Driven by Fire (27 page)

“The FBI is coming for you,” Fabrizio said. “Mr. Ryder has explained that there is nothing I can do to stop them. There is no one left to pay off. I am sorry, my son.”

Billy looked shocked. “You aren’t going to let him do this to me, are you, Papa?”

“No, my son,” said Fabrizio, and shot him three times in the chest.

The flashes of light came a nanosecond ahead of the thunder that echoed around the foyer, and the smell of gunpowder filled the air as Billy stared down at his shirt, now dotted with bright red stains. He looked up again, his mouth moving soundlessly, and then his head exploded with a final bullet.

Jenny began to scream, sinking to her knees on the marble floor, screaming and screaming until someone yanked her hands away from her face and slapped her, and she looked up into her father’s furious expression.

“You see what you made me do?” he said in a voice of deadly quiet. “I killed my own son because of your stupidity. You stop this, do you hear, or I swear I will shoot you too.” He pulled back his hand to slap her again when Ryder caught his arm, yanking him away.

“Leave her the fuck alone,” he snarled, then knelt down beside her. He put his hands on her, pushing her hair back from her shocked, tear-streaked face. “Let me get you out of here.”

“And don’t let her come back, or I swear I’ll kill her myself. My family has shamed me, first my son with his stupid choices and now my daughter who doesn’t know the meaning of the word
loyalty
. This is all her fault—blood is first.”

“Blood is first and you murder your son,” Jenny said in a shaky voice. “You bastard! You’re even more of a monster than I thought you were.”

“Get her out of here, or I swear I’ll come after her,” Fabrizio said.

“You won’t touch her,” Ryder said in a quiet voice, scooping her up in his arms. “Because I can get to you, no matter how big an army you have, no matter how many people you pay off. You’ll leave her alone.”

“Fine. From this day forward I have no daughter.”

From somewhere deep inside Jenny found her voice. “You never did,” she said.

And Ryder carried her from the house, leaving the carnage behind.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Jenny was scarcely aware of Ryder as he carried her out into the overcast day. He tucked her into the front seat of the car, fastening the seat belt for her, and within moments they were speeding down the driveway, out onto the road. She leaned back against the seat, closing her dry, scratchy eyes.

She couldn’t cry. She’d lost her baby brother, the last person she’d considered to be her family, lost him more thoroughly than she’d lost her other brothers. No one else in her family had considered her worth bothering about, but at least they hadn’t tried to kill her. She could see her father’s cold, angry face, the gun still in his hand. She really had been raised by wolves, and that madness, that bad blood, ran in her veins as well.

She was in shock. She knew it, welcomed it. She didn’t want to feel the dark cloud of pain that hovered, threatening to smother her. She didn’t want to think, to feel, to care.

The car pulled out onto the interstate, and she opened her eyes. Ryder was driving fast, way too fast, weaving in and out of traffic, and normally she’d be grabbing the door handle and screaming at him to slow down. It didn’t matter. If they ended up in a pile of twisted metal it would make no difference.

She turned to look at him. His face was set, his eyes cold and wintry. He glanced at her, taking his eyes from the road for a moment, and she considered shrieking in protest. She couldn’t say a word.

“I should tell you I’m sorry.” His voice was low, unexpected. “But I’m not. If your father hadn’t killed that son of a bitch then I would have. You know that, don’t you?”

She pictured her brother’s body lying on the marble floor, the blood pooling beneath him, and she felt nothing. “Yes,” she said dully, surprised that her voice worked.

“Whoever your baby brother was, he died a long time ago. That piece of shit would have killed you.” There was banked fury in his voice, enough to catch her attention.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, knowing she sounded as defeated as she felt. “He was the last member of my family I cared about, trusted. Now there’s no one.”

“There’s me.”

She barely heard the words. She jerked her head back to him, some of the fog beginning to lift. “What did you say?”

He didn’t answer her question. “Look at it this way—you had a rough start in life. You’re a changeling, born into the wrong family. That family is gone now, and you can shut the door on them.”

“You think it’s that easy? That I don’t need to mourn my brother?” she said, her raw voice stronger.

“Of course you do. You need to cry and scream and hit things. You can even hit me if it helps. But you can’t change the fact that he’s dead and the world is a better place for it.”

She wanted to hit him, hit him for the awful truth she couldn’t refute. Billy had been a monster in sheep’s clothing, and she’d been too blinded by her need for family to look past his smooth exterior.

“You’re driving too fast for me to hit you,” she said in a low voice.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He sped up, and it was beginning to scare her, just a little bit.

“Slow down!”

“Make me,” he shot back. He was going over ninety now, and the roads were crowded with commuters and tourists heading back into the city. He dodged into the right lane, passed someone and then crossed three lanes of speeding traffic into the fast lane, and Jenny wanted to scream.

“Slow down!” she yelled at him, no longer apathetic.

“Why?” he shouted back, the noise of the traffic all around them.

“Because I don’t want to die.”

