A Kiss to Kill (28 page)

The speech went on. Alex fanned inward to join Marc, his gaze darting down the steps to anything that moved.

He spotted a woman wearing a D.C. POLICE Windbreaker climbing steadily up through the middle of the crowd. She looked very determined.

And very familiar.

Suddenly it clicked. She was the detective that Rebel had questioned at the hospital. He frowned. Had she been brought into the loop? Or . . .

Surely,
she
wasn’t the—

Holy shit!

“This is X-ray. STORM Mike, you’ve got a possible hostile approaching your six. STORM Dog, that Metro Detective Sarah McPhee, the one on the Mahmood case. Is she part of this op, over?”

“Hell, no,” Quinn came back. “She’s the one who arrested Victor earlier.” Alex saw him step out from behind the pillar and train a set of binoculars on the area around Marc. “This looks like trouble. Get on her, X-ray. Mike, stay on Tango One and Charlie until we figure out what the hell’s going on, over.”

Finally Congressman Altos could delay no longer. “I regret to announce that the President was called away to deal with a last-minute emergency,” he said, and the crowd let out a collective groan.

That’s when Alex saw a man in a Nationals cap slide in between two spectators just above Hearn and Gina. Detective McPhee was right below them.

Oh. Fuck.

“The detective has spotted Victor,” he reported, and took off up the steps.

Before he could reach McPhee and stop her, she drew her weapon and pointed it at Gregg.

“Metro Police! Freeze or you’re a dead man!”

GREGG
froze.

All around him, the metallic din of dozens of guns being locked and loaded ricocheted off the marble. At the podium, the congressman halted as Secret Servicemen surrounded him. The crowd started to scream and run, or drop to the ground and cover their heads.

Gregg looked down at Gina. Her eyes widened as she realized who he was. The scumfucker Hearn had his arm around her, smiling like an idiot. Her own arms she held stiffly behind her back. Handcuffs?

“Get away from him!” Gregg yelled to her.

She shook her head, glancing desperately at Hearn, whose smile turned almost gleeful when he saw Gregg.

The female detective elbowed her way past them, shouting something at him, but there was no way he could hear. And as much as he wanted to, there was also no way he could pull the SIG and shoot Hearn. Not without his actions being grossly misinterpreted by the detective.

Thank God Alex Zane was vaulting up the steps toward them.

Gregg raised his hands above his head to show he was cooperating. Zane would set the detective straight.

Suddenly a shot rang out. Congressman Altos screamed. It quickly turned to a sickening gurgle as he sank to the stone floor of the portico.

Gregg held very still as pandemonium erupted all around. Every fed within a hundred yards wheeled their aim to him, their most logical suspect, then realized he wasn’t the shooter.

But who was?

The panicked crowd rushed down the steps, screaming and clawing to escape danger. A man in a vintage green army jacket knocked Hearn off balance and he went tumbling.

Colonel Blair? Damn it! Gregg should have killed him in the alley that day while he had the chance!

Before the fucker could get to her, Gregg lunged for Gina. Found the cold barrel of the female detective’s gun stuck in his chest instead.

“Him!” he shouted at Marc and pointed to Blair. Marc reached out and grabbed the colonel.

Gina screamed. Gregg whirled and started toward her.

“Halt!” the cop shouted at him. “Or I’ll—”

The rest of the detective’s words were lost as Gregg saw a Secret Service agent grab Gina and band an arm around her middle. She struggled in vain.

That was no Secret Service agent.

The man stood behind her like a coward, holding a Beretta to her neck, hiding it under her long black hair.

“Hush, now,” the man crooned. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Gina’s eyes went wide. They met Gregg’s, wild with fear. “It’s
him
,” she mouthed. “The Voice!”

Gregg halted, paralyzed with shock.

Oh, God.

“Tommy?”

The kid’s youthful face didn’t hold even a shade of remorse. “You’re making this way too easy, Cap.” He shifted the aim of his hidden Beretta to Gregg.

“What the
hell
. . . ?”

“Sorry, Cap. You always taught me not to leave loose ends.”

