Shattered Dreams (41 page)

Gwen Anderson hadn’t. The crazed woman had fought Jimbo to the death, trying the entire time to inflict damage with the knife. Jimbo had no choice but to use an evasive move to keep the blade from piercing his heart. With Jimbo suddenly out of the way, Gwen had accidentally stabbed herself, hitting a major artery, and bled out in minutes while heroic efforts to stop the blood loss did no good.

The door finally opened and a doctor walked out, pulling off latex gloves. After he disposed of them, he untied his mask, uncovering a warm smile.

Jason’s breath expelled in one long sigh, and he and Jimbo rushed toward the man.

“Well?”

“They’re both fine. Both awake and asking for you two, if your names happen to be Jason and Jimbo.”

“Thank God,” Jason said as he shook the doctor’s hand.

“Of course, they’ll have to spend the night for observation. Just to make sure. If you’ll check at the desk, the nurse will give you their room numbers.”

When he found her room, Jason hesitated at the door, not sure how Claire would greet him. He silently observed her before wiping worry off his face. The movement drew her attention.

He smiled and pushed into the room. “Are they feeding you properly in this joint?”

“Hi,” she said, nodding in response to his question. He noted tears in her eyes before she brushed them away. “I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again.”

Jason’s eyes blurred from his own tears. He cleared his throat to ease the baseball-sized lump forming.

“Doctor says they’re just flesh wounds, and I can take you home tomorrow.” He strove for normalcy as he walked toward her and stopped inches from the bed.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching for her. What if she still wanted distance? Still had doubts? He didn’t know if he could handle it if she still wasn’t sure of him when he was so sure of her—and absolutely certain of what she meant to him.

Jason had never prayed so hard as he had in the past hour. It amazed him how quickly his prayers changed from begging for her life to begging for his. Claire was his life, and without her in it, he didn’t know how he’d survive.

“Is Gwen dead?”

“Yes,” he murmured as he met her gaze. “Probably for the better. Saves me the trouble of killing her and spending the rest of my life in prison for murder.”

Claire offered him a woeful smile. Then anguish crossed her features and tears broke free, sliding down her face like rain on glass. “She hated me, all while I thought she was my friend. I loved her. How could this happen?”

Jason’s uncertainty fled. He sat on the bed and pulled Claire into his arms.

“Shush.” He rubbed his hands soothingly over her back and tried to kiss her tears away. “It’s not your fault. Things happen. People don’t live up to your expectations.”

Then because he couldn’t resist, his lips sought hers, and he did his best to ease her pain with soft kisses.

“I love you, Claire. I’m praying you’ll give me another chance to show you how much. I’ll always try to live up to your expectations.”

“You know what my last thoughts were before I blacked out?”

He shook his head.

Tears flowed faster, and she brushed them away. “I realized how much I love you, and how I’d never told you. How I’d die, and you’d never know how much you mean to me.”

Between her wretched sobs, she said, “I love you.”

Chapter 66

The next morning, Crystal stared at the television from her hospital bed, flicking the remote. After trying a plethora of stations, she hit the
OFF
button and tossed the gadget on the rolling table in front of her. She was bored out of her gourd.

Just then the door opened.

“Hey, Red.” Jimbo stepped into the room carrying a huge bouquet of flowers.

“Hey yourself, cowboy.” Her grin made an appearance for the first time since she’d come to. The man always was a sight for sore eyes, but today she was especially glad to see him.

“Are those for me?”

“They reminded me of you. You add color to my life.” He set them on the rolling table. “Seemed fitting to add a little color to yours.”

“How sweet.” And so unlike Jimbo to do something so romantic.

She imagined there were a lot of things she had to learn about the cowboy besides the fact that he made her insides quiver. Just as she knew there were lots of things about her he had to learn.

“They treating you right?”

“No.” Crystal snorted. “Food sucks, and they have a no-alcohol rule. So bourbon’s out.”

“You’ll survive.” He bent and kissed the tip of her nose. “Once I get you home, I’ll feed you, and make sure it includes a glass of bourbon.”

