Terms of Surrender (2 page)

Gage relished the sharp bite of pain because it made him feel as reckless as the man with the gun. He’d been in these situations so many times, told the same story over and over again, till sometimes he couldn’t differentiate between the truth and the lies.

He shifted forward, deliberately crowded Henry’s space. “My old man couldn’t control his temper either. One night, my mom pissed him off for what had to be the umpteenth time that week. She did stupid little things. Left a speck of dust on the mantel. A smudge on the window. A dirty glass in the sink. One sweltering hot summer night like this one, he loaded his gun and blew her brains out.”

“The bitch probably deserved it.”

“Did she, Henry? While my old man sat in his prison cell, the sick bastard finally realized he didn’t hate her. He loved her. Only this time, Henry, he couldn’t make everything okay by bringing her flowers and chocolate. This time, he’d gone too far. Realized it too late.”

Henry swung the weapon wildly, aimed at his wife, at Harley, and finally—
thank you, God
—back toward Gage.

Heat enveloped the room. Gage’s vision blurred and he shored up his resolve. “Is this what you want for your future? A lifetime in jail? Nothing but regret for company?”

The tension in the other man’s shoulders eased. The barrel of the rifle wavered and Henry backed away. In a heartbeat, the fuzziness in Gage’s head vanished.

This was the moment. He’d either won the battle or lost the war. In the next few minutes, they could all be dead or breathing in the heat of the streets after dark. “Think about it, man. Your wife. Your unborn child. Don’t be a fool and throw it all away.”

The rifle slipped from Henry’s grip and hit the floor with a bang. He sank to his knees in front of his wife. A single tear slid down his cheek. “Honey, I’m sorry.”

Pay dirt.
Sometimes they fell hard. Sometimes, like tonight, they hit the ground without much of a bang at all.

Gage scooped the rifle off the floor, emptied the chamber, and pocketed the shells. Across the room, Henry’s wife shifted closer to Harley and out of his reach. Dry-eyed and silent, she watched and waited for the blow that could still come.

Tonight she’d gotten lucky. She’d had the hell scared out of her, gained an extra bruise or two, but at least she was still alive.

He shot a look in Harley’s direction and instantly regretted it. She wore the same expression as the woman, one he’d seen too many times before. One he’d sworn to never see on her face.

Gage bit back a curse.

He’d pushed her out of his life in order to keep her safe. He’d hedged on the fact that she’d find a man who would cherish her, not terrorize her. So what good had it done when she’d found another way to put herself into danger?

Henry clutched his wife’s ankle. “Sometimes you make me so crazy, I can’t help myself.”

Gage grabbed the perp by the collar, jerked him to his feet and conceded that nothing had changed since he was a kid. It was always the spouse’s fault, never the perp’s. As he maneuvered Henry toward the front door, he peered over his shoulder and saw the woman bend into another contraction. Harley clung to her hand, and even from this distance, he could see her fingertips turn white.

He forced himself to turn his back on her before he did something foolish. Like do a U-turn in the middle of the hallway so he could pull her into his arms. Check every inch of her body in a desperate need to see that she was uninjured. Instead, he shoved Henry forward. “If you don’t get help with your temper, man, one day you’ll push too far. Then all the apologies in the world won’t make a bit of difference.”

Gage clicked on the mike. “Durango, I’ve got the perp in custody. We’re coming out the front door right now. You better send in the paramedics. The wife is ready to pop.”

He pulled open the door and sucked in a deep breath of fresh air. Temporarily blinded by the spotlights set up around the perimeter of the house, he raised one hand to shield his eyes.

Beyond the confines of the house existed another world. Half a dozen squad cars lined the street while a dozen cops maintained control of the area. As he brought his prisoner out, the sound of applause and whistles from his fellow cops reached his ears.

Henry yanked free of his grip, and stumbled down the front steps where an officer waited to handcuff him. Adam stood to the side, his gaze connecting with Gage’s long enough to ensure his partner was fine, before he refocused his attention on the clipboard in his hand.

The perp turned to face him. “Were you feeding me a load of bull in there or were you telling me the truth?”

“Which part?”

