Slow Burn: A Texas Heat Novel (2 page)

Harper noticed he had on a bullet proof vest, some type of tactical body armor and enough ammunition and clips to kill a few hundred people.

She swallowed hard. “First the exchange. How many kids?”

The robber shrugged indifferently. “Five or six.”

Harper forgot that she was afraid. “Send them out single file with their mothers.”

“No,” he said coldly.

“Your mama must be so proud,” Harper said angrily. “It takes a real man to shove a gun in a child’s face.”

For an awful second, Harper thought he was going to shoot her. His eyes narrowed. He yelled at the hostages. The children ranged in age from eight months to nine years. Their mother’s clutched them tight, shielding them from the gunman’s aim as they ran past. A pregnant woman stood trembling near the doorway. She peed herself. The gunman cursed.

“Come on lady, ‘fore I change my mind and pop you like a balloon.”

Harper held out her hand to the woman. The mom to be shook her head. The whites of her eyes bulged in terror.

“Don’t look at him,” Harper ordered. “Look at me.” She did. “I need you to be strong, stronger than you’ve ever been. Walk towards me, keep your eyes only on me.”

Tears streamed down the pregnant woman’s ashen face. She stepped on broken glass and bullet shells.

“Good girl,” Harper said soothingly, “Almost here.”

The gunman leaned over and said, “Boo!”

The woman dropped to her knees and screamed. Harper wanted to throat punch him for that. She walked up to the woman and helped her stand. She was hysterical, weeping, snot running down her nose, whimpering. Harper held her close. “Hush now, it’s okay, you’re okay.”

The robber sniggered, “Hey Oprah? Hate to interrupt this Hallmark moment but I want her gone.”

Harper steered the woman out the door. “Go!” The pregnant woman ran and stumbled into the waiting arms of the police.

“Damn you’re a biggin’.”

Harper was used to men being intimidated by her height, the snide comments and jeers didn’t faze her anymore.

“I’m too much woman for you, pee wee.”

The gunman laughed. There were three other hostages. A rent a cop guard, a teller and a customer.

“What about us?” The teller asked.

“I’m a use you for target practice.”

The hostages quailed under his gimlet stare.

Harper snapped at him. “What do you wanna be when you grow up? I know, I want to rob banks, cause I’m too lazy to work hard and earn my own money, Oh and I want to aim big guns at women cause I have a peanut brain and microscopic dick.”

“You got a real sharp tongue on you girlie, how ‘bout I use my knife to cut it out?”

Harper glared at him defiantly. Truth is, she was scared out of her mind. If only Donavan were here and not a thousand miles away. Damn it Thor, I need you!

Chapter 3

Donavan scanned the bank building schematics. The other officers gave him a wide berth. No one in their right mind would be within arm’s-length of him.

The expression on his face made the Sheriff visibly pale. “It was her idea,” he said in self-defense.

Donavan speared him with a glacial look. The older man snapped his mouth shut. Her plan. Donavan’s jaw clenched. Harper took Jake’s Aberdeen PD jacket and his badge. She told the Sheriff that if she made the gunman believe he had a hostage of greater value – like the Sheriff’s daughter – she could trade herself for the children. He knew that’s why she did it. Brave, crazy girl.   

Donavan rattled off orders. “Get the news helicopters out of here, keep the perp talking to the negotiator, have hostage crisis ready to debrief, give the command to fall back, cancel SWAT team, they won’t be needed.”

Donavan shoved past the Sheriff. Furious didn’t even come close to the emotions twisting his gut in knots. Harper was a hostage with an armed criminal. He didn’t have the time or inclination to examine why he was in such a blind rage. He circled the perimeter for the maintenance room on the second floor. He athletically jumped for the ledge, thanks to years of Cross Fit. He worked the lock on the window, lifted himself and entered the opening in a swift, fluid motion.

The radio crackled. The gunman barked a list of demands. “A cool million in unmarked bills, transportation to the airport, a private jet – no flight plan-”

Harper huddled with the other hostages.

“I’m hungry,” The guard mumbled.

“I have to pee,” The teller said.

“I was going to file for divorce,” The customer said, “Now all I want is my husband.”

Harper reached out and held her hand tight.

“What if I never see him again?” The woman cried.

“You will,” Harper reassured her.

The gunman licked his lips and a row of gaudy, metallic teeth. “I think while they get my demands n’ such situated I’m a have me a little fun.” 

