Wicked Lovers 07 Ours to Love (39 page)

“The fucker hung up?”

“Yes.” His voice sounded almost calm, and Javier didn’t know how he managed when everything
inside him was panicked, railing, screaming . . . dying. His breath started coming
too fast. He fought the urge to hyperventilate, to allow his thoughts to disintegrate
into chaos.

With one hand on the wheel, Xander used the other to slap his thigh. “Stay the fuck
with me. No checking out, brother.”

The stinging pain burned his skin and brought him back to focus, and Javier nodded
gratefully. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Saving her is going to take both of us.”

His brother was right again. “We’re in this together.”

Xander grabbed his phone back and tried Brenner’s number again. It went immediately
to voice mail. The engineer was done talking. The man he felt was responsible for
all his suffering would now suffer with no recourse, so he’d had his revenge. In the
most poetic way, it was an eye for an eye.

“Fucker!” Xander looked like he wanted to throw his phone, but he didn’t dare. “Try
London’s number again. Maybe she’ll answer.”

Javier’s stomach tightened. They were still about thirty minutes out of town. In thirty
minutes, it might all be too late. Hell, it might be too late now, but he had to keep
hope.

Maybe Valjean hadn’t gotten to her yet. Maybe they could save her. Maybe . . . One
ring, two, three, four—voice mail. He barked into the phone, hoping she listened to
this message, even though he’d keep trying to call. “London, call Luc. Get to safety.
Someone is coming after you. He means to—” Javier couldn’t say it. The words would
make it all too real. “He means to hurt you. Please stay safe for us. I love you.”

“I love you, too,
belleza
,” Xander shouted into the phone.

Given no choice, they ended the call. A painful two minutes later, they tried again.
One ring, two, three, four . . .

***

LONDON
blinked in the shadowy room at the stranger as her phone buzzed again in her pocket.
She couldn’t quite reach it, and couldn’t try with her assailant bearing down. As
that rope came closer, she
knew
that if he got it around her neck, she was as good as dead. With her keys still biting
into her palm and her heart pounding, she jabbed them into the killer’s stomach.

He anticipated her movement and jumped aside just in time to avoid her.

She reached for the door and grabbed the handle, but he fastened a cruel grip around
her arm and yanked her back. As she stumbled, he jerked the keys from her hand and
tossed them across the floor.

“Leaving so soon?” His accent was thick.

Looking around for a weapon, she swayed on her feet. A telltale light-headed feeling
crept up, and she gasped. With everything that had been going on, she’d missed her
last two doses of medicine. What if she passed out?

She’d have no way to put up a fight, and he’d kill her without compunction.

No!
Her life had been so short already, having lost so many years to injury, rehab, and
pain. She was finally living, damn it.

All because of Javier and Xander.

No way she’d let herself go down now. They were probably somewhere thinking she was
a coward. Or worse, not thinking about her at all. But as blackness began to claim
her vision and her knees buckled, London couldn’t stand the thought that the Santiago
brothers might move on before she’d been brave enough to tell them that she loved
them. Damn it, she should have stayed with them, shown them her back. Maybe they wouldn’t
have run screaming. Maybe they would have still wanted her. She could be cuddled in
bed between them now, sated and smiling.

Instead, she was fighting for her life.

As London fell, she stumbled into her attacker. He tripped and grunted before landing
on the industrial carpet with a thud. He cursed, and London sucked in a breath, struggling
to find her feet, and stumbled forward. She had to keep herself conscious, use all
her energy and will to fight.

Digging her nails into her forearm and focusing on the pain, she felt her consciousness
floating. A dizzy haze swam in her head. She lurched a step, hoping it was toward
the door, but her sense of direction was gone, and she nearly took a nosedive into
her desk.

