Rush: A MacKenzie Family Novella (The MacKenzie Family) (11 page)

  He continued his instructions. “Brant and I are going in the front, Jade and Seth take the western side of the house, and Curt and Mike the east and go in the back door. Whoever gets to her first, remove her from the house and bring her here. We’ll give you cover and secure the location. Understood?”

They all rogered agreement and headed out through the woods, leaving Elena to man the communications unit. They covered the mile quickly, seeing the cabin come into view just as the blush of sunrise was cresting on the horizon through the trees. It would have been a sight to stop and admire if they’d been here for pure enjoyment.

He held his fist up when they all reached the last bank of screen before the cleared driveway and yard of the cabin. Everyone stopped in perfect unison, their training evident. He motioned for the teams to split up and cover their areas. He hung back with Brant, giving the others time to get into position.

He looked at Brant, nodding toward the house. “You ready?”

“Hell, yeah.”

“Let’s go.” Rush hunched down and moved silently and quickly across the field with Brant mirroring his movements. They’d worked together enough that hand signals sufficed when they needed to communicate and otherwise, they functioned as one.

He came across his man just as Brant grabbed his and Rush grasped the man on each side of his face and gave a twist, listening for the familiar sickening crunch of bone and spinal cord, dropping the guy to the ground. He patted down the body and took his weapons, stashing them on his person before looking over to find Brant doing the same. They made eye contact and he motioned them forward.

There were two more on the porch of the house who gave more of a fight when they grabbed them. The scuffle of boots on the wood was loud enough to alert people inside and Rush cursed under his breath, pressing harder against the guy’s pressure point until he slumped to the ground. He removed his Glock with the silencer on it and shot him once in the chest and once in the head. If they guy got up from a double-tap, he was fucking Dracula and Rush was no vampire slayer.

He slid over to the window and looked inside. Two men sat at a table in the kitchen playing cards while one stood in the doorway, keeping watch into the other room. They were all joking around, fucking off, but he wasn’t fooled. They were professionals and could get their shit together pretty fast when they needed to.

He didn’t see Katrina anywhere but Brant waved him over to a window on the opposite side of the door and he eased his way to him. Brant pointed and Rush looked inside, his breathing stuttering at the sight of Katrina lying on the couch in a ball, asleep.

Thank God. She looked unhurt.

Another man stood on the other side of the room, scanning the front and back areas, his weapons at the ready. He would be the one to take out first.

“We both go in. You take out the guy to the left and then the one on the right and I go for Katrina, yeah?” he asked Brant.

“Roger that.” Brant tapped his earbud and spoke in a low voice, barely above a whisper. “We have visual on the girl. Four in the house that we can see. Are you in position?”

Affirmative responses were received from the two other teams. Rush moved into position at the door, ready to kick it in when Brant gave the signal.

“We’re going in on the count of three. One. Two. Three.”

Rush kicked at the door, the spot right above the keyhole, with the heel of his boot and the wood splintered, the door flying open. He moved forward, weapon aimed for the man standing to the right. He pulled the trigger and watched him flail and fall to the ground.

“Cover me,” he yelled as he sprinted for the now-awake Katrina, who was screaming and had fallen to the floor and skidded behind the couch and out of his sight. “Katrina, stay down!”

She stood anyway, fear igniting her “flight” urge, and he saw her emerge from behind the sofa just as a fifth man descended the stairs with his weapon drawn and aimed. Rush ran across the space, vaulting his body over the sofa as he watched the confused man focus on Katrina and then himself and then back at Katrina as he lifted his weapon to shoot. He probably had orders not to hurt her but he was reacting to the situation and she was in his sights.

Rush got to her, shoving her down to the floor under his body just as the first shot ripped through his shoulder, followed by another a little lower. The pain sliced through him but he took his aim with his gun. Before he could get off a shot, Brant took the man down in a hail of bullets.

He huddled over Katrina’s shaking body and scanned the area, looking for additional men to come out of the woodwork. In the back of the house he could hear shouts as the rest of the team secured the building. Brant came into view, concern written all over his face as he dropped down beside him.