“The part about passing this from father to son? What do I gotta do?”

Through the weariness and grief that always slammed into Gage following a defused domestic situation, a smidgen of hope broke free. “It’s a cycle, Henry. Get help. Let your wife get the help she needs, too.”

“Did you break the cycle?”

Self-survival jumped to life and Gage motioned for the uniform to take the perp away. “If you love your wife and unborn child, get help before it’s too late.”

Henry wrenched free, agitated, angrier than before. “I asked you a question, cop. Did you break the cycle or not?”

Without a moment of hesitation, the lie rolled off Gage’s tongue. “Yeah, sure I did. You will, too, but only if you get help.”

Moving aside to allow the paramedics access to the house, Gage watched Henry disappear into the backseat of the cruiser. He couldn’t help wondering if—or when—he’d be back to this house.

He looked away.

No good dwelling on it. He’d done his job. The rest was up to the courts, the counselors, Henry and his wife. Jail time would give the perp the opportunity to reconsider his actions and options.

Gage started to make his way down the steps, until the faint scent of vanilla caught him mid-stride. He hesitated. Told himself to walk away before things got complicated. But he couldn’t disregard Harley any more than he could’ve dismissed Henry’s threat to his family.

Pivoting on the heel of his boot, he let his gaze run over the fragile looking woman headed his way. Five-foot-two, delicate frame, enormous doe-like eyes.

Under the dim glow of the front porch light, he bent his head to take a closer look, and saw the pallor of her face was a sickening shade of green. In her rush to escape the house, she slammed her palm against his chest and shoved him aside.

Gage lost his balance and hit the wooden railing with his backside. As he heard the sharp crack of wood, he grabbed for the doorknob, missing it by a millimeter. He toppled backwards off the landing and ended up butt first in the flowerbed.

Not exactly how he’d envisioned the end to a successful negotiation. With a scowl, he clambered to his feet and brushed the dirt off his back end.

Somewhere in the vicinity, a camera light flashed.

Tomorrow’s front page news.

Perfect for keeping the hero-of-the-hour’s ego in check.

CHAPTER TWO

Harley shouldered her way past Gage and stumbled down the rickety wooden steps of the compact bungalow, past the crumbling cement sidewalk, and onto the tinder-dry grass. As the stuffing in her legs gave out, she dropped to her knees.

Tears filled her eyes. Sweat bathed her body. She wrapped her arms around her waist, leaned forward, and gulped in the first breath of fresh air she’d taken since her neighbor had returned home with his rifle in one hand and his temper in full projectile mode.

“Jesus, Harley.” Gage’s shiny black boots appeared under her nose and he crouched down in front of her, all macho and distant and heart-stoppingly gorgeous. “What were you doing in there?”

A wave of nausea hit her square between the ribs and threatened her precarious control over her stomach, her pride, and her fear-numbed brain. She put her head down, fixed her gaze on his boots, and closed her eyes. “Go away.”

With one of his large hands, he smoothed the hair back from her face. The gentleness of his touch eased the tightness in her stomach and soothed her raw nerves. Harley finally gave in to the urge to look at him and recognized the conflicting emotions in the ocean blue depths of his eyes.

Concern for her welfare. Wariness at their unexpected encounter.

The pleasure of his company wouldn’t last long. Minutes if she was smart enough to follow his rules. Seconds if she breached their silent agreement. Inevitably, she’d do something idiotic, Gage would remember he didn’t want her, and he’d disappear faster than a box of chocolates at the nurses’ station.

As if any of it mattered after what they’d been through. Yet here she was, wondering why she had to run into him now, when she looked like a scarecrow in a cornfield and he looked good enough for a midnight snack.

Well, it was better than thinking about the alternative.

Henry
.

She gulped back another wave of nausea, gritted her teeth, and repeated herself. “Go away.”

“It’s over, babe,” he murmured in the tone of voice he used to calm all rabid people, including women who knew better than to get into the middle of a domestic situation. “Henry’s in custody. You’re safe again.”

Harley wanted to believe his words. She really, really did. But how could she feel safe when she knew the truth?

