Midnight Hero (26 page)

Aidan hesitated. “Bailey, your mom is in the command cen
ter across the street. She wants to see you. This incident shook her up pretty badly.”

Bailey nodded. “I imagine it did.”

“I'll take Bailey over before I head to the hospital.” Con drew her close, sheltering her against his body. “Aidan, what's DiMarco's status?”

“Second-degree burns and gunshot wounds. He's on the way to Mercy Hospital.” Aidan's gaze assessed Bailey. “How are you holding up?”

“Okay, thanks.”

Aidan nodded, a gesture of respect. “Incredible job in there.”

Her subdued reply was barely discernable. “I just did what I had to.”

“Don't kid yourself.” Aidan's face grew serious. “Because of you, my brother walked out instead of being carried out.”

Bailey stiffened. “He did the same for me.”

Con narrowed his eyes at Aidan in warning. Him dying was the last thing he wanted her to think about. He attempted to steer the conversation to safer ground. “If I recall, you and Liam dragged me out. In fact, one of you apes had ahold of my hair.” He grimaced. “What's left of it that Grady didn't shave off.”

The brother in question suddenly appeared out of the swirling storm. “Taking my name in vain again, I see. Think you're getting away with driving yourself to the hospital? Think again.”

“I'm fine.” Con frowned. So that's why Aidan was stalling him. It
was
a conspiracy. “I wouldn't risk it, otherwise.”

“The E.R. doc will be the judge of that. Until you get his okay, you're not driving.”

“Yes, Mom.” Con rolled his eyes. “Remember, bro, paybacks are hell.”

Grady smirked. “Looking forward to it. Get your butt in the truck.”

Aidan's grin flashed. “Now that your chauffeur has arrived, I've gotta run.” With a final wave, he sprinted away. As commanding officer, he'd be on-site the rest of the night and most of the following day.

Con lifted the yellow tape so Bailey could duck underneath. Followed by Grady, they finally climbed into his pickup.

 

Several hours later, they walked out of the hospital, with Con the disgusted owner of six stitches. His CAT scan and vitals were good, and he'd refused pain meds, so he was cleared to drive. Bailey had checked out fine.

Ellen Chambers had insisted on following them to the hospital. She and Bailey had engaged in a heated discussion in the waiting area while he had his scan. By the time it was over, Ellen was gone and Bailey was even paler than before.

Inside the truck, Con started the engine and turned the heater on full blast. “The windshield will take a minute or two to clear.” He touched Bailey's arm, offering comfort. “Uh…everything go okay with your mom?”

“Surprisingly, after the first few hairy minutes, yes. She actually admitted she was grateful to you for keeping me alive.” She slumped in the seat, both her fatigue and her relief palpable. “She wanted to stay, but respected my need for you and I to have privacy, and agreed to wait until tomorrow to talk.”

Not sure what to make of that development, he stared out the frost-patched window at the dark, icy landscape. “Maybe she's coming around.” He tried to ignore the other possibility clanging painfully inside his skull. If Bailey planned to break up with him for good, maybe Dr. Chambers's willingness to leave simply meant Mommy dearest would get what she wanted sooner.

“Maybe. I hope so. I'm glad she didn't kick up more of a fuss. I honestly expected her to.” Bailey sighed. “I'm too beat to even begin to decipher her sudden about-face tonight.” She leaned her head back against the seat. “What was that explosion when the SWAT team burst inside the theater? I thought DiMarco disarmed the doors.”

“He did. It was a flash-bang grenade. SOP for dynamic entry.” The windshield had finally cleared, and he reached across and buckled her seat belt. “The brilliant light and loud kaboom scrambles the senses. The shock factor gives SWAT time to neutralize the bad guys. And the smoke provides cover.”

“Oh,” she replied in a listless tone.

