Fated (32 page)

He must’ve said something or made some sort of desperate noise, because Isaac’s thrusts became short and to the point.

Isaac hooked one arm around Hart’s waist for leverage, while his other hand dug so hard into the spaces between Hart’s fingers the skin went white.

“Jerk yourself off,” Isaac gasped, his voice as strained and hoarse as Hart’s by now. “I can’t hold on anymore.”

“Thank God,” Hart managed, and he pressed his forehead to the carpet, watching his blood-flushed cock disappear into his own fist. It felt so good, he clamped down on Isaac, who moaned and lost his rhythm, then picked it up again with a vengeance.

“Fuck,” Isaac was whispering. “Jesus fuck, you’re—”

Hart didn’t find out what he was, because Isaac let out an indecent, incredible noise, shoved into Hart so deeply he was pushed into the next step, and then he stayed there, coming so hard Hart could feel it inside his body. Helplessly he spilled over his knuckles, ruining the carpet with long jets of seed.

“I can’t even tell you,” Isaac gasped, still struggling for breath, “how long I’ve been waiting for this. Holy crap.”

“I’m too old for fucking on carpet. Christ, we made a mess.”

“How will you explain that to a Realtor, huh?”

“I’m sure you can operate a steam cleaner.”

Isaac smirked at him as he gently palmed his cheek. “You were amazing.”

“You weren’t so bad yourself. I don’t even want to know where you learned that.”

“What? You think all I did in college was go to my psychology classes?”

Hart laughed and drew Isaac in, kissing him softly on the mouth. “I’d rather not think about it.”

Exhausted, it took them a long time to get untangled and cleaned up, and Isaac held on to him, kissing his forehead and temples and eyelids in a way that broke his heart a little.

“Let’s move to the hammock,” Isaac whispered against Hart’s lips. “I love that thing.”

I
N
THE
end, when they came for Hart, it was Isaac who took the bullet. Just as the moonflowers began to bloom and twilight wrapped its tendrils around the house, laying a closing hand on the overgrown flowers slowly climbing the porch, a single footstep on a branch jerked Hart awake. Immediately alert he held himself still and listened. Nothing else happened, but the silence felt too strong, and the hairs on the back of his arms rose in trepidation. He shifted so his mouth pressed right beside Isaac’s ear.

“Angel, I need you to wake up.”

Isaac stirred, and Hart captured his hand against his chest. “Wake up, but don’t move, Isaac.” Eyes flying open, Isaac remained perfectly still. He blinked once at Hart as if to tell him he understood, and Hart felt a fierce pride surge through his veins. “I’m going to dump us out of the hammock. Be ready to land on your hands and feet and then run to the kitchen as fast as you can. Keep low. I will be right behind you.”

Isaac blinked again. For another infinite second, Hart listened. Not another sound filtered through the night, and he fervently hoped that they’d be standing in the kitchen in a minute, Hart feeling embarrassed for his paranoia. But the creep up the back of his neck told him otherwise.

“Now.” Hart twisted in the hammock. Isaac landed on his hands and one foot, the other briefly tangling with Hart’s legs and the fabric, but he yanked free and scrambled for the door. Hart covered as much of Isaac with his back as he could, and at first the whistling noise and thud that followed didn’t register properly. Until it came again, and Isaac grunted right before they fell through the door.

“They’re fucking shooting at us,” Hart hissed. In a kitchen pitch-black, colder and more alien than ever, Hart yanked a curled-over Isaac upright and pushed him behind the island. There was no window or doorway in their direct line of sight, so their position kept them relatively safe, but also effectively trapped. They needed to retreat to higher ground. About to rise again, he said, “Stay h—Isaac!”

Isaac pulled his hand away from his chest, the T-shirt underneath it staining dark. Eyes wide, he stared at the sticky red coating his hand.

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” Hart fell to his knees, all the fight going out of him. If Isaac died here at his feet, they could come for him. He wouldn’t care.

“I—” Isaac gasped, and a tear leaked out of the corner of his eye. “Fuck, that hurts. I think I’m okay, though. It’s my shoulder.”

