No Place to Run

CHAPTER 8

“DO you believe her?” Garrett asked when they assembled in the living room. “Do you believe any of that shit?”

Garrett still wore a look of discomfort after the episode with Sophie just moments before, but Sam was sure his brother didn’t realize how much her distress had affected him. It would just piss Garrett off.

“Whether I believe her or not, we have to treat this as a legitimate threat. Her wounds aren’t faked and neither is the fact that I pulled her half-dead out of the lake.”

“I agree,” Donovan said.

Garrett blew out his breath but nodded.

Sam looked to Donovan first. “I want you to get in touch with Ethan. Give him a heads-up on what’s going on. Make damn sure he keeps his ears and eyes open for any threat to him and Rachel. And for God’s sake tell him not to come home. He could be walking into a trap.”

Garrett nodded his agreement.

“Then I want you to get on the phone with Sean. Tell him to head out to Mom and Dad’s until we can get over there.”

He glanced over at Garrett. “We need to have a look and see if anything’s out there. I’m not walking into broad daylight with Sophie when I don’t know what if anything’s out there waiting.”

“I’ll go,” Garrett said. “You keep an eye on Sophie and stick by the radio. If there’s anything out there, I’ll find it.”

While Donovan made his phone calls, Garrett escaped through the basement tunnel leading down to the lake, and Sam did a step-by-step reconnaissance of the house, checking for any possible angles a shooter could use.

The basement was solid, almost as much of a fortress as the war room on the adjacent lot, but there was only one way out of it if the house was breached, and he’d prefer to use it as a last resort.

On the main level, the problem areas were the kitchen, which had a window facing the wooded area across the road in front of the house, and Sam’s bedroom, where Sophie slept. The window there was an open invitation for someone to take out anyone in the room.

He hoped to hell she was still under from the pain medication. The last thing he wanted to do was wake her up and have her wanting to split when he and his brothers hadn’t fully scoped the situation.

Carefully he slid his arms underneath her warm body and lifted, inch by inch, holding his breath when she stirred and snuggled into his chest.

“Sam,” she murmured in her sleepy, sweet voice. One he’d heard so many times when he woke her to make love to her again.

It was a compulsion to slide his lips over her hair. It was still damp and matted by the lake water, but she still smelled uniquely Sophie.

It pissed him off. In a situation where he needed to be in absolute and complete control of his judgment and emotions, he was decidedly . . . not.

He went back into the living room, where he’d already placed blankets and pillows on the sofa. He eased Sophie onto the cushions and arranged her arm so nothing would press on it. Before he was tempted to linger, he turned away, refusing to look at her any longer.

Donovan met him a few steps away.

“Ethan’s not happy. He wanted to hop on the next plane home. But at the same time he didn’t want to drag Rachel into the middle of something we don’t yet understand.”

“He’s not stupid. He’ll do what it takes to protect Rachel.”

“Sean’s heading to Mom and Dad’s now.”

Garrett’s voice came in low and serious over the radio. Donovan and Sam both froze as they listened.

“Sam, I’ve got someone. Two o’clock. West. He’s surrounded by camo netting. He’s damn near invisible. He’s clearly on observation duty. He’s it. Rest of the perimeter is clear.”

“Son of a bitch,” Sam muttered. “You have a clear shot?”

“Negative. Tree’s in my way.”

Sam’s nostrils flared. No one hunted him on his own turf. “Maintain your position. I’m going after him.”

“I’m locked. He moves and I got him. Be careful, Sam. This guy looks to be a professional.”

Donovan met Sam’s gaze with hard eyes. “You should stay here, Sam. Let me go after him. If Sophie wakes, she’ll need you.”

“She’ll need you more,” Sam said shortly. “You’re the medic.”

Donovan nodded, not arguing though Sam knew he wasn’t happy with the decision.

Sam suited up, his mind focused on the fact that there was a threat out there to his family.

Stalking his prey was what Sam did best. He was patient and cunning. He’d once spent six hours closing in on a sniper and took him out without the enemy, positioned a mere fifteen yards away, ever knowing.

This was more important. This man posed a threat to everything Sam held most dear in the world. His brothers. His family. And now his child.

And Sophie.

The voice whispered in his ear, a reminder he didn’t want.