London latched onto the edge, desperate to keep herself upright. Her fingers bit onto
something cold and metallic. Behind her, she vaguely registered her attacker wrap
his hand around her ankle and tug, trying to pull her to the ground. The feel of him,
the malice in his touch, made her scream. But no one was here. The only business open
today was the copy and mailing place three floors beneath her. No one would hear her.
No one knew she was here.

Blackness tugged at her again. London resisted, yanking her leg to pull it free from
her attacker. She kicked and kicked, finally striking something solid. She glanced
back and saw him cupping his cheek, glaring up at her as he scrambled to his feet.
He muttered something, and while every word sounded beautiful in French, his tone
didn’t sound lovely at all. Anger resonated from that growl, and she knew that once
he lost his temper and gained his footing, he’d come at her, overpower her, strangle
her with the rope in his hands . . . and what little life she’d enjoyed since the
accident would be over. She’d never feel the sun again. Never learn to drive. Never
accomplish her goal of finishing a 5K alone. Worst, she’d never get the chance to
tell Javier and Xander that she loved them. She’d been hiding, hedging her bets, living
in a safe little bubble, and not stepping too far out of her comfort zone. How did
she expect to live an extraordinary life if she didn’t take some extraordinary risks?

Gumption rose along with bile as her attacker gripped her arm and yanked her around
to face him. His intent to kill her shot up her arm, frying her skin. Adrenaline and
pure terror juiced her bloodstream with something cold and terrible. London knew she
had seconds left if she wanted that extraordinary life. Otherwise, he’d make death
inevitable.

Gripping the edge of the desk, the wooden corner biting into her fingers, she forced
herself to look across the surface for any advantage, anything that might buy her
a few seconds to get the hell out of here, or at least slow him down. There, just
beyond her grasp, lay her savior.

London grunted as she hurtled herself across the desk and kicked back at him with
all her might. He loosened his grip on her, and she grabbed at her weapon—and missed.
Before she could try again, he gave a vicious tug on her ankle and jerked her back
toward him. But she wasn’t giving up.

As she twisted around, London only had a split second to line up before she slammed
the pointy edge of her elbow into his temple.

He toppled sideways, and she was sure she’d only managed that because she’d taken
him by surprise. She wouldn’t get the same opportunity twice. It was now or never.
Yes, her plan might kill him, but he’d had no compunction about killing her, so she
had to put away her squeamishness and keep fighting.

Behind her, a purely male roar sounded. He hadn’t expected her to be any trouble.
He’d simply believed that she’d die like a good little girl. She’d almost done that
once. Overrated. She’d already lost years of her youth. Damned if she was going to
lose the rest of life’s remarkable journey because she wasn’t willing to fight hard
enough for it. The irony of that hit her just as she reached for her weapon.

Metal dug into her fingers, cold and heavy, as she picked up the big three-hole punch
and whirled around. She was only going to have one shot at this, then she’d lose her
element of surprise . . . Her attacker barely had time to widen his dark eyes before
she rammed the bottom of the heavy device into the side of his severe face.

He stumbled back and fell on his ass. London forced herself to take another step toward
him, even as dizziness swarmed her head once again. She stepped up between her attacker’s
sprawled feet, then reared back and kicked him in the balls as hard as she could.

Clutching himself, he tossed his head back, dark hair doing little to cushion him
against the thin industrial carpet. London had no remorse as he rolled to his side,
still cupping his family jewels. A big part of her wanted to grab his wrist and use
it to drag him to her desk, then tie it to him using his own rope. She didn’t dare
stay that long or give him a chance to get his hands on her again. It wouldn’t take
him long to recover from his pain to the gonads, then he’d come after her with a roaring
fury and kill her with punitive thrill. Best just to get the hell out of here.

Heart drumming, she tripped over her attacker and stumbled for the door, fumbling
for the handle. He’d locked it behind him, and her shaking fingers couldn’t quite
turn the lock. Panic poured in, then nearly drowned her when she heard him rise behind
her, call her something most likely foul in French. His arctic growl sent a chill
down her spine.

