“Maybe this will help…” Never taking his eyes from hers, Chase set the items on the table and proceeded to take off his shirt.
An alarm shot through Lily as the dark thatch of chest hair and a six-pack abdomen loomed into view. “Wh-what are you doing?”
“Protecting your modesty.”
“By taking off your shirt?”
One side of his mouth quirked. “You can tie it around your waist, keep yourself covered.”
“Oh.” Her alarm subsided, but it was only a temporary reprieve. As he worked the shirt from his shoulders, her eyes took on a life of their own. She got the impression of hard-as-rock muscle and tried not to think of all the times he’d held her with those arms or all the times she’d run her fingers over his skin.
Then she spotted the wound just above his bicep and put her hand over her mouth. “Oh, Chase. That’s no graze. For God’s sake, it looks bad.”
He handed her his shirt. “Take off your pants or I’ll take them off for you.”
“Fine.” Exasperated with him, with the situation, with herself, she yanked the shirt from his grasp. “Turn around.”
He did as she asked.
Untying the drawstring waist, she stepped out of her scrub pants, then quickly wrapped his shirt around her bulging waist. “You can turn around.”
She didn’t miss the quick sweep of his gaze or the way his expression darkened when his eyes paused on her abdomen. He stared and for a moment she thought he would ask to touch her belly, but he didn’t.
“Sit on the table,” he said. “Put your feet on the chair.”
Lily scooted onto the table and set both feet on the chair, careful to keep her panties and the tops of her thighs covered by his shirt. She knew it was silly to worry about something as trivial as modesty during a crisis, especially when she’d been intimate with this man on more than one occasion. But being pregnant and determined not to repeat the mistakes of her past, Lily had no intention of letting down her guard.
Without speaking, he approached, his attention focused on the cut. “Looks like you could have used a couple of stitches.”
“Like I’m going to let you stick a needle in me.”
He didn’t smile. Instead, he settled into one of the chairs and reached for the pail of water and the soap dispenser. “I guess we’ll just have to make do with a bandage.”
Up until now, Lily hadn’t gotten a good look at the cut. In relation to her other discomforts, the cut had barely rated on the pain scale. Judging from the stain on her pants, though, it had bled plenty. The wound looked deep, with the flesh laid open the width of her little finger.
“Think you can butterfly it?” she asked.
His gaze flicked to hers. “I’m an EMT. I think I can handle it.”
He dipped the paper towel into the water, then dispensed a generous amount of soap onto it and pressed it against the cut. The soap stung, but it wasn’t the pain that had Lily’s heart beating double time. It was the sight of Chase’s hand on her thigh.
“Sorry,” he said. “I know it hurts.”
What hurts, she thought, was your inability to put your dangerous lifestyle aside for me, the woman you claimed to love.
Water under the bridge, she reminded herself and concentrated on the sting. She clung to the small physical pain because it was so much easier to deal with than the truth of what had happened between them.
“It’s clean.” He reached for a roll of masking tape and a paper towel he’d neatly folded. “Now here comes the bandage.”
Setting his hand on the underside of her thigh, he gripped it while applying the makeshift bandage with the other. “Going to hurt when I tighten this thing.”
“It’s okay,” Lily heard herself say. But, looking at him, feeling the old emotions churn inside her, she felt certain nothing was ever going to be okay again.
Chapter Five
Chase leaned back in the chair and listened to the whisper-soft sound of Lily’s breathing. After he bandaged the cut on her leg, he’d talked her into lying down. As usual, she’d protested. But she must have been exhausted, because the instant her head hit the towel he’d folded for her to use as a pillow, she’d gone out like a light.
He wished he could turn off his own mind as readily, but he couldn’t. He should try to get some sleep, or at the very least, rest. But he was wound as tight as a man could be and not snap. He needed to know who was behind the attempt on Lily’s life. On his life and Shane’s. He needed to know if that same person was behind the kidnapping of Vice President Davis and if the incidents were related to the blackout or merely coincidence.
