True Shot (40 page)

“Please do as Mr. Hunter asks.”

“Hands up,” Mac ordered. “All of you.”

Ford, Marco and Toby all obeyed.

Mac gestured at Toby with the gun. “You. Remove that—”

All hell broke loose then, soldiers bursting in from all sides, shouting orders: “Everybody down on the floor! Face-down!
Now!
”

Mac dropped Marco’s gun and did as he was told, groaning at the screaming pain in his chest. He couldn’t see what was happening, but he kept his eyes on Sam, watched her yank and twist against her restraints, the cords in her neck standing out with her desperate efforts. While her situation was horrific, at least the way the gurney was positioned kept her from being displayed to the whole room. But, Jesus, still.

“Hang on, Sam,” he called to her. “Just hang on!”

A shadow fell across him, followed by a voice: “Christ, Mac, are you okay?”

Mac looked up into the concerned face of Noah Lassiter.

“Thank God,” Mac said. He pushed to his feet with Noah’s help, gritting his teeth against the pain but concerned about only one thing: “Sam.”

Noah followed close on Mac’s heels as he dodged gun-wielding soldiers to make it to the surgical table. Mac was peripherally aware of a soldier cuffing Marco and hauling him to his feet, but he ignored the bastard. He had only one objective.

“Aw, fuck,” Noah muttered when they got to Sam’s side.

Mac knew the other man didn’t have to see anything other than the sheet covering her knees and the stirrups to know that Ford and Toby had had gruesome plans for her.

Mac put his hand on top of her head and looked down into her frantic eyes, the pupils so dilated only a thin band of blue iris encircled them. Panic bled off her like waves of Florida heat at the height of summer. He wanted to touch her, wanted to use the warmth of skin-on-skin contact to help bring her down from the terror high, to focus her around the drugs. But he feared sending her into his head and forcing her to psychically endure what Marco had done to him.

“It’s okay, baby, it’s okay. I’ve got you. Cavalry is here.”

“Get it out of me,” she moaned, straining against her bonds. “Please get it out.”

Mac looked at Noah, who glanced down toward her sheet-covered knees and appeared just as horror-stricken as Mac felt. “Get her wrists,” Mac said.

Noah bent over the buckle on her right wrist and squeezed her shoulder with a gentle hand. “It’s okay, Sam. You’re safe now. We’ll have you out of here in no time.”

Mac went to the end of the table, his heart slamming harder and harder at the terror of what he would find. Had Toby finished what he’d started?
Please, God, please.

The speculum was still in place, and Mac winced at the absolute horror of what Toby and Ford had forced on her. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered under his breath. “Son of a
fucking
bitch.”

“Please, get it out,” Sam begged. “Get it out.”

Mac hesitated, as terrified of touching her skin-on-skin as letting her violation continue another instant.

“Use gloves,” Noah told him. “There, on the tray.”

Mac got it right away. Gloves would shield her from an empathic flash. He snatched up a pair and shoved a shaking hand into one.
Hurry, hurry, hurry.

When he had both gloves on, his stomach pitched as he fumbled with the release on the metal device, conscious that every clumsy second he wasted extended Sam’s suffering. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Finally, he hit the release and the blasted thing collapsed on itself. Mac removed it as gently as he could and dropped it on the floor before going to work on the straps around her ankles. Frustration ate at him as his fingers fumbled. Impotent rage vibrated in every cell for what those assholes had done to her. “Almost there. We’re almost there.”

He had to fight the growing fury as he freed her right ankle, revealing the raw skin where she’d fought the bonds.

Once he released her other ankle and Noah popped her remaining wrist free, she immediately curled onto her side and drew her knees, sheet and all, up to her chest.

“Thanks,” Mac said to Noah, voice low and shaking as he rested a hand on Sam’s side. He didn’t know what to do for her, didn’t know what to say. He just knew she needed to feel his presence. The trembling of her body under his palm just added to his fury. Those
bastards
. Those
fucking
bastards.

Noah exchanged a long look with him, his expression painfully concerned. “What the hell were they—”

Mac choked up. “Not now.”