“Bitch. I will kill you with my bare hands now with pleasure,” he translated for her.

No, no, no!
She screamed with both fear and frustration at the lock, but it didn’t give. Knowing
that she was out of options, that he was just a second behind her, she flipped on
the office lights, praying it momentarily blinded him. He made an annoyed huffing
sound, and to her ears, it seemed that he backed up a step, but London didn’t dare
look.

Her fingers wrapped around the lock again. This time, she took a deep breath and tried
to calm herself, willing her trembling fingers to still enough to do the job. Finally,
it worked and she lurched out into the hall—only to fall into a stranger’s arms.

Her murderer hadn’t come alone?

London gasped and tried to wrest away from the man who stood in the shadowy hallway
and held her in strong arms, but he shoved her behind him. He clutched a nasty gun
in one hand. He set a finger over his lips, motioning to her to be quiet. His blue,
blue eyes looked so intense, just like his chiseled face made almost severe by his
military-short blondish hair. Hunter.

And she nearly sagged with relief.

Against the wall beside him crouched another man she recognized because of his incredibly
blue eyes. Logan. Like his older brother, he possessed a vicious-looking weapon and
the expression of a predator on the hunt. Logan grabbed her and put her on the wall
beside him, shielding her body with his own. He held one hand out, indicating that
she should stay put.

Trembling and restraining the urge to cry in mad relief, she watched, breath held,
as her attacker suddenly stumbled out of the office, looking around the darkened halls
for her. He nearly plowed into Hunter, who instantly tackled him to the ground, rolled
him to his stomach, and shoved his arm behind his back, his hand somewhere between
his shoulder blades. The French bastard started squealing.

“Pipe down,” Hunter demanded. “I’m not going to break your arm or dislocate your shoulder.
Yet. But if you won’t tell me what I want to know . . . we’ll have problems.”

“I tell you nothing,” the Frenchman spat.

“Then get ready to cry like a girl.” Logan squatted next to the guy. “See, you apparently
think it’s all fun and games when you sneak up on a girl who’s done absolutely nothing
to you.” He picked up the length of rope the killer had dropped and held it up to
her with a questioning glance. She nodded. “I don’t think you meant to play fun bondage
games with London.”

“No,” she choked. “He put it around my throat. He meant to strangle me.”

Hunter narrowed his eyes at her assailant as he trained the gun on the guy’s head.
Logan reached for the man’s free hand and, along with the one Hunter held, tied them
together using his own rope.

“Wrong way to use a rope, asshole,” Hunter muttered. “Grab the phone off my belt,
London.”

She did as he bid and waited for instructions. Her instinct was to call the police
now, but she shook so hard that her teeth chattered.

“Good. Scroll down my contacts to find Jack Cole. Call him, tell him you’re with us,
and there’s a situation. He’ll deal with the local sheriff.”

Jack answered immediately and assessed the situation in a few sentences, pausing to
tell her to calm down and control her breathing. Passing out wouldn’t do any of them
any good.

Moments later, sirens wailed, coming closer and closer. Trembling overtook her body
as a cold relief poured in. She had no idea who this man was or why he’d wanted to
kill her, but it was over. She would live.

The fashion in which she did it was now up to her.

Chapter Twenty

A
LYSSA
sat beside her hospital bed in the ER, looking anxious and stressed. With taut faces,
Logan and Hunter in the corner conferred with Luc in low tones, rehashing the conversation
she’d had with the police the instant the doctors had cleared her to talk. None of
the guys claimed to have any idea why she’d been attacked, but she didn’t believe
them. Logan had been on the phone almost nonstop since taking down the bad guy. No
idea whom he was talking to, or even why he and his brother had been at the office
to help her out. But he knew something.

“God, they’re tense,” she told her cousin. “Something is wrong.”

As Chloe played with a stuffed animal in her lap, Alyssa looked over her shoulder
at the men, then back at her with a tight smile. “They’re just being protective. It’s
what they do best.”

