of it alive.”

“Jessie.” Sam's voice was like a warm wave lapping over her, calming her and she let it wash into her senses. “Jessie, give me the gun.”

“Listen to him, Ms. Walters.” It was the first time the second voice registered in her mind. She turned, releasing the guns into Sam's palm and she could feel the entire room give a collective sigh as she unarmed herself. Jess turned to see who had been talking to her, calming her.

“Lulu?”

The mousy submissive looked anything but in the moment. She had a gun raised and her lean strong biceps and triceps were tense. Her mouth was set into a firm, determined line.

“Actually,” she said. “I prefer Agent Kinney.” She held out a badge with her spare hand. “FBI. You're all under arrest,” she said, turning her attention to the room of doctors and Lyle.

Jess spun to Sam.

“She's been investigating these parties and Mercy Hospital for over a year now,” he explained.

“Everyone, hands in the air . . . I want to see your palms.” She had her gun aimed not at Dr. Moore, and not at Christine or even Lyle. Jess followed the line of where the barrel pointed: directly at Dr. Adams.

“Ms. Walters, Agent Kinney, Detective McCloskey,” Dr. Adams said in a calm voice, looking up at them through surgical glasses clipped to his head. “I think I should point out that by putting my hands in the air, I would be effectively killing this man on the table. And considering we three doctors are his only hope for survival, you may want to think twice before shooting us.”

Jess had been so amped up on adrenaline and fighting for her life, that she didn't realize what was going on in the room surrounding her. There on the surgical table, unconscious and with his chest cavity spread wide open, was Dane.

46

T
he boat had docked two hours ago and the doctors were still in surgery inside the boat. They said it was too risky to move Dane. Pulling a man with an open chest out into a unsterile environment would cause sepsis—and them barging in the middle of his surgery put him at enough risk as it was. Elliot had been rushed in an ambulance to the hospital, in critical condition. Everything in Jess's world was crashing down. She sat on a bench overlooking the boat and Matt sat beside her, putting his arms around her shoulders.

“Sam still in there?” she asked.

Matt nodded. “So is Agent Kinney. And Straimer. They're safe.”

“And Dane?”

“He's in good hands. For being a group of criminals, they're also all brilliant doctors, I'm told.”

“Is Dane going to jail?”

Matt took a second's pause before answering. “Buying organs is illegal.”

“And Elliot? If he survives?”

“He went to the FBI a couple of months ago. He traded information for immunity—for both him and Cass. But she died before he was allowed to tell her everything.”

There was movement on the boat as a stretcher was being moved carefully down the ramp. EMT workers rushed to meet it, gently taking over the gurney. Dane was alive, though awfully pale-looking, with tubes coming out of his nose and mouth. Agent Kinney led a handcuffed Dr. Moore and Christine while Straimer carted Lyle out, his hand gripped tensely around Lyle's arm. Sam was the last out, pushing Dr. Adams in front of him.

Jess jumped off the bench and before she could make it a couple of steps, Matt had her around the waist. No matter how hard she tried to wrench out of Matt's grasp, to break free and get to Sam, he refused to release her.

Tears streamed down her face. He was bleeding . . . Sam was bleeding through his tuxedo shirt. “I just need to see him,” she cried, and pushed against Matt.

She closed her eyes, falling into Matt's hug. “I just need to see that he's okay,” she cried.

“Jess.” She swung around, hearing Sam's voice and her eyes widened as he was suddenly standing there in front of her. Rodriguez took Dr. Adams, walking him toward the police cruiser, and Sam pulled her into his arms. He was here.
Oh God, he's okay . . . bloody with the makings of a black eye and a split lip . . . but okay.

She ran her fingers over his face and his shoulders, her trembling hand hovering over the bloodstain at his shirt.

