Beneath the Burn (26 page)

The double gunshots stunned Jay in mid-stride, shattering his pace into a stumbling stagger. The man dropped to the ground, as did Charlee.

The echo of the blasts lingered in alley, ringing in Jay’s ears. A river of red seeped from beneath her face where it lay on the man’s chest. Not her blood. No, it couldn’t be hers.

Hands shaking, heart roaring, he skidded beside them, fell upon his knees and pulled her into his arms. Was she hit? Breathing? Other than the spots of crimson dotting her chest, her shirt was free of bullet holes. Yet, she hung lifelessly in his embrace, eyes closed.

Blood caked one side of her face. It also puddled on the pavement. Streams of it trickled from the hole in the Asian man’s chest, who lay on his back, unmoving.

Colson squatted and touched the meaty neck. “Dead.”

The validation did nothing to soothe Jay’s hammering heart. He let her legs drop to his lap as he groped for a pulse in her throat, uncertainty resonating in his constricting chest. Then he felt a steady thump against his fingers. He choked, exhaled.

Hand on her chin, he turned her head, wiped the blood from her cheek, and searched for injuries. There. A graze marred her earlobe and another at her hairline behind it.

Life was made up of a series of defining moments, but the instant his eyes rested on those wounds, the very second he realized how fucking close that bullet came to killing her, every harrowing moment of his life before it burned away.

Her lashes fluttered and she looked up, squinted. “My head hurts.”

He ducked his head and kissed her cheek. “Because you just used up another one of your nine lives. Problem is, I don’t have nine lives and I fucking die every time you do. No more near-deaths, okay?”

A small smile shook her lips. “‘kay.”

Momentarily paralyzed by her eyes drifting closed and the memory of the gun in her face, he blinked through the shock, and alertness snapped back in a painful spasm. He needed to get her the fuck out of the alley.

Gathering her close, he climbed to his feet and whirled in a circle, marking an overfilled dumpster, parked cars, an iron fence peeking through wild vines. Were there more men with guns out there, watching?

Around the corner, the parking lot woke with approaching footsteps and excited voices. At his feet, the blood was drying beneath the sun and breeze. And somewhere Roy fucking Oxford was orchestrating his next step.

Colson nodded to Tony and took off toward the lot and the growing crowd. Tony moved to Jay’s side with her gun hand out between them, muzzle pointed skyward. She tilted her head with a finger on her ear piece and glanced up at the top of the building.

Jay followed her gaze. Did the curtain move in one of the fourth floor windows? Charlee and Nathan’s apartment? If he couldn’t move her to the car, her apartment was the next safest place. “Which one is hers?”

Tony held up a finger. “Copy.” The way she continued to listen to her wireless com while wildly scanning their surroundings kept him rooted where he was, his heart beating a furious rhythm.

Her gaze flicked to him. “We’re on our way.”

“Was that Nathan?” He tucked Charlee close to his chest, her slight weight a comforting presence in his arm.

She nodded and spoke low in his ear. “He doesn’t believe the gunman would be here alone. Their apartment is secure, so we’re moving there until the rest of the team arrives.”

Charlee tensed in the cradle of his arms. Her eyes were closed, but a tremble rippled over her body.

The chatter in the parking lot grew louder. Multiple footsteps shuffled closer. Colson whirled around the corner and ran toward Jay and Tony. “Cover the principal. The shots drew a crowd.”

Jay’s blood heated and hairs on his nape bristled. Another gunman could be mingled in with the approaching crowd.

Colson and Tony shifted into their protective formation, pressing their backs to his flanks, closing in tightly with their gun hands at their sides.

Eyes sweeping the fence line, rooftop, windows, and blind corners, Tony applied her usual pressure signal—tapping her elbow beneath his—to set the pace and direct him to the back entrance of the building.

As dozens of wide-eyed, slack-jawed spectators filled the alley, all he could think about was holding Charlee as close as possible and how incredible it would’ve felt to have her arms wrapped around him, holding him back.

36

Charlee hadn’t moved from the couch in their studio apartment since Jay carried her in from the rear alley. She couldn’t shake the hammering buzz in her head. If she were to guess, the gun firing beside her face had ruptured her eardrum.

What happened behind the building had registered a want she’d harbored for years. She’d been more than willing to squeeze the trigger and kill Roy’s man. But when it came to Roy, she didn’t just want to kill him. She wanted to destroy him.

With one hand on a towel at her ear, she shoved the other beneath her thigh to stop the violent trembling and blinked back the tears that thickened her throat. Neither Jay nor Nathan should have to deal with her fragility. They were suffering enough of her drama as it was.

The risks were riding her hard. How many Craigs prowled the property, waiting for them to emerge? Roy had caught up with them, but Nathan was still solidifying connections with Roy’s business adversaries. No one was prepared to stand against him yet.

