Dare to Love Again (The Heart of San Francisco Book #2): A Novel (33 page)

Milt let loose another unholy laugh, motioning his head toward the alley beyond. “A little insurance, Mr.
Barone
, and a great big bonus from the boss for Willie and me. Now you and your lady move real slow towards that alley there.”

“Leave her out of this,” Nick said, his voice a hiss. Willie moved to the side and Nick could feel the shiver of Alli’s body as she clutched him from behind.

“Now you know as well as I do, Mister Barone, that we cain’t do that, not unless we gouge those pretty eyes out of her head.”

Alli screamed and Willie instantly yanked her away, silencing her with a hard slap across her cheek. She buckled to her knees before he jerked her back up with a knife beneath her chin.

Nick’s heart pumped in his throat at the look of terror in her eyes. He started to lunge, then froze at the cock of Milt’s gun.

“Now, unless you want to see ol’ Willie here draw blood from that pretty little neck of hers right here in the street, I suggest you two mosey on over to that alley real quiet like.”

Nick sucked in a deep swallow of air, forcing his nerves to
employ the calming techniques he’d learned from Ito Akira.
Easy does it, Barone.
His gaze fixed on Alli’s, silently willing her to do the same. “Do as they say, Allison—this is just an
exercise
in patience,” he said carefully, praying she’d pick up on his clues regarding the fourth defense exercise she’d learned. “Take
four
deep breaths and you’ll feel calm by the time we reach the alley, understand?”

Her nod was shaky as she stared back, eyes saucers of fear. Willie goaded her forward while Milt butted Nick from behind with the barrel of the shotgun, causing sweat to bead at the back of his neck. “Whatever Maloney’s paying you,” he said, hoping to keep Milt talking, “I’ll double it. You can’t pass up a sweet deal like that.”

“Sure I can, mister—nobody double-crosses Mr. Maloney and lives to talk about it, something you’re about to learn real good, ain’t he, Will?”

“Shore thing,” Willie said with an ugly laugh. “Besides, we cain’t sample this sweet piece of sugar if we let her go, now can we, darlin’?” Rage boiled through Nick’s body when Willie plucked several of the buttons off Alli’s blouse with the tip of his knife.

Desperate to remain calm, Nick forced his breathing to slow, voice as relaxed as if they were taking a stroll down Market Street at noon. “I’ll triple your take, Milt, and you and Willie can start over somewhere.” His heart hammered as Alli neared the alley, not ten feet away. “I’ll even bet Allison’s family will match it, won’t they, Allison. Go on, tell Willie . . .
Now!
”

Nick held his breath. In a surreal flash of motion that took only mere seconds, Allison executed a push-slide with near-perfect precision, just like Nick had taught her. She struck Willie’s elbow so fast, he grunted when she thrust his arm in the direction of the knife. Her body was a blur as she spun to the right, sliding
her left hand beneath Willie’s forearm to thwart the attack. Two quick jabs of her right elbow, and she stomped on his foot and jerked from his grasp with a whirl. She plowed her right fist to his stomach, then left to the forearm that held the knife, clattering it to the cobblestones. Her foot to his groin doubled him over with a horrendous howl before she plucked Nick’s gun from his pants.

Nick didn’t waste any time. A heartbeat after Alli moved, he went into action with a spin to the left, escaping the line of fire. He jerked Milt’s sleeve down hard, locking him in a rear choke that cut the air from the man’s throat. With a strain of biceps, Nick obstructed his blood flow in a crushing squeeze until Milt dropped to the pavement like a sack of dung, out cold for several precious seconds. Nick lunged for the shotgun, stomach plunging when Willie wrenched Nick’s gun from Alli’s hand at very the same time. Eyes wild, Willie locked her in a chokehold while leveling the gun at Nick. “You best drop that shotgun right now, mister, or I’ll squeeze the life out of this pretty little thing while I blow a hole right through you.”