He glanced at her in concern. He needed to get her home ASAP. He'd tried to send her home with her mother, but she'd refused. “I'm sorry you worried about me, sweetheart. My brothers were just looking out for my welfare. They didn't know how bad of a hit I'd sustained. Sometimes mortally wounded people don't even realize they're injured. Adrenaline blocks the pain.”

He released the emergency brake, and slowly drove out of the parking lot and onto the icy street. “Aidan and Liam knew you'd be taken care of. We're briefed on the situation before going in, and each team member is assigned a specific duty.”

“Hunter took good care of me. Even if he wouldn't let me go to you,” she added in a grievous tone.

“You looked like you were about to hurt him.”

“Darned right. I was afraid you were…” She choked.

Yeah, and it wouldn't tilt the odds in his favor. His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Don't dwell on that. We're both okay, and that's what matters.” The moment of reckoning would arrive all too soon.

She didn't say another word all the way to her place. Con parked in the small lot behind her building. Had she fallen asleep? He grabbed his nylon gym bag from behind the seat before striding around to the passenger side and opening the door. He'd planned on the two of them spending the night together at the Ambassador Hotel and had packed accordingly.

She stared straight ahead, her expression dazed, and he touched her arm. “Let's get you inside.”

He tried to carry her, but she refused. He supported most of her weight as he helped her to the top-floor apartment of the converted Victorian house. He held the vase of roses while she fumbled in her purse for the key. Good thing Liam and Aidan had been on the ball or he would have had to kick in the door. And wouldn't that have gone over well?

Inside, she flicked the light switch. Nothing happened. She groaned. “The electricity is out. I'm glad I have gas appliances, because I am not waiting one more minute for a hot shower.”

“Is that the best idea? You're nearly out on your feet—” He
broke off at her cranky scowl. “On second thought, it will probably make you feel better.”

She trudged toward the bathroom, then turned back. “Con? Don't leave.”

He wasn't about to leave her in this condition. “I'm not going anywhere.”

Her teeth worried her lower lip. “We need to talk.”

The emotions he'd been stonewalling whammed him in a rush of dread. “I know.” Heart sinking, he headed into her bedroom. They
would
talk. But not before she had a chance to rest.

Luckily, Bailey the romantic had candles all over the apartment. Even better, there was a fireplace in her bedroom. Bless the Victorians and their lack of technology. He set the roses on the nightstand alongside a stack of books, dropped his bag beside it, and then built a roaring blaze.

Firelight washed the pearl gray walls, and the chilly room warmed. Bailey floated out of the attached bathroom in a cloud of rose-petal-scented vapor. Carrying his leather jacket in one hand, she wore a long, cream silk nightgown that left her arms bare. Damp, golden-red curls, brighter than the crackling flames, spilled over her shoulders. Her sleepy blue eyes reflected the glowing light. His breath jammed in his lungs. His goddess. Aphrodite rising from the misty sea.

She draped his jacket over a gray upholstered chair beside the queen-size bed, and said something. He saw her sweet mouth move, heard her low, musical voice, but the words did not compute. She cocked her head. “Con?”

He blinked away the sensual haze. “Sorry, what did you say?”

Her tired smile was patient. “I left you plenty of hot water.”

Along with stonewalling his emotions, he'd been ignoring the aches and pains stabbing his fatigued muscles. He was operating on adrenaline dregs and stubborn Irish determination. When he finally crashed, he was gonna hit hard and fast. Not to mention, he probably smelled like Letty's bulldog, Jean Claude. A shower wasn't a bad idea. He turned down the pale gray comforter on the bed and patted the inviting mauve satin sheets. “Hop in. I'll just be a couple minutes. Then I'll fix you something to eat.”

Con carried his bag into the bathroom. A huge, old-fashioned claw-footed tub sat in an alcove surrounded on three sides by a glass block partition. Dozens of candles on a shelf behind the tub flickered pinpoints of light along the mauve walls. He made quick use of the separate shower on the other side of the partition. After checking the stitches on his scalp in the mirror—crap, he now had a distinctive part in his hair—he replaced the bandage on his forehead. Then he brushed his teeth and shaved.