“You’re springing me?”

“Your doctor’s on the way.” He grinned. “Claire’s being released too. I told Jason I’d bring you both home, but he’s not about to let her out of his sight.” His smile died, and his serious gaze roamed over her. “I’m not about to let you out of my sight either.”

Crystal cleared her throat. She glanced down at her hands, a little embarrassed by the warm flush stealing up her face.

“Claire told me if it wasn’t for you, we might be dead,” she said softly, meeting those solemn eyes. “That if you hadn’t kept digging, Gwen Anderson would have gotten away with murder, and I would most likely be blamed.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice as sincere as she’d ever heard it. “I wasn’t about to make a repeat mistake of not looking deeper.”

Tears welled in Crystal’s eyes. “So much pointed directly at me, but you believed in me.”

“You can be a hard-nosed bitch, but you’re no killer. You’re not a cheater either. I should’ve listened to you, darlin’. I’m sorry.”

“You think we have a chance of making something from the ashes?”

“Ashes?”

“We always seem to flash and burn when we connect. I’m worried at some point, all we’ll have left will be ashes.”

“Depends on what’s burning. Fire forges steel, makes it stronger.”

“You think so?” When he nodded slowly, she smiled, letting it reach her eyes. “I like that.”

“So do I,” Jimbo whispered, and lowered his mouth to hers.

• • •

“You ready? The girls are anxious to see you.” Jason pushed the wheelchair toward Claire, who stood staring out the window. “And I’m anxious to make sure you get a decent meal.”

She turned. A question formed in her eyes when she saw the chair.

“Hospital policy. Now, sit.”

Her expression turned mischievous. “Are you telling me what to do?”

“Merely advising, as usual. As your lawyer, it’s my job to advise.”

“I like the sound of that,” she said as she plopped into the chair. “My own personal lawyer.”

“Yep. You’ll never get rid of me now.” He bent over and kissed her. “I’m your lawyer for life. You got that?”

Claire nodded. “I’m ready to go home.”

Pushing the chair, Jason headed for the elevator where they met up with Jimbo and Crystal.

Together the four of them drove north, away from Key Largo and toward the rest of their lives.

The End

Thank you for reading
Shattered Dreams
. If you enjoyed it, please help others find it by posting a review wherever you bought it. I appreciate all reviews, whether positive or negative. Share a link, tweet about it, Facebook it . . . everything helps in this interconnected Internet world.

If you’d like to know when my next book is available, simply sign up for my newsletter on my website,
www.sandyloyd.com
, or e-mail me at
[email protected]
and I’ll add you to my list.

Follow me on Twitter at @sloydwrites, or like my Facebook page at
http://facebook.com/sloydwrites
.

If you’d like to read more of my work, turn the page for the first chapter of
The Sin Factor
, Book 1 of the DC Bad Boys series. It’s an award-winning story that doesn’t skimp on romance, and the hero and heroine fall in love while solving a mystery.

About the Author

Sandy Loyd is an empty nester who now resides in Kentucky and writes full time. She’s published almost two dozen novels in several genres, including contemporary romance and romantic suspense. She strives to come up with fun characters, people you would love to call friends. We all know that friends have their baggage, and when we discover what makes them tick, we come to love them even more.

No matter the genre, she always tries to weave a warm love story into her work, providing enough twists and turns to entertain any reader.

Excerpt from The Sin Factor

Below is an excerpt from Sandy’s first published romantic suspense. Her characters have fun while they’re falling in love and saving the world.

THE SIN FACTOR

In this intriguing mystery, Jeffrey Sinclair has a thief in his midst. One of his highly sensitive prototypes has gone missing, and he’s on a timeline to recover it to avoid bankruptcy. In his search he finds himself in the middle of a deadly game where trust is a luxury he can’t afford. The last person to have the devices has been killed and now his only link to the stolen property is the man’s widow.
 