The detective was still shouting at Gregg, oblivious to the man just behind her who was about to kill him—with a gun identical to her own. By the time forensics proved her innocent, he’d be dead and Tommy would be long gone.

The little shit.

The President had never been the target. The kid was cleaning house, eliminating loose ends. And they’d all shown up, just as he’d planned it all along.

Fuck
. Gregg had taught him too well.

“Why?” he asked, fury coiling like a snake in his belly. Not that he needed to ask. Pure fucking greed. Tommy had always craved the finer things in life but never had the skills needed to earn them honestly. Gregg should have seen this coming.

“Why not?” Tommy’s shoulder lifted. “Like you always said, I’m not cut out for the military life.”

But there was one fatal flaw with the little fuckwad’s plan. He’d have to kill Gina, too. No chance in hell Gregg would let that happen.

All around, bedlam reigned. Marc had Blair on the ground, struggling to subdue him. Alex Zane had almost reached them. But Zane still hadn’t seen Tommy. He was beelining it straight for the detective. She was coming at Gregg now, brandishing a pair of handcuffs.
Shit
.

Gregg took a deep breath.
Now or never
.

He shoved the detective to the ground.

And pulled the SIG on the bad guy.

Zane’s surprised eyes cut to Tommy. He understood in a flash. In one fluid motion, he shifted direction and made a leaping dive at the kid.

Just as Blair shouted. And Tommy pulled the trigger.

The gunshot boomed. Zane went down.

Goddamn it!

Gregg watched in horror. It should have been
him
!

For a nanosecond, Tommy froze in confusion. But it was enough. Gina wrenched away from him, dropped to the steps, and rolled into the retreating crowd.
Safe
.

His shot was clear, but Gregg wasn’t willing to risk the lives of innocent bystanders. He lowered the SIG.

And took Tommy’s second shot in the chest.

He staggered and grunted. Fucking
hell
, it hurt.

To his surprise, Blair tackled Tommy. Had he misjudged him, too? Blair’s tackle was followed by about a hundred Secret Service agents.
Thank God
.

What Gregg didn’t expect was to be shot again. This time in the head. By Bruce Hearn.

Fuck
. Somehow the goddamn bastard had gotten loose.

Blood flew everywhere. Slowly, Gregg fell, dizzy with an intense slam of pain in his skull. He heard Gina cry his name.

The lady detective was on her feet again, looming above him. But she was smarter than he’d given her credit for. She shielded his body and aimed her weapon at Hearn faster than his own head was spinning.

“Go ahead,” she growled at the traitor. “Make my day.”

Gregg smiled.
You go, girl.

Then everything went black.

TWENTY-NINE

ALEX
lay strapped to a gurney, grimacing against the stabbing pain in his ribs as the ambulance took another corner at high speed. Lights flashed red and white. The siren blared unceasingly.

But it was all over.
Thank you, Jesus
.

The Trigger had been caught, along with the traitor Bruce Hearn. They’d both spend the rest of their lives in prison. Alex, Kick, and Gina could now emerge from hiding and live normal lives.

He smiled up at Rebel as she took his hand between hers. God, she was so fucking beautiful. But her answering expression looked like she was debating whether to kiss him or kill him.

Uh-oh.

“That was a stupid stunt,” she scolded. It was the first time they’d had a chance to talk alone since their fateful kiss. “Jumping in front of a gun like that.”

“Sorry,” he said, but his smile was unrepentant. He was too happy to have any regrets. Hell, he was even glad they’d rescued Wade Montana from Hearn’s car trunk before he suffocated to death. Especially when that lady detective had fussed over Wade so much, and he’d kissed her right on the mouth in front of the whole world. Alex got the distinct impression Montana wouldn’t be hanging around Rebel anymore.

She rolled her expressive green eyes. They shone in the flashing lights of the ambulance. “Oh, stuff it. You are
so
not sorry.”

His grin widened. “What’s the matter? Worried about me?”

“You are impossible, you know that? You should be counting your blessings the bullet hit your vest and not your head like Gregg.”

