Lace & Lead (novella) (12 page)

It killed him, but he sat there like a stone.

Her voice was shaky, but she’d stopped hiding her face. “I heard her screaming, Peirce. He had a knife to her throat. I tried to pull him off, but he turned and caught me—”

Her hand went involuntarily to her side and she winced like the pain was fresh.

He wanted to kill the man all over again.
Slowly
.

“I fell back. And you know what was worst about the entire thing? He just ignored me. He didn’t even pretend that he wasn’t doing that—,” she shuddered, “—unspeakable act.”

“There was a rock beside me. I didn’t know what else to do. He dropped the knife when I hit him the first time. I didn’t stop until he wasn’t moving anymore.”

Her eyes were haunted but her face composed. “I did the right thing. The girl, Chere, helped me arrange the body so no one would know and—” She looked at him defiantly. “And I’m proud of what I did!”

He couldn’t stay impartial any longer. “Good.”

“Good?”

“He needed to die. You saved that girl. You lived.
Good
.”

She was still pacing manically. He stepped in front of her. She almost ran into him, she was so focused on her inner debate. He caught her by the forearms and pressed one hand against his bare, scarred side. She’d just trusted him with her darkest secret. Time to return the favour.

“I can’t feel it. It was two years after Cordova. Our Eagle was attacked and we went down. Pilots dead, men wounded, insurgents closing in. We climbed to a defensible position in the mountains and called for evac. I was helping secure the LZ and we didn’t know it at the time, but we were in the middle of daiton territory during mating season.”

He saw her fingers press on the scars, heard the hiss of air between her teeth. She’d clearly heard of the oversized creatures, a legacy of the nuclear and biochemical warfare that had plagued the Republic in its infancy.

“It was a male. A huge, fucking male. He lunged for one of our men and I pushed him out of the way.”

“You were trying to save him?”

Her eyes were full of such hope.

He shook his head. “Nope. I was trying to die.”

He couldn’t read her face and for some reason that scared him.

“He was through my armour in one bite.”

He could still remember the crunch as the lizard’s teeth had gone through the plates, the sting from the venom, the brief terror followed by the peace of thinking that he’d finally be with Callie. Only to have the male reposition its jaws again and again before it was killed.

Before he was evacuated and put back together in a Lawmen medical facility. She didn’t need to know how bad it had been.

“They got me out and I spent the next six months in hospital.”

“The wounds were that bad?”

“No. They healed pretty quickly. The neurotoxin’s what fucked me up. They couldn’t release me for active duty after that. I suffered from...irreparable neurological decay,” he quoted. “Not safe to send a soldier into combat if he can’t feel himself getting shot in the side.”

“Good.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Good?”

“If they hadn’t done that, you wouldn’t be here now, keeping me safe and teaching me all sorts of new things,” she explained, running a finger down his chest, his stomach and stopping in the middle of his tattoo. “So, yes...good.”

Thank the gods he had an out now. No more crap about emotions and feelings. Sex was simple. They both needed simple right now.

His voice was husky and her eyes darkened in response to the lower timbre. “Well, you know what else is good?”

“What?”

“Us. Naked.”

He scooped her up and moved toward the bedroom.

“Aren’t I supposed to be getting out of town?” she laughed.

“A few more hours won’t kill anyone.”

Chapter 9

Emmaline reached over to curl into Peirce. But there was no one there. Instead there was a whisper of sound near the dresser, a quiet, metallic slide followed by an ominous click.

“Don’t move,” Peirce said, his voice so hushed she almost couldn’t hear it over the nervous pounding of her heart.

Then, faintly, from the garage, she heard the door swinging open.

Someone was in the apartment.

Peirce moved silently toward the living room, the intermittent lighting through the blinds accenting the efficient play of his muscles. She followed him without thought, wrapping the sheet tightly around herself.

He made a quick check of the front door—still locked with no sign of tampering—then moved toward the kitchen. He paused for only a moment at the edge of the half-wall. His shoulders bunched, his gun rose and he turned sharply around the corner.

She heard the gunshot, saw the flash illuminate Peirce’s face in all its deadly rage. The other man had already knocked the gun to the side, his fingers curling on Peirce’s wrist. Peirce dropped the gun and went with the movement, freeing himself in a split-second.

Their bodies met with a meaty slap, air exploding from their lungs as punches, elbows, knees hit their marks. She couldn’t follow it all between the speed and the darkness.

One second, Peirce was ducking the man’s grab, the next he was grunting as he took an elbow to the side. They crashed through the kitchen table, hit a wall. Peirce got a hold and threw the man at the half-wall, landing one-two-three fast punches to the man’s kidneys.

A low kick to the knee stopped his assault, but he was back up before the man could gain a better position on him. Dip right, feint left, dodging punches and grabs. His body was coiled, ready to explode.

He was just waiting for the right moment.

The man’s punch was a half-second too slow. A swift jerk and the man was dragged close to Peirce, who wrapped a forearm around the thigh, the other forearm a band around the man’s chest. A quick lift, a quicker drop, a deep, wet crackling and the man gave a strangled wheeze. Peirce rolled the body forward off his knee, sinking to the side, taking up his gun again, expression blank, unruffled, as he rose.

Two shots.

The man wasn’t moving. Wasn’t twitching.

Calmly, Peirce stood over him.

One more shot to the head.

Her shoulders jerked at the sound.

Peirce looked at her, battle haze fading, face tautening, anger seeping into his features.

“I told you to stay in the bedroom.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, nauseous from the heavy scent of death.

He just glared at her and ejected the clip of the pistol. A quick check and it was returned to the gun. “Go pack.”

