“Drop your weapons and show yourself, Taggart.”
“I know you don’t want her dead,” Derek replied from his hiding place. He set the machine gun down, creeping around the side of the crate. His Sig was empty, so he tucked it into his waistband, trading it for the Glock.
“It is not my preference,” Louis said, lifting Alyssa up off the ground, holding her against his chest and blocking a head shot. “But if it comes down to a choice between her life and mine, I will not hesitate. Now come out where I can see you.”
Derek didn’t move.
Louis held up Alyssa’s hand, grabbed her pinkie, and snapped the bone before Derek could react.
Alyssa’s cry echoed through the warehouse, ricocheting through Derek like shrapnel.
“I may not want her dead, but I am happy to cause her pain. Perhaps you would like to watch me punish her for letting you touch her.”
Derek’s stomach roiled as Louis’s fingers closed over the ring finger of Alyssa’s right hand.
Alyssa slid down his body an inch, opening up a target. Derek raised the Glock, his thumb pausing over the safety.
He couldn’t do it. If it had been his own Sig, which he’d fired thousands of times, he wouldn’t have hesitated. He’d hit Abbassi with a double tap to the head and he’d be dead before he knew what hit him.
But he’d never fired the Glock before. Had no idea how it shot straight. If his trajectory was off, even a centimeter, he would hit Alyssa. He couldn’t do it.
Derek stepped from behind the crate and held his hands up, letting the Glock slip from his grip to land on the floor with a thud.
Time for Plan B.
Derek didn’t let his gaze linger too long on Alyssa, who cradled her wounded hand as she stood on shaky legs, her face sickly pale in the dim light, her eyes dilated with pain.
“Alyssa, I love you. It’s going to be okay,” he said, hoping his reassuring tone would penetrate.
“Yes, all will be well,” Louis said with a serpent’s smile. “Once I have dispatched Mr. Taggart, we will be on our way. Come closer, Mr. Taggart.” He took his gun from Alyssa’s head and aimed it at Derek.
“No.” Everything in Alyssa froze. “Please, Louis.” She yanked on his arm, the pain of her broken finger fading in her adrenaline-fueled panic. “Let’s just go. I’ll do anything you want, but please don’t kill him.”
Louis gave her a vicious shove and sent her sprawling.
She scrambled to her knees, wondering if she could make it to the gun Derek had dropped before Louis could shoot either of them.
“Now turn around,” Louis said.
Keening sobs choked her. “I love you, too,” she whispered, and she knew she was going to watch Derek die.
“Fuck you,” Derek said. “If you want to kill me, look at my face while you do it.” Everything came into sharp, vivid focus. The harsh sound of Alyssa’s sobs, her sweet scent mingling with the sharper scents of fear, cordite, and spilled blood.
The cold blade of his knife pressing into his calf.
Louis’s finger tightening on the trigger.
Derek jerked to the side just as the deafening boom echoed through the warehouse, hissed as the bullet dug a furrow through the right side of his rib cage.
Derek landed and rolled, unsheathing his knife and throwing it even before he stopped moving. The eight-inch blade buried itself to the hilt in Louis’s upper right chest.
The last remnants of calm disappeared, lost in the killing rage that roared through Derek’s veins. Derek sprang on Louis like a panther, grabbing Louis’s gun hand and slamming it into the ground. Louis squeezed off a wild shot, and the gun went skidding across the floor. Derek eased up enough to grab the knife and yanked it out of Louis’s chest.
Louis howled in pain, clutching at his chest. With one savage slice of Derek’s arm, the howl turned into a death gurgle.
Derek smiled in savage satisfaction as the warm spray of Louis’s blood arced into the air.
As quickly as it had overtaken him, the bloodlust was gone. Now his only thought was Alyssa, relief flooding him as he realized she was finally safe.
“It’s over, baby,” he said, pushing to his feet and turning toward her. “Now let’s—”
His words froze in his chest, his relief turning to horror when he saw Alyssa lying in a crumpled heap, her thick, tawny hair sticky wet and black with blood.
A
LYSSA CRACKED HER gritty eyelids, wincing as white light stabbed her retinas and made her already throbbing head throb even more. God, this was even worse than her usual headaches, the pain not only pounding through her skull but stabbing and pulling at her scalp on the right side.
