The Taming of the Thief (28 page)

 
   
 
You look a bully in the eye and you give him
hell, Sophie-darling. You never let them think you're afraid.
Her father's
words echoed in her head and Sophie forced her gaze up to meet Callum's,
allowing all the frustration and anxiety of the past forty-eight hours to
stiffen her spine.

 
   
 
“You
want to shoot me! Then shoot me, you coward. But I am not getting you squat!”
She gathered up her courage and spit. Rhet spent the majority of her fifth
grade summer teaching her to spit until she could hit a target five feet away.
The spittle flew and struck Callum's face.

 
   
 
The
man actually roared, his gun swinging towards her, but it never completed the
arc. Pietr surged forward, his hand slicing down on Callum's elbow. He squeezed
the trigger before the gun skittered away, the bullet whistling past Sophie's
ear, the sound so loud and so close, she clapped a hand to her head expecting
to find blood.

 
   
 
The
men went down grappling and then Pietr straddled him, slamming his fists into
his face. A rush of movement coalesced around her; Bryant, three uniforms and
Jacques surged into the area.

 
   
 
“Ease
up, Sauvage!” Bryant shouted. “We've got him.”

 
   
 
Pietr's hand closed on Callum's throat,
squeezing, but the blonde man wasn't moving. Blood speckled his lips, his nose
and one ear. The brutality of the beating, so swiftly issued, startled Sophie
and she stumbled back, leaning against a wall.

 
   
 
Jacques weeded his way through the officers,
his jacket peeling off and he covered her shoulders with it. Everything shook.

 
   
 
Even
as Pietr stood, an officer flipped Callum over and secured his hands behind his
back, another retrieved the gun and a third took possession of the metal pipe.
Bryant kept his gun trained on the man until he was secure.

 
   
 
“All clear.”
He spoke into the radio. “The perp is secure.
We need medics rolling in now.”

 
   
 
Pietr's white shirt was soaked with blood, he
was on his knees, leaning on the stack, but his gaze sought her where she
huddled under the warmth of Jacques' jacket, the driver/security officer
maintaining a protective stance at her side.

 
   
 
“Ms.
Kingston.” Bryant stepped in front of her, cutting off her line of sight.

 
   
 
“He
shot someone else,” she blurted the words, but it sounded as though they came
from someone else, a million miles away.

 
   
 
“We
have him. It was Sauvage's other security man. He was wearing a vest though,
gonna have a hell of a bruise, but he's already with the paramedics upstairs.”
Bryant's voice gentled. “Your dad is on his way, let's get you looked at.”

 
   
 
“Pietr's bleeding.” Why was her voice echoing?
Where did that rushing sound coming from? Sophie glanced around as the police
officers were hustling Callum to his feet. Pietr's firm gaze burned holes
through her.

 
   
 
“I'm
fine, Sophie.” His ragged voice, shadowed with fatigue, was the most beautiful
sound.

 
   
 
“Help
him.” She ordered the Detective, but more paramedics were pouring into the area
and the lights flickered. She tilted her head up, looking at the overhead lamp
curiously. The bulb burned out, darkness swallowing the light.

 
   
 
“Sophie?”

 
   
 
“Ms.
Kingston?”

 
   
 
Pietr
shoved his way to his feet, the wild concern on his face dimming as she
slumped.
What was wrong now?

 
   
 
Then
even that thought blanked.

 
   
A
quiet beeping noise penetrated the silent blankness around her. One by one, the
small aches and pains registered protests in Sophie's consciousness. Peeling
her eyelids open hurt, as they seemed gummed shut. The dim room was unfamiliar,
but the faintly antiseptic smell and hum of machines filtered through the
disconnection in her brain.

 
   
 
Hospital.

 
   
 
Sophie turned her head and saw Pietr, legs
outstretched in front of him; his long frame awkwardly slumped in the chair
pulled right up to the side of her bed. His jawline was shadowed in stubble,
deeper grooves marked the smile lines around his mouth and long dark lashes
seemed to kiss his cheeks.

 
   
 
He
really was a beautiful man.

 
   
 
The
stray thought broke loose from the jumble of memories swirling in her mind.
She'd collapsed in the basement vault, but Pietr had been bleeding. The thought
speared through her and she struggled to sit up.

 
   
 
“
Bien-aimee
!”
Pietr's eyes flew open, his gorgeous face softening with a smile as his gaze
met hers. “
Non
,
shh, it's all right.”

 
   
 
Sophie cast a hand out to him and he caught
it. A grimace of pain creased his face as he shifted, leaning towards her. “Are
you all right?” Was that her voice croaking like that?

 
   
 
“Shh,
Oui.
I am fine. You should lay still.” His
free hand went to her cheek. The warmth of him seeped into her fear, stilling
it, soothing it away.

