Rekindled (Titanium Security Series)
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Authors: Kaylea Cross
Tags: #Titanium Security Series
Rekindled
By
Kaylea Cross
Copyright © 2014 by Kaylea Cross
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Cover Art by Syd Gill Designs
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author.
ISBN: 978-0-9919050-7-2
I dedicate this book to the men and women out there trying to rid the world of chemical weapons, and the ones who stand ready to protect us all.
This is the fifth and final book of my Titanium Security series, and I’m so excited to finally bring you Alex’s story. They might not be Luke and Emily (from
Absolution
, which most of you probably know is my favorite book I’ve ever written), but their story is also about healing and second chances. I hope it pulls on your heartstrings as much as it did mine.
Happy reading!
Kaylea Cross
Four years earlier
Mombasa, Kenya
Blood and death surrounded her.
Grace shut her eyes. People were screaming. Blasts of gunfire echoed through the cavernous ballroom at one of Mombasa’s most luxurious resorts. Rounds continued to punch into the polished marble pillars and floors. Fear paralyzed her, choked her with icy fingers.
She lay on the cold tile floor of the ballroom, curled into the fetal position. Pain engulfed her in its white hot burn. She kept her hands pressed to her middle where two bullets had plowed deep into her belly. Warm, sticky blood stained her turquoise satin gown. It pooled around her in a glistening scarlet puddle.
She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed. It hurt to breathe. The wounds burned like acid inside her. She lay still, afraid to move lest it make her a target again.
The masked gunmen had stormed the room a few minutes ago.
What is the name of the Blessed Prophet’s mother?
When no one had answered in the stunned silence that followed, they’d opened fire on the crowd without warning. She’d been one of the first hit when they’d begun spraying the room with bullets.
Another burst of gunfire shattered the air. More screams. Grace cringed. The panic in the room pressed in on her, heavy and suffocating. There was nowhere to go, no place she could hide. Rounds impacted around her, so close they showered her with sharp shards of marble and plaster. She winced as they peppered her skin like shrapnel. She curled tighter, trying and failing to stay calm. Her heart thundered in her chest, accelerating the blood loss. Already she could feel her body weakening.
Then suddenly the lights went out, plunging the ballroom into instant darkness. The shooting stopped instantly. Frantic shouts from the gunmen filled the room.
Grace eased one arm away from her belly and set it on the cold floor, slippery with her blood. She had to crawl somewhere safe before those lights came back on.
Before she could move, someone grabbed her by the shoulders and started pulling. An agonized scream tore out of her dry throat. She tried to pry the hands away but they wouldn’t let go, determinedly dragging her across the floor. Her eyes flew open as more shots rang out in the darkness. Illuminated by the quick bursts of light from the muzzle flashes she could see the dark, glistening blood trail spread out along her path and the bodies that lay everywhere. The gunmen were still shooting…
But not at the guests now. Toward the open double doorway at the back of the room instead.
“Stay down,” a male voice hissed close to her ear.
She was too weak to move anyway, in too much pain to speak.
As she curled up once more the volume of gunfire suddenly doubled. Another wave of terrified screams rivaled the volume of the deadly blasts. Grace clenched her eyes shut again and prayed.
Please get me out of here. Please let me live. I have to see Jack. Tell him I love him.
She didn’t care if it was wrong or that people would judge her for it. She only knew that it was true and she had to tell him.
But no one was coming for her now. She was going to bleed out on this floor in her gown and Jack would never know how she truly felt about him. The thought brought a rush of hot tears.
Blood spilled between her numb fingers as everything slowly faded out. She slipped in and out of consciousness for an unknown amount of time, then urgent voices reached her through the fog of pain and fear.
She struggled to force her eyes open, squinting in the sudden glare of the overhead lights, and realized the shooting had stopped. People all around her were crying, moaning. More hands grabbed her, strong and sure. Lifted her.
She tried to cry out, to stop them because the pain was too much. Only a whimper escaped her tight throat. She had the sensation of floating. Dizzying flashes of light and a rush of confusing sounds bombarded her. She closed her eyes and retreated back into that dark space she could hide in.
The hands lowered her onto something softer than the floor. She could feel the cushioned surface beneath her as she lay twisted on her side, her shaking hands still pressed to her belly.
“
Grace
.”
Her heart clenched at the sound of that deep, urgent voice. She fought to pry her heavy eyelids apart. In the flashing red and blue strobe lights around her she looked up into the face peering anxiously down at her.
Beautiful silver eyes stared back at her, liquid with unshed tears.
Jack.
She tried to say his name. Her lips moved but no sound came out.
He cupped a warm hand against her cheek, cradled the side of her face. “That’s right, baby. You stay with me. I’m right here. You just look at me and hold on.” His voice was hoarse, on the edge of breaking. The agonized look on his face tore at her, because it confirmed what she’d already feared. She wasn’t going to make it.
