Secrets and Sins: Malachim (A Secrets and Sins Novel) (Entangled Ignite) (21 page)

“Walt!” she yelped. “Wait! My clothes. My stuff…” She jerked on his hold.

“I have everything you’ll need. I told you, I’m going to provide for you. You’ll never have to worry about that again.” He dragged her toward the front door.

No! Think, damn it
!

“Walt, I can’t just leave without Julie knowing where I’m at. She’ll wonder—”

“No, she won’t. Everyone will assume you just left Boston. Including…
him
,” he sneered. He jerked her into his body, removed a gun, and pointed it at her forehead. The evil of the pistol belied the gentleness suffusing his expression. “I don’t want to have to use this, Danielle, but I will. You know I will. Now come on.”

“Walt—”

The door knob rattled, twisted.

They froze.

Walt hissed. His eyes narrowed; his lips thinned. He jerked her arm up between them and pointed the barrel of the gun at the door.

“Who is that? Is he with—”

The door crashed into the wall.

Walt stared, momentarily stupefied.

She didn’t stop to think. To consider the consequences.

She wrenched free of his slackened grip and knocked the arm holding the gun toward the ceiling.

A deafening boom ricocheted through the apartment. Chips of plaster and wood rained down on her.

“Son of a bitch!” Malachim launched across the entrance and slammed into Walt. The men dropped to the floor in a tangle of legs and arms. Malachim straddled Walt’s chest, grabbed the hand gripping the gun. Slammed his wrist. Once. Twice. The weapon skidded free.

She dashed around the straining pair and picked up the pistol.

Enraged, Malachim pummeled Walt until the younger man’s head lolled. With a snarl, Malachim leapt to his feet, looming over Walt as if to ensure he was truly out.

“Call 911, Danielle,” he rumbled. “And tell them to get here before I kill him.”

Chapter Twenty-nine

It was over.

For real this time.

Danielle clutched the ends of the blanket the paramedics insisted she needed to ward off shock. Too late. Shock had claimed her the moment she’d realized her friend—a friend she’d trusted—had been her stalker all along.

God. Her judgment just sucked.

She stared across the parking lot at Malachim as he conversed with Detective Rider. Even among a swarm of men, some in blue uniforms, others in plain clothes, he stood out like a bright beacon. His bright hair, strong, wide shoulders, big body. She culled comfort from looking at him.

He’d been her hero today. He’d risked his own life to save hers.

Okay, so maybe her judgment didn’t suck
too
bad.

As if discerning her thoughts, Malachim turned, arrowing his gaze on her. Not bothering with a goodbye to the officer, he pivoted and strode directly for her.

Her heart pounded.

God, she loved him. Adored him.

In the past weeks, she’d faced and survived two attempted kidnappings, a successful kidnapping, and an attempted murder. She’d conquered her fears and claimed her life back. She’d found healing and deliverance, and none of it compared to the love swelling so huge in her chest she didn’t have room to breathe.

The life and future she’d fought so hard for wouldn’t mean a damn thing without this beautiful, honorable, generous, courageous man in it.

“Hey.” He glanced over his shoulder at the ambulance pulling out of the parking lot. “The paramedics told Detective Rider Walt would be okay. Physically. None of us are too certain about his mental capacity.” Anger briefly tightened his mouth. “But with Pat’s murder, he’s going away for a long time. The make and model of the gun he had matches the shell casing found at the murder scene. They’ll have to run tests to make sure, but…” He dragged a hand through his hair. “Even his daddy’s money won’t be able to get him out of this one. He and Alex are done.”

“I still can’t believe it,” she said, even as her mind reeled with the riptide of emotion.

“I’m just so damn glad you weren’t hurt—”

“I love you,” she blurted. And winced at the abrupt, tactless declaration, but couldn’t—wouldn’t—rescind it.

He slammed to a halt, and surprise wiped his face clean of expression. His silence was daunting, intimidating.

So she rambled.

“I know it’s only been a few weeks. And I’m not just saying this because of all…”
Oh, just shut up
. “I love you,” she said quietly.

One moment, he stood there, frozen, staring at her as if she’d sprouted a third eye on her forehead. In the next, he was on her, her face clasped between his palms, his mouth crushed to hers. His tongue speared between her lips. Tasted her. Devoured her. Claimed her.

Joy flared in her soul, spread its warm, healing fingers to every limb of her body. She whimpered, clutched his wrists, and hung on. Chuckles broke free from her chest like effervescent champagne bubbles as he scattered kisses over her cheeks, mouth, nose, and eyes.

“I take it you’re happy about it?”

He growled, took her under again with his hot kiss.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered against her lips. “Jesus,” he breathed. “You drive me crazy. And here I was wondering how to convince you to stay with me and give us a chance.” He shook his head. “I love you, Danielle Guerrero. I love who you were, who you are, and who you will become.” He brushed his lips over her cheekbones, her mouth. “Come home with me,” he murmured. “Stay with me.”

He loved her.

He knew her darkest secrets, her deepest fears. He’d seen the worst of her.

And yet he loved her.

Once, he’d told her she humbled him. The truth was he honored her. With his body, his words, his heart.

And she wanted to spend the rest of her life giving him her love in return.

“Yes.”

He smiled, drew her close, and tucked her head under his chin.

“Then let’s go home.”