Midnight Hero (21 page)

Bailey jolted to a stop. Yes, she
had
known. On a subconscious level, she'd realized a slumbering dragon lived inside her. She had battled for years to keep it asleep. Because if she couldn't control it…what then? The fear, the memories of her parents screaming at one another, tearing each other apart emotionally, had kept the dragon in chains. Unconsciously, she'd followed her mother's example and enslaved her emotions. Maintained control at all costs. The dragon had always been something to fear, to avoid. To slay.

Con's wise advice to come to terms with it was right on target. If she slew the dragon she would forever kill a vital part of who she was. Her drive. Her confidence.

Her passion.

She would forfeit her happiness. Destroy her future.

The dragon had roared to life and would not be quieted. Bailey opened her arms and embraced it. And if she couldn't control it? She squared her shoulders. She'd learn to deal with the consequences. The former distinct line between black and white was irrevocably smudged, gray and fuzzy. In ashes.

When she reached the fallen robber, she tore open packages containing the blankets and spread the first comforter over him.

He stirred, moaned and opened his eyes. “Help me.”

Compassion swirled inside her. In spite of the fact that he'd tried to rape her, and kill both her and Con, he was still a human being. As reprehensible and dangerous as he was, he must be suffering unspeakable pain. “You just tried to kill the only man trained to help you. I can't move you without causing further injury, but I'll try to make you comfortable.”

He spat out a filthy epithet before again losing consciousness.

She shuddered. Imagine living with such clawing hatred. Bitter, twisted values. Desire for material possessions that drove him to steal. And kill. None of it could ever make him happy…or re
motely satisfied. One of two fates awaited him. Sudden, violent death, or growing old and feeble locked in a steel cage. When he died, he would die alone. A wasted life. But his choice. He deserved to pay for his crimes. Nevertheless, pity swelled inside her. She covered him with the second comforter and tiptoed away.

After a fast detour into the Dollar Store for ibuprofen and bottled water, she ran back to Con. She stood for a moment with the bottles clutched to her chest, watching him sleep. The most important person in her world. Hurt and vulnerable. Her heart turned over. She would not let anything happen to him.

She reined in her tumbling emotions and arranged first-aid supplies on a nearby table. She eased onto the mattress beside him. “Con? Con, wake up.”

He moaned and opened his eyes. The deep mahogany pools were cloudy with pain. “Yo. Officer O'Rourke, reporting for duty.”

She forced a smile. “You're easily roused. That's a good thing, according to Grady.” Of course, he hadn't been asleep very long.

“I knew you were here. I smelled you in my dreams.” A sleepy, sensual grin slid across his mouth. “You could arouse the dead, sweetheart.”

Her pulse stuttered.
Likewise.
“That's
rouse,
buster. As in awaken.”

“I'm awake. Mmm.” He drew a deep breath, breathing her in. “Dewy roses, warmed by the morning sun. And swaying in a soft, peppermint-scented breeze.”

She swallowed the aching lump lodged in her throat. If the sweet sentiments came from any other guy, she'd worry about his cognitive function. With Con, it wasn't the head wound talking. The fact that her battle-hardened cop wasn't afraid to show her his romantic soul touched her to the core. She'd fallen in love with the poet at first sight, but she hadn't really known the warrior until tonight. Two halves of the whole man. She loved them both.

Bailey gave herself a mental shake. Right now, Con needed first aid, not fantasies. She uncapped the water and then dumped two ibuprofen tablets into her palm. “Here, take these.”

He stared suspiciously at the pills. “What's that?”

“Something for the pain.” He started to speak, and she shook
her head. “Before you insist you don't need it, let me state for the record, Officer Sexy, you
are
taking it. One way or another.”

His slow grin gleamed. “You're not giving me much choice.”

“Nope.” She supported his head while he swallowed the pills.

“Hand me your pack, please.” He woozily propped himself on one elbow and the covers fell to his waist. His movements clumsy and sluggish, he palmed the pistol. “Finally, a weapon other than toys and athletic equipment to fight with.”

