He squinted at the dark SUV in his crosshairs. It had parked behind the cruiser, which held two officers. She had a security detail of three. She must have told them something for them to be guarding her. Or the Escobar girl had told them something. Shit.
He gave himself a mental shake. Think positive. Arianna hadn’t seen his face. She could tell them nothing more than the location of the house, which they already knew. His jaw clenched. And the existence of the child, dammit. Now they’d be out looking for the kid.
Relax. Roza was locked up with the Longstreet woman in the cabin, both awaiting his return. Eagerly, no doubt. The Longstreet woman would know exactly what was coming, having heard the screams of her friend. He loved it when he could abduct two at a time. The terror of the second one was always so much more gratifying.
He frowned, his eye still focused on the SUV parked under the hotel’s overhang. What the hell were they doing in there? Negotiating peace in the Middle East? They’d been sitting there for two minutes now. Ah. Finally. The driver’s door opened and . . . Whoa.
The man getting out was good-sized, his leather coat stretched taut between his shoulders. He looked like he’d have muscles on his muscles. More like a Mafia enforcer than a cop.
But it was the man’s hair that drew his attention. Snow white, it rose in jagged peaks all over his head. The guy was old. His reflexes wouldn’t be what they ought to be.
The man closed the SUV door, standing for a moment, drawing a deep breath. Then he turned, his face clearly visible in the rifle’s sight.
Well, hell. He wasn’t old at all. He was quite young. And the expression on his face . . .
Ha. He knew a frustrated, horny man when he saw one. The white-haired man had a thing for little Faith. Too bad, man. She’ll be dead as soon as she gets to the hotel door.
Chapter Thirteen
Cincinnati, Ohio, Tuesday 4 November, 3.00 A.M.
Faith watched from the passenger seat as Novak met the two uniforms between their vehicles. He handed the officers copies of Combs’s mugshot and then took a stroll around the front and sides of the hotel.
Cheap thrill. Forbidden fruit. Was that what she thought of herself? Maybe. Then again, maybe she’d simply been trying to forget the terror of the last few weeks. Of the last few hours. Maybe she just wanted someone to hold her. That wasn’t so wrong, was it?
You would have been using him. You know it. And so did he.
Faith sighed, knowing it was true. She’d gotten swept up in the moment. Tried to be the siren she most definitely was not. He could have taken me up on it. But he hadn’t.
Part of her was relieved. Part was frustrated. But mostly, she felt ashamed. Novak’s sister had sworn that he was a good man, and Faith had seen him demonstrate that so many times over the last few hours. She’d seen it just now. Because even though he’d refused, he’d been tempted. At least there’s that.
Novak appeared in the SUV’s side mirror, having cleared the hotel perimeter. For a moment she let herself just look. And want. He was an impressive man, head to toe.
He opened the door and held out his hand, helping Faith down to the curb. She stumbled when her shoes hit the pavement, her stiff knees stealing any grace she’d had left.
He caught her before she hit the concrete, pulling her against him just has he had in the cemetery. Except this time she was facing him. And this time he held on a few seconds longer than he had before, his chest expanding against her breasts as he breathed her in.
They fit, her head finding a resting place in the curve of his shoulder, her cheek pressing against his pounding heart. And then her good sense returned. She pulled back. ‘I’m sorry.’
Resolutely he set her on her own two feet. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, the huskiness of his voice sending another shiver across her skin.
‘I didn’t mean to . . .’ She looked over her shoulder, saw the two cops in the cruiser watching with interest. Her face heated as she looked away. ‘I didn’t mean to lean.’
‘It’s all right.’ His voice had lost the huskiness, but it was still deep and smooth, tugging at her way down. ‘It’s not every night you climb a rocky embankment in your bare feet to save a girl’s life. You’re entitled to lean.’
He lifted his head, scanning the cars parked along the street. She tried to follow his gaze, but she was too short, the SUV blocking her view.
‘Any white vans?’ she murmured.
‘No.’
She hadn’t really thought so. If Combs was still here, he had to have ditched the van. ‘It’s late,’ she said. ‘I have to get some sleep so I can go into work tomorrow.’
