Kidnapped at the Gun Show [Ransomed Hearts] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (17 page)

Slow, steady steps took her to the living room then on to the kitchen.

“No.” She stood frozen, shocked to her core.

A body lay on the floor, a puddle of blood on the ceramic tile, the white dress shirt ruined by the growing red stain.

Riley.

Sara screamed as rough arms wrapped around her shoulders. She held tight to the pistol, trying to decide where to shoot, how to disable the man holding her.

“Be still, Sara. I don’t want to hurt you, at least not until I get what I want.”

She squirmed and kicked at his legs but her bare feet were ineffective. Reaching as far up as she could with her left hand, Sara wrapped her fingers around his forearm and dug her nails as deep as she could into his skin.

“Son of a bitch.” He tightened his hold, cursing a blue streak, but she held on.

“What the hell?”

Someone else had joined the fray. Sara didn’t recognize the voice and hoped the police had arrived. The man holding her turned to the new guy, keeping her tight to his body even though she could feel his blood on her palm.

“Let’s get out of here before this hellcat bleeds me dry,” the first intruder said, and Sara realized she had no other choice.

She raised the gun as high as she could and fired across the kitchen before either man could see her intent. The sound of the explosion deafened her, and her arm burned from the sudden recoil. Sure her aim was atrocious, she hoped she hit the man somewhere. Even if she just slowed him down, his buddy might let go of her long enough for her to get a head start.

The man stood staring at her, his hand on his chest. Bright-red blood oozed between his fingers. The one holding her said
fuck
over and over as his buddy dropped to the ground. The cabinet behind him was splattered with blood, part of the wooden door splintered to the point that she could see the bowls inside.

Sara felt the man’s hold on her loosen and she scratched at his arm wildly, shifting her body to get room to maneuver.

Hell, she’d already killed one man. Why not another? She pushed the barrel of the gun against the man’s leg and pulled the trigger, but he managed to dance away faster than she could shoot. If only he’d let go of her, she’d have a better shot.

She swung the pistol back and pulled the trigger without waiting, hoping if she missed, he’d be trying so hard to get out of range that he’d loosen his hold.

His scream echoed in the large room and she was free. She fell forward, landing on the floor not too far from the man she’d killed. Unsure of her attacker, she rolled onto her back and sat up, the gun still in her hand. He was still screaming, curses flowing like a broken water pipe as he vowed pain and suffering for her when his boss arrived. Sara lifted the gun and fired again.

She heard sirens in the distance and stood, running to Riley. She touched his hair, stroked his forehead, and found it warm. Pushing at his shoulder, she managed to roll his body enough to see his face. His eyes were closed, but a hand on his chest told her he was still breathing. Footsteps sounded behind her and she turned.

Mr. Adams stood in her kitchen between the two downed men, a large gun in his hand. His stare fixated on her face. How could she ever have thought he was a nice man?

The gun in her hand was empty, and she didn’t think she could reload before he killed her.

“Sorry about the mess, Sara. I truly like you. I didn’t plan to drag you into my life, but you gave me no choice when you stole the files.”

“I didn’t steal them. I tried to tell you about moving them, but you wouldn’t listen.”

He shook his head, denial and anger coloring his expression. “You stole from me. You stole from our country. You have no idea how powerful my organization is.”

Calm and arrogant while others died wasn’t an attractive sight for Sara. Spitting mad replaced her fear. “You’re a terrorist. Don’t talk about this country like you’re a hero.”

“Your opinion. Now, stand up. You’re going with me.”

“Fuck you,” she shouted, the words she never said spilling out of her mouth as the worst curse she could use. She raised the gun, pointing it at him even though she knew it was empty.

“I don’t want to kill you, Sara.” Mr. Adams smiled and Sara tasted bile. The smile she’d thought so sweet a few months ago disgusted her more than the dead bodies.

“You can join us. We can use a tech-savvy woman. Bet you can get inside all kinds of government offices.”

“Go to hell.”

“I agree.”

Sara looked past Mr. Adams. Kale stood in the doorway, a pistol in hand even as blood dripped from above his right ear. His clothes were ripped, and abrasions were already bruising on his cheek and chin.

“I’ll kill her,” Adams said, his eyes on Kale while the gun still pointed at Sara.

“Not likely,” Kale said, gesturing with his gun.

Adams turned back to Sara, and she turned, too. Two uniformed police officers stood between her and the front door, guns drawn and at the ready. She looked at Kale, and the worry in his gaze warmed her.

She could hear the Miranda warning being read to her old boss, but all she could see was Kale. He was on his knees next to her, his arms around her, holding her tight. She squeezed back and turned to Riley.

“How bad is he?” Kale asked.

“I don’t know. The bleeding has stopped, but I couldn’t look under his shirt. He’s still breathing, though.”

The front door opened and paramedics came in with a stretcher. As they assessed Riley’s injury, he awoke. “Sara?”

She was next to him in a heartbeat. “Riley, honey, I love you, you’ve got to get well,” she sobbed, her hand cupping his face.

“Sara, love you, too,” he whispered before he faded back into unconsciousness.

She flung herself into Kale’s arms, crying, her whole body shaking. He held onto her while another paramedic pressed a sterile gauze pad against his head to stop the blood. His flinch reminded her of his injuries, and she leaned back in his arms.

“What happened?”

Kale’s fingers stroked her cheeks, collecting tears. “I caught the first guy when I was coming up the drive. Didn’t know Riley was already home. We fought, but I didn’t know he had backup.”

“How bad are you hurt?” she asked, pressing a careful kiss to his chin, stroking his chest, so happy he was alive and talking to her.

“I’m fine.” He winced when the paramedic replaced the gauze with a bandage.