Avery Montgomery is a woman heroes marry and protect for life, and Sin’s never been the protecting, hero type—not like her dead husband. When her life is put in danger, Jeffrey strives to keep her safe, while following the twists and turns to uncover the truth before it’s too late. Unfortunately, time spent with Avery makes him yearn for the impossible…to be her hero.

This is a story about perceptions, misconceptions, and what can happen when those who misconceive, abuse their power. In short—a few good men gone wild.

CHAPTER 1

Tree branches swayed, bending to the will of a brisk breeze. Dusk prevailed—that moment in time when it was neither dark nor light.

Avery Montgomery slowly turned to peer at the surrounding landscape, scrutinizing the trees and brush to her left and directly behind her where the gravesites ended. In front of her and still visible in the twilight row after row of pearly headstones fanned out in precise lines.

Shivering, she rubbed her arms.

She waited.

As if her thoughts had ordered the air to still, the leaves stopped their movement. For endless minutes all was calm, until a prickly sensation at the back of her neck indicated his presence, a feeling she’d had before.

Every nerve ending in her body stood at alert. Still waiting. For what, she had no idea.

She closed her eyes and chastised herself. After all, she stood in a cemetery—Arlington, at that. She took a deep breath. The smell of fresh-cut grass eased the eeriness of standing so close to the remains of dead soldiers.

Yet, the feeling of being watched didn’t dissipate. Did he realize she sensed him watching? Why assume it was a he? She pretended not to notice. If she pretended hard enough, then
he
wasn’t real. Pretending had become a huge part of her life in recent years. She had no reason to doubt her pretense wouldn’t work. It had all those other nights she’d stood staring at the graves of two men who’d died almost two months ago.

Avery’s focus returned to the headstones. She concentrated on the chiseled words.

Major Michael Andrew Montgomery.

Major Marshall Compton Crandall.

One had been her husband for most of her adult life and the other had been his best friend. Both died serving their country, a sacrifice honored with an Arlington burial.

She glanced toward the heavens. If only she could go back in time and undo her past. Unfortunately, it was written, never to be undone, and she would have to live with the consequences.

“You look so sad.”

She pivoted and leaned toward the voice. The soft sound penetrated her ears and reached into her soul, as if directed solely, intimately to her. Squinting, she could only see shadows of trees in the now moonlit darkness.

Ignore it. It isn’t real.

Avery shrugged it off and sighed. She was obviously hallucinating. She stood alone in the middle of a cemetery, and cemeteries were notorious for evoking weird feelings.

“I guess I am sad,” she whispered, going against her mind’s reasoning because she felt compelled to answer. Oh, dear God. She was going crazy. Why did she have this overwhelming need to hear his voice again? Avery’s narrowed gaze searched the darkened brush once more. She spent a moment listening. When no other noise sounded, she turned back to the two graves.

In seconds, tears emerged, and it dawned on her that she
was
sad . . . grief-stricken . . . for what would never be . . . for what her transgressions had manifested.

“I’m so sorry, Mike. I never meant to make such a mess of things.” More tears trickled. Her husband had gone to his grave with no other word than the confusing letter he’d sent right before he died. She’d never know if he’d forgiven her or not.

Stop it. It’s too late for forgiveness.

She wiped away her tears.

A ping sounded a few feet away. In the next instant, a force hit her from behind, throwing her off-balance. Her legs buckled from the weight. Too stunned to do anything but put out her hands to soften the fall, she hit the ground with a hard thud.

“
Oomph
,” she cried out none too gracefully as the air escaped her chest. She slowly gained her wits and tried to move, but couldn’t. Something . . . or someone . . . hampered her. A man. He rolled with her, using the headstones as a shield. A chunk of earth bounced off the ground only inches away and she identified the ping.

“My God! Those are bullets.” Arms flailing, she struggled to get up.

“Stay down,” he said, his voice low but urgent.

She couldn’t do much else with the man sprawled on top of her. She recognized her figment’s voice. A living, breathing human voice.

“This is Arlington,” she whispered, fighting to rein in her out-of-control imagining of a gun-toting terrorist hiding in the bushes taking potshots. “Why is someone shooting?”