When he finally got the intruder in his sights, he merely watched, gauging the man’s intent. He was a soldier or a mercenary, and he too was patient.

His movements were measured. He watched the house through binoculars and occasionally he’d scout the area around the house. Looking for anyone watching him.

Sam smiled to himself. The asshole would never see Garrett unless Garrett wanted him to.

Without a sound, Sam unsheathed his knife and crept forward, pausing when the wind stopped or his target moved. He was three feet away and the man still hadn’t detected his presence. Then the wind shifted, blowing from the west. The man turned up his head, nostrils expanding as he scented Sam like a wild animal.

Before he could turn, Sam was on him. The blade pressed into the neck smeared with camo paint, and Sam hissed his demand close to the man’s ear.

“Who sent you?”

“Fuck you.”

The intruder twisted and tried to ram his gun between him and Sam. Sam sliced, cutting the man’s throat in one quick motion.

The hiss of escaping air and the slight gurgle of blood were the only sounds denting the breeze.

“Good work,” Garrett said into Sam’s earpiece.

Sam held up the okay sign and then signaled that he’d take care of the body. He’d have left it there to rot, but one, it was too damn close to his house and he didn’t want to smell the bastard, and two, it would be a headache for Sean when the body was discovered.

Better it disappear for good.

An hour later, he returned to the house to find Garrett and Donovan both waiting.

“I’ve set a secure perimeter around the house,” Garrett said. “No one will be able to so much as piss in the direction of this house without us knowing.”

“We need to call Steele and Rio in,” Sam said as he glanced toward the couch where Sophie still slept. “Mouton made the mistake of stepping onto our turf. We’ll take the fight to him. This time he goes down.”

Both Garrett and Donovan nodded their heads in agreement.

“Until Rio and Steele get here with their teams, we stay put. I don’t want to get Sean or Mom and Dad involved in any way. We’ll put big shiny targets on our asses and dare the bastards to come and get us.”

“Fuckin’ A,” Garrett snarled.

“And Sophie?” Donovan asked.

Again Sam glanced over to her curled up body on the couch.

“She stays with me. She doesn’t get out of our sight.”

SOPHIE struggled in her dreams. The thing was she was aware enough to know she was only dreaming, but she couldn’t shake out of the hazy world of sleep. Exhaustion held her too firmly in its grasp.

The assassin was holding her while he slowly carved a line into her belly. She felt the skin give way. Horror overcame her. She screamed, a giant, silent scream. She couldn’t get her lips to work, and her mouth was as dry as sawdust.

Whimpers tore from her mouth, and she shoved invisible arms away from her. But still, she felt that blade, cutting closer to her womb.

“Sophie. Sophie!”

The gruff voice startled her to wakefulness. Panic shrieked through her spine. God, she wasn’t dreaming. He was here. He was standing over her ready to kill her.

She came up swinging. Her fist connected with his nose, and she felt the satisfying snap as his head popped back.

“Son of a bitch!”

The snarl had her rolling over despite the scream of protest from her arm. She drew back, ready to hit him again, her other arm instinctively over her belly.

“For God’s sake, it’s me, Garrett. You were dreaming.”

She blinked and stared up at the man looming over her. He was holding his nose, and blood smeared his fingers.

She couldn’t even bring herself to apologize. The words stuck in her throat as she remembered what an ass he’d been so far.

“What the hell’s going on?” Donovan demanded as he walked up. He looked at Garrett with an expression of disbelief. Then he cocked his head in Sophie’s direction and arched an eyebrow in question.

“She decked me,” Garrett said.

Donovan’s shoulders shook and his lips twitched. His eyes gleamed in merriment.

Garrett made a sound that came out as a grunt. “She packs a mean right.”

“Look, I didn’t mean to,” she said in disgust. “I thought you were the asshole trying to kill my baby.”

She clutched her arms tighter around herself and refused to look back up at them. The two men remained silent, and finally she heard Garrett walk away. A moment later she heard the kitchen faucet turn on.

“Where’s Sam?” she asked, still not looking at Donovan.

“Making another pass. Making sure we don’t have more company.”

She did look then. “More? Are they here already?” She shook her head, clearing the remnants of her drugged, fogged-up feeling.

“You drugged me,” she said through her teeth as she sat forward on the couch.

