Fire Bound (Sea Haven Sisters)(137)

He coughed and blood poured out of his mouth.



“That doesn’t look good. Your lungs are filling up with blood. Nasty way to die, although it seems fairly fitting, since you intended to bring your prisoners here to die.” She smoothed back his hair. “I’m married to one of those men.” She smiled at him. “I make him very, very happy. I intend to continue to make him happy. He’ll be having a great life, and believe me, we won’t think about you ever again.”



He tried to spit at her, but he couldn’t. He only succeeded in making more blood dribble down his chin. She made no move to wipe it away. Instead she stared at him just as dispassionately as he had her.



“It was so easy. You thought you were so clever inviting me here, telling me all that nonsense about how you read about me in a magazine. The truth was, Gavriil came to Sea Haven. He led you right there. You knew he settled on the farm with my sister and you figured you’d get me here, introduce me to this room and get the information you wanted about the Prakenskii brothers. I knew that’s what happened the moment you sent me the invite. Still, I figured killing you would be a good thing, so here I am.”



His eyes clouded over and more blood bubbled around his lips. He coughed, spewing blood, and then his head turned slightly and his staring eyes went glassy. She waited a heartbeat before checking his pulse. He was gone. She checked the other two soldiers, found them dead and settled back to wait for her rescuers.



Her arm hurt like crazy. It was difficult to breathe the air in the small room. There was also the terrible feeling of claustrophobia, knowing more rocks could fall at any time, but that didn’t matter. Her family was safe. Her sisters. Casimir’s brothers. She was still alive, and somewhere out there, her husband waited for her.





20



Casimir pushed open the hospital door, his heart thudding so hard, his chest hurt. Two days of hell. Pure, fucking hell. He was done. Finished. He didn’t give a damn what Giacinta thought. He’d give her the moon if that’s what she wanted, but not this. Not ever again. She had done her last job and she was going to be glued to his side where he could see her twenty-four hours a day and ensure she was alive and well.



The hospital room was small, the bed dominating the interior. Instantly his gaze was caught and held by the small figure lying there asleep. He drew in his breath, feeling the raw, hideous terror that had gripped him for those endless hours when she was trapped in the collapsed tunnel with Uri Sorbacov.



Killing Uri Sorbacov with the tunnel collapsing seemed a good idea. They both knew Uri would take Lissa to the interrogation room. He might not know Gavriil Prakenskii was residing in Sea Haven, but it was known worldwide that Ilya was. Every tabloid and gossip magazine happily reported his every move. The moment Casimir had pulled the trigger and taken out Kostya Sorbacov, the man who had ordered his parents murdered, they knew Uri would turn on Lissa.



Casimir pressed his fingertips to his temple, still frozen, his feet refusing to move to cross the space to her side. Stupid. Stupid idea. When they conceived of it, both thought it brilliant. A perfect plan. And then the tunnel collapsed and Giacinta was caught in it and Casimir had no idea if she was dead or alive. For hours. Long, terrible hours of absolute terror. The seconds took hours. The minutes did. He was sick with the need to know if she was alive.



He’d tried to use their connection, pressing his thumb time after time into the center of his palm, but that had failed him as well. And that’s when the terror rose to such a level he nearly lost every vestige of control and discipline he’d acquired with his years of training and practice.



He saw them pull her out of the wreckage of the hotel, her body limp, on a stretcher, rushed to the hospital. He couldn’t get near her. She was under heavy guard, an American caught in the collapse of one of their hotels.



Casimir forced his body to move. He knew he didn’t have much time. There were guards outside her door. His credentials had been put together fast. The American Embassy had sent him to check on one of their citizens. He took a breath, forced it through his burning lungs and stepped up to the bed.



She was asleep, her long lashes covering her eyes. One eye was swollen, her face covered in bruises. There was a cast on her arm. Each breath she drew in seemed labored, as if her body hurt. His eyes burned. His throat clogged. He took her hand and stroked the back of it, bending down to brush his mouth over her temple.



Immediately the lashes fluttered. “Casimir.” She whispered his name, her voice drowsy. “I knew you’d come.”