“Christ, Rush, you’ve been shot,” he said as he pulled back Rush’s shirt and gear to see the wounds. “Fuck, twice.”

“It always hurts like a motherfucker.”

“Rush?” Katrina’s small, scared voice ripped him out of his haze of pain as she squirmed out from under his weight to wrap her arms around him and bury her face against his neck. “Rush, you came to get me.”

“Fuck, Kit-Kat, you knew I would,” he ground out between his clenched teeth, wholly unconcerned that he was cussing in front of her. “Did they hurt you?”

“No,” she said, the tears starting in earnest now and soaking his skin and mingling with his own sweat. She hugged him harder and he saw stars as she pressed against the wound that Brant was trying to compress as he called Elena for the SUV. “They kept saying that somebody would be mad if I was damaged. They weren’t supposed to hurt me.”

He closed his eyes in relief as he muttered a “thank God” under his breath. The room swam around him and he realized that his entire front was soaked in blood, his blood. It was coming out pretty fast and he could already feel the effects. Rush forced his eyes open and locked gazes with Brant.

“Katrina, you’re going to need to go with Mr. Scott, okay?”

She shook her head and latched on tighter, refusing to look at him or anyone.

“Yeah, you need to go with him because I’m going to pass out and squish you in about five seconds.”

He had less than that as he felt the world fall away from beneath him, his last thought that he’d broken his promise to Livvy.

Chapter Fourteen

Even wearing one of the ridiculous hospital gowns, Atticus still looked invincible.

And sexy.

In fact, he was the best thing she’d seen in a very long time.

The IV hooked to his arm and the beeping machines assured them all that he was breathing and all his organs were working like they should.  The staff had attempted to clean him up as best they could but he still had streaks of dark red across his collarbone and right cheek. He was a little pale under the dark tone of his skin but he looked better than he had a couple of hours earlier. A couple bags of blood made a huge difference and she was finally able to breathe deeply.

The time between the phone call telling her he’d been shot and when the doctor gave him the “all clear” had taken years off her life. At least a full decade. For the time it had taken Carla to drive her to the hospital, her heart had stopped beating at least a dozen times and she’d worried that he was also gone and her body somehow knew. She
never
wanted to feel that way again.

Her anger at being restrained and left behind was still there but the fear of losing him and subsequent exhilaration of knowing he would be okay had watered down the fury to a dull, resigned thud. He was Atticus and he would never change. He wouldn’t explain and he wouldn’t talk to her. Trying to get him to change was as futile as a caged bird beating its wings and thinking it could fly.

Olivia shifted in the moderately comfortable chair, stretching her neck and back. She picked up the cup of coffee, took a sip and grimaced at the cold beverage before leaning over to toss it into the trash. Glancing at the clock on the wall, she eased out of the chair and walked to the window, gently pushing aside the blinds to look at the DC skyline shining white and gleaming against the dark backdrop of the night sky.

“You had a chance to zip-tie me to the bed and you missed it.”

Olivia’s heart stuttered and then thudded against her chest. She reached out and steadied herself against the shallow window ledge, a brief press of her suddenly heat-flushed flesh against the cool of the window glass.

“A lady never kicks a man when he’s down.”

“The Queen would be proud.” The sharp inhale of breath from Atticus as he shifted behind her prompted her to move to his side. Olivia reached out, hands hovering over him since she was unsure about the help he needed from her. Knowing Atticus, he didn’t need, or want, anything from her.

“What can I do?”

“I’m good. I’m good,” he insisted as he moved slowly, inching into a sitting position. She motioned toward the controller, which would elevate the head of his bed, and he gave a quick nod. She pulsed the button and the mattress shifted upward.

“Thank you.” He looked down and picked at the IV tubing and growled. “This is ridiculous. It was just a flesh wound. I’ve had worse.”