Nathan prowled the room, cell phone to his ear, strategizing with his team in St. Louis.

Everything they owned filled half a dozen duffle bags and waited by the door. This time, they didn’t have a Marine chopper to carry them away.

Jay’s low tones drifted from the kitchen nook. His head bent toward Tony’s, lips moving, eyes hard as he glared at his bodyguard. Was he scolding her? Were they arguing over how to exit the building? Or was he just raging over the hell Charlee had led them into? Given his flushed cheeks, white-knuckled fists on his hips, and the heated way they whispered back and forth, Charlee guessed it was all of the above.

The heat in her graze wounds pulsed with the din in her eardrum. She removed the towel from the side of her head, relieved to see the flow of blood had slowed.

So fucking lucky. If Jay hadn’t distracted the Craig at the perfect moment, she’d be on her way to San Francisco. She wasn’t sure who fired first, but she knew she owed Jay her life.

“Keep pressure on it.” The cushion bounced with Nathan’s weight. He stooped down to meet her eyes. “Looks like you’re going to live.”

The dull throbbing pain was nothing compared to the up close and cutting wrath of Roy. “Yeah.”

He kept himself relaxed as he regarded her, but the strain of unleashed anger glazed his blue eyes. “You’re a pain in my fucking ass. Why didn’t you just stay in the car? Yet one more bad decision that’s landed us in a heap of shit.”

Ouch. She’d left the car because she was worried about him. No sense vocalizing that. “This is my shit, my problem. I never asked you to dirty your hands with it.” A tired argument, one he always ignored.

Nathan’s eyes hardened. “Let me have another look.” He turned her chin to examine the graze of the bullet behind her ear. “I don’t know if this one will scar.” He shifted his gaze to her ear. “Your earlobe…”

“Please don’t say it looks like Salvador’s.”

He swallowed.

Super. “Better than a hole in the head.”

He sucked in a breath and looked away. “I should’ve protected you better.”

Of course, he would assume personal responsibility. The burden he shouldered was so misplaced and undeserved. “You didn’t do this, dammit.” She returned the pressure of the towel to her head and gnashed her teeth against the burn.

They stared at one another through the swelling tension. What was going on behind those stony eyes? He’d told her for three years he didn’t blame her for Noah’s death, but she knew it was eating at him. How could he even look at her?

“I need to check in with the team.” He twisted to kneel against the back of the couch and parted the curtain behind her. A flood of daylight spilled in from the window that overlooked the rear alley.

“This is Nathan,” he said slow and crisp in the wireless headset. “There’s a stiff in the rear alley.” He moved to the window facing the side lot. “And there’s a crowd around our vehicle. Colson’s not going to be able to contain them.”

In the kitchen, Jay shoved his hands through his hair, the muscles in his biceps twitching. He’d risked his life to save hers, and he didn’t do it out of debt. The thought sent sticky tendrils of attachment wrapping around her. For once, they were coming from her. It was careless and selfish, but she didn’t want to fight it. And if he stuck around through gunshots and getaways, maybe he was more than just crazy. Maybe he was attached, too. She wouldn’t take that for granted.

The faint and undeniable blare of sirens pierced through the walls.

Jay shifted, found her eyes. Hair disheveled, strong shoulders lolling forward, eyes wide and glued on her, he wore an intense look on his face. The way he just stood there, not moving toward her, pulsing waves of emotion around him prompted her to rise from the couch. The distance suddenly felt wrong, discomfiting.

A flash of heat shot through her ear from pressing too hard. She lowered the towel to check for bleeding.

That broke through his stupor. He raced to her side and swung her into the cradle of his arms. “Jesus, Charlee. I’m sorry. I needed to work out a plan with Tony, amongst other things.” He hugged her face to his neck and, in a few strides, had her in the bathroom and sitting on the counter, back to the mirror.

His breathing was wild, and a measure of him flinched at the sight of her injuries, something only present in the twitch of his scowl. Still, watchful caution remained in his eyes.

“They’re just graze wounds.” She raised the towel to cover it.

“Don’t. I haven’t had a chance to look at them.” He wrapped firm but gentle fingers around her hand on the towel and lowered it. “Fuck, you need a doctor.”

“It’s fine. My eardrum isn’t ringing so bad and—”

“A fucking bullet cut through your ear.” He flew backward and slammed against the wall behind him as if to keep her distanced from his anger. He swiped a hand over his face, sucking in air and staring at her out of feral eyes. “Fuck, fuck.” He punched a fist backward and dented the sheetrock. “Fuck, I should’ve stopped it. I should’ve been there.”

“You were there. Calm the hell down. You’re not helping.”

More punching. More dents.

What was wrong with him? He seemed fine in the kitchen. Did she look that bad? She turned toward the mirror.

37