And she had a feeling that when Xander and Javier showed up, protective would rise
to new heights. Xander seemed laid back, but that was part of his playboy act. And
Javier was high-strung even on a good day. Her phone was still in the pocket of her
jeans, which had been discarded for a hospital gown as soon as she’d arrived, but
she had no doubt that they were staying on top of the situation somehow. She’d barely
hit the door of the emergency room before she’d been shown to a private room with
a dedicated nurse. A doctor and a battery of tests had followed. It had taken no time
at all to find out what she’d tried to tell everyone all along—there was absolutely
nothing wrong with her except that she was scared and shaky, and she knew she’d be
dealing with nightmares about strangers bearing ropes for some time.

Alyssa squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry. The guys will figure this mess out.”

“If they haven’t already. I wish they’d tell me what they know.”

“Back to that being-protective thing.” She shrugged. “You’ll get used to it.”

Logan’s phone beeped, and he glanced down at the screen. He typed a quick message
back. Hunter’s cell started ringing a moment later. He swiped his thumb across the
screen and marched into the hall with ground-eating steps, barking into the little
device.

“I doubt that. They’re making me jumpier.” London tried not to shiver. She was lucky
to be alive. Thrilled . . . but troubled. Why had the killer targeted her?

Logan must have bionic hearing because, despite his phone dinging and the monitors
attached to her beeping, he turned and pinned those blue, blue eyes on her. “Try to
relax. No one is going to hurt you.
No one
. I promise you that.”

“And we’ll do whatever we have to in order to ensure that,” Xander stated from the
open door, striding into the room and straight for her bed. Javier followed, moving
toward her other side. They both looked exhausted and anxious and so damn relieved
to see her alive.

London felt herself come alive the second she saw them. For terrible moments today,
she’d thought she’d never lay eyes on them again. Her joy at having them here and
near filled her almost beyond her ability to contain it.

Xander didn’t hesitate. The moment he skidded to a stop beside her, he grabbed her
face in his hands, tilted her up to him, and swooped down to plaster his lips over
hers, kissing her as if he’d never been more worried or desperate in his life. London
opened for him gratefully, trembling against him. She drank in the sweet relief in
the frantic press of his mouth. If something had happened to her today, it would have
mattered to him. And on the heels of that kiss, a nip of her lower lip—a promise of
punishment later for running away. She shivered.

He released her and gave her a nudge in the opposite direction. Javier stood waiting,
staring with burning eyes and clenched fists. “I’m so sorry, little one.”

Before she could ask exactly what he was apologizing for—shouldn’t she be the one
saying sorry?—he bent and pulled her against his broad chest as if his life depended
on it, heedless of the wires and machinery hooked up to her. With his heart beating
madly, Javier’s lips swept across hers—and paused. He didn’t shove his way into her
mouth or try to deepen the kiss. He merely pressed his lips to hers and breathed her
in, his entire body shaking. Clearly, he wanted to comfort her, but she knew right
away that he needed reassurance far more. She feathered her fingers softly through
his hair and touched his cheek, searching his lips with her own for a response. Barely
an instant later, he delved into her mouth. He was everywhere inside her, pleading,
taking, his body shuddering with need. He gripped her arms, pressed his body to her
as if he never wanted air between them again, and owned her with that kiss. London
let him take everything he needed, drowning in the demand of his possessive touch.

At her back, she felt Xander blanket her and press kisses to the top of her head.
“We’ve been terrified,
belleza
. We’re so relieved you’re safe. We want to hold you and keep you from harm’s way
and—”

“Ahem,” a dark, dangerous interloper interrupted from the doorway, brow raised.

Jack Cole. London had only met him once or twice, but that sense of power kept barely
in check oozed from his very pores. She resisted the urge to shrink back like a guilty
child.

