He stepped to the side, covering the room with his weapon while Tony slid in, Upton behind him. The small table with their wedding pictures had been knocked over.
A man lay in a pool of blood in front of the hearth. Othello was on his side, blood oozing from a wound near his neck. Tess cradled the dog’s head in her lap and held a knife in the other hand.
Alex’s relief nearly took his knees out from under him. He holstered his weapon, checked the thready pulse on the man then went to Tess, his gaze searching her for injuries.
“Are you okay? What happened?”
She pointed the knife at the man. Alex took it from her and handed it to Tony.
“He’s the one who attacked me in your apartment and messed with the brakes on your truck.”
The dog whined and thumped his tail once. Fresh blood oozed from the wound and Tess cradled him closer. Othello lifted his head, then let it fall back.
Alex crouched next to the guy and studied him. “I’ll be damned.” His gaze followed the trail of blood to the guy’s upper thigh. Apparently O had bit into the leg and cut the artery.
“Who is it?” Upton asked.
“Jeffrey Abbott.” Abbott had been cocky and sure of himself and completely wrong for the department. Unfortunately, he’d passed all the psychological profile tests and physicals. It hadn’t taken long for the department to realize their mistake in hiring him and send him to Alex. He’d washed him out of the program fast.
He shook his head. Thirty years ago Abbott’s father had been one of the best detectives in the department. Jeffrey had thought riding on daddy’s coattails would get him just as far. He’d always been a little manic, a little too far on the edge. Alex had feared he would shoot someone just for the hell of it.
Tess hunched over Othello and sobbed. Othello lapped up her tears, obviously not too badly hurt and enjoying the attention.
Hands shaking, his stomach in knots, Alex drew her close.
“Shhh, Tessie, O will be all right. Probably just needs a couple stitches.”
Tony crouched down and took the afghan from the back of the couch to press it against Othello’s wounds. Othello tried to roll, but gave up the struggle and lay back.
Upton put his fingers to Abbott’s pulse. His gaze slid to Alex and he pulled away, shaking his head.
Tess wiped at her tears. “I love you, Alexandre Juran, but I can’t take much more of this.”
He chuckled, the knots in his stomach loosening. He nudged her head onto his chest. “I swear to God, Tess, after this day the two of us are going to lead very ordinary, very boring lives.”
She took his hand and placed it on her stomach. “Three of us.”
His fingers jerked and he stared at her, at first uncomprehending, then he pulled her closer, hugged her tighter.
He smiled into her hair and closed his eyes, sending up a prayer of thanks for second chances and new beginnings.
Epilogue
Alex strode down the wide hallway of the hospital, his grin nearly reaching from ear to ear. He and Tess had never thought this day would come. Two weeks late, but it had arrived.
He stopped and looked back. Sam was crouched down at a cart parked to the side, intently studying the wheels. At two years old, anything with wheels held his attention. Alex hoisted his son into his arms. Sam stuck his thumb in his mouth and laid his head on Alex’s shoulder.
Four-year-old Christopher chattered nonstop beside him. The three Juran men walked together down the hall, in search of Tess and the newest Juran addition.
“Want mama,” Sam said around his thumb.
“That’s where we’re going,” Alex said, patting his son’s back.
“Why a girl?” Christopher asked while trailing a hand along the wall.
“Because God decided two boys were enough and we needed a little girl.” Alex studied the numbers on the doors as they passed.
Sam popped his thumb out and stuck his tongue out, his latest trick.
“Put your tongue back in your mouth.”
He giggled.
Alex found Tess’s room and sighed. He loved his boys, but couldn’t wait for Tess to come home and take them in hand. Funny that he was the cop and couldn’t control his own children. He’d been a pushover since the day Christopher entered the world screaming and waving his tiny fists into the air—two weeks late, as well.
He pushed the door open. Tess sat in the chair, holding a tiny bundle of pink. She looked up and smiled. Sam wiggled out of Alex’s arms and shot toward his mother, his chubby arms held out. Tess reached down and swooped him up one-armed. Alex bit back a reprimand to take it easy.
He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe and crossed his arms, content to watch his children and wife.
After Christopher’s birth, Alex had decided he had too much to lose to go chasing criminals across fields and into dark warehouses. He took a job as an instructor at the police academy, working nine to five with Saturdays and Sundays off.
Surprisingly, Shannon grew up after her husband’s arrest. She’d held strong and kept her family together, running her own day care. Out of necessity, she’d lost her self-centeredness. Roger had been relocated to a prison in Cleveland. No one had spoken to him in years.