He shook his head, grabbing her shaking hand and kissing her knuckles. “It's not deep. Moore got me with the scalpel, but I pulled back at just the right moment.” He gently touched the bruises at her neck, his dark blue eyes swirling with shadows. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine.” She was dazed, shaking and in shock . . . but she'd be fine.

“Damn right you are,” he said. “You should get checked out by the EMTs anyway.”

She shook her head, gripping his forearm. “No, not without you—”

“We
both
should.”

She couldn't exactly argue with that. He cupped her face and dipped his mouth gently to her lips, his forehead warm against her. “I love you, Jess,” he declared. “I loved you back in preschool when you would sneak into my lunchbox and then tell me it was Charlie Gardner stealing my pudding snacks. I loved you in fourth grade when you would let me cheat off your math homework. I loved you all through high school and even on my darkest days, you were still a beacon of light, shining from afar to bring me home. And I love you now. More than ever.”

“Saying ‘I love you, too' just doesn't seem enough . . .” She pushed onto her toes, kissing him again. “But I do love you, too.”

She looked back as Rodriguez Mirandized Dr. Adams outside her cruiser. “I need to talk to him, Sam. I need closure.”

He nodded, lacing his fingers into hers and leading the way toward the car. They walked up just as Rodriguez was pushing him into the backseat. “We need a minute,” Sam said to the officer. She nodded and stepped back.

Jess opened the door to slide into the front seat and Sam moved to get in on the other side. “I need to do this alone,” she said, stopping him.

To her surprise, he didn't argue. Didn't try to talk her into having him there with her. He simply stayed where he was.

She climbed into the front seat of the cruiser and stared at the doctor through the plexiglass partition. “Dr. Adams,” she said.

“I want a lawyer,” he said.

“I'm not in here officially. You have so many charges against you . . . the stuff with my parents is probably the least of it. I know you killed my mom.”

He rolled his eyes. “Your mom was brain-
dead
—”

“Maybe,” she cut him off. “Maybe not. And because of you, I'll never know. Because of you . . . I never got to say good-bye to her.”

He lifted his gaze, the blue and red flashing lights passed over his creased face, lined with years of wrinkles. “She would have died anyway, Jessica.”

“But she wouldn't have been alone! On some exam table! She could have been holding her daughters' hands.” The sob burst from her chest and with that explosion, his face slackened into something that resembled remorse.

“And without your mother, my daughter wouldn't have lived another week. I'll never forget Renee Walters. I thank her every day.”

“Don't do that. Don't turn yourself into a martyr. You're a murderer.”

He nodded. “I am that. And yet . . . I'm also a savior to many. So many people would have died without the organs I've provided.”

Jess wiped her eyes with both hands, letting the tears wash down to her chin. “Good luck convincing a jury of that,” she said, before she got out of the car and slammed the door.

Sam was there waiting, a few feet away, his expression so grief-stricken, so filled with pain that it made her breath catch even more.

“Come on,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Let's both go get a clean bill of health.”

EPILOGUE

 

S
am heard the shower shut off as he carried the last of his boxes inside the pink house. Pink. He chuckled. If anyone had told him as a kid that he'd someday be living in a pink house, he would have body checked them.

He entered, kicking the door shut behind him. Luckily, he didn't have all that much stuff to begin with and it made moving in pretty damn easy. Now if only he could convince Jess to let him repaint the outside.

He dropped the box in the foyer, yanking his shirt over his head. He winced, looking down at the fourteen stitches he'd needed under his rib cage, and climbed the staircase to where he now heard her rummaging around in the master bedroom. He may have undersold just how good Moore had gotten him with that scalpel. He grimaced as hunger for Jess spiked through his body. A few weeks ago, she had been nothing more than a memory. Someone he was certain would never want to see him again, let alone share a home and a bed with him. And in a matter of days, she'd planted her little roots, anchoring herself to his soul.