The pain in her head was joined by that of her hand, jolting up and down her arm to meet the pain in her head until the two joined forces somewhere in her neck.
She lifted her other pain-free hand to touch her head, jerking it away at the rough feel of bandages. Her eyes opened wider and darted around what looked like a hospital room.
Panic knotted her stomach as she remembered Kimberly and Louis. Maybe this wasn’t a hospital. They could be holding her again. She felt woozy, like she’d taken something. And this time Derek…
Oh, God, Derek. She remembered him dropping his gun, coming out from behind the crate, and Louis aiming his gun at him.
Derek was dead, and it was all her fault. She’d been stupid enough to go off with Kimberly, gotten herself in trouble, and now she’d killed the man she loved. Sobs tore at
her throat, and tears spilled from her eyes. The pain in her body was nothing compared to this.
“Hey, it’s okay.” A low voice, husky with sleep, curled around her. “It’s okay, Alyssa, don’t cry.”
Derek. Was this a dream? A byproduct of the drug-fueled haze? She turned her head gingerly to the side, wincing as pain stabbed through her scalp.
“Easy,” Derek whispered, “you don’t want to put any pressure on this side.” She felt a weight settle on the bed next to her, and then his face was leaning above hers. Lines of fatigue carved deep grooves in his cheeks, and his eyes were ringed with dark circles. But his lips were pulled into a smile, his dimples in full effect as his eyes glittered with what Alyssa would have guessed were tears had it been any man other then Derek.
Then, to her utter shock, a drop of moisture trickled from the corner of one dark eye. He immediately brushed it away with his thumb.
“Are you crying?”
“You scared the shit out of me,” he said, not bothering to deny it.
“What happened? I thought he killed you.” Fresh terror spilled through her when the memory of Derek standing in front of her, a gun aimed at his head, sprang into her head as sharp and real as if it were happening all over again.
He curled his fingers around her uninjured hand as he recounted his superheroics as matter-of-factly as if he were describing a game at golf. “His bullet grazed your scalp and knocked you out. We were so lucky—” He broke off and closed his eyes. “When I saw you lying there, I thought you were dead. I—” He broke off again and brought her hand to his lips.
He didn’t need to finish. She knew exactly how he felt. “How bad is it?”
Derek swallowed audibly and forced a smile. “Well, you’ve got a few dozen stitches, a fucked-up haircut, and a broken pinkie, but overall you got off easy.”
“He killed Kimberly,” she said, still struggling to absorb the fact that her sister had been behind a plot to kill her. “And Richard, too.”
Derek nodded. “They dragged Richard’s body out of the bay last night.”
Alyssa closed her eyes against the renewed throbbing of her head. So many people dead. Thank God Derek had come for her. “Thanks for saving my life,” she said, wincing at how inadequate that sounded. “Again.”
His eyes squeezed shut, and he was silent for several seconds as he pressed another kiss to her uninjured hand. “Anytime, babe,” he finally said, his voice thick with tears.
She heard a thud outside the door, followed by muffled shouts. “What’s that?”
He shot a glare at the door. “Probably another reporter who managed to sneak through. They’ve been trying to get in all day. You think your life was a media circus before, you better brace yourself.”
His words, his annoyance brought back another painful moment. It hit her like a blow. Even though Derek had come to her rescue yet again, it didn’t mean he wanted to be part of her life and the chaos that surrounded it. Sure, he’d said he loved her, but she couldn’t bank on something he’d said when he’d thought he was about to get his brains blown out.
She started to slip her fingers from his, but he held tight. “I’m sorry,” he said as if reading her thoughts. “I know I said things to you last night, god-awful things I didn’t mean.” He broke off and shook his head. “I was angry at myself, and I took it out on you. It wasn’t fair, and you didn’t deserve that. I should have known better than to let you put yourself in that situation.”
“Derek, that was my choice. I forced you to let me go, remember?”
“I could have stopped you if I wanted to. I should have done a better job protecting you. And when Harold hit you, I flew off the handle. I’m sorry.”