In his condition, fighting wasn't feasible. She squelched a flutter of panic. Maybe it wouldn't come to that. Metal clanged as he opened and examined the chamber, then dislodged the clip. Should he be playing with a deadly weapon when he was incapacitated? She started to say something but clamped her lips together. Disabled or not, he knew what he was doing.

He jammed the clip back into place, and then slid the gun under his pillow. “Not much ammo.”

“Better than none.” She didn't like touching guns, but sure as heck wasn't opposed to him having one. In fact, she was darned glad he did. It upped his odds for survival exponentially. “On your back again so I can do the Florence Nightingale routine.”

He collapsed onto the pillow with a barely concealed sigh of relief. His smoky eyes watched her, caressing her, as she applied antibiotic ointment and butterfly bandages. His skin was warm and smooth under her fingertips. A steady pulse beat at his temples.

Everything could have gone so differently. So wrong. She could be keeping vigil over his cold, broken body, instead of nursing him.

Her earlier insistence on planning her life to the minutest detail now struck her as incredibly foolish. Fate rolled the dice, and you accepted what you got. Looking so far into the future, she'd been blind to the present.

She slid her fingers into his silky hair. Cradling his face, she stared down at him. Every moment he was hers to cherish was precious. She hoped she would have a lifetime to do just that. “There. How does that feel?”

“Pretty damn fine.”

“I meant your wound.”

“What wound?” His muscular arms wrapped around her waist and tugged her to him, so her upper body was draped across his hard chest. “Lay with me for a while.”

“I don't want to hurt you.”

“You won't.” He held her gaze, their faces a breath apart. “For the record,” he purred, “I have no complaints whatsoever about your bedside manner.”

Would he, later, if they had the chance finally become lovers? “I—I hope not. You're so good at everything.” She worried her lower lip between her teeth. “The total sum of my knowledge comes from reading books.”

“Ah, sweetheart.” He soothed her lip with the pad of his thumb, making every nerve ending tingle. “You could never disappoint me.”

“You don't mind, then?”

“Mind?” His husky chuckle brushed her with delight. “Baby, I love knowing you're my woman. That you belong only to me.” He paused. “FYI, I don't have the wild background you think I do. Sex just for the hell of it isn't all that great.”

“You're not trying to tell me that you've never…”

“No.” He shrugged. “Don't get me wrong, I have. It feels good at the time. But it leaves you empty inside.”

Awed, she shook her head. Would this man ever stop amazing her?

He smoothed back her hair. “You look exhausted, and no wonder. Climb under the covers.”

“I'm too warm after all that exercise,” she lied. She wanted to be able to move fast if the robbers discovered their hiding place. Instead, she snuggled beside him, sharing his pillow. “Con? How did you know I was in trouble? When you didn't come, I…I thought the robber had hurt you, or—” She couldn't finish.

Keeping his arms around her, he rolled to his side, facing her. The awkward movement told her he was in more pain than he was letting on. After the jolt he'd sustained, every inch of his body had to be stiff and aching. “When I got downstairs, the guy was gone. I figured he'd reported in, and the robbers would be
pretty steamed. I'd run toward the bank to do a recon on the hostages. When I heard your conversation with Tony break off midstream…” His eyes closed briefly, then he opened them again. “My guts went ice cold. I knew what had happened.” He exhaled sharply. “My heart damn near burst out of my chest before I made it back upstairs.”

“He would have killed me. He had me in the electronics store.” Bile rose in her throat. “He's sick. He was going to—”

Con clenched his jaw, and a muscle jumped in his cheek. “Baby, did he hurt you? Are you all right?”

She shook her head. “I'm okay. I got away.”

His big hand cupped her cheek. “How?”

“I threw computers and a big screen TV at him.”

His smile was subdued. “Hooray for technology. Good job, darlin'.” He stroked her face. “How can I make it better?”

“You already have.” She'd probably have nightmares for a while, though. “I'm so glad he didn't find Nan and Constance.”

“Yeah. Speaking of courage…” His callused fingers traced the shell of her ear, sending a quiver through her. “You know I hold my mom in high regard, always knew she was strong. But after delivering Constance, I have a new respect for women.” His intense gaze darkened. “I can also see why a woman would want to adopt, instead of going through all that.”