“It was more than a flesh wound and the nurse said you lost a lot of blood and they were worried about your vitals.” Olivia reached out and lightly brushed a finger over the white bandage spanning the area between his collarbone, shoulder, and upper chest area and then lifted it to the one covering the side of his head, dangerously close to his temple. “We were
all
worried when you wouldn't wake up.”

She tried to head off the catch in her throat, to blink back the tears testing her waterproof mascara. But hell, he’d scared her. The thought of losing him… Atticus wasn’t part of her life, but the thought of a world without him in it made her blood run cold and her heart calcify.

“It will take more than some Colombian assholes to end me,” he murmured, his own hand reaching up to capture hers as she lowered it. The unspoken words—
please don’t cry on me
—hovered in the air between them. They stared at each other for a few moments and she found it impossible to read whatever was going on in his mind. As always. But she wanted to know, wanted to be the one he told things so that she didn’t have to guess. She wanted to be the one he
wanted
to tell.

He opened his mouth to say something and Olivia withdrew her hand, breaking their connection. Turning toward the attached bathroom, she grabbed a clean washcloth and filled a basin with warm water. When she came back into the room he was watching the door, his expression equal parts suspicious and curious.

“What are you doing?”

“Relax, I’m going to clean off some of the blood. You look like a train wreck.” She placed the basin on the tray next to his bed, dampened the cloth and began to dab at the smears on his cheek. He watched her, his gaze intense and when he spoke, his voice was rough with the gravel of battle and fatigue.

“How is Katrina? The team? Are they okay?”

“They only had very minor cuts and scrapes. Katrina is at home already. She was unharmed except for being scared half to death and a little dehydrated.” Olivia met his gaze. “Brant and the others had to leave when visiting hours were over but I lied and told them that we were still married so they would let me stay.”

He looked confused. “Aren’t you pissed at me?”

She scoffed. “Furious, actually. I want to shove your face down into the water and drown you.”

“So…you
are
mad.”

She gave him a sharp look as she rinsed and wrung out the cloth. “Don't make fun of me, Atticus.” She felt the break in her voice before it happened and no matter what she did, she couldn’t hold it back. “Just. Don’t.”

“Livvy.” His tone dipped deeper into the pit of gravel and her eyes prickled with tears caused by the last few hours, few days. The heavy weight of new and old emotions from the past threatened to bring her down, and for once she was glad she’d taken off her heels before curling up in the chair because she wasn’t entirely sure she could stay on her feet otherwise.

“It doesn’t matter. I can be as mad as I want but it won’t change who you are and that you think you did the right thing. You’re not sorry you tied me up.” He paused and she eyeballed him. “Are you?”

He shook his head, his expression somber but not contrite. “No. I’d do it again.”

“Because you don’t trust me.”

“Because it was a dangerous situation and two nights ago I told you to get out of the house and you took out your earbud, ignored me, and almost got caught. I couldn’t take that risk with a bunch of kidnappers with guns.”

“I didn't follow your orders at the senator’s house because I had it all under control.” She tossed the cloth onto the side table and pointed at him. “Do you know how many times I’ve been in that same exact situation? I wouldn’t tell you how to do your SEAL stuff because I trust you to know how to do
your
job. B&E is my job.”

But this issue keeping the gulf between them was more than a simple theft job. He didn’t trust her. Not really. She’d lied to him and he’d put up walls and that was the beginning, middle, and end of that story. There was nothing she could do and nothing she could think to say that would change it.

“Livvy.”

He reached out to touch her but she dodged him, moving to the end of the bed. Letting him touch her was a very bad idea. Being within arm’s reach of him for the last few days had been the worst idea she’d ever had. Having sex with him again? Epically stupid.

“I’m going home, Atticus. Tonight. I was just waiting for you to wake up to say good-bye.”

He stared at her and she waited for him to tell her to stay. To say he didn’t want her to go. To say he would miss her and maybe they could talk soon? That they could start over and…

But that was a joke. This was the guy who’d never given her the chance to explain about her past, about the stealing, to do anything to make it up to him. He’d written her off and they were done.

He’d
been done.