Chase had long ago decided such a thing didn’t exist. So who was behind the actions?
He had made plenty of enemies over the years, many of whom were violent and powerful men. The Federal Bureau of Prisons kept him informed of recent parolees. Was it possible one had slipped through the cracks? Still, one question nagged at him. Why sabotage the Boston power plants to get at him?
In that instant, in some small corner of his mind, something pinged. Dread swept through him with the violence of a tidal wave when he recalled a threat that had been made against his Special Forces team some eleven years ago after a high-profile and ultimately disastrous Middle Eastern rescue mission.
Fifty-eight people, including U.S. Secretary of State Geoffrey Rollins, had been taken hostage in civil-war-torn Barik. The hostages, mostly engineers, teachers and missionaries, were being held in a densely populated downtown, in the basement of a closely guarded building. The world prayed for their safe release. After several failed rescue attempts, an elite team was assembled.
Under the leadership of Commander Tom Bradley, the coterie consisted of security expert Shane Peters, computer ace Ethan Matalon, demolitions man Ty Jones, tactical expert Grant Davis, electrical specialist Liam Shea, linguistics man Frederick LeBron, and Chase. They were charged with getting the hostages out alive.
But something had gone terribly wrong.
Bent on revenge against the sect holding the hostages, Liam Shea disobeyed direct orders. He acted impulsively, without waiting for the commander’s signal to cut the power to the building, throwing off the timing of the rescue. Alerted to an assault, the captors released cyanide gas in the basement, leading to the deaths of three hostages, including Secretary of State Rollins.
In the end, Shea was court-martialed and sent to prison, effectively terminating the political career he dreamed of. Teammate Grant Davis, on the other hand, having been hailed a hero in the mission for saving Shea’s life, parlayed his military career into the second seat in the White House.
Throughout the trial, Liam Shea had maintained his innocence and went to prison a very angry man. But not before threatening the lives of everyone involved.
Was Shea behind this? Chase thought. Had he been released from prison, or escaped?
Had he ambushed the other men from the mission as well?
LeBron, now the king of Beau Pays, was in his country, ensconced in the Alps, and Tom Bradley had passed away years ago. But Ethan lived here in Boston, the owner of a successful software company, and Ty was here as part of the vice president’s detail. Chase’s pulse pounded. He had to contact Ethan and Ty and warn them…if it wasn’t already too late.
Tension coursing through his body, Chase rose and pulled out the two cell phones. Both glowed with the No Signal light. Cursing, he hit the call history on the phone he’d appropriated from the gunman back at the shelter, and checked the outgoing call history. He recognized the area codes—Seattle and Boston, mostly—but not the individual numbers. Same for the incoming calls. Frustrated, he turned off the phones to conserve the low batteries.
He needed to know if Shea had been released from prison. But in order to do that, he needed a phone signal. He wasn’t going to find it in the basement of a century-old building.
That brought him back to the situation at hand—and Lily. The last thing he wanted to do was put her in any more danger than she
already was. On the other hand, he wasn’t going to solve this thing by hiding out. The men with guns were not going to go away. Chase had to act, and he had to act now.
Scrubbing his hand over his face, he turned and, for the dozenth time, found his eyes on Lily. She lay on her side on a small rug with a folded towel tucked beneath her head. Her eyes were closed, her lashes dark and velvety against the pale skin of her face. Her knees were drawn up as far as her swollen belly would allow, as if she were trying to protect her unborn child even in sleep. She looked incredibly small and vulnerable lying there, and a fierce need to protect her rose up inside him with surprising force.
Chase knew better than to indulge in the moment but, even pregnant and disheveled, she was by far the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. They’d had something special once. A small part of him wanted to believe they could recapture that old magic. But he knew there was no way she would ever give him access to her heart again.
Not that he wanted it, Chase reminded himself. He was better off alone. No entanglements. No one to ask questions. No one to answer to. No one to endanger when things went wrong.