She flicked her eyes closed, unable to meet his gaze. “You’re right though. I did want to make it a media event, and not just to get back at my uncle, but to finally get some press coverage that didn’t depict me as a brainless idiot.” She lifted her eyes back to him. “But that didn’t give you the right to talk to me that way.”
“I know,” he said. “Believe me, if I could take it all back, I would. Please, Alyssa, I—” He broke off, cleared his throat, tightened his fingers around her hand. “I love you.”
Hope swelled in her heart, and she wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that made everything okay. But her wounds were still too fresh; she’d taken too many blows from people who claimed to care about her, only to turn on her. “I wish I could believe you,” she said, her head and hand starting to throb in concert, making it difficult to concentrate. “But it’s like every time I feel like you’re starting to care, you shove me away. And you know exactly what to say to hurt me.”
“Alyssa.” He closed his eyes and pressed his head against her hand. When he opened them again, they were dark with regret. “I love you. I meant it when I said it last night, and I mean it now. I’ve never said that to any woman, because I never felt it before. And honestly, it scares the living shit out of me. You’re right. I don’t let people in. What happened with my mom made me”—he paused, screwing up his face like he tasted something bitter—“afraid to feel anything or care about anyone too much.”
“So what changed? How am I supposed to believe you’ve done this one-eighty?” Her heart hurt as much as her head,
and she wanted to cry uncle already and throw herself into his arms. But she didn’t want to make another mistake.
A smile quirked his lips even as his eyes filled up again. “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for you, Alyssa Miles. You’re a force of nature who came into my life and turned me inside out, and now all I can do is beg you to give me another chance.”
“Really? You really want to be part of the media circus that is my life? It’s not going to get any better. This is going to be a hot story for a long time, and they’re going to dig up everything they can find about me and the people in my life. It’s too late for you to avoid it completely, but if you get out now, it shouldn’t get too bad for you.”
A deep crease formed between his dark eyebrows. “I don’t want out. I just want you.” He slid off the bed and knelt on the floor. “See this, Alyssa. I’m begging you. In fact…” He stood up abruptly, walked across the room, and flung open the door. “Hey, you, get in here!” she heard him yell. “Moreno, let him go, get him in here.”
Seconds later, a short, weasely looking guy with a camera ducked in the room, his eyes lighting on Alyssa like he’d won the lottery.
Alyssa groaned when she recognized Charlie Farris, his camera flashing as he shot another exclusive series of Alyssa-Miles-in-the-hospital shots.
“Take it all in, dude,” Derek said, oblivious to the reporter and his history of photographing Alyssa. “You’re about to get one hell of an exclusive.”
He strode back over to the bed and resumed his kneeling position.
“I’m begging you,” he repeated, “to give me another chance. I love you.” His eyes were intense, focused. He pressed a kiss against the pad of her index finger. “I can’t stop thinking of you.” He moved onto her middle finger, grazing the
tip with his teeth. “I want to be with you all the time, have you next to me so I can reach out and touch you any time I want.”
Alyssa swallowed hard and didn’t respond. But a warm glow had taken root inside her and was unfurling like ribbons through her limbs.
“When I thought you were dead, I felt like my world had ended,” Derek said, all teasing gone from his voice. He leaned over her and kissed her, first on the mouth and then on each cheek and the tip of her nose. “I love you, Alyssa.” He lifted his head and smiled at her. “Now, I know I don’t deserve it, but how about you forgive me for being such an asshole and tell me you love me back?”
She was silent for several long seconds as though seriously considering her decision. He swallowed hard, and despite his stoicism, she could see real fear lurking in his dark eyes.
“Forgive him,” Farris said.
Derek rolled his eyes, stood up, and grabbed the guy by the collar. “Okay. That’s enough. Take it to
People
magazine and run with it.”
“Your welcome, Charlie!” Alyssa called as Derek shoved him out the door.
“You know him?” Derek asked, puzzled.
“Let’s just say this will be the second time I made his career.”
He came back to the bed and took hold of her hand. She tried not to gloat at the faint tremble in his fingers. He sank again to the floor. “I can see it now. Cover story of
Us Weekly
.
ALYSSA MILES’S MYSTERY MAN BEGS HER NOT TO DUMP HIM ON HIS SORRY ASS
.
