Dangerous Loves Romantic Suspense Collection (68 page)

She wasn’t a man, and would never be able to match a man’s physical strength. What she was, what she’d denied herself to fully become for as many years as she could remember, was a woman. She should have never even tried to become a son to her father. She didn’t have the right qualifications.

Butch’s hand slipped into her pants. She let a small cry pass over her lips. “Please Butch, no,” she whispered on a feathery breath. “Please don’t.”

Her protests and fear prodded him. His excitement grew. She could feel him move against her belly.

“Damn it, Butch. Do you plan to rape her in front of us?” Whitfield cried. He sounded as panic-stricken as she had. Fiona had remained curiously silent, which pleased Vega enormously.

“Shut up,” Butch growled.

His muscles were taut bundles. His defenses were still raised. Vega sighed a quivery breath into Butch’s mouth. “Please Butch, not in front of them.” Her echoing Whitfield’s objection must have pleased him. He pulled her closer and bit her lip. She could feel the urgency in his groping hands.

The time was ripe, thank God. Now was the time to show Butch that soft feminine side she’d kept hidden.

“Butch,” she said with a lusty sigh. “I won’t fight you. I know you’re stronger than me.”

He grunted.

“I can get you Grayson.” She laid a trail of kisses down his pulsating throat. “I can get him to play into your hands. Just let Fiona go.”

He paused, his roving hands stilling in her pants, and quirked a gentle brow. “I’m getting him into my hands right now, baby, aren’t I?”

“No.” Vega licked her lips. Butch once said kissing her was better than licking ice cream—his favorite treat. “He’s not suicidal.”

“But he’s still on the island?” She had him. His glassy eyes cleared. His confident stance sank a good inch as his shoulders slumped.

“I think so. I think Whitfield is right when he says Grayson wants to protect Fiona and me. But would he trade his life for ours? Would you?”

Butch hardened further as her confidence drained away. “Of course not.”

“Let Fiona go?”

“I can’t, baby. She’s part of the deal.”

“I can’t help you then.” Vega hadn’t stopped kissing his neck, his ear, his chin. She kept her voice soft, pliable.

“Yes you can, baby.” Her tone had soothed Butch. He was beginning to cave. “I’ll make Fiona a clean kill. That should be good enough.” He curled a hand around Vega’s bottom and squeezed.

A bullet sailed into the clearing and kicked up sand at Butch’s feet, putting a huge monkey wrench in Vega’s carefully plotted plan.

Before she could react, Butch had his gun pressed to her temple.

Couldn’t Grayson have waited another minute?

“Let the women go.” His voice echoed through the trees.

Both guards fired blindly into the canopy and sent a spray of broken branches and leaves raining down on their heads.

A second bullet thudded into the sand a foot from Butch’s leg.

“Let the women go.” This time Grayson’s voice bounced through the lower branches. Directionless really. The guards followed with a second barrage.

Two reports from a pistol followed in the silence. Sand sputtered at Butch’s toe. A bullet had grazed the boot, taking off a strip of snakeskin. At about the same time Whitfield shouted and fell. He curled up into a ball on the ground, cradling his arm as he rocked.

“Let the damn women go,” Whitfield cried.

Butch rolled his eyes. Grayson’s strong-arm tactic only served to piss him off. “Jasper, shoot Fiona through the arm,” Butch said without a breath of remorse.

One guard, his hands shaking and his gaze jumping from Butch to the forest to Whitfield, swung his M249 around and pumped two bullets into Fiona’s left arm.

Fiona cursed and pressed her right hand against the blooming red wounds. “Kill him already, why don’t you?” she shouted up to the trees.

“Make Grayson come to you,” Vega whispered. She refused to let her heart race or her mind be affected by Fiona’s injury. Her thoughts rushed through possible scenarios for salvaging the situation. Butch certainly wasn’t going to let anyone leave, not with Grayson threatening him. “Tell him you’ll make a trade.” She had to neutralize the danger Grayson presented to Butch.

“I’ll let them go if you give yourself up,” Butch called into the dark vegetation. “You have five seconds to make a decision before Jasper shoots Fiona again.”

An M249 fell from a high branch and landed near the fire. “Don’t fall for it,” Whitfield moaned from his fetal position in the sand. “We’re dead men. I suppose we were dead the moment you botched Greg’s murder. It was supposed to look like an accident.”

“Shut the hell up!”