He suddenly saw those were
tears
shining in her eyes. She wasn’t teasing. She was genuinely upset.

He lifted his free hand and lightly touched his ribs—at least two of which were broken from the impact of the bullet. “Believe me, I
am
counting my blessings. Big-time. But I had no choice taking that bullet for van Halen. I didn’t know if he was wearing Kevlar or not. And I owed him.”

She put his hand to her cheek. “Your life?”

He tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “Maybe. Who can say what might have happened if that flashback had taken me out? I sure as hell hope he makes it.”

She turned to kiss his fingers. “Me, too. Gina is beside herself. Thank God the first shot hit his vest.”

“Will someone call and let us know how he is?”

She nodded. Her loving gaze lingered on him, like she had something on her mind. But not Gregg.

“Angel, what?” he asked.

A thousand emotions seemed to scud through her eyes. Happiness. Uncertainty. Hope . . . ?

She shook her head. “Nothing. It’ll keep.”

Apprehension seeped through him. “Talk to me, baby. What’s going on?”

Letting his hands go, she drew in a deep breath. Rather than explaining, she pressed a few buttons on her cell phone and handed it to him. She’d pulled up a text message. From Helena.

Hny, its abt damn time!
Mk him hppy.
Mk him marry u.
PS Pls dnt tell mama & ddy I’m gay.

For a second he just stared. Obviously, the women had talked.

He sighed and handed Rebel back the phone. “Believe me, I wish it were possible. But Angel, I’m a mess, inside and out, you know that. It just wouldn’t be fair to you—”

“Which you took it upon yourself to decide for both of us.
That’s
what isn’t fair.”

Pain razored through his heart. “Don’t you remember? I gave you the chance to tell me it didn’t matter. That you would want me even knowing I couldn’t give you children.” He glanced away, unable to face her pity. “You couldn’t do it.”

“Is it too late?” she asked softly.

He stilled. Looked up at her. A bittersweet mix of hope and despair spilled through him. He swallowed. “You can’t possibly—”

“But I do.”

“Rebel—”

“Yes, I want children. But there are lots of ways to bring a child into one’s life, Alex.” A lone tear trickled down her cheek; her voice was soft and wavering with emotion. “There’s only one you. And you’re the one I want.”

They were the sweetest words he’d ever heard. “Do you really mean that?” He prayed with everything in him that she truly did.

“With all my heart.”

Did he dare believe her? He wanted to. Desperately. He had denied himself this moment for so damn long. All his life, it seemed. He felt like he was jumping off a cliff into the unknown. But at some point, a man had to take a chance or call himself a damn coward.

“I don’t know how I got so damn lucky,” he said, and another tear trickled down her cheek. Hopefully one of happiness. “But God knows I love you, Rebel Haywood.”

“Oh, Alex,” she whispered, and leaned down to tenderly kiss him. “I love you, too. So very much.”

He held her hands between his. “I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you walk into our first meeting with that stupid bun in your gorgeous red hair, and I loved you from the first time I said ‘fuck’ and you got all flustered and told me a real gentleman doesn’t curse.”

She gave him a watery smile. “I could be wrong about that.”

“It’s been killing me not to have you all these years. Staying away, being just friends, because I thought it was best for you. Praying you’d find someone else instead and put me out of my misery. Wanting to die when you did.”

She closed her eyes. Opened them. The pure, honest light of love in them took his breath away. “There was never anyone else, Christopher Alexander Zane. Just a poor substitute for the man I really love.”

The sound of his name on her lips, so sure, so filled with precious love and promise, gave him the courage he needed. He couldn’t go on without her. He didn’t even want to try. “Rebel please, for the love of God, will you marry me?”

She smiled. The sexy, mysterious smile his beautiful angel had given him in countless hope-filled dreams. “Yes, oh, yes.” She brushed his lips with hers and whispered, “I thought you’d never ask.”

THIRTY

THE
wedding was a month later.