“Number six,” Nick rasped, and in one violent throb of his pulse, Alli jerked Willie’s arm down and head butted him before digging her chin into the crook of his arm. Slashing her right foot back, she trapped his, calf to calf, whirling 180 degrees to slam him flat on his back.

“Halt!” Nick shouted, but Willie lunged for the gun anyway, rolling on his back to take aim with a gleam in his eyes.

Kaboom!
Alli’s scream merged with the deafening roar of Nick’s shot, the gleam in Willie’s eyes fading with a blast that rolled him against the wall.

“Nick!”

He spun around, heart in his throat at the glint of a knife in Milt’s upraised arm. “Alli—
drop
!” he shouted, pumping a round
into Milt that launched him several feet in the air before both he and the knife sank to the ground in a bloody heap.

Nick’s eyes shuddered closed. He barely heared the sound of Alli’s weeping for the roar of blood in his ears.
God forgive me . . .

Hurling the gun away, he dropped to his knees and swallowed Alli up, stroking her hair while she wept in his arms. “It’s over, Alli.” He rocked her slowly there on the dirty cobblestones now splattered with blood. Tears stung his eyes as he thought of how close he’d come to losing her . . . to losing their lives together. “Shhh . . . it’s going to be okay,” he whispered, “you’re safe now.” But his words buzzed hollow in his ears along with the sudden wailing of dogs and the faraway clang of the cable car, because deep down inside he knew it was a lie. It would never be okay again, not until he avenged his uncle and parents. And until he did, Alli would never be safe—not with him. Not now. His eyes trailed into a cold stare while her body shuddered in his arms.

Maybe not ever.

25

H
ow is she?”

Caitlyn jolted at the sound of Logan’s voice, suddenly aware she’d been standing in the parlour doorway in a trance, body sagging against the Corinthian pillar beneath the wide, arched entryway. “What?” she whispered, legs shaky as she all but staggered across the room. Logan met her halfway and ushered her to the couch, and she immediately collapsed in his arms, clutching him tightly while she wept against his chest. “It’s a-all m-my f-fault,” she whispered, painful heaves stuttering her words.

Gentle fingers kneaded her back. “It’s not, Cait,” he whispered, the crush of his arms cocooning her in a place where she felt safe and warm. “It’s simply life, with all its frailties. Allison is a far better, far stronger person for teaching at your school and so are you and every child privileged to attend.”

“B-but . . . it’s so dangerous there . . .”

“
Life
is dangerous,” he said, drawing away to cradle her face in his hands. “Whether you’re run over by a cable car on Nob Hill or trampled by a horse on the Barbary Coast. We can’t live in fear of what each day may bring and we can’t let fear stop us from doing the right thing.” He grazed her jaw with his thumb. “You taught me that, Mrs. McClare.”

“But it’s no place for a school,” she said, her voice nasal from grief over what had happened to Alli. “You tried to tell me that, and I wouldn’t listen . . .”

His lip quirked. “True.” He lifted her chin, the humor in his eyes giving way to a sobriety that quickened her pulse. “But that’s only one of the many reasons I love you, Cait. Your fierce independence, your zeal for justice, and your beautiful heart of compassion. Which, much as I hate to admit, makes the location for the Hand of Hope School perfect.”

“Not if it puts those I love in danger.”

He cocked a brow. “So we take precautions. We hire a full-time handyman/guard to assist Mr. Bigley year-round, not just for a few months. We have Allison teach you and the others a few basic maneuvers in self-defense. And then we put our foot down with Allison, further restricting her working at the school past five or taking the cable car on her own.”

Her lips wobbled into a faint smile. “We?” she whispered, not wanting to burden Logan further but painfully aware he was becoming more and more a part of her life every day—her decisions, her problems, her responsibilities.

And my heart?