When he strode out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, the bed was empty. Barefoot, he tugged the hem of his dark green cotton shirt over his clean jeans and followed muffled sounds to the kitchen. Candles on the counter shone with soft, muted light. Bailey glanced up from stirring a pan of scrambled eggs at the gas stove, and he frowned. “Hey, I was going to do that.”

“You're wiped out, too.” Her fingertips brushed the bandage on his forehead. “Not to mention injured.”

He opened his mouth to speak. She pressed her fingers to his lips, and his muscles tightened with the urge to kiss her fingertips, the soft skin on the back of her hand, her warm palm. He fought down his need. He could not touch her unless she told him she was his. Exhausted and vulnerable, they could easily start out seeking comfort and end up doing something she would regret.

“If you're about to say, ‘it's just a scratch,' be warned. I'll clobber you with the frying pan.” She didn't look like she was kidding. Con bit back the words. He made toast and put on the teakettle so she could have peppermint tea.

When the eggs were done, they dished up two plates. She steeped tea, he poured orange juice for himself. They moved in perfect tandem in the small kitchen, as smoothly as if they'd lived and worked side-by-side for years.

Bailey exhaled softly. “I don't have enough energy to sit at the table.”

They walked into the bedroom. She set her plate and mug on the nightstand and slid into bed. Con put his food on the opposite nightstand, and started to remove his jacket from the chair. Bailey patted the sheets. “No way. You're as tired as I am.”

He climbed into bed, careful to keep his distance. She wanted reassurance, nothing more. Even so, his pulse kicked up. And he'd thought working so close to her in the cozy kitchen was torture.

They consumed their meals in silence, too hungry and exhausted for conversation. Bailey started to get up with the empty dishes, but he blocked her with his forearm. “Let me.”

She fell back against the pillows. “All right. But when you get back, we talk. We need this settled. Once and for all.”

His stomach flip-flopped. “Right.” He'd wanted her to rest first, but she seemed determined to have her say. He gritted his teeth against a backlash of pain.
Once and for all.
He prayed all the way to the kitchen her words weren't prophetic.

Nerves jittering, he cat-footed back to the bedroom. Outside the door, he braced himself. No matter what she'd decided, he had to accept it. He didn't have any arguments left. She'd seen and experienced the violence, the pain of his world firsthand. If she didn't want to share it, he couldn't blame her.

Braced for the worst, he walked through the door. “I'm ready—” He jolted to a stop. She was curled on her side…sound asleep.

So this was what death-row inmates felt like when the warden called at the last minute. Relief warred with disappointment. Had impending doom been merely forestalled? Or had he just missed out on receiving his heart's desire?

He stripped off his clothes and changed into a pair of black cotton drawstring pants. Yes or no? Heartbreak or joy? Hearing the verdict had to wait.

He briefly considered sacking out on the couch, and dismissed it. If bad dreams assaulted her, he wanted to be nearby. The chair? Every exhausted, aching cell in his body protested. And she
had
invited him into her bed. To rest.

Con slipped under the covers beside the woman who owned him, body and soul. He could not keep from curving himself protectively around her. He draped a careful arm across her waist. Holding her close, pain slammed into him as he breathed in her rose-petal and peppermint scent.

Maybe for the very last time.

10:00 a.m.

C
on lay propped on one elbow, watching Bailey slumber. Bad dreams had disturbed her several times during the past few hours. He'd comforted her cries, and she'd finally succumbed to deep, dreamless sleep.

He'd awakened thirty minutes ago and slipped out of bed to stoke the fire. When he'd returned, Bailey had rolled onto her back, but continued sleeping. Her shiny curls glowed in the firelight. Long eyelashes curved in coppery crescents on her sleep-warmed cheeks. Slow breaths sighed from her softly parted pink lips. The bruises on her cheek had darkened, and the bandage on her neck looked harshly out of place on her creamy skin. Stark evidence of DiMarco's cruelty to the most gentle, loving woman on the planet.