Whitfield wiggled around in the sand. It looked like he was trying to get up. “Lenny, help me get to the boat.”

The second guard rushed to Whitfield’s aid. The two men were nearly on the boat when Grayson stepped into the clearing with his arms stretched out, his hands empty.

“This doesn’t involve the women, Butch. Even Whitfield admits that.”

Jasper, the nervous guard who was holding his gun on Fiona, regained much of his courage at the sight of Grayson looking harmless without a gun. He turned the weapon’s aim to Grayson’s chest. But from where he stood, Butch and Vega were within the line of fire.

“Get me out of here,” Whitfield was shouting at the guard helping him. “I know his military history. We’re dead men.”

Butch tightened his hold on Vega, maneuvering her so she shielded him from Grayson. With her chest pressed against his, she didn’t have many options.

Fortunately, she only needed one.

“Grayson, you asshole,” she shouted as loud as her lungs would let her. “I had the situation under control. What the hell were you thinking? I can’t collect a bounty on a dead man.”

The way Butch was holding her, she could no longer see Grayson. She could see Jasper pointing his gun at them and Whitfield struggling to get into the boat. But she could imagine that Grayson was still advancing at a steady pace with his arms held wide.

Everyone’s attention was on Grayson, which meant Fiona was in no immediate danger. That was important.

Vega couldn’t overpower Butch. The best she could do at the moment was give Grayson an opening—she prayed he had a gun hidden somewhere on him—and then get Fiona to safety. It wasn’t exactly suicidal. Though the pistol pressed to her temple didn’t help paint a rosy future.

She stopped yelling at Grayson long enough to whisper to Butch, “I don’t feel right.” Her body dropped as every muscle relaxed. Butch tried to hold onto her and refocus the aim of his gun at the same time. In the confusion of movements, she slipped out of his hands.

BAM. BAM. BAM. The shooting started almost immediately.

She kept her head down and tumbled into a flip. There was no time to worry about the gunfire or the shouts and confusion. Grayson could take care of himself. Fiona was her goal. Besides, this mess was his fault. What kind of cooperation was he expecting, coming blasting into the boat dock like that? He got Fiona shot and made those guards with the guns cranky. That military training of his must have prepared him for situations like these. He should be able to take care of himself.

“Fiona,” her sister’s name whooshed out of Vega’s lungs as she landed in Fiona’s lap, and knocked her off the Palmetto log she’d been sitting on.

“You okay?” Fiona asked through a grunt of pain. She instinctively grabbed her injured arm as she crashed into the sand. The question struck Vega as backwards. She should’ve been asking Fiona if she was okay, not the other way around. Vega nudged her sister to the far side of the log for additional protection.

“If you can manage…in my pocket is a key.”

Fiona’s slender hand slipped into Vega’s pants pocket.

“The handcuffs.” Adrenaline pumping. Gunfire thundering. Time moved twice as fast while eternity compressed itself into the space of a heartbeat.

With very little fiddling, Fiona managed to unlock the handcuffs on Vega’s wrists. Vega drew her Glock while Fiona released the shackles from her ankles. She peered over the log.

Silence. She hadn’t noticed when that silence had started.

Grayson was running toward them, blood smeared across his brow. One guard was lying face down in the sand. Whitfield, Butch, and the third guard were gone.

Vega lowered the Glock and sat up. “What happened?”

“You okay?” Fiona asked Grayson.

Grayson jammed the Beretta into his pants and felt the side of his head. He frowned at the blood on his hand. “Damn bullet grazed me. I’ll live.”

Vega had already figured that out. She took Fiona’s arm and began binding the wounds to slow the bleeding. Fiona’s skin had paled several shades and was coated with a sheen of perspiration.

“That guard of Butch’s ran into the woods as soon as the bullets began flying. Butch followed not far behind him. I got the guard helping Whitfield.” Grayson explained.

“And Whitfield?” Vega asked.

“He’s in the boat, crying.”

“Damn mess,” Vega muttered. She fastened a sling for Fiona, then took off her leather jacket, and wrapped it around Fiona’s shoulders. “You nearly got us all killed with that Rambo shit.”

“You’re welcome.” Grayson growled.

Vega met his gaze. He was still breathing heavier than normal and his eyes were clouded with a lust that had nothing to do with sex.

“I had it under control,” Vega said.

