Say You Love Me (34 page)

He shook his head and released her, a growl erupting from him, then he stroked a finger over her shoulder. Britta reached inside her jacket for the gun, but he lunged toward her. The gun flew from her hand and fell to the ground. Desperate, she tried to retrieve it, but it was too dark to see. He grabbed her and she clawed at his mask and tried to pull it off but he slapped her so hard her ears rang and she collapsed on the soggy ground. Then he dove on top of her. She struggled and hit at him, clawing for a tree branch or stick, anything to use as a weapon. Finally, she latched on to a thick branch and slammed it against his head.

He bellowed in pain and rolled sideways. She jumped up and ran for the cabin. It took her a second to adjust to the darkness, then she spotted Catherine, gagged and tied to a rickety iron bed. She raced forward and began to untie the ropes.

“We have to get out of here,” she whispered.

Catherine nodded, wide-eyed and panicked looking. But at least she was alive. Finally she got the bindings undone and Catherine yanked out the gag.

Britta helped her to stand. “Come on, he'll be here any minute!”

Catherine staggered, weak and disoriented, then leaned against Britta, and they made it down the steps outside. But Sedrick swaggered toward them with a growl. Britta spotted Jean-Paul's gun in the weeds and shoved Catherine into a thicket of trees. “Run! I'm right behind you.”

Catherine stumbled forward and Britta reached for the gun. He saw it at the same time and dove for it. They fought for the weapon and it went off. He knocked the gun from her hand and they both fell into the muddy swampland. Brambles and vines tugged at her ankles as she kicked at him. He slapped her again and again until her head spun. Somewhere in the distance a gator screamed. She prayed he didn't get Catherine.

Then Sedrick hit her one more time and she sank into the darkness.

* * *

J
EAN
-P
AUL HAD JUST CLIMBED
from the car when he heard a gunshot. God, he hoped Britta had killed the son of a bitch who'd kidnapped Catherine.

Justice jerked his thumb to the left. “The shot came from that direction. That's where the cabin is.”

Jean-Paul pulled the weapon that Damon had loaned him and they ran into the woods. Rain beat at his face, the downpour creating a smoky mist inside the forest. Panic gripped him as Justice led the way. The thick foliage slowed their trek and Jean-Paul hacked his way through with his knife. Tangled vines and Spanish moss created a maze, making the night even grayer.

Justice stumbled, then cursed and crawled over a fallen tree. Jean-Paul jumped it, then paused. Damon scanned the darkness.

A noise reverberated in the silence. Feet pounding. The swish of branches and leaves. Breathing. Someone running.

He angled his head to listen again, then motioned for Justice to wait. The sound grew closer. Footsteps slogging through the marsh. Suddenly Catherine broke through the clearing.

He grabbed her and she screamed. He shook her gently. “Cat, it's me, Jean-Paul. I've got you now.”

Her legs wobbled and she clung to his arms to remain standing. “Britta…I thought she was right behind me.”

His blood turned to ice. If she'd killed the man, she would have been.

He must have caught her.

“Jean-Paul…” Catherine cried. “She saved me. You have to find her.”

Damon slid an arm around Catherine. “Are you okay, sis? What did he do to you?”

“I'm fine, really,” she rasped. “Jean-Paul, please save Britta.”

“I'll take Cat to the car and call for an EMT,” Damon said.

Jean-Paul frowned. He might need back-up. But did he trust Justice with his sister?

“We need to hurry,” Justice said.

“Go with Catherine,” Jean-Paul told Justice.

“I'll call for back-up and an ambulance,” Damon said.

Justice curved an arm around Catherine to help her through the woods.

Jean-Paul didn't wait. He darted toward the direction of the cabin. Britta had to be all right. She was a fighter. The strongest woman he'd ever known.

She had saved Catherine.

Now he had to save her.

* * *

B
RITTA'S HEAD ACHED
. She wanted to curl into a ball. Be so tiny no one saw her. Become invisible like a fleck of dust on the wall.

No.

She had to fight back.

She struggled to open her eyes. Sedrick was hauling her across the marsh by one arm and had twisted it so hard she thought it would wrench from the socket. Rain pummeled them and she made herself into a dead weight, dragging her heels into the muck. Maybe Catherine would escape and get help.

But she couldn't count on that. She was all alone. She had to save herself—just as she'd always done.

Her body bounced over the rough tree branches, then he yanked her up the steps to the shanty. The wooden steps bit into her back and pain knifed through her. Where was the gun?

Oh God, she'd lost it. She had to find something else to fight with. Another weapon.

The door screeched open and he tossed her inside like a sack of garbage. Her head slammed against the wall and stars sparkled. Mud and rain soaked her clothing and hair. She tried to push herself up, but he dug his knee into her chest, pinning her down, and tore at her clothes. She screamed and shoved at his hands, then yanked at his mask again, determined to see his face. Finally she stripped it off and hurled it across the floor. His eyes blazed with rage and one hand automatically flew up to hide his disfigurement. “See what you did to me! See how ugly I am now.”