Sometimes at night, with his wife curled up beside him, Alex would think about that dark night, lying on the cold pavement as the life seeped out of him. She had come to him in his dreams—dreams that had turned into reality. If not for her constant presence, her unwavering support, even when he rejected her, he feared he wouldn’t have made it through those pain-wracked days.
Sam snuggled into his mother while Christopher studied his new sister, Anna Katherine Juran.
Tess looked up and smiled at him and Alex stepped over to his newly extended family. Anna pursed her lips and stretched, her eyes tightly closed. He ran a finger over her soft cheek and she turned her head toward him. Never in this lifetime had he imagined he could be so happy. He bent down and gave his wife a kiss, silently thanking her for giving him back his life.
About the Author
After reading
Black Beauty
when she was ten, Sharon had two dreams—to own a horse and to write books. She still doesn’t have the horse, but she does write. Nowadays she divides her time between the everyday duties of a mom—with three busy kids, a husband, and a Labrador Retriever who occasionally makes an appearance in her stories—and writing.
To learn more about Sharon, please visit her website at
www.sharoncullen.net
. You can send an email to Sharon at
[email protected]
or become a member of her Yahoo! group and join in the fun at
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Sharon_Cullen/
.
Look for these titles by Sharon Cullen
Now Available:
Deception
Redemption
Night Song
Running for her life…to a man who’d given up on it
Redemption
© 2008 Sharon Cullen
A
Love on the Edge
romance
Pregnant, alone—and with no memory of who she is—these words are the only thing Hope can hang onto as she drives through a blizzard, searching for the reclusive Callahan. And when she finds him, she’s not sure which of them is more in need of help and healing.
Haunted by the brutal murder of the woman he loved, the last thing John Callahan needs on his hands is an injured pregnant woman. But with the storm bearing down, he has no choice. Opening his home to her, though, turns out to be far from simple. Her unconditional acceptance of him, scars and all, opens windows to his soul he thought were forever sealed.
Then he discovers Hope’s true identity and realizes his past—and a powerful enemy—has come back to haunt them both. Even as he races against time to save her, John has to wonder…
Is Hope his redemption? Or his downfall?
Warning: This story contains deep emotion, edge-of-your-seat suspense, political intrigue, violence and a romance that will take your breath away.
Enjoy the following excerpt for
Redemption:
The blizzard stopped later that afternoon. The phone line would take some time to repair, he’d told her, and the cell phone kept dropping his calls. They spent another lazy day in the cabin, but this time Hope didn’t feel as claustrophobic. This time she kept sliding glances at him, hoping… Hoping what? He’d touch her again? He’d reveal a crack in his façade and show a little more emotion?
She stared out the windows, mainly because the scenery changed whereas the walls stayed the same. She liked to watch the blowing wind create snowdrifts, destroy them and build them back up somewhere else. Now that the wind had stopped, the sun peeked through weak clouds and the snow shimmered like a forest of diamonds, causing her to squint against the beautiful glare. Parts of her car were buried beneath inches of snow while in other places metal poked out of the landscape, marring what she considered picture-perfect scenery.
“You want to take a look?” John stood with hands shoved deep into his jeans pocket.
Unable to help herself, her gaze slid over the length of him. Over slim hips, long legs, wide shoulders. He was lean, but well muscled. An outdoorsman compared to a bodybuilder.
She’d never seen his red gold hair combed. Thick, with a touch of curl at the ends, it was always messy, leaving him with a sexy, just-out-of-bed look. His gaze met hers, navy eyes curious but aloof. He always seemed detached, holding himself at a distance. Was it her or was he that way with everyone?
She didn’t know if it was disgust at herself for thinking of him in a way other than rescuer or sorrow that she couldn’t penetrate the barriers he’d erected that made her turn back to the window. She had no business thinking of him in that way. After all, she could possibly be married.
“Let’s go outside,” he said. “No use brooding in here when it’s beautiful out there.”
She leaned against the rough pine-board wall, a half smile tugging at her lips. “That’s the pot calling the kettle black.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” No heat to his words, just idle curiosity. Did nothing get to this man?
“It means you’re the king of brooding.”
“Maybe I have reason to brood.”
“And I don’t?”
“Doesn’t mean it’s good for you. I should know, being the king and all.”
She stared at him for a few moments, arms crossed over the swell of her belly. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
“You call this nice?” He waved a hand in the air. “Nah.”
“Yes. I call this nice. At first you didn’t want me here, did you?”
He looked away. “It wasn’t the right time,” he said.
“I’m sorry if I ruined any plans you’d made.” With a storm brewing, she wondered what kind of plans he would have had. Unless the reason he hadn’t stocked up on food was because he was leaving and had to stop to save her.