“You had it…?” Grayson stomped away. “You were bound up tighter than a Thanksgiving turkey…and scared…and at that bastard’s mercy.”

“I had it under control,” Vega repeated. She was about to blast into Grayson when Fiona doubled over and vomited. Vega’s heart dropped straight to her toes. She wrapped her arms around Fiona and brushed the strands of hair away from her sister’s face.

“I’m okay,” Fiona muttered. She sounded anything but okay.

“I know it hurts bad, Fiona. You don’t have to be brave for me. I’ll get you help.” Vega started to lift her sister, but Grayson pushed her aside and took Fiona into his arms.

“I’m hoping you can navigate the marsh in the dark?” Vega asked. She plodded along in the sand beside Grayson. Fiona had closed her eyes and may have passed out. The bleeding wasn’t heavy, but the pain might push her into shock. She required immediate medical care.

“Don’t worry,” Grayson said without slowing his stride. “She’ll be okay. The wounds aren’t serious, and I do know my way around this area.”

“I’m okay,” Fiona muttered without opening her eyes. “I’m not worried.”

The boat bobbed and jostled Fiona as Grayson lowered her to a cushion in the front of one of Butch’s boats. Whitfield was lying on the fiberglass floor of the boat near the engine, moaning. Fiona remained uncharacteristically closed-mouthed.

With Grayson and Fiona settled in the boat, Vega untied the rope and gave it a push into the channel. Water swirled around her pants, making the material cold and heavy. She put her hand on the side of the boat to steady herself for a moment.

Grayson took hold of her wrist. “You’re coming too.”

“I’ll follow in the other boat.” Her wet hand easily slipped from his grasp. “I’m going to sink the third boat, so Butch and his pal won’t be able to get away.”

The look Grayson gave her overflowed with mistrust.

“Go. Get Fiona medical care. I’m like a homing pigeon. Once I take a route, I have no trouble following it back,” she lied smoothly. “I’ll be ten minutes behind you.”

Vega backed up onto the shore. Her boots sloshed. Another pair ruined. She watched Grayson watching her. He stood in the silent boat as it glided away, caught in the tide’s strong current.

“Ten minutes?” he called before starting up the engine.

Ten minutes…give or take however long it would take to find Butch. A lack of transportation wouldn’t stop him from getting back to the mainland. Leaving the island without him would be handing Butch a ticket to freedom.

She had no intention of doing that.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Grayson steered the boat and steamed. The dangers on Mamma Etta’s island were too great. Leaving Vega alone there, even for a few minutes was just wrong. He kept the engine low and looked back over his shoulder, watching for Vega.

Whitfield had finally settled down. It had taken a heavy blanket and several threats to get him to stop crying, but the silence was worth it.

He flicked a glance toward Fiona. Her eyes shined in the dim light. Her resolve impressed him. Like biting the bullet or taking it all in stride, she embodied those kinds of sayings.

“You okay?” he asked her.

“I’m dying because of you,” Whitfield moaned. Everyone ignored him.

“She’s not coming,” Fiona said. Her voice sounded oddly calm in the dark.

“What?” Grayson asked. He took a quick look over his shoulder again without realizing it.

“This boat’s going at a snail’s pace and you’re watching for her. But I know my sister. She won’t leave without Butch.” Fiona paused for a long time. “I think she believes she’s defending me.”

The winter air suddenly hit Grayson. This was his mess, not hers. She’d only gotten wrapped up in it because it had been her job to bring him back into the justice system. The wet cold sank deep into his bones.

He turned off the boat’s engine and tossed over the anchor. Once he felt the line bite and pull snug, he left it to check on Fiona. The blood was just beginning to seep through the fabric strips Vega had fastened around the gunshot wounds, but she was alert and strong.

Whitfield was pretty healthy too, if the strength of his lungs were any indication. He started to scream the moment Grayson killed the engine. “Whatever you do, make it fast,” Whitfield finally sputtered.

“I can’t leave Vega,” Grayson said to Fiona. “You understand that?”

Hell, he didn’t understand the feelings he had for that spitfire huntress of his. That round of sex with her had only muddied his mind. But he did know he couldn’t leave her to fight alone. Although Fiona and Whitfield needed medical care, their injuries weren’t life threatening—not yet.

“You’re a much better man for Vega than Butch ever was,” Fiona whispered. The pain was getting to her again. “Butch was an ass from day one. Don’t know what my sister ever saw in him.”