He stepped warily away. The memory came flooding back of her begging and pleading for them to let her go.

“Who’s out there?” she demanded.

She rose unsteadily to her feet and cursed when Donovan reached out to prevent her from falling.

“Hey, you okay? Maybe you should sit back down.”

“You stay away from me,” she muttered as she side-stepped him.

He sighed. “You were in pain.”

She bared her teeth. “When is Sam going to be back? And you never answered my question. Who’s out there?”

Garrett returned from the kitchen and frowned in her direction.

“I don’t know who was out there. He wasn’t up for conversation,” Donovan said.

“Why aren’t you two out there with Sam?” she demanded. “What if something happens to him?”

Garrett shot her an incredulous look. “Nothing’s going to happen to him. Sam can handle himself.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re in here.”

“You want something to eat?” Donovan asked.

Startled, she glanced at him, trying to remember the last time she’d eaten. Powered by the suggestion, her stomach caved, and she broke out in a sweat. Her hands shook.

“Have a seat,” Donovan said gently. “I’ll bring you some soup, okay?”

With a resigned sigh, she sank back onto the cushion. Donovan disappeared into the kitchen, leaving her with Garrett.

“Do you always have that look on your face?” she asked.

For a moment his frown slipped and he looked startled by the question. Then he scowled but didn’t reply. She shrugged and settled back on the couch, closing her eyes wearily.

Her drug-induced coma hadn’t been a substitute for a good hard sleep, and now her body was nearing shutdown. The smell of chicken wafted across her nose, and she stirred but was so tired, she wasn’t sure she could summon the strength to open her eyes and eat.

“Sophie.”

Her eyes flew open to see Sam standing there, his gaze boring into her. Had he always been so tall and muscled? She’d spent a lot of time naked with him, but now, dressed in a black T-shirt and camo pants, he looked . . . fierce. Like a man she didn’t know and wasn’t sure of.

“You need to eat,” he said.

It was then she saw the bowl in his hand. She swallowed nervously. They hadn’t talked—hadn’t said anything since she’d dropped her bomb on him. Should she tell him her father was dead? That she’d killed him? Would he even believe her?

Her stomach bottomed out again, and she covered her nervousness by shifting position on the couch. Her arm was starting to ache fiercely again, and despite her anger over the forced painkiller, it would have been nice to have the pain subside again.

She cleared her throat, hating to show weakness. She’d been forced to show strength in front of her father for so long that it was ingrained.

“Do you have something for pain?” she asked. “Like a pill. Something that won’t knock me out.”

The lines in Sam’s forehead deepened. “Of course. Here.” He handed her the bowl and slid the spoon around the inside until it rested against her finger. “I’ll get you some ibuprofen.”

She cupped the bowl in her palms and let the warmth bleed into her hands. She sighed as she inhaled and closed her eyes to let the steam rise over her cheeks. It smelled like heaven.

Sam returned with a small plastic bottle and a glass of milk. He shook out a couple of the tablets and sat next to her on the couch. Then he held up the milk.

His gaze dropped to her belly. “For the baby,” he said gruffly.

Carefully she put the bowl on her lap, balancing it carefully so the soup didn’t spill. Touched by the gesture, she took the milk and the pills and then peered at him over the rim of the glass as she chased the medicine down.

It was hard to gauge his mood. He was frowning, but then it seemed all the Kellys loved to frown.

His eyes flickered, and again he looked down at her belly.

She drained the glass and set it aside before reaching for the bowl again. He made her uneasy, watching her as she sipped at the broth. They were all watching her like she was some bug under a microscope, some undiscovered species.

Spoonful by spoonful she concentrated on the warm liquid that coated her throat down to her empty stomach. When she was finished, Sam took the bowl, their hands touching for just an instant.

He paused and she stared down at those fingers, remembering how they felt on her body, how tender he’d been. How rough he’d been. And demanding.

She shook away those memories, determined that they not have sway in the here and now. Who was she kidding? She’d wish away the present in a heartbeat if she could just go back to those precious days she’d spent in his arms.

No, she wouldn’t go back. She’d give up a lot but not her freedom. Maybe she’d made a mistake to run to Sam. She’d thought she was out of options, but maybe she should have just kept on running.

She looked into his eyes, meeting that steady gaze with steel determination.

“What do we do now?”