There were a gazillion men like Henry who relished the control and pain they wielded over their victims. Why couldn’t the rest of the male population be like Gage? Dangerous on the outside, totally disciplined where it counted the most.

A bubble of craziness slid up her throat. She swallowed it back down, and gripped his forearm so he couldn’t run away and leave her alone, scared, and dwelling on how they’d almost died.

God, he looked good. His dark hair was shorter than the last time she’d seen him, as near to a buzz cut as one could get without actually having one. And his face…tanned from the heat of the summer sun, making the blue of his eyes stand out even more. She smoothed her hand along the stubble on his jaw, the growth of whiskers raspy against her palm.

Gage Toryn had the kind of dangerous looks that turned sane women into lunatics. She’d seen it happen more than once. Heck, she’d even been one of those women.

She blinked away the tears which stung her eyes and obstructed her vision, and forced a bravado she didn’t feel into her voice. “Those were some pretty nifty lies you told in there. Especially the one about your mom. How’s she doing anyway?”

He took hold of her wrist and pulled her hand away from his face, his neutral expression easing the tiniest bit as he allowed a small smile to escape. “Living the retirement dream. She finally convinced Dad to buy a motor home and head south for the winter. Even though they don’t leave for another three months, she’s busy packing and planning.”

“Good for her.” As another round of nausea hit, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and forced herself to look back at him so she could continue the charade. “And the wife? Did you finally outgrow your commitment phobia?”

“No wife.” He smiled at her, his teeth flashing white in the dark as he shifted his weight to one side and peeled off his gloves, flexing his fingers. “How long has it been?”

Automated brain reflexes kicked in. “Two months, twelve days—”

She glanced down at the watch on her wrist, then back up at him, the breath suddenly gone from her lungs.
Two hours, nineteen minutes, and twenty-three seconds.

She bit back a groan. When would she learn to keep her mouth shut? Right about now, a small rabbit hole under the front steps would be incredibly sweet. Nothing too big or obvious. Maybe something large enough for her to crawl into and hide for the rest of her life.

As if that would erase the humiliation.

His thick black brows arched in surprise and a low whistle escaped from between his teeth. “You kept track?”

As she hid her embarrassment behind one of those devil-may-care grins she’d learned from him, her stomach resumed its churning. “Yeah, well, it pretty much coincided with my sister’s funeral, so it’s easy to remember.”

At least she was smart enough to know the drill.
Walk away. Don’t look back. Bury the pain.

His soft soothing tone was a prelude to another gentle touch as he brushed back the hair from her forehead. “You’re hurt. Let me see.”

Harley soaked up the contact, until he touched her temple and a stab of pain shot through her head. She jerked away, fell backwards on her butt, and scowled up at him as he held out his hand to help her up.

“Sorry, babe. Didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Harley batted his hand away. “Don’t babe me. What were you checking for? My pain tolerance? Let me tell you, it would be fine if you kept your hands to yourself.”

He stared at her for a silent moment, his eyes and face devoid of all emotion, which reminded Harley of the image he’d projected while dealing with her gun-brandishing neighbor.

He was trained to be calm, cool, unemotional, unlike her who tended to show every thought and emotion that passed through her brain and body. Right now, she could practically envision the flashing IDIOT sign suspended over her head.

Okay, so sniping at him wasn’t the way she wanted him to remember her. Maybe she should try another approach.

Gage started to straighten and her panic revived the nausea. She scrambled to her knees, clutched him by the shoulder of his t-shirt, and yanked him back down to a crouching position. The movement made her forehead throb and her stomach roll. “Wh-where are you going?”

He closed his hand around her wrist and attempted to pry her fingers loose. “I want someone to check your head.”

Cold chills raced across her skin. Her teeth started to chatter. Was she going into shock? She released her grip on his t-shirt, fell back to sit on the grass, and rummaged through the compartments in her brain, replaying the events of the evening.

Backhand across the face. Ring on the bastard’s finger. Head bashed against the wall.

No wonder her head hurt. And by the concerned expression on Gage’s face, she didn’t think he was going anywhere until he’d satisfied his deeply buried need to ensure all of the victims were okay.