“Your scars aren't what make you ugly,” Britta whispered raggedly. “Your soul does that.”

“No! You did it.” He grabbed her throat and shook her. “I've had to wear a disguise in public because I tried to save you when you ran into the bayou.” His hot breath seared her neck. “You owe me.”

“I don't owe you anything, you monster.”

He hit her again, and pain split her temple. Then he growled against her throat, “Say it, Adrianna. Say you want me.”

“No.”

“Yes.” His fingers dug into her neck tighter. “Yes, God dammit! Say you want me. That you love me.”

“Never,” Britta whispered.

He jerked her up like a rag doll, twisting his fingers into her throat, cutting off her vocal chords. “I've waited thirteen years for you to tell me. And you're going to say it before I kill you.”

Britta remembered her last words to him the night she'd killed his father and ran. She repeated them. “I could never love you.”

Rain pounded above like nails driving into the tin roof. Thunder grumbled. In the back of Britta's mind, she heard the ancient chants and drums of their medieval ancestors.

Sedrick's angry roar resounded off the walls as he hauled her across the room and threw her on the bed. She saw the red teddy. The oils. A condom. The virginal white gown.

And the mask of Sobek and the serpent necklace.

She lashed out. He grabbed the scepter and pointed the tip of the blade at her chest and she froze.

A sinister smile curved his scarred mouth as he flicked the blade under the edge of her blouse, then ripped the fabric. She sucked in a breath, trying not to move. Then he jabbed the blade at her chest and pierced her skin, bringing blood to the surface.

A sob escaped her as he pressed the sharp blade to her throat and tore her blouse the rest of the way off. She had to fight back but if she moved, the blade might slip and he'd behead her. Still, dying was better than being raped. And he was going to kill her anyway.

Using every ounce of energy she possessed, she shoved at his hands. The scepter clanged to the floor, then he bellowed his rage and his hands slid around her wrists. He slammed his fist into her jaw, then crawled on her and reached for the ropes.

Suddenly a gust of wind blew into the cabin. Cold air and rain pelted her legs. The bayou sounds filled the darkness.

Britta gasped for air. She was going to die here tonight. All alone in the bayou.

Sedrick suddenly threw his head back and bellowed again, but this time his body jerked backward. Pain and shock flared in his eyes and he convulsed, then collapsed forward on top of her.

She cried out and saw blood spurting from his back.

Her chest heaved and she tried to push him off her. Then she saw Jean-Paul.

He was standing over them, the scepter in his hands. He had stabbed the swamp devil with his own weapon.

Over Sedrick's body, Jean-Paul's dark eyes sought hers. He was angry, breathing hard. He looked like a wild animal. He must hate her.

She opened her mouth to say she was sorry, but a sob escaped instead. Jean-Paul dragged Sedrick off her, then knelt and scooped her into his arms.

“God, Britta, you had me scared out of my mind.” He rocked her back and forth, stroking her hair, her face, brushing her tears away as he kissed her.

Britta clung to him. It was finally over. Catherine was safe. The swamp devil was dead.

And for the moment she was in Jean-Paul's arms.

J
EAN
-P
AUL WAS STILL RAGING
with fury when the paramedics, his lieutenant and Antwaun arrived. The sight of that psycho tearing at Britta's clothes, trying to kill her, had unleashed something inside him that he couldn't calm. His body was literally shaking and wouldn't stop.

He watched the paramedics help her onto a stretcher and felt helpless. Britta should have never set out on her own to catch the killer.

Yet she had done so to save Catherine.

Damon assigned two agents to wait at the shanty for the CSI team and medical examiner to remove Sedrick's body.

Phelps pulled him aside before he climbed into the car and shoved his badge into his hand. “We need you. You're too good a cop to leave us.”

Jean-Paul accepted the badge, a silent understanding passing between them. If he had to do it again, he wouldn't do things any differently.

Catherine and Britta swore they were okay, but Jean-Paul insisted they be taken to the hospital. He felt humbled and confused as he and his brothers followed the ambulance.

Antwaun phoned Stephanie and fifteen minutes later his family met them at the hospital emergency room. As soon as Catherine saw Shawn and Chrissy, she held out her arms and they went into them. A tearful family reunion ensued, with everyone hugging and crying.

His mother finally calmed enough to wipe her eyes. “Damon told us what happened with your Britta. Is she all right?”

His
Britta? He didn't bother to correct his mother or hide his feelings. “I think so. I'm waiting to go in now.”

“She's a very brave, special girl.”

“Yes, she is.”

His father pounded him on the back. “I knew you boys would bring Catherine home safe and sound.”

“Thank Britta, Dad,” Jean-Paul said in a gruff voice.

