The Rogue (20 page)

"The hit man," he rasped.
Dammit
!
He'd left his pistol in the bedroom. He noticed small, bloody cuts on Susannah's right arm.

"But—how?"

Killian shook his head, putting his finger to his lips. Silence was crucial right now. The hit man had to be on the porch. But why the hell hadn't he heard him? Felt him? A hundred questions battered Killian. His senses were now screamingly alert. He had to get to his gun, or they were both dead!

Gripping Susannah's wrist, Killian tugged and motioned for her to follow him. If they couldn't make it to his bedroom, they were finished. The last thing he wanted was Susannah dead. The thought spurred him into action.

Gasping for breath, Susannah scrambled out of the kitchen on her hands and knees. In the darkened hall, Killian jerked her to her feet, shoving her forward and into his room. Instantly he pushed her onto the floor and motioned for her to wriggle beneath the bed and remain there.

Killian's fingers closed over the pistol on the nightstand. The feel of the cool metal was reassuring. Now they had a chance. His eyes narrowed as he studied the window near his bed and the open door to his room.

"Stay down!" he hissed. "Whatever happens, stay here!"

Tears jammed into Susannah's eyes as she looked up into his taut, glistening features. Here was the mercenary.
The soldier who could kill.
She opened her mouth,
then
snapped it shut.

"Don't move!" Killian warned. He leaped lightly to his feet, every muscle in his body tense with anticipation. He tugged at the blanket so that it hung off the bed and concealed Susannah's glaringly white nightgown. Swiftly he turned on his heel and moved to the door, his hands wrapped around the pistol that he held high and at the ready.

Killian was angry at himself—angry that he'd dropped his guard because he cared for Susannah. He pressed himself hard against the wall and listened. His nostrils flared to catch any unusual scent. Morgan
Trayhern
had called him a hound from hell on more than one occasion because of his acutely honed senses. Well, they'd saved his life more than once. Tonight, he had to count on his abilities to save Susannah.

As he ducked out of the entrance and quickly looked up and down the hall, Killian saw no evidence of the hit man. Then a creak of wood made him freeze. There! The kitchen! His heart was a thudding sledgehammer in his chest, his quiet breathing was ragged. The bastard was in the kitchen.

There! Killian heard the crunch of glass. How close to the kitchen doorway was he? He continued down the hall soundlessly, on the balls of his feet. His hands sweaty, beads of perspiration running down his temples, Killian focused like a laser on his quarry.
Susannah's killer.
Only two more feet and he'd have enough of an angle to peer into the darkened depths of the kitchen. Every muscle in his body stiffened with expectation.

Another crunch of glass.
The sound was directional, giving away where the hit man stood. Instantly Killian launched himself forward, flattening himself against the hardwood floor, both hands in front of him, the snout of the Beretta aimed. Seeing the darkened shape of a man move, he squeezed off two shots. The sounds reverberated through the farmhouse. Damn! He'd missed!

The hit man fired back, a silencer on his gun cloaking the sound to light pops. Killian rolled to the left, the door jamb his shield. Wood cracked and splintered as bullets savagely tore at the barrier. His mind working rapidly, Killian counted off the shots.
Six.
More than likely the bastard had nine bullets in his clip. Then he'd have to reload.

The scrambling over glass continued. Killian kept low. He realized with terror that the bedroom where Susannah was hiding was directly behind the hit man. If Killian fired, his shots could go through the walls and hit her. Damn!

Breathing hard, his lips pulled away from clenched teeth, Killian grabbed a piece of wood near his bare feet, and threw it into the kitchen.

Two more shots were fired at it in quick succession.

Good! Only one more round before he'd have to take precious seconds to reload. Stinging sweat dripped into his eyes, and he blinked it away.

In those seconds, waiting for the hit man to make his move, Killian realized that he loved Susannah. Where had such a crazy idea come from? Tightening his grip on the Beretta, he rose onto one knee, ready to fire.

An explosion of movement occurred in the kitchen. Before Killian could fire, the table was tipped over, slamming against the doorway and spoiling his shot. The screen door was ripped off its hinges as a dark figure scrambled out. The thudding of running feet filled the air.

Cursing roundly, Killian leaped over the table. The son of a bitch! Sprinting onto the porch, Killian saw the hit man fleeing toward the road, where his car must be hidden. Digging his toes into the soft, wet grass, Killian started after him. The direction the hit man was running was in line with the Andersons' farmhouse, not more than a quarter mile away. Killian couldn't risk a stray bullet hitting the house or its occupants.

Running hard, he cut through the orchard. Ahead, he saw a dark blue car. The hit man jerked the door open, disappeared inside and hit the accelerator.

The nondescript car leaped forward, dirt and clods flying up, leaving a screen of dust in its wake. Killian memorized the license plate number before the car was swallowed up by the darkness. Lowering his pistol, he continued to run toward the Anderson residence. He wanted to report the car's license number to the sheriff and call Morgan.
More than likely the vehicle was a rental car, and the hit man had signed for it with an alias at an airport—probably Lexington.

Killian's mind spun with options, with necessary procedures that would have to be instituted quickly.

Reaching the house, he wasn't surprised to find the Andersons still asleep, completely unaware of what had just occurred. Susannah's house was nearly a half mile away with plenty of orchard to absorb the sounds of battle.