But you’ve already put her in the line of fire, a rude little voice reminded.
Tearing his eyes away from her, Chase strode to the door and yanked it open. The hall beyond stood dark and quiet. Behind him, Lily slept soundly. For a split second, he hesitated, then reminded himself that no one knew they were here. She would be safe for a few minutes. It was imperative that he get in touch with Ben Parker. He had to let him know Liam Shea could be behind not only the simultaneous ambushes, but the kidnapping of the vice president and the blackout as well. God only knows what else could be in the works.
Chase locked the door behind him and headed for the nearest stairwell. Pulling the phone from his pocket, he checked the signal display as he walked, hoping he wouldn’t have to leave the lower level in order to get a fair number of bars. No such luck.
Cursing beneath his breath, he yanked open the stairwell door and started up the stairs, keeping his eye on the phone. Midway up the stairwell, the No Signal light went out. Quickly, he dialed Ben Parker’s number.
Though it wasn’t yet six in the morning, the other man answered on the first ring.
Chase wasted no time on niceties. “I think Liam Shea might be behind this.”
“What? How do you know?”
“He fits the profile. He’s an electrical expert. He’s made threats against the people involved. There’s a direct connection between him and the vice president. We were all part of a botched rescue mission in the Middle East eleven years ago. Shea is the only man I can think of good enough to pull off these simultaneous attacks. I need to know if he was recently released from prison.”
“I’ll get right on it.”
On the other end of the line, Chase heard computer keys clicking. After a moment, Parker asked, “Where are you?”
Chase didn’t want to tell him. Not on this phone. But with Lily in tow, he didn’t have a choice. He could no longer handle this alone. “I’m at South Station. I need for someone to pick us up. We’re coming in.”
“Is Lily Garrett still with you?”
“Yeah.” Thinking of her pregnancy, Chase sat down on the stairwell step and closed his eyes. “She’s seven-and-a-half months pregnant.”
The short silence that followed told him Ben Parker suspected Chase was the father. “All right. Stay put. I’ll have someone there in twenty-five minutes. Where can they find you?”
“I’ll find them.” He terminated the call and dialed Ty’s number but got voice mail. “Call me,” he snapped, and left his number. Next he dialed Ethan.
The other man picked up on the second ring. “About time you called,” Ethan began. “I’m sure you know by now all freaking hell has broken loose.”
Relief swept through Chase at the sound of his friend’s voice. “Yeah, and I think I know who—”
The blow came out of nowhere. One second he was sitting on the step, talking. The next he was laid out on the floor. Pain radiated from ear to ear, the world spun wildly. In the semidarkness, he sensed movement. The shuffle of shoes against the floor. He reached for his weapon, but a booted foot kicked it from his hand.
“We’re going to hurt her,” came a whispered voice. “She’s going to die a slow, painful death. So is that baby of yours. All because of you.”
Made furious by the words, Chase tried to rise, attempted to grab the other man’s legs.
The second blow sent him spinning into darkness.
LILY WOKE to the golden glow of the battery-powered shop light. She lay on the small rug for a moment, getting her bearings, taking a mental inventory of her body. The backache was gone. The cut on her leg stung, but the pain was minimal. The most pressing issue was a full bladder and a grumbling tummy.
Stretching, feeling surprisingly rested, Lily sat up and looked around. “Chase?”
He was nowhere in sight. No surprise there. The man was like a phantom, appearing and disappearing without so much as a sound. She wondered if he’d gone for food. A glance at her watch told her she’d slept just over an hour. For now, the vending machine would have to do.
She rose, used the toilet in the utility closet, and washed her face and hands. She was midway to the vending machine and digging coins from her uniform pocket when a knock on the door sounded. Alarm filtered through her as she crossed to it. “Chase?”
“It’s me. Open up.”