Novak’s frown was instant and formidable. ‘You can’t go to work, not until we solve this.’
She tilted her head, mimicking his habit. ‘Um, reality check time? I just started a new job. I can’t call in sick on my second day. I’ll get fired.’
‘It’s better than calling in dead,’ he said grimly. ‘I’ll write you a note if you want. “Dear Banker, please excuse Faith from work today as she has a large target painted on her ass.”’
‘I’ve been shot at and burned out and all the rest of it. I never once skipped work. Besides, I work in a bank now. Guards with guns everywhere. It’s very secure.’
He spread his hand across her back, urging her forward. ‘Let’s talk about it inside,’ he said, guiding her toward the double glass doors. The one on the right was being held open by a bellman, whose stare was a little too curious, but she supposed it wasn’t every day a guest was escorted in by the likes of Deacon Novak.
Abruptly, the bellman paled and stepped back, letting the door drift closed. Faith looked over her shoulder to find Novak wearing a scowl that might have terrified even her. His eyes bored a hole into the poor bellman, who now stared down at his own feet like a guilty child. When Novak leaned forward to open the door himself, Faith met his scowl with a scolding glare.
‘Was that really necessary?’ she murmured.
But then the glass door next to her shattered and with it all semblance of coherent thought, a sense of déjà vu sweeping in to blanket her mind. In the next heartbeat, Novak was moving, grabbing the door and flinging them both inside the hotel lobby and down to the floor.
‘Everybody down!’ he shouted as they landed hard. He covered her with his body as the adjacent glass door shattered, a second shot showering them with shards of broken glass. He was big and heavy, completely immobilizing her. Barely able to breathe, she began to tremble.
Gordon, was all she could think. He’d killed Gordon the same way. Combs was out there.
Trapped under Novak’s weight, she craned her head to look behind them, sliding her cheek across the rough carpet to glimpse the bellman slumping to the ground in an eerie, slow-motion kind of silence. He didn’t get up.
Not again. Please. She struggled to rise, but Novak pushed her back down with a ruthless strength that she couldn’t hope to fight.
‘Stay down,’ he hissed.
‘He’s hit, Deacon.’ Her voice came out pitched too high. Panicked. ‘He’s going to die. Just like Gordon. Please. We need to help him.’
Novak cursed viciously. ‘That sonofabitch is trying to draw you out, Faith. He knows you’ll run to help a victim. Stay down. The officers outside are pulling the bellman behind cover. I need you to not move. Are you hurt? Did he hit you?’
‘N-no.’ Beneath him, Faith was trembling violently. Her teeth began to chatter. ‘Are you?’
‘No.’ His body lifted a hair’s breadth, his chin brushing the back of her head as he scanned the lobby. ‘Anyone else hit?’
‘No,’ a woman said, her voice barely audible. ‘I called 911.’
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Get everyone behind the desk and stay there until I tell you to come out.’ His body shifted as he went for his phone. Faith could hear it ringing, Isenberg’s voice answering, and then Novak’s voice, calm and authoritative. ‘We have a sniper situation at Faith’s hotel. He appears to be set up in
the hotel across the street. Send backup and have them cover the exits. We have one hotel employee down here who needs an ambulance.’ A pause, then a terse reply. ‘Working on that now. Just get me that backup ASAP. Thanks.’ He slipped the phone back into his coat pocket, then shifted again, twisting to look behind him.
His voice had calmed her, at least enough that she could think. ‘What are you working on?’
‘Getting us out of the line of fire.’
‘Oh.’ That would be good. ‘Is the bellman still alive?’
‘Yes.’ But he’d answered hesitantly and Faith’s heart sank. ‘The uniforms got him behind one of those big-ass flower pots outside, but you and I are sitting ducks here with all this glass.’
Placing one hand on either side of her head, he pushed his upper body up. An instant later he slammed back down hard, smashing the breath from her lungs. ‘Holy fuck,’ he groaned. ‘Motherfuckin’ sonofabitch. Dammit, dammit, dammit.’
No. Panic was a live thing inside her, clawing at her chest. He’d been shot. She struggled frantically to get out from under him. To help him.