His jaw muscle ticked and he still wouldn’t look at her. Then he shrugged again and pulled his hands from his pockets. “Let’s take a look at that car of yours.”
The day may have looked glorious from the inside, but once outside, the cold knocked the breath right out of her. John had given her an old coat of his and her running shoes. He’d been right, they weren’t cheap shoes. She put them on, hoping once again for some flashback. When nothing happened, she fought the disappointment.
The snowdrifts sometimes came to her knees and she had to step high, falling behind John and using his boot prints as a guide. He dusted the car off with a gloved hand, slowly revealing an old black, rusted Corolla. The cold hinges screeched when he opened the door, echoing off the snow-laden trees and rending the air with a sound that violated the peace of the wintry day.
She crouched and looked inside the dim interior. Cracked faux-leather seats, blood on the steering wheel where she’d hit her head. But that was all there was. Nothing to indicate where she’d come from, why she’d ended up here. Disappointed once again, she straightened, rubbing her aching back.
John struggled to the back of the car and opened the trunk. A car jack fell into the snow, leaving a deep impression. “It’s not a rental,” he said. She didn’t know how he knew that, but trusted his judgment.
The sun broke through the clouds again and she squinted against the glare.
She yanked on the steering wheel and slammed on the brake. The car went into a skid. The rear end fishtailed, skating sideways. She screamed as the car sideswiped a tree, bounced off it, spun around and began sliding down a steep embankment she hadn’t seen.
Throwing her hands over her face, she screamed again as the car turned end over end.
When she focused, John was standing in front of her, with a worried expression. “What happened?”
“I remembered the crash.”
“Anything else?”
She shook her head. Why would she remember something so stupid, something that didn’t mean anything?
He must have sensed her frustration. “Don’t worry. It’s a good sign.” He glanced around, his sharp eyes taking in everything and she wondered if he was looking for danger. It seemed strange that danger could inhabit such a peaceful place.
“I’m sorry if I led Suzanne Carmichael to you.”
He swung back to her, his usually expressionless eyes holding surprise. As if he believed her but didn’t want to. “Come on, we better get you inside where it’s warm.” He turned and she followed, but this time he walked beside her, leaving enough distance so their shoulders or arms couldn’t accidentally brush but staying close. “Holly, Hanna, Hope.”
She stumbled, fell to her knees and landed on her hands. Her breath whooshed out of her.
Blood. Blood was everywhere. All over the desk, turning white paper into a splattered mess. Her gaze flew around the room, looking, searching for…
She gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, and rushed forward. He lay on his back on the floor. When she crouched down and grabbed his hand, his eyes opened slowly, filled with pain and regret.
“Hope.” He licked his lips and grimaced.
“Don’t talk,” she said. “Please—”
“Go to Callahan, Hope. He’ll help you. He’ll protect you.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks, mixed with the blood staining his shirt and turning it pink. “No. I need to call—”
He squeezed her hand but the movement lacked strength. He’d always been such a big man, so full of life, humor, love. “Go to Callahan… His address…in the rolodex…take the card… Go, Hope. Don’t let…them follow…”
He closed his eyes, his hand going slack in hers and she knew. She knew.
Slowly the snow seeped into her sweat pants, freezing her kneecaps. She stared at the snow, fully expecting to see blood. Tears raced from her eyes as they had in her vision, and an aching hole opened inside, quickly filling with grief. A soul-wrenching sadness that made her weak.
In the far reaches of her mind, she heard a voice. Someone crouched in front of her, the voice louder, insistent. Hands reached out, hesitated. She lifted her head, her vision blurred from the tears. She opened her mouth but no sound came out.
“You need to get inside,” the voice said. “You’ll freeze out here.”
Callahan. John Callahan. The man she’d been searching for. Not to destroy but for protection. She struggled to stand, the snow beneath her giving way, making her stumble. A far-off noise registered in her mind and she realized she was crying.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay.”
She shook her head. It would never be okay. She didn’t know what had happened, who the person was who had died holding her hand, but he’d meant something to her. Had been special.
They managed to stumble back to the house. Hot air hit her face when John opened the door, making her nauseated. She stood like a child while he stripped off her mittens, pulled off her coat and hat and scarf, then led her to the couch and the warmth of the fire.
He perched on the coffee table in front of her, elbows on his knees, blue eyes boring into hers. “Tell me what happened.”
She focused through the pain, squeezing her hands together until her nails bit into her palms. “I’m Hope,” she said.
He reared back. “What?”
“My name. It’s Hope.”