“You need to go to the hospital, sir. This head injury needs to be checked out. We probably should take the woman, too.”

“We can get there on our own,” Kale told him.

“No. You’ll ride with me,” FBI agent replied.

Kale turned back to the paramedic. “How’s my friend in the ambulance?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to wait until you get there. Sorry.”

Sara stood, her legs a little shaky but still there, and realized the kitchen was full of people. Men and women with plastic bags and flashlights were examining the bodies on the floor.
Oh, God.

She turned and ran to the bathroom.

Kale kept Sara’s hand firmly in his during the ride to the hospital, half-afraid she’d disappear if he let go. He’d been in tight situations before, but never when Sara’s life was at stake. Raife managed a distracting enough conversation for the duration, and Kale made a mental note to thank him for his help, even though he was looking forward to some quiet time with Sara.

He beat himself up over leaving her alone in the house. Knowing how stubborn she was, he should’ve expected her to find a way out of the safe room. His girl wasn’t one to sit and let someone else save her. He squeezed her hand and asked, “Where did you learn to use a gun, sweetheart?”

“My dad,” she said. “He taught me one summer when we visited family out in west Texas.”

Her body trembled, and Kale wished he’d kept his damn mouth shut.

“It’s okay, baby. We don’t have to talk about it,” he soothed.

“It was a long time ago. I never thought I’d shoot someone. What’s going to happen to me? Will I be arrested?”

“No.” Both men spoke, but only Kale continued. “You acted in self-defense. Don’t worry about jail. You were within your rights to protect yourself.”

“How much farther to the hospital?” Sara asked, and Kale happily moved to the new subject. There would be time for questions later. “Soon.”

Special Agent Donnelly’s cell beeped, and after a few short responses, he flipped it closed. “Riley’s in surgery. Gunshot wound to the shoulder, and they don’t anticipate any problems. Also a mild concussion from a thump to the back of the head.”

“Thanks, Raife.” Kale squeezed Sara’s hand. “We’ll see him soon. I know he’ll want to see you as soon as he wakes up.”

“This will all be over soon, Miss Brennan,” Special Agent Donnelly said, turning into the emergency entrance of the hospital. “Now, let’s get the two of you looked at, then we can find the surgery waiting area.”

* * * *

Sara paced the rectangular room, stepping around the row of cushioned footstools that doubled as extra seating in the waiting area. Half of the exterior wall was window, a spectacular show of sparkling stars and a crescent moon. But the scene did nothing to alleviate the harsh reality of the space. The air was stuffy with the anxiety of its inhabitants. She stopped in front of Kale, whispering her fingertips down the side of his face, the side without a bandage, and kissed him on the forehead before turning to make another round. God, she loved him so much. And Riley. Somehow he’d wormed his way into her heart, into the spot right next to Kale’s.

A door opened at the other end of the room and a man came out, a doctor. “Summerville?” he asked. A family stood, and Sara turned away. She’d walked at least another mile before the door opened again and she heard Riley’s name.

Kale stood beside her, an arm wrapped around her waist in support as the doctor reported his findings. The bullet passed through the shoulder area without causing any major damage, and he’d been stitched and bandaged. Riley would need physical therapy after healing, but no permanent damage. The concussion was mild, but he needed rest more than anything.

Sara sagged in Kale’s arms while he asked about recovery timelines.

“He should be in recovery for about an hour then moved to a room. A nurse will be out shortly to give you that information.” The surgeon shook both their hands and left them.

Kale hugged her close. “Let’s go find some food. When was the last time you ate?”

“I’m not hungry,” she told him, but then her stomach chimed in with a loud rumble. “What time is it, anyway?”

“A little after seven. You need to eat, Sara. So do I. Riley will be well taken care of.”

Another growl convinced her, and he smiled for the first time since he’d locked her in the closet. How could she not agree?

The hospital café was busy, filled with hospital staff in scrubs and a smattering of people wearing rough emotions on their faces. The two of them fit right in, both distracted with concern for Riley, and Sara stood and stared at the overhead menu options. The salad pictured at one end of the marquee looked good, but she knew Kale wouldn’t let her eat slim. Not tonight. She settled on a deli-style sandwich and a cup of soup while he went for the beef, a juicy burger and fries.

The first bite was heaven, and she was glad he’d convinced her to eat instead of pace. With the addition of food, her body began to beg for a bed and some nice smooth sheets. Aches she hadn’t noticed prodded her to collapse and sleep for the next week or so, warm and comfy between her two men.

How long would Riley be in the hospital? And where would they take him when he was discharged? The idea of walking back into his house with the bloodstained floor and shattered cabinet had her leaving the spoon in her soup bowl and covering her mouth.

“What’s wrong, Sara? Are you okay? Baby, tell me what’s wrong.” Kale’s face was pinched with worry and Sara slid her hand onto his knee.

“I just…I was wondering where we’re going to sleep tonight. I don’t really want to go back to the house with the blood on the floor, and—”

He pulled her chair closer and slipped an arm around her shoulders. “I have a townhouse in Austin. We’ll go there until we can get the house cleaned and repaired. Or, if you want, we can sell the place and build something new.”

“But Riley might not want to sell his house.”

Kale dipped his chin and gave her a knowing look. “Riley would love the chance to spoil you silly with a new house. So would I.”

She picked up her spoon and lingered over a few more bites of soup. Did she want this—thing—between the three of them to become permanent? All the possible problems with a multiple relationship bombarded her, but her heart kept tugging her back to the here and now. She loved Kale. She loved Riley. There were still problems to solve, but could she take a chance on both of them?

Would they smother her with affection and dominance?

“Sara?”

She lifted her face to Kale, knowing she’d faded into introspection while he was still talking. “Sorry. Too much to think about.”