Relief slid through her at the muffled voice. Twisting the lock, she pulled open the door. The next thing she knew a large man set his hand against her chest and shoved her back hard enough to make her stumble. Lily turned to run, but there was no place to go.
A scream tore from her throat. She darted to the utility closet and tried to slam the door, hoping that small space would buy her a few precious seconds. Time enough for Chase to reach them and put an end to this once and for all. But before she could slam it home, a booted foot was thrust inside.
“Not so fast,” said a second man’s voice.
She put her weight against the door, but she was no match for the two men on the other side. The door flew open, shoving her violently back. She struck the far wall hard enough to lose her breath. Two men entered the small room. They were young. One sported a goatee. Both wore long black coats and held ugly-looking pistols.
One of the men pulled the slide down on the gun, chambered a bullet and shifted the muzzle to her belly. “Now, pretty lady, excuse my rudeness, but you’re going to do exactly as we say or I’ll shoot that little one inside you. You got that?”
Terror swept through Lily with such force that she couldn’t speak. She couldn’t breathe. All she could think of was the baby.
Setting her hands over her belly, she nodded. “I’ll do whatever you say,” she said. “Please don’t hurt my baby.”
“Smart lady.” The man grinned. “Here’s what I want you to do.”
CHASE WOKE to pain, waves of it crashing against his skull. Cold concrete ground into his cheek. Something warm tickled his temple. What the hell had happened?
A groan escaped him as he shifted. In the background, he heard metal clang against metal. He wanted to know where he was and how he’d gotten there, but he couldn’t seem to open his eyes.
Then he remembered the ambush in the stairwell. The blow coming from behind. Another sending him into outer space. And Lily…
Thoughts of her sent him bolt upright. Pain tore through the back of his head, but he struggled to his feet anyway. Nausea seesawed in his gut, but Chase didn’t have time to concentrate on the pain or give in to the sickness.
Darkness surrounded him. Whoever had ambushed him had taken his flashlight. But from the dim light filtering in through the tiny overhead window, he ascertained that he was still in the stairwell. Steel clanged again, and he realized the son of a bitch had handcuffed him to the pipe rail.
Bloody hell, how was he going to get out of this one?
A bigger question pushed into his mind when he remembered the man’s whispered threats. We’re going to hurt her. She’s going to die a slow, painful death. So is that baby of yours. All because of you.
Panic gripped him. For several terrible seconds, Chase struggled like an animal, yanking against the handcuff, making sounds not even he could understand. He wanted to think it was the blow to his head that was causing him to act so irrationally. But he knew the reason went a hell of a lot deeper than that.
They were going to kill Lily. They were going to kill the baby.
“No!” he shouted in frustration.
Heart pounding, he went still and forced himself to calm down. The fuzziness in his head from being knocked unconscious slowly abated. His mind cleared. With his free hand, Chase felt around for the gun and phones, but they were gone. Cursing, he grappled for the lock-picking kit. It was the one thing the gunmen hadn’t found.
He tugged the small kit from his pocket and went to work on the handcuff. Since his right hand was cuffed, he had to work left-handed. His vision had adjusted to the darkness, but Chase couldn’t see well enough and had to feel his way through the process.
Sweat beaded on his forehead and ran down his back as he worked. All the while he tried not to imagine what the two gunmen would do to Lily when they found her.
We’re going to hurt her. She’s going to die a slow, painful death. So is that baby of yours. All because of you.
“Please, God, let her be all right,” he whispered as he frantically worked to pick the lock.
A curse flew from his lips when his first attempt failed. His hands shook so violently he was screwing it up. Easy does it, whispered a small, calm part of his mind.
Closing his eyes briefly, Chase put Lily and all the terrible things that could happen to her out of his mind and focused on the lock. His heart rate slowed. His breathing evened out. His hands steadied.
Two minutes later the cuff clicked open. Chase’s first instinct was to run directly to Lily and stop the men before they did something horrendous and irrevocable. But training and experience warned him rash actions would do nothing but get him shot.