Con fought down a hot surge of anger. He needed to stay cool and levelheaded. Needed every cylinder firing at full capacity for the looming discussion. Needed all his strength to walk away from her if she demanded he leave forever. He drank in the sight of her sleeping beside him, barricading the memory deep in his heart. For now, for a stolen moment in time, she was his to love. To cherish.

All too soon, she stirred, and her long eyelashes floated up. Apprehension jittered up his spine.
Reprieve over, pal.

Her puzzled blue eyes stared at him. She blinked. “Am I dreaming?”

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “No. I'm here.” For the moment.

She glanced at the gloom crowding the lace-curtained windows. “I went to sleep.”

“Yeah, that happens.” Especially when you'd been hunted down like an animal for fifteen hours by gun-wielding killers.

She stretched, and her silky calf slid over his foot. A mere innocent brush of skin on skin, but his body instantly went rock hard. He jerked his foot away like she'd burned him. So much for cool and levelheaded. She yawned. “How long have we been asleep?”

“A couple hours.” Outside, the wind howled and sleet pattered the windowpanes. “It's still storming.”

“Mmm.” She turned on her side facing him and snuggled against him. “It's nice. Like being in a safe, cozy nest.”

She wasn't nearly as safe as she thought, with her soft, sweet smelling body snuggled so close. Battling the overwhelming urge to kiss her, touch her, to make her his, he eased away.

“Where are you going?” She again moved close.

“Sorry, darlin', my self-control only extends so far.” And raging hunger was rapidly consuming what little he had left.

The slow, trusting curve of her lips was as tempting as a banquet to a starving beggar. She chuckled. “That's a bad thing?”

He didn't respond, and she studied his somber face. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing is settled between us.”

She frowned, her expression confused. “What?” Her eyes widened. “Oh! I fell asleep too fast.” She flung her arms around him. “I love you!”

“I love you, too, baby. We've already established that.” The consolation prize before the big bad news. She'd told him she loved him in the diner. Then broken up with him. He seemed to have forgotten how to breathe. He inhaled sharply. Since when did breathing hurt? “It didn't stop you from breaking up with me yesterday morning.”

“Oh, Con.” Tears pooled in her eyes. “I never wanted to hurt you. I'm sorry.”

Agony slashed through him. The moment of reckoning. The thought of never seeing her again shredded his insides worse then he'd ever imagined, as if he'd eaten ground glass. “Sorry because you have to tell me to leave?”

She gasped. “No! Stay!” Her arms tightened. “Don't go.”

Stay?
Temporarily, to help her deal with the trauma…or for the long haul? “Be honest with me, darlin', I can take it. After last night, can you be with me?”

“After last night, I can't be without you.” She tenderly cupped his face. “You belong to me, and I belong to you.”

Pressure burned behind his eyes. His throat felt tight, raw, and he swallowed hard, not yet able to believe. “Will it eventually drive a wedge between us? Will you resent me, because you had to hurt someone on my behalf?”

She shook her head. “Absolutely not. I'm sorry it happened, and I'll never forget what I had to do. But if DiMarco had let you go and walked away, he wouldn't have been hurt. He chose his own fate.” She stroked Con's face. “If I hadn't stopped him, he would have killed you. It's impossible to bargain with evil or compromise with corruption. I can live with my decision.”

A tiny spiral of hope glittered to life. “You can live with it, but will it haunt you?”

“Remember when you said you still see the face of every man you've killed in the line of duty?” He nodded, and she continued. “That's the difference between us and them. It's easy for criminals to kill; they don't think twice about taking a life.” Her smile was gentle. “When it haunts you…that's how you know you're one of the good guys.”

The constriction in his chest loosened. She understood the choices he faced every day. She had no doubts they'd both done the right thing. What an amazingly generous, intelligent woman.

