“‘Congratulations. You’re still alive. Cover your tracks. No one can trace this blood-fest back to TORC. Can’t have another screwup, now can we? You, my smart girl, fucked up royally. You’ve risked everything I’ve set in motion. And you’ll pay for it. Better run, far and fast. Because I’m sending in someone special to finish the job. As for your sister, she’s done her part. Dragging her into this was a necessary evil. Leave her with Declan. He’ll protect her—yes, even from me. I need her alive and have a personal assignment for her. Please tell her to brush up on her Italian. Later, Kylie.’”
“The hit is still on,” Declan says. “Go, Kylie. Before it’s too late.”
Kylie sways on her feet. “I can’t. She’s my sister. I love her. She’s the only person I have left . . .”
I stand, limp over to her, and folding myself over her, hug her tightly. “I love you, Kylie. But you’ve got to be strong. Find a way to make that man forgive you. Make amends—he’ll respond to that, right? Do something to save yourself. But for God’s sake, run. And don’t let him or anyone else find you. I’m begging you, go.”
“And leave you with him?” She raises her head and glares at Declan.
“I love him.”
“Madelyn,” I hear Declan grumble. Uncomfortable with me expressing my feelings? Better get used to it, honey.
As for Kylie, she straightens, grabs hold of my shoulders, and shakes me. “Talk about rose-colored glasses. You’re both out of your bleeding minds.”
I shake my head. “You just shot seven men. And you’re questioning me about loving him?”
“What did you do to her?”
“Go, Kylie. I’ll protect her,” Declan says. This time, there’s something in his tone, a rawness. Like when he told me about that other word he was thinking about.
Love.
Kylie hears it, too. Her jaw drops open. It takes a second for her to gather herself, before she asks me, “Oh. My. God. What did you do to him?”
“Simple. I loved him.”
Declan grunts.
She shakes her head in disbelief. “You’ll take care of her?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” I’m pulled into a tight, bone-crunching hug. “I promise you, Madelyn, all will be resolved. Then I’ll come back for you.” She releases me and stalks toward the window.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” I say.
“Oh. I plan on keeping it. Just watch me,” Kylie replies. “Love you.”
“I love you, too,” I whisper. Then watch as my sister, once more, disappears from my life. At least this time, I’m not on the outside looking in. Yeah, I’m scared. You bet I’m worried about her. But if anyone can take care of herself . . . my eyes roam over the bodies splayed out across the room . . . it’s Kylie.
“Let’s go,” Declan orders, taking me by the arm.
I hold my ground. “Where to?”
“Home.”
33
Declan
Madelyn stirs in the seat next to me. We’ve been on the road for eighteen hours, headed east, through the gulf states and toward our final destination, the Sunshine State. My girl wants a life in the sunshine and, fuck knows, I’ll do whatever it takes to give this to her.
I park my pickup on a familiar beach, one I never took time off from work to appreciate, and sit back to view a sunrise I never stopped long enough to appreciate.
“Where are we?” she murmurs, sleepily.
“Florida. St. Petersburg.”
“Number ten on our bucket list. The best beaches outside of San Diego.” She sits up in her seat, and I point. Her eyes follow my finger and she gasps. “It’s gorgeous.”
Yes, she is. I almost lost her. If Franco’s men had been more capable shooters . . . Fuck. FUCK. I’ve spent eighteen hours reliving what happened. Eighteen goddamn hours beating myself up for underestimating Hayden. Eighteen hours coming to grips with my feelings for the woman next to me. She wears a band-aide on her thigh, the bullet wound minor compared to the fear I’d felt.
“Take a walk with me,” I tell her.
She meets me halfway, in front of the hood, and grasps hold of my hand. “Do you like old movies?” she asks me, as we move toward the water.
I shrug. “Westerns. War movies.”
“Ever see the WWII flick with Deborah Kerr and Burt Lancaster?”
“Do I seem like a guy who follows celebrities?” I answer.
She sighs. “Ever make love on a beach? Wait . . . don’t answer that.”
“I don’t make love.”
“Yet.” She squeezes my hand, and I feel it in my heart. “I’m going to teach you how.”
“Madelyn . . .”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Don’t be afraid.”
“Jesus Christ. Afraid of you?”
She grins at me and I’m at a complete loss of words. And the truth is, I’m not afraid. I’m petrified. I parked on the beach with the intent of fucking her. I waited eighteen hours to get up inside her. My panic growing instead of fading now that the danger is over.
Only to discover I’m facing a new threat. A beautiful, kind, loving woman I have no business being involved with.
She squeezes my hand once more. “No one is here. We’ve the beach to ourselves.”
“You’re safe,” I gruffly reassure her.
“So are you . . .” she answers with another reassuring squeeze of my hand. “With me.”
Goddamn it, I think but even my silent curses have softened.
I let her take charge, leading me down to the water and encouraging me to kick my shoes and socks off so I can get my feet wet. I let her wrap her arms around my shoulders and pull me in for a kiss. I let her go where no woman has been before. No one except her. I let her . . . in.
Our tongues collide and dance. Warm and so damn sweet. I never want our kiss to end.
The tide rolls in, knocking her off her feet and abruptly interrupting us. But I hold her steady.
“Why don’t we lie on the beach, just out of reach of the tide?”
I nod and allow her to tug me along to the spot she has in mind. “I think I’m going to love Florida,” she murmurs, settling herself onto the ground and patting the semidamp sand beside her.
Love. There’s that word again. I never understood what it meant until her. And worse than that is love at first sight. Because fuck me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure I loved her from the moment I saw her carrying grocery bags into her trailer. And truth is, the next day when she shared with me that it was her birthday, after I kissed her—I’m a guy who doesn’t do kisses—I should have realized it then.
And it’s because I love her, I can’t let this go any farther. I’ve got to let her go.
I sit down beside her and study the horizon. How the sun now seems to be at a standstill, struggling to rise up beyond the gulf waters.
“We need to talk,” I begin.
“Talk?”
“Yes,” I gruffly reply.
“About . . . us.”
“Yes.”