‘Faith,’ he whispered. He was panting above her, struggling for air. ‘Stop.’
‘He’s not going to give up.’ She was trapped, her body pressed into the floor. ‘He’ll shoot you again.’ And then he’d bleed to death and there wouldn’t be anything she could do. A sob caught in her throat. ‘Please, move. I can’t wear your brains. I can’t.’
His chuckle snapped her out of the panic and back to reality. He wasn’t Gordon. He was Deacon Novak and he wasn’t dead. His exhale was warm in her ear. ‘I’m not too keen on that idea myself,’ he said.
‘Where are you hit?’ she asked, voice shaking. Hell, her whole body was shaking.
Novak wrapped his arms around her head, enveloping her in a black leather cocoon. She drew the scent of cedar into her lungs, letting it calm her. The sight of the gun in his hand calmed her even more. He wasn’t hurt so badly that he couldn’t move.
‘Left shoulder, but I’m okay. It hit the vest.’
A vest. A picture flashed in her mind, the one time Charlie had come home after taking a bullet in his vest. His whole left pec had been black and blue. But not bleeding.
‘He’ll keep shooting,’ she said. ‘He kept shooting at Gordon until he was dead.’
‘He hasn’t fired again, so we’re probably in his blind spot. Hush. I’m doing math.’
Trajectories, she realized. There had been no other shots fired. She considered the layout of the street, of the parked cars. Of the hotel across the street.
‘He’s not on the roof,’ she said. ‘The overhang above the entrance would have obstructed his shots. Something’s shielding us. Your SUV?’
He twisted to look behind them. ‘Up to the doors, anyway. The windows are shot to hell. He’s got to be somewhere on the second floor of the other hotel.’ He rested his forehead on the back of her head. ‘He can’t get to us when we’re lying flat, and we can’t go forward, so we’re going to have to move backward on our stomachs. Can you do that?’
‘I climbed an embankment barefoot,’ she said, feigning confidence. ‘This is a cakewalk.’
He squeezed her upper arm. ‘Good. Just keep your head down. Your hair is like a flare.’
‘Keep your own head down, Novak,’ she said, snapping because she was terrified. For him. In that moment she knew that he’d protect her with his life without blinking. ‘Your head is like a damn spotlight.’
He chuckled again. ‘So it is. Let’s go.’
Dropping his head down over hers, he scooted backward a few inches at a time, using his forearms as leverage. Beneath him, she did the same, quickly realizing an unintended – and awkward – consequence of his plan.
With every movement backward, her stomach rubbed the floor, but her butt rubbed against his groin and his body instantly responded. He was growing harder by the second.
Harder and bigger. So much so that there was no way he could hide it from her, like he’d tried to do at the hospital. And just as she had in that little room, she wondered how it would be with him. Uncomfortable at first maybe, because his size was proportionate to the rest of him.
But worth it. Just once. She scowled at herself. Stop that right now. You might die. Stop thinking about his . . . yeah. That. Although it was becoming increasingly hard not to.
Thinking about sex when she might die suddenly didn’t seem all that foolish. And sex with Novak? She could die happy.
That is enough. No one is going to die. No one else, anyway. Biting her lip, Faith focused on the floor inches from her face and the fact that Combs was out there somewhere trying to kill them. He’d already shot the bellman. Just like he shot Gordon.
That memory of Gordon’s blood on her hands cleared her mind, but it didn’t make her any less aware of Novak’s body. Apparently he felt the same way, because by the time they had moved back to the entrance, his breathing was labored.
‘I’m going to straighten up,’ he said in her ear, making her shiver against him. She heard his breath catch. Heard his quiet curse. ‘When I tell you to, I want you to get up on all fours and crawl to the left as fast as you can. Do not look back at me. On three.’
When he got to three, Faith crawled over broken glass for the second time in twelve hours. When she reached the wall, she collapsed against it, sitting on the floor. She could hear sirens now. His backup had arrived. That they’d catch Combs was a long shot. He’d been too smart to allow himself to be cornered before this. She doubted he’d make a mistake now.