“I'm home,” he called from the stairs so not to startle her. She scared very easily these days—for good reason. He moved into the doorway and came to a cold, hard stop.
Oh, sweet Jesus
—the sight of her sucked the breath clean out of his lungs. Her lavender robe clung to her body, draping her damp skin in soft-looking silk. Her hair fell in wet curls down her back and her firm, rounded ass called to him, tempting his hands and caused his stirring erection to harden further, thirsty for her body.

“How was the debriefing?” she asked.

“A long one,” he said. “Looks like they're going to be able to cut Dane a deal in exchange for his testimony against the organ trafficking.”

“Good.”

“That's where he was, the night of Cass's death. Having a meeting with Adams about buying a new heart.”

“And that's why he couldn't give you a real alibi,” she finished for him.

“Kinney mentioned that there was a weird discrepancy in their bookkeeping, though. It looked like there was a fifth person being cut in on the cash, but none of the four are talking.”

“Elliot doesn't know who it is?”

Sam shook his head. “Apparently not. Elliot didn't know about Christine or Dr. Adams, either. His only contact was with Dr. Moore and Lyle.”

“That's weird.” Jess chewed her bottom lip in thought as Sam walked over to her, pulling her lip from her teeth.

Her pouty lips thinned and her brown eyes flashed back at him. “Sam,” she warned, putting a hand to his chest and pushing him back. “We have to go to the hospital, remember? We have, like, a million people to visit.”

He chuckled, noting the deliberate dare that flashed in her expression. “Well, then,” he challenged, popping open the button on his jeans and pushing them down over his hips. “I should change.”

Her breasts were heaving faster, harder and he could see the outline of her nipples distinctly through her thin silk robe. He cupped the back of her neck, pulling her close against his body. “How is it that you can drive me so fucking crazy? You make me want to stroke you and worship you, while at the same time I want to paddle that tight ass when you don't listen to me.” He grinned and trailed his fingers down the sensitive sides of her waist.

She lifted her chin in a show of defiance. “When have I not listened to you lately?”

He loved that tone now. He loved when she got heated and playfully defiant. It meant they were both in for some spanking later. “Well, for starters, I noticed those damn ceramic frogs are still out front.”

“They're cute!”

“They're girly.”

She jutted her bottom lip out and tossed her hair. The seductive movement sent every bit of his body into its most hardened state.

His fingers moved to the ribbon keeping her robe loosely closed. The only thing separating their bodies was a thin rectangle of silk and the cotton boxer briefs he wore. He tugged at the belt. Her cheeks flushed even pinker as he slipped the soft material off her shoulders, letting it fall to the ground.

“Well, now we're definitely going to be late,” she said. Her gaze was hungry, sweeping his body and it was so intense that it practically branded him like her touch.

They each moved their lips to the other's at the same time and with that kiss, Sam felt more than a decade of loneliness, of aching, of emptiness slip away, the tension melting from his muscles as he pushed his tongue into her mouth.

The kiss started sweet but quickly morphed into something more primal, more urgent and she was panting against his mouth, clawing at his shoulders. She fought to catch her breath as he slowly drew a line from her neck down over her breasts and over the landscape of her stomach.

He was careful to touch her gently with his calloused fingertips—she claimed she was no longer sore, but he knew she wouldn't admit it even if she was still in pain. He rotated his touch, circling her inner thighs. She panted, spreading her legs for him.

His hips jerked, longing for that firm grip of hers as her fingers dipped into the elastic waist of his boxer briefs, pulling them down over his straining shaft.

He groaned, dropping his head back as she pumped her hand against his cock harder. He blinked open, watching as she slid her other fingers down between her dripping thighs, teasing him, stroking her wet heat for both her pleasure and his.

She stroked the base of his cock, curling her fingers around his sack, heavy with need. His hand hovered beside her, brushing against her inner thighs, stroking and worshipping her smooth skin.

“How wet are you?” he asked

Her answer came in a rough breath. “So wet. Pulsing for you, Sam.”