The Santiago brothers both glared across the room as if they’d like to pull Jack apart
one limb at a time and cause a whole lot of pain. Alyssa paid Jack no mind, instead
giving London a pointed look, reminding her a bit of a mom discouraging PDA with one’s
boyfriend. Luc smiled wryly, holding his wife’s hand. Logan’s eyes twinkled as if
he was amused, while Hunter’s demeanor was somewhere between watchful and blank. London
felt heat flame its way up her face. Funny how every time she was sandwiched between
Xander and Javier, she completely forgot the outside world.

“Sorry,” she murmured to them all.

“Fuck that.” Xander wrapped his arm around her tighter. “You shouldn’t be sorry. I’m
not.”

“What a shock,” Logan drawled.

“Don’t sidetrack him, water boy,” said Jack. “We’ve got business to clear up.”

“You’re a buzzkill, ground pounder. And Army Rangers will never be better than Navy
SEALs.”

Alyssa groaned. “This argument again?”

“I think all that water has affected your brain,” Jack quipped. “But enjoy your delusion.”

“Can we continue this incredibly pointless argument later?” Xander snapped. “Logan
said you’ve been working with the police. And . . .?”

All levity in Jack’s expression disappeared. “Right. Buckle your seatbelts. Here’s
where we’re at, and it’s bumpy.” He walked in the room and shut the door behind him.
“The Mexican police found Carlton’s body after a little tip-off—” Jack cleared his
throat. “And they’re investigating, but McConnell already found everything you needed
to know, right?”

At Xander’s nod, London frowned. “Who is Carlton? How are the Mexican police involved?
What does this have to do with whoever attacked me?”

Jack shot Xander and Javier expressions that seemed to ask their permission. To finally
tell her what the hell was going on? Xander cursed under his breath.

“Oh, no. If you know something, I want to know, too. I deserve to know, damn it.”

“You do.” Javier sat on the bed beside her. “What happened today . . . It’s why I
apologized, little one. You did nothing to warrant this attack, except be meaningful
to me. Carlton is a former employee who was selling me out to another man who once
worked for me, Chad Brenner. He invented some of our most lucrative products, then
sued us when he wanted more money for his intellectual property than his employment
contract allowed. He left bitterly, lost his lawsuit, and decided to get revenge.”
He grabbed her hand and sighed heavily. “But I swear, if you’ll let me, I’ll do everything
to—”

“We,” Xander cut in.

“We.” Javier nodded. “Yes. We’ll do everything in our power to keep you safe. But
it’s largely my fault you’re in danger, London.”

“
Were
in danger,” Jack was the one to correct Javier this time.

Everyone turned to him, hanging on his every word.

“Explain,” Javier growled at Jack.

“I was getting there. When the police arrived at your office to arrest Valjean—”

London gasped and whirled to Javier. “Valjean, the assassin who killed your wife?”

He nodded tightly. “The same, yes. I just found out myself.”

Shock ricocheted through London’s system. “Brenner hired this Valjean to kill me in
order to get back at you? The same way he did Francesca?”

“You got it,” Jack said. “And the moment the police took him into custody and started
grilling him, he was all too happy to give up details. Of course their threat to turn
him over to the FBI might have had something to do with it.”

“So he confessed?” Javier demanded.

“He did. And he gave up Brenner’s name pretty easily.” Jack sighed, and London knew
that what followed wouldn’t be good news. “Then when they tried to transfer Valjean
to a higher-security facility, he jumped his guards and killed one of them. So the
others had to shoot him. He’s dead.”

“Fuck!” Javier jumped to his feet, every muscle tense, looking like he restrained
himself from hitting the wall. “So he can’t testify, and Brenner will probably walk.
No doubt he’ll hire someone else to come after London. She’s not safe.”