It was one of those rare days in New York City when the sun was brilliant in an azure blue sky, the temperature was a perfect seventy-five degrees, and the sanitation workers were not on strike. The air on the rooftop terrace of the Park Avenue hotel where the wedding was being held smelled of springtime and champagne, and two hundred fragrant white damask roses sent by STORM.

The entire terrace was festooned with gossamer white sheers, artfully draped, flowing and billowing in the soft breeze.

Gina was the maid of honor.

From her place behind the discreet curtain that had been set up to conceal the bride and her attendants, Gina smoothed her gown and peeked out at the assembled friends and family of the happy couple. Everyone was finding seats on several rows of white padded folding chairs arranged to face the arched bower of flowers where the ceremony would take place.

There were lots of familiar faces: Tara and Marc Lafayette; Bobby Lee Quinn and his fiancée, Darcy Zimmerman; STORM Commander Kurt Bridger and several other STORM operators she recognized. Detective Sarah McPhee had flown up from D.C., and Kick’s friend Dr. Nathan Daneby had also arrived at the last minute from somewhere in Africa, where he was setting up his fifth Doctors for Peace refugee camp. Lord, wasn’t
he
a handsome devil.

Speaking of which.

Alex walked in from the side to stand nervously in front of the flower-laden arch. Following behind the groom came Kick Jackson, the best man. And damn, didn’t they clean up nicely. Both wore dove-gray morning suits, which they carried with surprising ease and panache for men more used to dressing in camouflage.

But neither of them could hold a candle to the third, similarly clad groomsman, who hung back in the shadows, seemingly hesitant to join them.

Gregg van Halen was still the most gorgeously striking man Gina had ever met. It didn’t matter if he was wearing motorcycle leathers, cammo fatigues, a Helmut Lang suit, or nothing at all; he never failed to make her pulse race and her knees weak.

How close she had come to losing him! Her heart squeezed just thinking about that awful day.

“Good thing I have such a hard head,” Gregg had joked painfully when he’d awakened from his weeklong coma—part of which had been deliberately induced by his doctors to help the swelling in his brain heal more quickly—and learned that by a pure miracle Hearn’s bullet had bounced off his skull instead of penetrating it. The bone had been crushed at the point of impact, and he’d suffered a massive contusion. But he’d lived. With no permanent damage. Physically, anyway.

But he was having a hard time adjusting to the end of his career as he knew it. There was no possibility to continue as an undercover operator after his face had been plastered all over every newspaper and newscast in the country as the man who’d brought down a traitor plotting to kill the President.

Gregg was a hero. Along with Alex, Detective McPhee, and Frank Blair—who it turned out really had been hunting the mole in his organization all along.

But Gregg’d had to resign from Zero Unit. It had been a tough blow.

Not to Gina, of course. She’d been secretly thrilled. Maybe he would decide to stay with her. Settle down.

It could happen. Sure, it could.

“Is everyone seated?” Rainie asked from behind her. Rainie was the bridesmaid. “Omigod, Geen, I’m so excited. Everything is so beautiful, isn’t it?” Her best friend put her arms around her and gave her a big hug. “You’re beautiful, too, BFF.”

Gina smiled broadly and hugged her back. “Back at you, girlfriend.” They were both wearing Lazaro, as was the bride, compliments of the bride’s parents. The gowns were absolutely stunning, Rebel in antique white, Gina and Rainie in pale coral. Mr. and Mrs. Haywood had always loved Alex, and had spared no expense on the wedding, absolutely delighted their daughter had decided to quit the FBI to take Commander Bridger up on his earlier offer to head the Victim Family Services division of STORM. They’d credited it all to Alex.

Little did they know that this new job would take their daughter all over the world, following her soon-to-be husband as he helped rescue hostages and victims of kidnappings. And a few assorted covert missions here and there.

“I just love weddings,” Rainie said on a sigh, and gave Gina another hug. “I can’t wait for yours.”

Gina’s gaze strayed to Gregg, who was still standing in the shadows on the periphery, looking uncomfortable that he couldn’t simply fade into the background and disappear. He was even wearing dark sunglasses.