Breathing hard, Killian entered the house via the kitchen and found the phone there on the
wall.
Setting his gun nearby on the counter, he shakily dialed the county sheriff. As he waited for someone to answer, his heart revolved back to Susannah.
Was she all
right? He recalled the cuts to her right arm, caused by the shattering glass. Anger with
himself
because he hadn't protected her as well as he should have filled Killian. As soon as he'd reported the incident, he'd get back to the house and care for Susannah.

Lying on her belly, Susannah had no idea how long she remained frozen. Her heart was beating hard, and her fingers were dug into the wooden floor. Sean! Was he all right? What had happened? Did she dare risk coming out from beneath the bed to find out? There had been no sound for about fifteen minutes. Her mind was playing tricks on her. Maybe Sean was bleeding to death on the kitchen floor and she didn't know it. Should she move from her hiding place? Should she stay?

She closed her eyes as tears leaked into them. Sean couldn't be dead! He just couldn't! The attack had ripped away her doubts. She loved Killian.
it
was that simple—and that complicated. Lying there, shaking badly as the adrenaline began to seep out of her bloodstream, she pressed her brow against her hands. Sean had ordered her not to move—no matter what. But how could she remain here? If he was lying wounded somewhere, how could she not move?

With a little cry, Susannah made her decision.

"Susannah?"

Killian! She gasped as he pulled the blanket away. Her eyes widened enormously as he got down on his hands and knees.

"Sean?"

He smiled grimly and reached for her.
"Yeah.
I'm all right, colleen. Everything's okay. The hit man got away. Come on, crawl out of there."

Susannah discovered how wobbly she was as she got to her feet. Killian gripped her hands.

"I—I don't think I can stand," she quavered, looking up into his dark, sweaty features.

"I'm not too steady myself," he answered with a rasp. He drew Susannah into his arms and brought her against him. The contact with her was shocking.
Melting.
Killian groaned as she leaned heavily against him, her arms around him,
her
head against his shoulder.

"Sweet," he whispered, holding her tightly—holding her so hard he was afraid he was going to crush her. The natural scent of her—a fragrant smell, like lilacs—encircled his nostrils. Killian dragged in that scent, life after the odors of death. He felt Susannah shift and lift her head. Without thinking, he cupped her chin and guided her lips to his mouth.

The meeting was fiery, purging. He felt the softness of her lips, felt them flow open, their heat, their moistness overwhelming his heightened senses. Time ceased to exist. All he was aware of, all he
wanted,
was her. The warmth of Susannah's breasts pressing softly against his chest, her softness against his hardness, shattered the last of his control.

He groaned, taking her mouth hungrily, sliding against her, absorbing her warmth, her womanliness. His breathing grew chaotic, fevered, as she returned his inflammatory kiss. His fingers sliding into her hair, Killian gripped the silky strands, framing her face, holding her captive as he absorbed her into him like a starving man.

Susannah moaned, but it was a moan of utter surrender mingled with pleasure. She found herself pressed onto the bed, with Killian's tense body against her, driving her into the mattress. The near brush with death—the fear of losing him—overwhelmed her, and she sought blindly to reassure herself that she was alive, that he was safe. There was security in Sean's arms, those powerful bands that trapped her, holding her captive beneath him. With a fierce need, she returned his searching kiss.

"I need you, I need you," Killian rasped against her wet, soft mouth.
"Now.
I need you now
         
"He felt her arch beneath him, giving him the answer he sought. He'd nearly lost Susannah to an assailant's bullet. The warmth of her flesh, the eagerness of her beneath him, could have been destroyed in a split second. Sliding his shaky hands beneath her rumpled gown, he sought and found her slender rib cage, then moved upward. The instant his hands curved around her small breasts, he heard her cry out. But it was a cry of utter pleasure, not fear or pain. The husky sound coming from her throat increased the heat in his lower body. Never had he wanted a woman more. Never had he loved a woman as he loved Susannah.

The fierceness of his rolling emotions shattered Killian's ironclad control. He was helpless beneath her hands. They were gliding over his taut back and shoulders as he pulled the gown off her. In moments his pajamas were in a heap on the wooden floor. Her fingers dug convulsively into his bunched shoulders as he leaned down and captured the tight peak of her nipple with his insistent lips. She became wild, untamed, beneath him, moving her head from side to side, begging him to enter her.

The fever in his blood tripled, sang through him as he felt her thighs open to welcome him. He wanted to take it slow, to make it good for Susannah, but the fiery blood beating through him ripped away all but his primal need to plunge deep into her—to bury himself in her life, escaping the death that had stalked them less than an hour earlier.

Framing her face with his hands, Killian looked down into her dazed, lustrous eyes as he moved forward to meet her. He wanted to imprint Susannah's lovely features on his heart and mind forever. The moment he entered her hot, womanly confines, a low, vibrating growl ripped out of him. He couldn't stop his forward plunge—didn't want to. His need for this feverish coupling was like a storm that had waited too long to expend itself.

Killian's fingers tightened against Susannah's face and he stiffened as liquid fire encircled him, captured him, leaving him mindless, aware of nothing but a rainbow of sensations, each more powerful,
more
overwhelming, than the next. When Susannah moved her hips, drawing him even deeper inside her, he sucked in a ragged breath. Never had he experienced heaven like this. He leaned down, savoring her lips, drowning in the splendor of her sweet, fiery offering.