He paused to study her, the potency of love she saw in his eyes making her want to weep all over again. “Yes, ‘we,’ ” he whispered, trailing several fingers along the line of her jaw. “We’re a team, Cait, you and I. We may not be a ‘couple’ in the true sense of the word, but we are two people in love with the same family, nonetheless. Which means your family is my family, and I will support and protect you—and it—until I take my last breath.”

Her heart swooped when he leaned in to press a kiss to her cheek. The warmth of his lips on her skin caused her belly to quiver as tears misted her eyes. He pulled away and immedi
ately she felt bereft of his touch despite the heat of his palms as they briskly rubbed her arms. “Is Alli in bed?” he asked, his businesslike tone surprising her, as did his behavior of late. Over the last few months, there’d been several situations where he’d held and comforted her over one family crisis after another, and yet never once had he taken advantage like he had in Napa. Not even when she’d kissed his cheek out of sheer gratitude the night he’d found Maddie. Cait suddenly realized her trust in Logan was growing, strengthening, removing the very barriers she’d constructed to keep her heart safe. Her cheeks grew warm when her renegade gaze flicked to his lips before she could stop it, and she swallowed hard, remembering all too clearly that offensive kiss in Napa. Offensive for one reason and one reason only—it had stirred her body far too quickly, making her want him far too much.
Like now . . .

“Cait?”

She blinked, her gaze colliding with his and instantly her cheeks burned at what she saw in his probing stare.
He knows!
Knows I depend on him, need him . . .
want
him
.

“Y-yes?”

There was a hint of a twinkle in those gray eyes and a tenderness that put her at ease. “I asked if Alli was in bed.”

Cait buffed her arms, self-conscious over the fluttery way Logan was beginning to make her feel. “Yes, of course,” she said quickly. “She seemed very upset and so did Nick, which leads me to believe they didn’t tell us everything that happened.”

A grunt rolled from Logan’s lips. “An obvious character flaw when it comes to Barone, if you ask me, especially given how he bolted out of here before we could question him further.”

“He said he was late for work, Logan,” Cait defended, uncomfortable as always when Logan attacked Nick.

“Yes, well, that’s a conversation for another day.” He folded his arms and peered up, brows in a scrunch. “Did Alli shed any more light on what happened when you talked to her upstairs? Like how she got that bruise on her cheek?”

The malaise that had numbed Caitlyn from the moment Alli walked in the door returned in force, sagging her shoulders. “No, just that one of the attackers pushed her down. I’m just so grateful Nick was with her . . .” She hesitated. “Although Alli said something odd when she was trying to assure me it was an isolated case of two disgruntled vagrants asking for a handout.”

“And what was that?”

Cait looked up, a pucker at the bridge of her nose. “She said one of the men mentioned another man’s name, almost as if he expected Nick to know him. But Nick assured her it was ‘nothing more than two drunks with a grievance.’ ” A shiver scurried down her spine. “But a grievance to me implies it might have been against Nick, which is a worry unto itself.”

Logan’s mouth thinned. “I’ll tell you what, Cait—that man has skeletons in his closet, you mark my words, and I hope to prove it before Alli gets too serious.”

“I hope you’re wrong,” she whispered, her respect and affection for Nick making it hard to believe the man would ever hurt her daughter. “I think she’s falling in love with him.”

“Trust me, I wish I were wrong for Alli’s sake, but my source leads me to believe otherwise.” His exhale was heavy. “But I’ll wait for confirmation before I tell her.”

Caitlyn released a mournful sigh, tears threatening all over again. “Oh, Logan—I’m not sure she can stand another heartbreak.” She shuddered, prompting him to tug her back to the safety of his arms. “Nor can I.” A fragile exhale feathered her lips while he gently stroked her hair.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, “I plan to do everything in my power to prevent the risk of heartbreak for both you and Alli, so hopefully neither of you has to ever go through it again.”

The risk of heartbreak, yes. A very real worry for a daughter who appeared to have already given her heart away.