“Don’t hold your breath,” she said with a different sort of sigh. She touched the silver heart necklace that nestled between her breasts. The one he’d bought her to match the anklet. She was wearing both today, along with the earrings. “He hasn’t asked. And I doubt he will. Gregg isn’t the marrying kind. Remember?”

Up until recently—very recently—neither was Gina. But spending every waking moment by Gregg’s side as he fought for his life, holding his hand when he opened his eyes for the first time after regaining consciousness, then curling up next to him during the sleepless nights as he wrestled with the changes being thrust unwillingly into his life . . . she realized how badly she wanted to be part of that life.

What would she do if he left her?

What would she do
when
he left her?

She could feel it, a restlessness buzzing just below his surface. He’d made his decision. Resolved his course of action. And she was so afraid it did not include her.

“We’ll see,” Rainie said with a kiss on her cheek.

“See what?” Rebel asked, coming up to them with a rustle of silk and a beaming smile. “What are you looking at?” Rebel peeked past the curtain, too.

“Our men,” Rainie said with a grin. “What else? My God, what a trio. They’re so handsome it almost hurts.”

“But it hurts so good,” Rebel agreed, her eyes sparkling with happiness.

Gina laughed, too, though she wasn’t quite so sure about the good part. Still, she was over the moon for Rebel, and for Rainie, of course. Rainie had just confided last night amid tears of joy that she and Kick were expecting their first child in eight months.

“Come on. Let’s make a wedding wish,” Rainie said, joining their hands in a tight circle. They bowed their heads together, touching foreheads. Gina felt the teasing scratch of Rebel’s bridal veil against her cheek, along with a pang of intense longing in her heart.

She closed her eyes and made a wish.

Please. Just let him love me.

The music swelled, and she took a deep breath, kissed Rebel on the cheek, and stepped out from behind the curtain. To the festive trill of organ music, she started the stately glide down the white runner.

A murmur of admiration rose from the crowd. The dress really
was
dazzling. The STORM guys in the audience ogled her appreciatively. But Gina only had eyes for one man. He gazed back at her from the front of the terrace with a stunned look on his face.

She smiled. Okay, so it wasn’t just the dress.

One thing about Rebel’s friend Helena—who had also been invited to the wedding along with her partner, Linda—she was a real artist when it came to hair and makeup. Gina had never in her life looked quite this good.

As though transfixed, Gregg stepped out of the shadows. He removed his sunglasses. A passing cloud drifted on, leaving him bathed in a pool of golden sunshine. Her throat tightened at the stark beauty of the man.

As Gina walked slowly down the aisle, he came forward, too, step by hesitant step. Until they met in front of the bower.

She had no idea what he would do. This hadn’t been part of the rehearsal. He wasn’t even the best man, and therefore not her partner. Technically.

He seemed to awaken, startled to see where he was standing. But as always, Gregg van Halen was master of the moment. He gave her a look she couldn’t begin to decipher, and bent to kiss her lightly on the lips.

“You look like a goddess,” he whispered.

The crowd ahhhhed.

Then he gallantly escorted her to her place, and returned to his. Bemused, Kick took his cue and did the same for his wife. It was a lovely addition to the ceremony.

And just about melted Gina’s heart.

The rest was even lovelier.

And when it was over, and the newlyweds had danced their first dance together, Gregg led Gina out onto the crowded wooden floor that had replaced the rows of seats.

An old rock tune was playing, but he tugged her into his arms and held her cheek-to-cheek.

“I’ve always hated weddings,” he said.

She was still dewy-eyed and sniffling over the beautiful ceremony, so his almost clinical observation came as a cold dash of water. “Oh,” she said.

“But then,” he continued, “it’s never been friends getting married, and I’ve never been part of it. And before today, I’ve sure as hell never had the urge to peel the gown off the maid of honor in front of the entire congregation.”

“Oh,”
she said.

He pulled her closer. “You take my breath away,” he whispered. “Completely.”

“Oh.” She sighed, smiled, and put her head on his shoulder. “I’m glad. Because the feeling is mutual.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Just then, Detective McPhee danced by in the arms of Wade Montana. She was totally captivated by something he was saying.