Scrambling closer Hart gently pulled the neck of Isaac’s T-shirt away. Blood gushed from a hole in his shoulder, just below his clavicle. “Yes, it is. You’ll be fine.” He didn’t think of how close to Isaac’s heart the wound sat or how the bullet could have nicked his lung. An artery. Anything. He didn’t think at all. “Are you going to pass out?”

“No, I—” The porch creaked, and Isaac stared at Hart, the whites of his eyes stark against his fear-blown pupils.

Out of habit Hart reached for the back of his pants, but the gun lay abandoned on the staircase, forgotten after their mind-blowing fuck. Unbelievable. “Shit. We’re sitting ducks here. Where is your phone?”

“My left pocket. I can’t reach….”

Hart carefully dug into Isaac’s shorts and pulled out the phone. Then he yanked his T-shirt over his head, wiped Isaac’s right hand clean, and pressed the shirt to the wound. With his other hand, he called 911.

“This is Lieutenant Hart, Riverside police. I have a man down, gunshot wound, intruders still circling the house.” He went on in a low voice, giving dispatch the address, and then he pressed the phone into Isaac’s hand. “Stay on the line, but don’t say a word.”

“What about you? What are you going—”

“I’m going to take that fucker out. Stay awake until the ambulance gets here, Isaac. You have to.”

Isaac nodded once, sweat pearling on his brow and upper lip. Hart pressed a hard kiss against his mouth and then crept around the island.

Without straightening, he moved toward the door leading to the porch. Two doors gave entry to this house, and the front one wouldn’t budge easily or without any noise. If more than one of them had come for him, they had most likely split up. He waited, heart hammering in his chest, but he kept his breathing calm and even. His right hand twitched on empty where his gun should have been. Excruciating minutes crept by, the only sign of life from Isaac the gentle rustle of his slightly labored breathing. Then, finally, the door handle moved. Still Hart waited. One man dressed in black took a cautious step inside. That was when Hart moved from his dark corner. Without making a sound, he pushed the hand holding the gun away from him, other hand closing on the guy’s throat so tightly the attacker could do no more than gurgle his surprise. Digging his fingers into the masked man’s windpipe, he was ready when the attacker let go of the gun to grapple at Hart’s hand suffocating him. With the butt of the gun, Hart took him out and lowered him to the ground, quickly checking him over for ID and other weapons: a useless search. The struggle itself had barely taken ten seconds. Silently he moved back to Isaac, checked the gun’s bullet chamber to make sure it was still loaded, and then handed over the gun.

“You know how to use this.” It wasn’t a question.

Isaac stared at the gun, then up at Hart, nodding once. “Dad used to take me hunting.”

“He’s unarmed now, but don’t take any risks. Shoot first, ask questions later. If it’s me, I’ll call out.”

“What about you?” Isaac whispered, and Hart bent down to wipe his sweaty fringe off his face.

“I have to go grab my gun on the stairs. I’m going to get it now. If the guy behind the island moves, shoot him.”

“Okay,” Isaac said, voice wavering. It made Hart’s chest clench, but he had no time to dwell on it.

“Good luck,” he said, and then he left Isaac on the floor in the dark.

Hart had circled the house once when the first cop car arrived, the ambulance close behind. The third car had an angry Miller slamming the door.

“They’re gone, if there was more than one.” About to follow the paramedics into the house, Hart stumbled back when Miller grabbed his arm.

“The operator heard you instructing a civilian to shoot first, and ask questions later. Are you out of your damn mind?”

“Justifiable self-defense,” Hart snapped. “What was I supposed to do? He’d just been shot, and I had no idea how many of them were out there. I couldn’t just sit around, unarmed, waiting.”

“You should’ve stayed with the kid,
Lieutenant
. What if he’d passed out and they’d come at him then? What if he’d shot
you
?”

“He’s not a kid. Now let me go. I need to go check up on him.”

“He’s in good hands. Get in my fucking car before I cuff you. Make no mistake, there will be an inquiry. With the death of your father, the car bomb, and now this, Internal Affairs will want a suspension, Hart. This might mean the end of that promotion.” Miller glared at him while Hart reluctantly climbed into the car, then added, “I’ll be right back,” and slammed the door.