“You gonna make it?” Noah asked softly, so Sam wouldn’t hear.

“I’m fine,” Mac ground out. Praying his knees wouldn’t betray him, he tightened his fingers on Sam’s quaking hip.
I’m here, baby. I’m right here.

She wasn’t crying, but the tremors shuddering through her worried the hell out of him. Probably shock. Even so, she peered intently at him, her fingers grasping the hem of his shirt as if she feared he would slip away from her. Worry for him shone through her distress and the haze of drugs in her eyes. “Are you—”

“I’m fine, Sam. I promise.”

Paramedics bustled in then, laden with medical equipment. As they swarmed around Sam, pushing Mac and Noah aside, another man in riot gear approached. He held his automatic weapon with both hands, crossways close to his torso. A trained soldier.

“Area is secured, Mr. Lassiter,” he said. “We’re getting ready to clear out.”

“Thanks for everything,” Noah said. “Your men did good work.”

Mac watched the medics quietly talking to Sam. His worry eased at her answering nods, sluggish as they were. By the time the guy talking to Noah walked away, the paramedics had wrapped her in a blanket and slipped an oxygen mask over her face.

Mac, gaze still fixed on Sam, asked Noah, “Who are these guys?”

Noah, also watching the medics with Sam, rubbed at the back of his neck. “They’re part of an FBI tactical team called in by Andrea Leigh. A friend with the feds put me in contact with her. Charlie and I were meeting with her in Lake Avalon when an N3 operative named Sloan Decker called and tipped her off that Sam had been taken. Decker had been shot during the confrontation, but he’s going to be fine. Meanwhile, Leigh had already tracked down Flinn Ford’s operation here. One of his people used Ford’s American Express to pay for a plane ticket to Fort Myers for his suspected partner, Dr. Toby Ames. Leigh put some agents on Ames who tracked him to the makeshift clinic. It’s been under surveillance since yesterday.”

“What took you guys so long to come in? Sam could have used some rescuing a little earlier, don’t you think?”

“The surveillance was handled by two tech guys. They needed to mobilize a tactical team for the rescue. I kind of insisted on helping out. Logan’s here, too, somewhere. Hopefully kicking the shit out of that fuckhole Ford.”

At the mention of Logan, Mac flinched. “Oh, God,
Alex
. Is she okay?”

“She’s good. She called Logan as soon as Ford left AnnaCoreen’s with you.”

Mac released a sigh of relief. Now he could focus on venting his building rage. “Speaking of that fuckhole Ford, where is he?”

“Outside.”

“Will you keep an eye on Sam for a sec?”

Noah nodded sharply. “I won’t budge.”

Mac gave her one last long look, satisfied she was in good hands, before turning on his heel and striding outside into a gray, rainy day. He no longer felt any pain—only fury—as he spotted Flinn Ford standing next to a federal-looking black Suburban. His hands were cuffed behind his back, his lips set in a grim line as raindrops dribbled over the smooth skin of his scalp. Toby stood next to him, looking as pissed as a drenched cat.

Mac reached the two men in three long strides and threw the two biggest punches of his life.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

S
am surfaced, groggy and confused, to an incessant, steady beep. She blinked against the light and tried to get oriented. Pain flared in various areas of her body, most prominently in her jaw and head. She moistened her lips and swallowed against her dry throat. She knew she was no longer in that dingy excuse for a medical facility. The bed she lay on was soft, warm blankets tucked all around her.

The last time she’d seen him, he’d been bloody and choking on a punctured lung. The beeping started to race.

“Hey.”

She had to turn her head to the side to see Mac, wearing a hospital gown, struggle up out of the chair by the bed, grabbing hold of the IV pole that snaked a slim tube into the back of his hand. He perched on the bed beside her and rested his hand on her covered shoulder and squeezed. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

She smiled up at him and didn’t bother to tell him she hadn’t feared for
her
safety.

He was a mess. One eye was swollen shut. The whole left side of his face was black and blue. And he held himself as if every breath hurt. He was absolutely beautiful.

“Hi,” she replied.

She lifted her hand off the bed, intending to wrap her fingers around his forearm where his hand rested on her shoulder. She wanted to feel his warm skin, feel for herself that he lived and breathed.