“Who’d have thought,” she remarked, eyeing them.

“He’s totally into her. It could work.” Gregg’s gaze slid to the sidelines, to a pair of STORM guys watching the detective with interest as they sipped champagne. “Though it looks like he might have some competition.”

Gina regarded Gregg with a raised brow. “You considering taking up matchmaking as your new career?” she teased.

“Very funny.” He grinned, but it faded all too quickly.

Damn. She
had
to bring it up.

STORM Corps had officially reiterated Quinn’s job offer almost as soon as Gregg had come out of his coma. Not undercover, but as an operator nonetheless. Bridger had shown up at the hospital with Quinn and left details in a big bronze envelope for Gregg to consider at his leisure. He was still considering. But as generous as the offer was—Gina had peeked while he was sleeping—she didn’t think he was going to take it. He hadn’t said anything, but she just had a feeling.

She didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

“What
are
you going to do?” she asked, unable to help herself.

“Honestly? I don’t know.” He brushed his lips over her temple. “Tell you what I’d
like
to do . . .”

“Hmmm?”

“Remember that thing about peeling off the maid of honor’s dress?”

His arms were wrapped around her, holding her body close to his. She could feel every inch of his tall, broad, muscular frame under the fine wool of his morning suit and silk shirt.
Every
inch.

“I seem to recall.”

“What do you think about the idea?”

They hadn’t made love for a month. Not since before he was shot. Doctor’s orders. Her nipples tightened at the prospect of the ban being lifted. Or maybe it was all those delicious inches she could feel.

She pretended to be scandalized. “Right here in front of everyone?”

“Hell no. I want you all to myself. Too many lecherous guys giving you the eye here.”

A thrill sifted through her at the possessive look he gifted her with.

“What does your doctor say?”

“He says I’m not to overtax myself.”

She gave him a moue. “That’s no fun.”

“For the first three or four times,” he amended with a smile, and nuzzled her behind the ear. “The way I’m feeling, I figure we can get that over with in a couple of hours.”

She choked out a laugh. “Probably not exactly what he meant.”

“I want you. I’ve been going nuts every night when you snuggle up to me in that hospital bed. Not even a proper kiss goodnight.”

She giggled. “Your blood pressure monitor kept going off.”

“Not anymore. I’m officially discharged. Let’s go back to my place.”

“You mean . . . right now?” She glanced around. The reception was just getting started. “Isn’t the maid of honor supposed to make a toast later? Help with the bouquet?”
Hopefully catch it
. . .

He made a face. “You’re right. It would be rude to leave so soon. We’ll wait five more minutes.”

Laughing softly together, they continued to dance for a few more bars of music.

Then he said, “Would you like to catch the bouquet?” as though he’d been reading her thoughts earlier.

She felt her face heat. She was not in the habit of throwing herself at a man. She’d never had to. Men had always come to her. Besides, she’d never
needed
a man in her life just for the sake of having one. Even now, after everything that had happened, she knew she’d be fine on her own. She had always been a strong, independent woman. Partly because of the confidence Gregg had given her, she soon would be again.

So it shocked her just a little when she found herself peeking covetously at the bride’s bouquet and whispering, “Yes, I believe I would.”

He smiled and led her off the dance floor. Putting his arm around her, he steered her over to the edge of the roof terrace.

It was a tall building, and the city of New York was spread out below them in a sweeping panorama of color and movement. Bright. Vibrant. Alive. Like her love for this remarkable man.

He embraced her from behind, his tall frame wrapped around her like a shield. For a long while he just held her. Listening to the music and laughter of the wedding party, gazing out at the incredible view.

“What I’ve done for most of my life . . .” he said at length. “It hasn’t been nice. And it definitely hasn’t been pretty.”

She nodded, resting her arms over his, loving the feel of his solid bulk at her back. “That’s why you understand what I’ve been through. Those who haven’t experienced the worst of humanity themselves can’t possibly know what it’s like.”

He eased out a long breath. His arms tightened around her. “It works both ways.”