Forbidden Fantasies Bundle(221)

The man sighed. “My associate has no qualms about shooting your other thigh. Then your kneecaps. Followed by your shoulders. Are we clear?”

“He is dead,” Christie said, desperate to make him believe her and leave them alone. “I was there. I saw him die in the explosion with my own eyes.”

“Christie, please. Don’t be obtuse. We exhumed the bones. We know your brother wasn’t killed in that explosion. We also know that he has something that doesn’t belong to him, and we want it back.”

“That’s not true,” she said, again.

“Dan,” Boone said, his voice tight with pain. “Dan Prescott was your man.”

“Very good, Garret. Although some of my colleagues thought his approach was too esoteric, I thought it had merit. And in the end, look what it’s brought us. Half your team. I’d say it was quite a success, despite his personal obsession.”

“She doesn’t know anything,” Boone said, his face contorted by old wounds and fresh pain. “She has no idea who any of us are, and she doesn’t know a thing about Nate being alive. Let her go. You have me. You got to Larry. And I’m sure you’ll find Bill and Jamie, if you haven’t already. So let her go.”

“Once more, Christie,” the talker said, moving toward the other end of the living room. He touched a photograph of her family on the mantel. “Where’s your brother?”

“He’s buried at the veteran’s cemetery in Westwood.”

“All right,” the man said. “Have it your way.” He turned to the man closest to Boone. “Alex, if you would.”

Alex took a bead on Boone’s other leg, but before he could shoot, Milo ripped his way free and jumped over the coffee table, slamming into the gunman. The weapon dropped as Milo sunk his teeth into the man’s wrist.

Christie didn’t stop to think—she leapt after Milo, landing painfully on her side. She saw the gun and grabbed it, pointing at Alex, who was hitting Milo with both hands.

“Christie!” Boone shouted and she turned in time to see Gordon aim his gun at her dog. She lifted the weapon and squeezed the trigger twice. With surprisingly little noise, Gordon slid down the wall, leaving a wide smear of blood.

Behind her she heard a shout, and when she turned, Boone was on top of the talking man, his blood staining the expensive suit, and they were struggling, turning, so that even when she pointed the gun again, she didn’t dare shoot because she would hit Boone.

Milo’s ferocious growls made her turn. The ugly man’s face was wet with blood, and he was screaming. Behind her, the man by the kitchen was on the ground, and there was blood there, too.

She had to focus, even though she was dizzy and shaking, and she pointed the gun at the man fighting Boone. In the few seconds she’d looked away, Boone had gotten behind him. He had the man in a hammerlock, and Boone bellowed as he twisted the man’s head sharply to the right, the snap so loud she heard it over Milo.

Boone collapsed, writhing as he tried to get the dead weight off him, and then she heard another gunshot, too loud. It was the ugly man. He’d gotten Boone’s gun out and was trying to kill Milo. She aimed, but her tears filled her vision and she couldn’t see, and when she went to wipe them she heard another shot, and oh, God.

But it wasn’t Milo laying still on the floor. It was the ugly man, and the top of his head was blown away. She turned to the front door, to a stranger standing in the shadow, his gun raised. She pointed her weapon, but it was waving so much and she still couldn’t see, but she squeezed the trigger—

“Christie. Stop.”

She held her finger still at Boone’s command.

“Christie,” he said again. “Don’t shoot. It’s Nate.”



SHE DROPPED THE GUN AS HER brother walked slowly closer. He’d changed. His hair, which had always been dark like hers was now almost blond, and there were lines by his eyes and mouth that made him look years older. But it was Nate. He was alive.

“Hey, Chris,” he said, and then he was hugging her, and she was crying on his shoulder, still not believing that it was really him. “Man, I missed you.”

She couldn’t talk so she hit his back with both her fists, the mixture of relief and confusion so strong she felt as if the whole world had gone crazy. “Why? Why did you let me think you were dead?”

“I had to, Chris. I was trying to protect you.” He pulled back, and she saw tears on his cheeks. “I didn’t do a very good job of it, did I?”

“You bastard. Don’t ever do that to me again.”

“I’ll try real hard not to.”