” Deep grooves framed his tight lips despite his attempt at humor.
His gaze was unwavering as he waited for her answer, and she couldn’t keep from reveling for a few more seconds
in the fact that she had brought big, tough, impervious Derek Taggart to his knees.
Finally she let her smile break free and tugged her hand from his. She curved her fingers around his neck and wove them through the short, silky hair at his nape. “I love you back. And if you stay on your best behavior for the next fifty or so years, I’ll think about forgiving you. Deal?”
His dimples creased his cheeks, and the love was evident in his face as he let the last piece of the wall around his heart fall away. “Deal.”
Six weeks later…
Derek jumped up from the couch as soon as he heard the car pull into the driveway. He was out the door and on the driveway before the driver had unloaded Alyssa’s suitcase. He opened her door himself, pulling her off her feet and into his arms before she even had a chance to get out of the limo.
He was being ridiculous, but didn’t care. She’d been gone for two weeks in Africa. Right after she’d gotten out of the hospital, she’d worked with the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees and, using the information in Martin Fish’s notes, she’d located Marie Laure and her baby in a refugee camp in Kinshasa. Determined to help Marie Laure and victims of southern Africa’s civil wars, Alyssa was working with UNHCR and UNICEF and made the trip to help the foundation bring the plight of the region’s war refugees to the world’s attention.
As Martin Fish had envisioned, with Alyssa’s name attached, the world, or American media at least, took notice.
Derek had hated to let her go. Bad enough she’d barely escaped getting killed a few weeks before. Now her first trip away from him, she’d had to go to one of the most dangerous places on the globe. He could barely stand to let her out
of his sight for a few hours, much less two weeks, but he knew how important the trip was, both to the foundation and to her.
Now, at least, he could get some sleep, something he’d done very little of in the time she’d been gone. He had nightmares about the night she’d been shot, but in the dreams more often than not, she didn’t survive. He’d wake up in a cold sweat, heart pounding, convinced he was going to roll over and find her lying in a pool of her own blood. Only the sight of her, sound asleep on the pillow next to him, was enough to calm him down enough to fall back asleep. The nightmares, combined with the ongoing stress of not knowing if one of the bodies found in the mountains belonged to his mother, had made sleep a scarce commodity in the past two weeks.
This was new to him, needing someone. He still wasn’t sure he liked it, but it was his reality, and he was working with it.
But he didn’t begrudge Alyssa her time away. She needed this, maybe as much as he liked to think she needed him. After drifting aimlessly through life, Alyssa seemed to find purpose in using her celebrity to better the world.
She’d even made peace, of sorts, with her uncle Harold. At least, she’d apologized publicly for accusing him of murder. Though Harold hadn’t been involved in the plot to kill Oscar Van Weldt or Alyssa Miles—that was all on Kimberly, Richard, and Abbassi—he wasn’t entirely innocent. He’d willingly looked the other way when it came to Abbassi and to taking the man’s money. And when the shit had hit the fan, he’d let Kimberly take the blame for setting up the deal. Anything to save the family business and his position in it.
Which of course backfired horribly. After the ensuing scandal, Van Weldt’s retail sales dried up. After nearly seventy-five years in business, Harold Van Weldt was trying to find a buyer for the business. So far there had been no takers, as
other jewelers were quick to disassociate themselves from the stain of contraband diamonds.
Alyssa, however, was still in the jewelry business and was busy developing a line of jewelry made only with gemstones and precious metals that came from environmentally sound sources with good working conditions for the miners. The first line wouldn’t be out until later next year, but they already had thousands of buyers on the waiting list.
“Two weeks is too long,” he grumbled, barely even noticing the sound of shutters snapping and shouts of “Alyssa, look over here!” coming from the other side of their gate. He’d gotten used to the paparazzi tailing them in the weeks since the Van Weldt blood-diamond scandal—as the press had dubbed it—had exploded in the media.
He’d gotten used to a lot of other things, too, like waking up with his morning erection nestled up against the sweet curve of her ass and looking over the
Marketplace
section of the
Journal
to see her thumbs flying over her BlackBerry keypad as she shot off e-mails to her manager, her publicist, or her contacts at the UNHCR and UNICEF.