“I’m not done with the story.” Jack crossed his arms over his chest. “It takes another
turn. The Lafayette PD called the FBI. Interestingly enough, Brenner had been a ‘person
of interest’ for some time. They liked Valjean’s taped confession and sent local Florida
cops in to arrest Brenner. He went without a peep. I’d say he’s looking at several
consecutive lifetimes for all the illegal shit he’s done. And just to make it more
fun, the government is seizing all his funds. Apparently the CIA wants to talk to
him, too. Seems they’ve got proof that he’s been developing some nuclear ideas for
the Iranians.”

Hunter whistled. “And depending how deep he is, that might be construed as treason.”

“The feds will bury him for the rest of his miserable life.” Logan nodded. “Awesome!”

“So it really is over?” London heard her own voice trembling.

Jack crossed the room to her and sat on the other edge of her bed, taking her hand
in his with an incredibly gentle grip. He was almost painfully handsome. She was completely
in love—times two—and didn’t want anyone else. But no denying that he made her damn
nervous.

“Yes. Valjean is dead, and Brenner will never see the light of day again. Take a deep
breath. That goes for you two, as well.” Jack eyed Xander and Javier. “She’s safe.”

“Beautiful. Thank you.” Xander wedged in between them. “Now get your hand off our
woman.”

Jack rolled his eyes and stood. “If you’re going to be that territorial, man, you
need to put a ring on that finger. That’s what I did when I realized that I didn’t
want anyone else touching Morgan.”

London wished a big hole would open up in the floor and swallow her up. They were
not going to marry her after knowing her for a week, especially when she’d closed
part of herself off from them.

But she wasn’t going to let them slip through her fingers without trying to show them
how much she wanted and loved them.

“Thank you for the update, Jack,” she rushed to say. Something had to cover up that
awkward silence. She turned to Alyssa. “Did the doctor say when I could leave?”

“They’re getting your discharge papers now,” her cousin said.

“Shouldn’t be too much longer, sweetie.” Luc sent her a reassuring smile.

As if on cue, the nurse appeared and cut through the small crowd with a disapproving
frown. She handed London her discharge papers. “You’re free to go. The doctor advises
a day or two of taking it easy. Keep up with the meds your doctor in California prescribed.
All
of them. Call your doctor if you become disoriented, have trouble with your balance,
or if those cuts on your fingers become infected.”

She nodded. “Thank you. I will.”

“No. We will.” Javier took the papers from her hands and scanned them before addressing
the nurse again. “We’ll take care of her.”

The salty older woman took in Javier’s proprietary stance and Xander’s possessive
hand on her shoulder, then shook her head as if she didn’t want to know. “See that
you do.”

“We’ll be here for her,” Xander insisted as the nurse left.

“You already got my advice if you want to keep it that way.” With a mocking salute,
Jack ducked out the door and disappeared.

As soon as Jack had gone, Hunter shrugged. “Being a ground pounder, he’s often wrong,
but not about this. I married Kata the night I met her. When you know, guys, you just
know.” He hitched a thumb in Logan’s direction. “He’s the dumbass who took almost
fifteen years to marry the right girl.”

“Hey! I knew at sixteen. It’s not my fault that everything got fucked up. I won her
back and married her, didn’t I?” He punched his older brother in the arm.

If the thought wasn’t so futile, she would love the chance to strangle all three of
the big, testosterone-laden warriors going on and on about marriage. How embarrassing . . .

London cleared her throat. “Thank you both very much for the rescue.”

Hunter waved her words away.

Logan grinned. “That was fun. Any time you need help out of a scrape—”

“There’d better not be a next time,” Javier growled.

“We’ll be there,” Xander vowed.

London ignored her men and faced the Edgington brothers. “How swell that you enjoyed
it, guys. And I’m glad you’re both happily married, but enough already!”

Hunter and Logan frowned, finally having the good sense to look a little self-conscious.

“Yeah, okay,” Logan drawled. “Me and my big-mouth brother will, um . . .”

“Go home to our wives.” Hunter grabbed Logan by the shirt and hauled him out the door.

London watched them go with a shake of her head. They were both crazy wonderful, emphasis
on the crazy.