She forced one hand away from her belly, intending to reach for him, then realized he was pressing something to her wounds. His jacket. Tears flooded her eyes. Ragged sobs building in her throat. She didn’t want to die like this. Not when she’d just found him.
He bent to press his stubbled cheek to hers, his voice a raw whisper against her ear. “Stay with me, baby. Please hold on.
Please
.”
I don’t want to go!
She found his wrist, gripped it with her remaining strength. Jack wasn’t the sort of man who begged. For anything. But he’d begged her to hold on. She had to, for him. For their future together.
Help me!
she silently beseeched him.
How do I hold on?
Two men appeared beside him, dressed in paramedic uniforms. She refused to release Jack’s wrist. He didn’t let go. He merely shifted to the side to give them room and wrapped her hands between his larger ones, infusing them with warmth as the men worked on her, applying pressure to her abdomen. The pain intensified so suddenly that she cried out. Jack’s worried face turned blurry. She felt herself falling back into the blackness.
“Grace!”
Jack. I have to fight for Jack.
She forced her heavy eyelids open once more. She was so tired and weak. But Jack’s face was close, so close. She wished she had the strength to touch it. She wanted to stroke away the worry lines in his forehead. Her tongue was dry, thick as she forced the words out. “Don’t…d-don’t leave…me,” she managed, terrified of dying alone. She was so cold already, death pulling at her with merciless force.
His strong hands squeezed harder, kept her anchored to him. He stared straight into her eyes. “I won’t. I swear I won’t.” A vow. And Jack would never break his word to her.
Knowing Jack was there and wouldn’t leave her no matter what, Grace relaxed and let herself go. She floated beyond the pain, beyond the fear.
When she came to again, she was in a hospital bed.
I’m still alive
.
Pain still burned in her belly, but it was duller now and she wasn’t as cold. She cast a frantic look around the room. Where was Jack?
“He’s not here.”
She glanced toward the window. Robert pushed away from the wall and walked toward her bed. He still wore his suit and tie, though it was badly rumpled and his hair was mussed as though he’d been repeatedly running his hands through it. Her estranged husband’s handsome face was blank, distant. “He left when you were in recovery.”
Jack had left her
.
She shook her head in denial. A hot ache lodged in her chest.
No, he’d promised. He wouldn’t have left me.
“You’re going to be okay, but it was close,” Robert continued, only his eyes holding any emotion. Pity. Sadness. Regret. “There was a lot of damage though…” He let his voice trail off, as if he was trying to decide how to break the bad news to her.
Grace put a tentative hand on top of her abdomen. She could feel the padding of the bandages beneath the thin covers. Her entire middle felt bruised, hot, swollen. She licked her dry lips. “What did they do?” she rasped.
Robert blew out a breath and ran a hand through his still dark hair, something he only did when he was severely stressed. Throughout the political rollercoaster that had been their lives since he became a member of the foreign diplomatic service, she’d never seen him this rattled. This year-long posting in Mombasa had taken its toll on both of them, and now had culminated with this disaster. “I’m sorry, Grace, but they had to do a hysterectomy. And they took out your spleen as well. They had to.”
Shock rippled through her. They’d saved her life but had taken away her dream of having children of her own. At forty-two she’d known she was getting too old to think of getting pregnant, but then she’d met Jack and a part of her had dared to hope that maybe—
“And…”
She looked up at Robert again. He glanced away. Folded his arms across his chest. She knew there was more. Something even worse to come. Her pulse thudded in her ears as she waited.
He met her gaze again and she saw the pain and anger there. “I’ll wait to tell you after you get some more rest—”
“Say it.” The words came out hoarse, a bare whisper. Whatever it was, she had to know.
Robert sighed, shook his head. He looked weary. Resigned. “He isn’t who you think he is.”
Her heart lurched, then started beating faster.
Jack?
Robert’s expression was shaded by deeply buried anger. Apology. And she knew that whatever he was about to say next brought him no pleasure, despite the pain they’d caused each other over the last few years of their marriage. Before they’d finally done what they should have found the guts to do years ago and separated, two months before.
“He’s an NSA agent. His name isn’t even Jack Davison.”
She stared at him, aware that her breathing had turned shallow, almost frantic as the panic shot through her.
No.
“He was using you to get into your social circle to get information on the terrorist group that carried out the attack last night.”
She pressed her lips together and shook her head, not wanting to believe it. She wanted to scream at him.
You’re wrong! You’re lying!
“They cracked the case last night, but…too late to stop the attack.”
Grace barely heard the last part. Whatever faults Robert had, whatever anger he still harbored toward her for seeking their legal separation, she knew he wouldn’t lie to her about this. Not now.