“We intend to.” His father put an arm around his mother's shoulders and Stephanie slid up to his other side and squeezed his arm.

“We want to see Britta.”

He hugged Stephanie. Britta thought that she wouldn't fit in, that his family might judge her, but she was wrong. They would welcome her if she let them.

“Let me check on her first.” He walked over to the nurses' station. “Detective Dubois. I'm here with Miss Berger. Can I see her now?”

“Why don't you take a seat—”

“I don't want her to be alone,” he said. For some reason that was important to him. She'd saved his family and they were together, but she was by herself as she'd always been.

He wanted to change that forever.

The nurse must have realized that he was about to come unglued, because she showed him to the room where they were examining Britta.

They had cleaned some of the mud and dirt from her body, but the bright fluorescent lights of the hospital made her bruises more pronounced. He winced, emotions pummeling him as he entered. Rage, anger, sorrow…love.

“Britta?”

She jerked her head around and pulled the sheet up but not before he saw dark bruises on her neck and chest. Fury surged through him again, resurrecting the animalistic rage he'd felt when he'd killed Sedrick.

“Jean-Paul, how's Catherine?”

She was so unselfish; his heart swelled. Even now, when she'd been battered, she was worried about his sister, not herself. Just as she was with the girls on the street.

“She's going to be fine.” He smiled, glad his sister was spunky. “Shawn and Chrissy and the rest of the family are with her now.”

“Thank God. I…I'm glad he didn't hurt her.”

Silence stretched between them, an awkward moment where he wanted to go to her but wasn't sure what she wanted. After all, he'd almost been too late to save her.

“Thank you for coming to my rescue,” Britta said softly. “But what happens next? Are you going to arrest me?”

He frowned. “Arrest you? Why would I do that?”

“I killed a man, Jean-Paul. I know the statue of limitations on murder doesn't run out.”

Jean-Paul stared down at her, willing his voice to work. “You defended yourself, Britta. There's no court in this land that would say any different.”

“I wonder sometimes…” She hesitated and he lifted her chin with his thumb so she had to look at him.

“Wonder what, Britta?”

“What would have happened if I hadn't shot him—”

She might not be alive. Then he would never have known her.

He traced a finger over her cheek. “You did what you had to do, and I'm proud of you for it. If one of my sisters or Chrissy had been in your place, I'd want her to be a fighter like you.” His voice choked. “I don't know how to repay you for saving Catherine.”

“I don't want you to repay me,” Britta said tightly.

An image of her being mauled by that maniac came to him again. She shouldn't have tackled him alone. She should have trusted him and waited.

Anger hardened his voice, “And I don't want you to ever do anything so foolish as to put yourself in danger again.”

She blinked, moisture in her eyes. “I did what I had to do, Jean-Paul. Now go back to your family where you belong.”

For a moment, he felt as if she'd hit him. He was about to admit he loved her, but she'd just been attacked and nearly killed by a madman. She didn't need him unloading his feelings. Pressuring her.

He turned to leave, knowing he had to give her time. Maybe romance her. Show her that he didn't have to live for his job.

That he'd give it up for her, anything to keep her with him.

* * *

E
MOTIONS WELLED IN
Britta's chest. She didn't understand Jean-Paul's reaction. One minute he was tender, the next angry. He was obviously touched that she'd saved his sister, but the last thing she wanted was for him to feel indebted toward her.

But she loved him so much her heart was breaking. Why couldn't he love her back? She knew the answer but couldn't seem to accept it….

He suddenly turned back to face her. A charged electricity filled the air, vibrating between them. “I'm not leaving. I belong here with you, Britta.”

A tear slid down her cheek. “What?”

He strode back to her, then lowered his head and kissed her. “I love you,” he said in a gruff voice. “I think I have for a long time. And I…never want to be without you.”

“Oh, Jean-Paul.” Her voice choked on her. She'd never cried for a man. He'd said he loved her.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

She memorized his face. He was what she'd always wanted. “You…me…it would never work.”

He stiffened, his expression hardening. “Why not?”

“Your family must hate me for putting Catherine and you in danger. And you're a hero. How would it look for you to be with a woman who was a murderer?”

“You are the hero here, honey.” His voice sounded husky. “And when I get through talking to the press, they'll know it.”

“But your family…”

“My family thinks you're wonderful.” He leaned over and brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “And even if they didn't, they'd have to accept you because I love you.”

“Jean-Paul—” Her voice broke again. “I love you, too.”

His eyes flickered with a smile, then hunger, and she slid her arms around him and kissed him. Jean-Paul would make all her fantasies and dreams come true. She knew it in her heart. Because her heart belonged to him.

And she would spend the rest of her life making his fantasies come true, as well.

A second later, the door opened and Jean-Paul's family rushed in and surrounded her. Britta smiled through her tears as they welcomed her into their family.

* * * * *