He currently didn’t give a flying fuck about promotions, but he’d be wise enough to keep that behind his teeth. From Miller’s car he watched as EMTs carried Isaac outside, but he couldn’t tell whether he was conscious or not. Hart waited and waited and watched the ambulance drive off and became antsy when no one brought a cuffed suspect out next. Eventually Miller appeared, opened his car door, and got in, slamming it shut hard.

“No sign of your attacker, and it’s too dark out to search your yard for tracks. I hope you’re happy.”

“What? That’s not possible, I knocked him out.” A sharp stab of fear whited out Hart’s vision, and he had to shake himself to concentrate on what Miller was saying.

“Obviously not hard enough. You’re lucky he decided to run for it rather than turn on the kid—”

“Isaac. And I told him to shoot if the guy stirred. Is he all right? Was he conscious when they found him?”

Miller squeezed the bridge of his nose and took a steadying breath. “Barely. He’s headed straight to surgery.”

An odd calm overcame Hart. “Take me to the hospital. I need to be there for him.”

“I don’t care,” Miller snapped. “Jesus, Hart. You have to go to the station for a statement, and that’s the end of it.” The wheel creaked under Miller’s iron grip. Visibly trying to calm himself, he went on. “I understand this is a difficult time for you, especially since forensics will be going through your daddy’s yard and house with a fine-tooth comb when the sun comes up. But this isn’t like you. This isn’t the cop I’ve only heard exceptional things about, Lieutenant. Want to tell me what’s going on?”

“I’m not here as a cop, and you damn well know it. I put my father in the ground yesterday.
Yesterday
, for fuck’s sake. I was nearly killed by a car bomb, Freddie was almost shot, and now Isaac’s been shot. So don’t you talk to me about being an exceptional cop and promotions. As for what’s going on? I don’t have a fucking clue. Can we go now? Brian, please. I want to be at the hospital when Isaac wakes up.”

Hart didn’t like the look on Miller’s face, so he turned away and stewed in the awkward silence that had fallen.

Eventually Miller spoke gently, like Hart had to be handled carefully. “You always were like a son to me, Hart. You know that. But you can’t do anything for Isaac right now. The surgery will take a while, and he’ll be in recovery after that. Come to the station and give your statement, and I’ll see if I can get ahold of the captain so we can keep this mess to a minimum, all right?”

“Yes, sir.” Hart gritted his teeth and said nothing for the entire ride downtown.

Without ceremony Miller dumped Hart in an interrogation room, only to return barely a minute later with a sheepish look on his face.

“You want something to drink, son?”

“No, sir. Thank you.”

“All right. Someone will be right with you to take your statement.”

Hart checked his phone when Miller left, but there were no messages. Maybe Freddie hadn’t heard yet. To his surprise the captain entered the room next.

“I’ll take your statement,” he said before Hart could open his mouth, the captain’s gruff, loud voice reassuring for once. “Leave nothing out. You hear me?”

Nodding, he began to talk. He told the captain as much as he could, was honest about Toby and Isaac, but left out Julian and the magic healing part for now. He figured he was in enough trouble already.

“Did you recognize the guy who shot Isaac?”

“No. It was dark, and I was more concerned with Isaac’s safety.”

“From what we know so far, he seemed to be operating alone.”

“He wasn’t alone.” And Christ, he must’ve really been losing it to only realize this now.

“What?” The captain’s eyes widened.

“At least two shots were fired, but the gun I handed over to Isaac still had all its bullets.”

“Are you sure?” Before he could answer, Johnson dismissed it with a hand wave. “Doesn’t matter, forensics will confirm that soon enough, but you have no idea who it was in your house?”

“No. He was maybe an inch or two shorter than me. Thin, didn’t seem confident with a gun or in a fight. He was wearing a mask I didn’t remove.” Even though it wasn’t on his list of priorities at the time, he realized now what a fantastic mistake that had been, and he flinched when the captain made a pained noise. “But if forensics swipes the door, they might find fingerprints. He wasn’t wearing gloves.”