The guard moved.

“I wouldn’t try it tubby.”

The robber had disarmed the guard hours ago. He pointed at the young customer. “You, get up.”

The woman shrank back in alarm. He made a threatening move towards her. Harper stood up, all six feet, two inches of her. She faced the gunman head on.

“What do you want with her?”

He made a crude gesture. The woman sobbed.

“No,” Harper said.

With sudden violence, he knocked off the police hat and grabbed her by the pony tail.

The female customer screamed. The guard yelled.

“Shut it!” The assailant hissed. He pulled Harper half way across the lobby. She struggled mightily. Her feet slid and dragged, his fist in her hair, burned her scalp to the roots.

“I’m a put that mouth of yours to better use.”

Harper made her body go limp. She took him down to the floor with her. The gunman cursed rancid breath in her face. Sheer terror coursed through her body. Harper couldn’t reach her gun. She vaguely remembered Donavan say something about going for the windpipe. Harper rammed the sharp point of her elbow to the base of the man’s throat. The gunman wheezed as if the air were knocked from his lungs. He snarled and slammed her head against the hard floor. Harper saw swirling black dots in her line of vision. At the very edge was Donavan – stone cold and lethal.

Kill shot. None of this constitutional rights, lawyer up and trial crap. The bastard had Harper pinned to the floor, a fist in her hair. Donavan fired two shots to the head. The robber was dead before he hit the floor.  

Donavan was instantly by her side. He lifted her in his arms, stroked her hair.

“Hey,” he said in a soft tone he’d never used with her before.

She smiled faintly. “Thor, you’re late.”

Then she lost consciousness. Donavan felt a moment of blind panic. “Harper!” she didn’t move an inch. “Harper!” He felt for her pulse with unsteady hands. He let out a pent up breath. Great, she’s alive.
I’m gonna kill her!
 

Chapter 4

Aberdeen Police and firefighters sat in the waiting room of Mercy Hospital.

Donavan had to take a jog around the building just to calm himself down. Apparently, he still looked homicidal when he entered the waiting room.

“Bro,” Officer Cole Eastman said, “Murder is still a crime.”

“Let her live!” The Sheriff said.

“Harper’s the best paramedic we’ve got,” The Firefighter Chief mumbled, “Ran off the newbie.”

“Another one?” Someone called. The men laughed.

“She got a bigger set a balls than yours,” An officer said. The men smiled.

A cop clapped Donavan on the shoulder. “You gotta lighten up.”

Donavan growled.

“Okay then,” The officer scooted out of punching range. An ER physician, Doctor Quinn Daily approached them in blue scrubs.

All the uniformed men shot to their feet, all laughter aside. “Officers, I’m Doctor Daily, I treated Officer Jake Callahan, he’s in intensive care but stable. His prognosis is good.”

The police officers and firefighters sighed and clapped each other on the back, their relief palpable.

“Paramedic Harper Grant was admitted to our neurology unit as a precaution, she sustained a grade three concussion, we’re going to monitor her for any long term affects.”

Grade three concussion – did she have brain damage? Seizures? A coma? Donavan told himself to get a grip. He took a shuddering breath. “Have her parents been notified?”

“Yes, next of kin are in Europe, they’re on the next plane out, they gave consent to an Officer Donavan McClain for health information, is that you?”

“Yes,” Donavan said, “I’ll stay with her until they come.”

His fellow officers exchanged pointed looks. Donavan followed the ER physician down the hall. The fire chief did the sign of the cross over his chest. “Jesus, Joseph and Mary, have mercy on Harper’s soul.”

“He’s gonna rip her a new one,” A firefighter predicted. The officers promptly made bets. “My money’s on Harper!” Someone yelled with a $10 bill in his hand.

The men laughed and exchanged money. The fire chief scratched his gray beard. “You think she’ll survive Hurricane Donavan?”

“Yep,” The Sheriff said.

“You sound certain.”

“McClain’s been in love with that girl for years.”

The chief’s jaw dropped. “No way.”

“Care to place a friendly wager on that?”

The two captains shook hands.

Donavan stood at the foot of her hospital bed, totally out of his depth. He was so used to yelling at her, arguing, doing whatever he could to irritate her, he had no idea what to do now. The sight of Harper with her glorious black hair loose, porcelain skin so pale and delicate, sleeping fitfully just disturbed him. He swallowed past the icy lump in his throat.