And her mother? Cait’s eyes weighted closed.

A distinct possibility, indeed.

Nick entered Miss Penny’s darkened kitchen, void of all activity at the early hour of four a.m., and quietly set his two suitcases on the floor. Fumbling in the dark, he reached up to find the chain cord for the pendant light that hung over the sink, finally turning it on with a firm tug. The warm glow of the gas lamp quickly chased the gloom from a tidy kitchen that would soon be filled with the heady scent of cinnamon oatmeal and fresh-brewed coffee. But nothing could chase the gloom from his soul. Not when he’d just taken the lives of two men, men he’d led Alli to believe were only seriously wounded.
And
men who were hired assassins, forcing him to leave San Francisco to keep those he loved safe and sound.

The minute those two thugs said Maloney’s name, Nick knew he couldn’t stay. They were on to him, and although he’d taken down two of Maloney’s men, he had no doubt more would soon follow. Which meant he needed to return to Chicago immediately to lead them away.

Reaching into Miss Penny’s hodge-podge drawer, he pulled out paper and pen, then sat down at the long oak table that bore the happy scuffs and scars of meals and love served in ample supply. Within three short hours, laughter would reign among an equally hodge-podge family of ten orphans and the two elderly
women who cared for them, minus one very cranky and very lonely fugitive on the run. The pen lay limp in his hand, but no more so than his body as he sagged in the chair, eyes trailing into a glazed stare. For the second time in his life, he was being cut off from the people he loved—first Mom, Pop, Gram, and his uncle, and now Miss Penny, Lottie, Mrs. Lemp, and the others.

And Alli.
A sharp pain seared through him, and he laid his head on the sheets of paper, experiencing a grief and loneliness he hadn’t felt in years. He had never intended to stay, but in the brief time he’d called San Francisco his home, it had become just that—a respite, a haven, and a place to learn how to love again. And although he hadn’t a clue how it had come to pass, heaven help him, he loved Allison McClare. Her passion. Her drama. Her thirst for life and adventure. And her deep dependence on God—a dependence that had given him glimpses of what Mom and Pop had tried to instill in him. Stirring and stoking his own cold embers of faith until they had warmed his weary soul. Which meant he couldn’t stay—not when his very presence put her and the people he loved in danger.

Please,
God, if You’re truly there like I’ve been
taught to believe—protect them . . .

Lifting his head, he exhaled a cumbersome sigh and gripped the pen with purpose, saying his goodbyes, first to Miss Penny and the girls, then a separate note for Lottie. When he’d folded and pushed the missives aside, he turned his attention to the blank piece of paper before him, nausea churning in his stomach like the whitecaps on San Francisco Bay.

Dear Alli . . .

He stared at her name, loathe to leave her, yet reluctant to tell her why. Not when he wasn’t sure when he’d be back. A chill
shivered his body. And not when he wasn’t sure if he even
could
come back.

“Can’t sleep?”

His head jerked up. “Miss Penny.” He swallowed hard. “What are you doing up?”

Her eyes flicked from the letters on the table to the two suitcases beside his chair before they narrowed on him. “I could ask you the same thing, Nicky,” she said pointedly, “but I’d rather know why your bags are packed.”

His mind raced as his gaze darted to the clock over the sink, biding his time to come up with a credible answer while Miss Penny went about lighting the stove. “Something’s come up, and I have to return to New York,” he said in the calmest tone he could muster given Miss Penny’s piercing gaze over her shoulder.

“How long will you be gone?”

He watched as she filled the coffeepot with water, then methodically scooped coffee into the steel basket. “I . . . don’t know, which is why I just wrote you a note. But rest assured the captain has another officer in mind to rent the room, so rent will remain intact.”

She pulled two cups and saucers from the pantry and clunked them on the table so hard, he jumped. “I don’t care about the rent—I care about you and why you’re deserting us in the dead of night without even saying goodbye.”