He dropped to his knees in front of her to get a better view and she eased herself back onto the bed, spreading her legs wide. She dipped a finger into the slick wet depths, pushing it all the way in to the knuckle before slowly pulling it back out. He watched, gripping his own dick and stroking himself slowly, longing to bury his tongue into her hot, wet pussy.

Her heels dug into the mattress, hips pulsing higher as she thrust her finger inside herself again. Their panting breaths filled the silence along with the sound of wet flesh meeting frenzied motions. “Fuck, yeah, that's beautiful.”

“Sam.” She moaned his name in the way he'd only imagined she did when he wasn't around. Her eyes blinked open, fighting to maintain eye contact. He took her finger pulling it free from her sex before drawing it into his mouth. He burned to feel her around his hard cock. To feel her pulse against his tongue and he crawled over top as she fell onto her back. He moved into position, sliding his erection between her thighs, pushing against her wet opening, so ready for him.

With a flick of his hips, he was inside her, slipping into her aching pussy. Searing heat burst into his mind and he gripped her knee, spreading her even wider. He thrust harder inside her with deep, hard movements. Her hands dug into his shoulder, nails biting his skin and even that felt fucking good. The pain mixed with sweet, impending pleasure. He could feel the hard clench of his balls, the tightening of his brewing release.

She arched into him, using her body weight to thrust him deeper inside her. Her neck elongated with an animal-like groan and he was utterly captivated by her expression, so full of desire and freedom. She damn near took his breath away.

Her muscles clenched around him and he grunted as her contractions squeezed him, milked him, her release taking hold of her shuddering body.

“Jessica,” he demanded, “look at me.”

Her eyes snapped open, obeying his order immediately. He increased his rhythm, pumping into her clenching cunt harder and faster as her moans became louder.

But even as she cried out, her eyes stayed directly on him, just as he had asked. Her obedience caused a violent pleasure that rocked through him and he flicked his hips, pushing his hand against her clit in subtle but effective circular motions. He wasn't going to last much longer. “Come for me, Jess.”

She jerked against his body, letting go in a release that rocked hard through her body. He thrust himself one last time, spearing into her as his own release spurted inside of her. He collapsed on her body, careful not to let his weight fall entirely on her and her arms rested on his back, caressing his tense muscles in soft little strokes.

His heartbeat pounded against hers until eventually, the rhythms lined up, matching. He shivered as the last tremor bulldozed through his body.

 

Jess linked her hand in Sam's and he groaned as she dragged him to their last stop at the hospital.

“Please tell me this is it. She isn't really even a friend,” he said.

“Zooey was Cass's friend. And I'm trying to lay down roots and get my own good group of girlfriends going. Or do you prefer me to spend all my free time with Dane and Elliot?”

He jolted upright from his slouch at that, holding up the bouquet of flowers he was carrying. “Fuck that. After you.”

Jess entered Zooey's room and stopped, looking around. “She's . . . she's gone. I thought she wasn't being discharged for another day.”

Sam walked to the edge of the bed where her chart was kept. He flipped open a page, shaking his head. “That's what they said up front.”

“Do you think her mother forced her to get an early discharge? That woman is a beast to be reckoned with. I sure as hell wouldn't want to be the nurse to say no to her.” Jess turned her attention back to Sam, who was standing stiff as a statue beside Zooey's hospital bed. Restraints hung unused over the side. Jess pulled out her phone and dialed Zooey's number. “Sam? What is it?” she asked as she waited.

He jerked his chin toward the bed. “There. On her pillow.” There was a tension in his voice that she knew all too well. And she didn't like the sound of it one bit.

Jess could hear the phone ringing on the other end of the line, as she walked slowly to the other side of the bed. Zooey's voice mail clicked on, playing “Witchy Woman” in lieu of a voicemail message. Jess gasped, dropping the phone onto the bed.

There, resting on Zooey's pillow was a propped-up tube of scarlet lipstick.