Novak had crawled behind her and now rose fluidly to his full height, gingerly rolling his shoulder while taking in the scene outside. His jaw hardened, his expressing growing bleak.
Faith pivoted so that she could see around the wall to the glass entrance and she understood why. The two officers had dragged the bellman behind their cruiser, their hands and uniforms covered with blood. One of the officers was doing chest compressions, the other trying to stop the bellman’s bleeding.
Faith’s chest hurt. What if he died? Like Gordon? Or like that mother and her son?
She turned away, looking back up at Novak. His jaw was clamped, his lips pursed so hard that deep lines radiated from the corners of his mouth. He was in serious pain. What if he’d been lying about the vest? She realized it would be like him to try to spare her the worry.
Using the wall at her back as leverage, she forced herself to stand. She tugged at Novak’s leather coat on the side that had not been hit by the bullet.
He grabbed her wrists in a gentle hold. ‘He might still be out there. I need to go.’
She pulled her wrists free. ‘You can’t catch him if you’re bleeding out.’
‘You sound like Dani,’ he grumbled, but allowed her to tug the coat from his shoulders.
That he didn’t argue spoke volumes. His grimace when she eased his coat down his arm spoke even louder. She let the coat drop to the floor, unable to ignore the brand-new bullet hole in the leather. ‘Your coat is ruined.’
‘It can be repaired. This isn’t the first time I’ve caught a stray bullet.’
Was that supposed to make her feel better? Frowning, she hurried to remove his suit coat, relieved that his white shirt was, except for the charred hole in the fabric, unsoiled. ‘No blood.’
‘Like I told you,’ he said. ‘The vest stopped it.’
She ignored him, dropping his suit coat on the pile, yanking the shirt from his trousers, her trembling fingers fumbling as she tried to undo the buttons.
‘Faith? Faith.’ He grabbed her wrists again, still gentle despite the look of affront on his face. ‘I am not bleeding. The bullet never touched my skin.’
‘You don’t know that. You could be bleeding under the vest.’ She fought back a sudden surge of tears. Adrenaline crash, she thought dimly. ‘I watched Gordon die in front of me,’ she said hoarsely. ‘I can’t let you die too. Not because of me.’
‘I’m not going to die, Faith.
Not today, anyway,’ he added lightly. Mockingly.
‘Don’t do that. Don’t you dare joke like that. It’s not funny. Combs tried to kill you.’
‘No, honey, Combs tried to kill you. He shot me and the bellman on purpose. To draw you out.’ He pulled his leather coat back on, wincing as he shoved his arms through the sleeves.
Faith took a step back, suddenly cold. Exhausted. The tears she’d fought streaked down her cheeks when she tried to blink them away. She dropped her chin so that he couldn’t see. ‘Just . . . don’t get shot again, okay? I can’t handle any more blood on my hands.’
‘You aren’t responsible for this, Faith.’ He slid his forefinger under her chin, urging her to look up at him, wiping her cheeks with his thumb. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have joked. I didn’t mean to make you cry. Stay here. Please. I’ll be back for you as soon as I can.’
His eyes were intense, both colors darker, the lines where they merged appearing more jagged than they had been before. Beautiful. Powerful. Like a storm.
‘All right,’ Faith managed. ‘I’ll wait.’
Cincinnati, Ohio, Tuesday 4 November, 3.05 A.M.
He cleared the hotel exit, his body shaking. He’d missed. He’d had her in his sights and he’d missed. Shooting the bellman hadn’t brought her running outside like he’d hoped. The white-haired bastard hadn’t let her up. Hadn’t let her run to the aid of her fellow man. I should have blown his white head to high heaven when I had him in my sight.
But he hadn’t wanted to kill him. Not right away, anyway. He’d only wanted to maim him so that Faith would stand up and drag him away, like she’d done with her boss in Miami.
But the bastard hadn’t been maimed. He must have been wearing a vest. And he’d parked his damn SUV in the way. I couldn’t see.
And now he’d tipped his hand. She knows I’m here. Dammit. It was a hell of a lot easier when she’d believed he was still in Miami. Now she’d be even more careful. Worse yet, now the cops would believe her. Shit. It had been so much simpler when they’d thought her delusional.