Breathe.
One more hurdle to jump. “What about seeing me shot, thinking I was dead? Can you live with that, day after day?”

“It's an awful feeling I never want to experience again.” Bailey bit her lip. “However, you were right all along. All my planning was my way of trying to maintain control.” She snorted. “Ha! There's no such thing. From now on, I will live in the moment. Live every moment. Every second with you is precious.” She drew a shaky breath. “I won't waste any more energy worrying. If you're hurt…or worse…on the job,
then
I'll deal with it.”

He held her gaze. “I promise, Bailey, I will do my damnedest to come home to you every night. I won't try to be a hero.”

“You already are. And you know what?” She touched the bandage on his forehead. “The world needs heroes.”

Hope soared into joy. He feathered his fingers through her silky curls. “No scars, darlin'?” he whispered.

Her smile widened. “Not a one.” She pointed at a thick volume on the nightstand. “There's a quote in there by Noela Evans. ‘Challenge is a dragon with a gift in its mouth. Tame the dragon, and the gift is yours.'” She paused. “I didn't understand it before, but I do now. I faced down my worst fears…and conquered them. The privilege of sharing one day with you is worth risking the pain of a lifetime without you.” Firelight flickered in her eyes. Within the warm blue depths he saw wisdom. Resolve. Complete peace. “Con…you're my gift.”

His heart melted. He'd waited, longed for the moment when she would completely accept him for who and what he was. Once upon a time, he'd thought her as delicate as his mother's porcelain dolls. But this woman possessed strength and fortitude beyond imagining. He would never doubt, never underestimate her again.

She studied him, her gaze somber. “So, are we okay?”

He grinned, relief and happiness making him feel like he was floating. “Better than okay, baby.”

“Good.” Her copper brows arched. “Because I think it's about time you made love to me.”

Air exploded from his lungs. “Whoa! Where did that come from?”

She trailed a fingertip along his jaw, down his throat. He shivered under the sensual torture. “From the depths of my heart.”

His body thought it was a damn fine idea. His brain wondered if she was well enough. She'd been through the wringer tonight. “Don't you want to wait until you're feeling better? Until—”

She stopped him with gentle fingers on his mouth. “I'm tired of waiting. We've waited long enough.” She grinned impishly. “Who knows? There could be a giant, fiery meteor headed our way this very minute.” She replaced her fingers with her lips and kissed him, as hungry for his taste as he was for hers.

Brilliant stars burst inside his head. “Well, when you put it that way…” He kicked off the comforter. Between the fire crackling in the fireplace and the sparks crackling in his blood, it was plenty hot. And he wanted lots of room to maneuver.

“Oh!” She gasped, and he followed her horrified gaze downward, to the three black-and-purple bruises mottling his chest. “What happened?”

“It's where the Kevlar vest absorbed the rounds. No biggie.”

“Thank God for Kevlar.” She bent and tenderly kissed each bruise. “My poor baby.”

Wherever her soft, moist mouth touched, his skin jumped and quivered in reaction. “On second thought, it kinda hurts here, too.” He pointed to his forehead, and she brushed her lips along his dark brow. “And here.” He touched his bottom lip.

She giggled. “There's nothing wrong with your lips.” But she bestowed a kiss there, anyway.

“Mmm. I like your lips, too.” He slid his fingers into her hair and deepened the kiss, drinking in warm, willing woman and peppermint.

She caressed his shoulders, chest, then moved lower to his abs and stomach. He rolled to his back and let her explore. In spite of her lack of experience, she'd never been timid about touching him. Knowing her, she'd conducted meticulous research. His girl was thorough with every detail.

Hoo boy! He hissed in delight. Whatever books she'd been reading, he highly recommended them. His pulse kicked up and he fisted his hands. He wanted to pounce and devour her. Instead, he slowly released his breath. Forced himself to lie still.
Don't go all caveman and scare her. Go slow. Be careful.