He immediately slowed down, and she could sense some of the tension leaving him. Which was fine—she was already tense enough for the both of them. “Good,” he said. He moved the car over to one of the middle lanes, driving at a comparatively sedate pace. “So where do you want to go?”

She looked at him with disbelief. He was getting rid of her, now that everything was over, and that safe cocoon that had embraced her began to dissolve. “How the hell should I know?” she said, her voice harsh. “I have no house, no clothes, nothing. Drop me at a hotel somewhere.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then where the hell are you planning on taking me? I won’t go back to that goddamn house on Magazine Street.”

“Not there.”

Oddly enough the traffic was thinning a bit, the highway going from four lanes to three, and she suddenly realized they were driving away from the city, not toward it. “What are you doing?” she said in a calmer voice.

“Taking care of you. You’re hurting, and you need someone to look after you. That’s what I’m doing.” His voice was matter-of-fact, and for a moment she was cold and silent. She was hurting, and he was looking after her. His words broke the dam inside her, and suddenly she began to weep, loud, noisy sobs.

She had no idea how long she cried—at some point he pulled off the road and parked, hauled her to him and held her as she wept, stroking her back in a soothing gesture. Eventually her sobs slowed, turned into shuddering hiccups, and then into shaky breaths, and he moved his hand up to push her hair away from her wet face.

He’d pulled her over onto his lap, and she’d never felt so safe, so protected in her life. She looked at his impassive face, and she was so tired. All she wanted to do was stay in his arms forever, but she knew that was impossible. “Why are you doing this?” she said in a small voice.

“Doing what?”

“Holding me. Acting like you care about me when I know you think I’m nothing but a pain in the ass.” She felt completely vulnerable, with nothing to hold on to, and she wanted to hold on to him.

To her shock he actually smiled. “You are a pain in the ass. You’re also being deliberately obtuse but I’ll give you that. You’ve had a hard day.”

“You think? So fucking indulge me. What am I being obtuse about?”

He didn’t even hesitate. “I’m in love with you. I’m not even sure I believe love exists, but if it does I’m in it with you, and I’ve given up fighting. You may as well give up too. Love doesn’t seem to respond to common sense and conventional wisdom.”

She looked at him for a long moment. “I gave up long ago,” she said simply, half afraid to admit it.

“Gave up what?” he said warily, as if he wasn’t sure he could believe her words.

“Gave up fighting it.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “Let’s face it—you’re hot. And you save my life, over and over again, you utterly destroy me when we make love, and . . . and I trust you. You’re a good man, whether you believe it or not, and I love you.”

His smile widened as he shook his head. “This isn’t
Romeo and Juliet
.”

“I don’t want it to be. They died. We’re going to live.”

He kissed her then, sliding his hand behind her neck to bring her mouth to his, and she let herself sink into it, into him, so there was nothing but his mouth, his body hard beneath hers, his rock-solid arms holding her, and when he used his tongue she felt the wet hot lick of desire wash through her, as life filled her veins once more.

She pushed back from him, breaking the kiss. “You don’t have to love me, you know,” she said, suddenly guilty. “I’m not always this pathetic.”

“You’re not pathetic at all. And yes, I have to love you. I’ve given up fighting it. Now why don’t you curl up and get some sleep while I get back on the highway. The Louisiana State Police are broad-minded, but it’s still daylight and I don’t think they’d overlook roadside sex. Don’t worry—I’ll wake you when we find a bed.”

Another knot of hope and desire turned inside her. “But what about your work?”

“Remy can take care of the Committee—I’m long overdue for a vacation, and my partner Bishop can get his ass back from his honeymoon. We’re going to drive until we feel like stopping, and then drive some more.”

“And when we stop?”

“We’ll fuck like rabbits. Does that suit you?”

“Yes,” she said, slipping back into the passenger seat with a shaky sigh. “And I promise not to cry anymore.”

“You can cry all you want. It’s hard to lose a family.”

“Not when you’ve found your real one,” she said.

He kissed her again, short and hard. “Remember that.”

He pulled out onto the highway again, catching her hand in his strong one as they headed west into the setting sun.

About the Author

Anne Stuart is a grand master of the genre, winner of Romance Writers of America’s prestigious Lifetime Achievement Award, survivor of more than forty years in the romance business, and she still just keeps getting better.

Her first novel was
Barrett’s Hill
, a gothic romance published by Ballantine in 1974, when Anne had just turned 25. Since then she’s written more gothics, regencies, romantic suspense, romantic adventure, series romance, suspense, historical romance, paranormal, and mainstream contemporary romance.

She’s won numerous awards, appeared on many bestseller lists, and speaks all over the country. Her general outrageousness has gotten her on
Entertainment Tonight
, as well as into the pages of
Vogue
,
People
,
USA Today
,
Woman’s Day
, and countless other national newspapers and magazines.

She’s just celebrating her fortieth wedding anniversary with her luscious husband, and she lives by a lake in northern Vermont, where she enjoys an empty nest, fabulous grandchildren, and overacting in local theater. She has so many books she still wants to write that she plans to live forever.