“Okay.”

But she couldn’t move, even when he brushed past her to prepare himself for their evacuation. She watched him from the doorway, unnerved at how quickly he got combat-ready. Seeing him in the body armour took her back to their first meeting. When he was wearing his gear, he was an untouchable, arrogant prick again. Until he looked back at her and she saw the corners of his mouth soften just a bit. That was new.

He helped her get dressed. Helped her pack. Made sure he was within touching distance at all times, reassuring her with his domineering presence, even if he was still so upset he didn’t speak.

It was a comfort despite his fresh cuts, livid bruises and almost electric anger.

He took her makeshift bag—formerly his Lawman’s standard issue duffel—and her hand and led her past the man lying in a pool of his own blood on the concrete floor. They moved through the part of the garage she was familiar with into another section, one where several different vehicles were parked. She could see where the garage door had been raised just a bit, enough for the man to slip through.

“That cost a bit,” he muttered.

“What?”

“Bribing someone to look away on the expressway requires substantial cash.”

“Oh.” So even the Lawmen weren’t necessarily trustworthy.

He helped her up into a Brumby—a lighter, more agile version of the Stallion—took the driver’s seat.

It wasn’t until they were on the expressway that she started shaking. It started with her hands, travelling up her arms, until her entire body was afflicted. Peirce didn’t look away from the road. He just took her hand and began rubbing her knuckles with his thumb.

“Honey, it’s okay. It’s just the adrenaline wearing off. You’ll be fine.”

It took a while, but her body eventually calmed down, leaving her exhausted. Only then did she notice the familiar sights. “Where are we going?”

He was smirking, but wouldn’t turn to look at her. “A place I know your father won’t look.”

“Where’s that?”

“Your country estate.”

There were probably better ways he could have gone about it, Peirce thought to himself as he watched Emma sleeping beside him. It had taken a while to calm her down and convince her that her father wasn’t smart enough to look for her somewhere he’d already searched. In fact, with Emma’s stubborn streak, it took far longer than he’d wanted, especially since he still needed to give Douglass and Kai the new plan.

Getting out of the bed was hard and only partially because she’d cosied up to him in her sleep. It was strange after so many years alone, but feeling her warmth beside him, hearing her steady breathing...it seemed natural.

He shook his head.
I’m turning into Douglass. Soon I’ll be painting pictures of kittens and butterflies and frigging daffodils.

He padded softly down the hall to one of several massive libraries. He had the tablet up and running in no time. Douglass picked up right away.

“Yessir?”

“We’re back at the Gregson estate,” Peirce began. Douglass wouldn’t care if he skipped the niceties.

“Do you need me or Kai to head out there tonight?”

“Not tonight but see if you can swing by tomorrow—either of you.”

“At least one of us will be there.”

“Good. Right now I need your tech skills.”

The dim lights behind Douglass’s head changed into a full-fledged glow from the multiple screens he booted up. “Go ahead,” he said, voice detached like it always got when he was on a new job.

“Look deeper into Arthur Gregson’s finances. Emma said the mine was a business venture gone wrong; he could be in debt to others we don’t know about.”

“What else?”

“I need to know more about a Charles Riecher. Son of a bitch nearly killed her down there.”

“Shit,” Douglass muttered.

“He’s dead.” Peirce didn’t bother to hide his satisfaction. “But I don’t know if he had a connection to Arthur. And Emma’s clear of the whole thing, so don’t send up red flags.”

“Got it.”

“I want any news ASAP.”

“Yessir.”

Peirce powered down the tablet and rubbed a hand over his face, intent on getting back to bed and catching a few more hours of shut eye before he had to determine his next move. This was the part he hated most—the interminable wait before the battle began. It didn’t matter how many strategies, contingencies, alternate contingencies he’d planned because at some point, it would all be out of his hands.

Normally he wouldn’t be so worried, but this time, if things went fubar, Emma would suffer for his decisions. Now that he knew how she felt about him, knew how deep he was getting himself, putting her at risk was no longer an option.

Speaking of my woman
...

He heard her long before she reached the library. Her footfalls were soft on the wood floors and, when she finally peeked around the corner, his chest tightened. She had thrown on one of his tank tops, nothing else, and with her hair framing her face, she looked like some kind of battlefield angel come for him.

“You didn’t wake me up.”

He jerked his shoulders in what was hopefully a neutral movement. The farther he could keep her from all this, the better he would feel. He’d be less likely to get distracted.

She climbed into his lap and settled against his chest, tracing one of the knife scars from his collarbone down across his pec. “You should come back to bed.”

He smiled, surprised at how nice it was to hear her say that. “Why’s that?”

“When you got up, I thought you were leaving.”

The thought of sneaking out, leaving her behind like she was some one-night stand, bothered him more than he liked to admit. She must have read his expression because her eyes became warm and she leaned in to close the distance. Her lips moved under his, angling to allow him better access. When he finally pulled back, he managed a gravelly, “I’m not leaving.”

“So come to bed.”

He let her lead him from the library, down the hall to that sumptuous bedroom. She let him pull off the tank top, run his hands over her skin until she was shivering. It didn’t take much to coax him between the sheets.

She wasn’t timid this time. He let her control the pace, fed into her energy, felt his need rising. Something about being back in the house, after the danger she’d faced here the last time, left him uneasy, far edgier. He struggled to keep himself in check, not wanting to scare her, but the instinct to possess prickled at the back of his mind.

She pulled away from him, mid-kiss, eyes dark, lips swollen, chest flushed. “What is it?”

He couldn’t answer, especially not when she reached down between them and stroked him, teasing her fingers over his tip.