“You’re sure she’ll be okay?” he asked the doctor.

“Her CAT scan and EEG were normal, no intracranial pressure or swelling of the brain, no cerebral bleeding. She’s on a pain pump for the headaches. We’ll be doing neurological checks every two hours throughout the night.”

“I’ll be here, thank you doctor.”

Long after she left, Donavan just stood there, staring at the machines that beeped, numbers flashed – heartrate, blood pressure, oxygen level, heart rhythm’s thin lines. The pain pump dripped medication through an intravenous line.

Donavan pulled up a chair near her bed. He gave into the urge to take her hand. Her palm didn’t have the softness of most women. The life lines were bold, the skin tough, these were working hands. Her fingers were surprisingly long and graceful. The nails short, blunt, plain of color. Donavan doubted if Harper ever had a manicure in her life. Suddenly, her fingers contacted around his. Donavan’s head came up. Absently he traced her life line with his thumb.

“You know, I could’ve been relaxing on a beach, sipping cocktails with Kimber butt naked.”

Harper stared at him unblinking. Her eyes were the color of wet leaves. Donavan’s chest felt tight, she looked so uncharacteristically vulnerable.

“Hey,” he said gruffly. Harper whispered something. He leaned closer. “What did you say?”

“Kimber’s tits are fake.”

Donavan grinned. “How are you feeling?”

“My head,” she winced.

Donavan realized with a start, he still held her hand. He abruptly let go.

“Your parents are taking the red eye from London, they’ll be here by morning.”

Harper nodded, flinched from the movement and closed her eyes. “You…can…go,” she said. Not a chance. He didn’t budge.

Her eyes flew to his. “Is he dead?”

“Yes.”

She sighed, relieved. “I feel woozy.”

“You’re on a pain drip.”

She drifted in and out of sleep. Harper couldn’t handle more than a glass of wine. How someone her height could be so sensitive to alcohol was beyond him. If a half glass of white zinfandel gave her a buzz – rum, whiskey, vodka, and brandy would knock her out cold. He didn’t know what a powerful IV narcotic would do to her.

An hour later he found out. It gave her nightmares. Donavan closed the room door and dimmed the lights. He tucked a blanket around her when she stiffened.

“Harper?”

She tossed and turned. Her hands curled into fists. Her breath shallow and fast. The monitor alarmed as her heart rate spiked. Her blood pressure climbed.

“Harper!”

She whimpered in her sleep. The sound made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Harper was in the grip of a night terror. Donavan tried to wake her up again. Her pulse continued to climb – 95-110-120 –

A nurse rushed in. She assumed Donavan was the significant other. “She needs to calm down, she could be reliving the trauma of the assault, it helps if you hold her.”

Donavan took down the side rail. He did something he never thought possible. He climbed in bed with Amazon. She curled into his arms as if she belonged there. Tentatively, Donavan wrapped his arms protectively around her.

“There, you see?” The RN nodded towards the monitor. As soon as he touched her, Harper’s breathing slowed to normal, her pulse lowered, blood pressure stabilized.

“Love is the best medicine,” The nurse said before leaving.

Love? Donavan cursed under his breath. Harper drove him crazy. She always had, from day one, back in the First Grade they fought like scalded cats. His hands were gentle now, rubbing her back in soothing circles, stroking her hair. Damn, it’s so soft! The blue black hair flowed like velvet silk through his fingers. One of the curls wrapped around his thumb. An odd flutter filled his chest.

Donavan longed for the physical distance of the chair. Harper snuggled closer. Her long, athletic body fit perfectly with his. Donavan wanted to let go and get the hell out of that bed. He glanced at the monitor. Her vital signs were normal. Damn pain drip! Being this close to her made him feel…uncomfortable. He shifted. Harper scooted closer. Her hand rested on his chest. One long leg draped over his. Donavan cursed softly. “What am I going to do with you?” he whispered.

Harper sighed, pure contentment. He rested his chin on the top of her head. “Who would I argue with if something happened to you, huh?”

Harper burrowed her face in his neck. He felt part amused, part down right awkward.

She inhaled him. “God, you smells so good,” she whispered. Donavan froze. Did the pain medication cause hallucinations? The touch of her tongue on his neck shocked him so much, Donavan forgot to breathe. Her lips sucked the side of his neck. “I love the way you taste.”