The snap and sizzle of the flames faded as his world narrowed to only her. Her lovely face swam in his vision. Her uneven breathing sighed in his ears. Her intoxicating scent dizzied his senses.
Heaven.

“I love your body.” She sighed, planting tiny kisses all over his chest. Her hair trailed over his torso, cool silk teasing his fevered skin. “So different from mine. All fascinating planes and angles. So strong, so hard.”

Con laughed. “Yeah, and getting harder by the minute.”

“I also love knowing I turn you on.” She grinned. “It makes me drunk with power.”

“You should be staggering, then.” He returned her grin. “By all means, have another round on me, darlin'.”

Bailey slid her palms up Con's broad chest, reveling in his response. His body was a thrilling playground of contrasting sensation. Smooth, hot skin. Sinewy muscles. Crisp hair that tickled her fingertips. She kissed a meandering path from his ridged abs to his neck. His skin rippled under her touch, and his muscles bunched everywhere her lips touched. She nuzzled into his throat and inhaled his scent…fresh soap and warm, aroused man. Yum. She nibbled his earlobe, then blew softly into his ear.

He arched and groaned. The room spun, and without warning, she found herself on her back beneath him. His passion-dilated brown eyes danced. He grinned, white and wicked, and her stomach flip-flopped. “My turn to play.”

Embracing her with his gaze, he lowered his head, and their breaths met, mingled. Whisper-soft, his lips touched hers. He nibbled on her lower lip, kissed the corners of her mouth, the bow of her upper lip. Fleeting kisses, sweet with promise.

He moved closer, increasing the delicious contact. His tongue flirted with hers, withdrew. She sighed in disappointment. Twice more he enticed her with brief, unsatisfying forays until she emitted a frustrated moan. Immediately, he answered her need, cradling her head in his palm as his tongue glided inside her mouth. His taste rocketed through her, cinnamon and spice, dangerously arousing. Her body was alive with the taste of him, the scent of him.

His muscles taut with ruthless control, Con's tongue stroked the inside of her mouth and dallied in intimate play. Slow and patient, his talented tongue teased and coaxed.

Desire built, need grew, and she gripped his shoulders. His body heat radiated through the thin fabric of her gown and his heartbeat slammed against hers. She drank in his potent, intoxicating kisses, craving more. So much more. Her breasts tingled, tight with need, and she rubbed against the hard planes of his chest. He groaned into her mouth.

Panting, he broke the kiss and eased back. “You're shaking,” he whispered.

“So are you.”

“Nerves?” he asked, his expression gentle.

“Passion,” she breathed. “You?”

“Same here. Passion.” He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest that vibrated inside her. “The word is hardly adequate to describe what I'm feeling. Whew!” He exhaled and rubbed his hand over his hair. “Before I lose
all
ability to think, I need my coat.” He leaned over and tugged his leather jacket off the chair.

“What?” Confused, she shook her head. “I never figured you for the shy type. A bit late for an attack of modesty, don't you think?”

He laughed. “Baby, I've got condoms in the pocket.”

She arched her brows. “Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?”

“I'd hoped.” He dumped a handful of bright gold wrappers on the bed. “So I came prepared.”

“Holy cow.” She goggled at the stack. “I guess so!”

His mischievous grin flashed. “Hope we don't run out before the storm is over.”

“I dunno. I've got quite a list of activities for later.”

“And ‘later' just arrived.” He kissed her, long and lingeringly. “Now that's a ‘honey-do' list I can get into.”

“Your honey appreciates your enthusiasm.” She tugged on the drawstring at his waist. “Can I help you out of those pants, Officer Sexy?”

Con's grin widened. “You can debrief me any time.”

Her giggles dissolved as he knelt and his pants slid low on his hips. With quick, efficient movements, he stripped them off. He was perfect. Male beauty and grace, strong and powerful. She blinked in awe. “Wow.”

His fingers flirted with her ankle, stroked her calf and then glided along her thigh, sliding up her nightgown. “Now, let's get this off.”