 
   
 
Sophie closed her eyes and inhaled the scent
of him. He was real. He was safe. “I thought you were dead,” she whispered,
tears hazing her voice. “They shot you and I saw you fall and I thought you
were dead.”

 
   
 
“
Non
, I am fine,
mon amor
.” Pietr's fingers stroked her
face. The simple caress brushed away the cobwebs, but her head hurt.
“Water?”

 
   
 
“Please.” It was her voice, but it wasn't. Her
throat was dry, scratchy and ached abominably. Pietr's hand slipped away from
her face, returning within moments with a plastic cup and straw.

 
   
 
“Slowly,” he admonished when she sucked on it
deeply. Warm water had never tasted so good. The wetness splashed against her
parched lips and even though it hurt to swallow, it felt good at the same time.

 
   
 
“What
happened?” She asked after drinking her fill.

 
   
 
“What
do you remember?” Pietr's voice was cautious, wary and she saw worry flicker in
his eyes.

 
   
 
“That
man took me to the
museum,
he wanted the Buddha that
you're looking for. He killed Doctor Hinkley and he was going to kill you.”

 
   
 
Pietr
nodded slowly, lifting her fingers to his lips and kissing each knuckle gently.
The palms of her hands were bandaged, she realized belatedly and they stung.
She'd cut her hands on the shelves, bruised her legs, but why the hospital?

 
   
 
“You
were foolish,
mon amor
, foolish and
brave and careless and magnificent.” She wasn't sure how he managed to sound
affectionate and angry at the same time, but both emotions colored his words.

 
   
 
“I
didn't want him to shoot you.” Sophie argued, a mellifluous rebellion slipping
under her voice.

 
   
 
“And
I did not want him shooting you,” Pietr admonished her with a gentle kiss to
her nose.

 
   
 
“He
didn't.” Sophie frowned, but the concern that flickered over Pietr's face
chilled her. “You hit him.”

 
   
 
“
Oui,
I did. But bullets bounce.”

 
   
 
Sophie shivered, the gentle tone reminding her
of the richocheting bullet.
The heat and wind of the bullet's
passage.
She lifted her free hand to her ear. Soft bandages met her
fingers. Frowning, she tested the bandaging and winced at the ache that rolled
through her head.

 
   
 
“I
was shot.” Terror iced over her spine. Pietr covered her trembling fingers with
his hand, gathering both to him and gazing at her.

 
   
 
“
Oui.
We didn't realize it at first, but then
you collapsed. Jacques saw the blood. The bullet creased along your hairline.
You were so very lucky,
mon
amor
.
Very, very
lucky.”

 
   
 
“I'm
sorry.” She whispered. Was she really apologizing for being shot? Sophie tried
not to examine the need too closely, focusing on the feel of Pietr's hands on
hers, the depth of tenderness in his expression. Another thought bolted her
upright.

 
   
 
“My parents!”
Her father would kill her. She got shot.

 
   
 
“They
were here until very late, but your father wanted your mother to go home. She
wouldn't go without him. I promised them I would stay here.”

 
   
 
“What
time is it?”

 
   
 
Pietr
flicked a glance at his watch, his thumb gliding over each of her fingertips as
though reminding himself that she was actually there.
“A
little after midnight.”

 
   
 
“I've
been unconscious for most of the day!” That was shock enough, but Pietr's frown
warned her that more was to come.

 
   
 
“You've been unconscious for two days,
mon amor
. The doctors were sure it was
only a concussion, but you went into shock in the ambulance…” His words trailed
off, but the lingering shadows in his eyes told her that wasn't the worst.

 
   
 
It
wasn't just her hands, knees and head that hurt. Everything hurt. A boulder
rested on her chest, pressing her down into the bed.

 
   
 
“…they had to restart your heart.” Pietr
kissed her fingers again. “Once in the ambulance and once again here at the
hospital before you stabilized.”

 
   
 
He
lifted his fingers back to her cheek, stroking it gently. Her face was bruised.
Callum had struck her with the gun. That also explained why her lip felt two
sizes too big. She was a mess and Pietr just kept touching her.

 
   
 
“Who
was that man?” Sophie asked, still trying to make sense of the last few days.
She'd lost two days to unconsciousness and two more to fear. It was hard to
wrap her mind around it all.

 
   
 
“His
name is Callum duPres. He's a free agent and works for the highest bidder. He's
also wanted in four different countries, but the NYPD has him in custody at the
moment.”

 
   
 
“He
killed Doctor Hinkley.” Sophie whispered. Her heart squeezed for the older man.
Would anyone ever know what really happened to him?

 
   
 
“They
found his body the day you were taken,” Pietr told her gently, as though
reading her mind. “He was in the East River.”

 
   
 
Tears
gathered in Sophie's eyes. She was glad they'd found him. Glad that he would
get a decent burial. But she'd actually hoped she'd imagined that part.