She smiled in wonder. Aidan thought she was starting to sound like Con, but part of her had also rubbed off on him. Sometime during the night, she'd found her courage, and Con had honed his compassion. They'd shared the best parts of themselves with each other tonight. Making them both stronger, both better.

Bailey shook her head. No way would she pass up the opportunity to have Con's babies.
Please, let me have that chance.
She planted a kiss on his sensual lips. She hoped their children inherited their daddy's beautifully shaped mouth. “Nan said she's already forgotten the pain.”

“And you call
me
brave?” He frowned. “I don't know how you women do it.”

“This from a guy who eats bullets for a living?”

“Taking down perps and eating bullets is one thing. I still see every face of every man I've killed in the line of duty. I accept it. Live with it.” His expression turned more serious than she'd ever seen. But, when—” He faltered. Swallowed hard. “When I held that tiny infant in my arms and she wouldn't breathe…”

He was trembling, and she hugged him close. “It's okay. Constance is okay.”

When he spoke, his low voice was graveled. “If that baby had died in my hands, I would
not
have been able to live with it.” He sucked in an unsteady breath. “Not for a second.”

“It wouldn't have been your fault. You are not responsible for everyone's safety.”

“It sure as hell
feels
like my responsibility.”

“Which makes you the man you are. The man I love.” She drew away slightly and embraced his anguished gaze with hers. “But not everything is within your control, Con.”

“Don't I know it. How the hell…” He drew another shaky breath. “How am I gonna keep everyone alive? Including that baby upstairs? How am I gonna get us out of here?”

She'd never seen him unsure. So raw. Exposed and vulnerable. Her chest ached with the need to comfort him. “Everyone is safe for now. Let's stick with what's worked so far and handle one crisis at a time, okay?”

His beautiful mouth twisted. “I can barely stand, much less defend you in another crisis. If anything happens to you, I'll never forgive myself.”

Bailey placed gentle fingers against his lips. “You've been protecting me all night. Let me protect you for a change. You need rest.”

“I can't rest with so many lives at stake. Everyone is depending on me.”

“I'll keep watch. Go to sleep.” She brushed a kiss on his bandaged forehead. “You'll feel better and stronger when you wake up, and we'll take it from there.”

He gave her a lopsided smile. “I'd never have made it tonight without you.”

“Ditto, Officer Sexy. Now shut those gorgeous brown eyes for a while, and take a load off.”

Bailey didn't think he would ever give in, but finally, his lashes drifted down, and his breathing slowed. Fierce determination bubbled inside her. He trusted her to take care of him when he wasn't a hundred percent on top of his game. She lay there, listening to the throbbing darkness that surrounded them. She wouldn't fail him.

Con settled into deep slumber. The seconds crawled. Cold. Dark. Silent. She tried to track time in her head. How many minutes had dragged past? She needed to check in with Aidan, and she was thirsty. Also, if an hour had gone by, she had to wake Con. She eased out of his arms and off the bed. His exhaustion was so profound, he didn't even stir.

She was reaching for the water bottle when she heard it. A slight scrape, a rustle that might have been clothing. Carefully, she crept out of hiding and circled to the front of the store. Her heart slammed into her rib cage, and then pounded wildly.

A stocky man with short-cropped dark hair searched the aisles in the gloom near the entrance. Machine gun at the ready, he systematically swept row by row. Before long, he would work his way back to Con.

Every muscle cramped in dread. Her insides turned to jelly. She couldn't wake Con. In his weakened condition, a fight meant a death sentence. Yes, he had a pistol. But a handgun against a machine gun? A few bullets versus…didn't machine guns contain endless rounds of bullets? Con was the team's best shot, but he was groggy, his reflexes slow and muddled, his vision blurred.

She remembered the searing horror, the eviscerating agony that had ripped her apart when she'd thought him dead. If a firefight ensued, instead of choosing the most viable tactical position for himself, Con would do his damnedest to protect her. He'd die trying.