Before she could touch him, he tensed and drew back. “You probably shouldn’t do that.”

She didn’t understand what he meant at first, but then she smiled, loving him all the more. “It’s okay. I can block your memories.”

“You can? Really?”

She nodded. “Really.”

A smile spread across his face, and he leaned down to cup her face with one hand while he kissed her, gently and tenderly. Afterward, he nuzzled his nose alongside hers.

“I love you,” she whispered. “More than anything. Kind of amazing, considering we just met.”

She felt his grin against her cheek. “And we can’t even say it was love at first sight, considering how badly you wanted to kick my ass.”

She laughed softly, sifting her fingers through the hair at his nape, reluctant to release him. “Are you okay?”

“Yep,” he said as he eased back. “Worst thing is a busted rib. It punctured a lung. I’ve got a super sexy chest tube sticking out of my side. In fact, the doctor’s irked that I insisted on sitting in here with you, but he was no match for my alpha tendencies.”

She smiled as she tangled her fingers with his. “So you’re risking your life all over again for me?”

“Like I said, you’re worth it.”

Tears burned her eyes. She loved hearing him say that. If only it were true.

He cocked his head, expression turning serious, as though he’d read her mind. “You believe me, don’t you? You believe that you’re worth it?”

“I’ve spent most of my life messing up.”

“Join the crowd.”

“I hurt my family.”

“They’re the forgiving kind. Trust me. In fact, Charlie and Alex have been pacing the waiting room since we got here.”

“Alex is here?”

He nodded. “Your mom and dad, too. It’s a Trudeau family reunion out there.”

A warmth she’d missed for more than a dozen years flowed through her.

Mac’s fingers tightened around hers. “Sam.”

She focused on his serious, green-tinged brown eyes, and her heart thudded.

He took a steadying breath. “The baby’s okay. The doctor—Toby—didn’t get far enough to do any damage. You’re eight weeks pregnant.”

She pressed her lips together to suppress the surge of relief and emotion. Worry at his reaction joined the chaos churning inside her, and she couldn’t say anything for fear of bursting into tears.
Eight weeks
.

He swallowed, his tension transmitting itself through his grip on her hand. “I know you haven’t had much time to even think about what you’re going to do . . . but I . . . well, I just want you to know that whatever you decide, I love you. No matter what.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “You can count on me for whatever you need.”

The thudding of her heart eased—he loved her no matter what. How amazing was that? She swiped at her eyes with her free hand, wanting to see his face unblurred. “The baby needs a daddy.”

One brow arched, and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, threatening to send that adorable dimple of his into sharp relief once again. “Yeah?”

She nodded, happiness expanding the muscles around her heart, because she could tell by the light in his eyes that he was thrilled with the idea. “You said I could count on you for whatever I need.”

“Did I mention that there are strings attached?”

“I don’t remember anything about strings.”

“String, actually. Singular.”

“I suppose we can negotiate, if you insist.”

“I insist.” Grinning, he took her hand into both of his and gazed into her eyes for a long, long moment. “Samantha Trudeau, will you marry me?”

Tears spilled over before she could stop them, and laughing and crying at the same time, she nodded, blurting out a soggy, “Yes,” before he kissed her, long and deep and wet.

When they parted, he thumbed away her tears and said, “You’ll have to wait for a ring. The hospital gift shop is all out.”

“I don’t need a ring. I just need you.”

They kissed again, and it was sweet and breathless and warm.

Afterward, they sat together for a long time while Sam drifted in and out of sleep. It felt good to sleep while Mac watched over her.

And safe.

Funny that a man who didn’t know rule one about handling firearms could make her feel that way.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

19 months later

S
am dropped large gobs of vanilla cream cheese frosting onto the double-layer white cake and began distributing it with a spreader. Her hands held a slight tremble, and she paused to shake them out, berating herself for the nerves. Sure, she was anxious about hosting her entire family for the first time. But dinner—citrus-grilled grouper, Cuban black beans and rice and Mojitos—had gone even better than she’d hoped. Now, if she could just finish frosting the cake for dessert.