by Sylvia Day
Colby…he was all that mattered, lying facedown on the floor.
Breathing—
Thank God.
He was breathing. Touching a hand to his neck, she checked his pulse. A little fast.
“Okay…” she whispered to herself. “He’ll be okay.”
Gently, she eased him up by the shoulder. Had to get a look…She frowned, feeling the odd, bulky thickness under her fingers. No blood. Nothing—
As she got him onto his back, the relief crashed through her, and if she’d been standing, she would have collapsed. Her world had been going black, the air disappearing. But now, bit by bit, the light returned and she could breathe.
He’d be okay. He would live.
He would hurt for a while. But he would live.
The fucking man had been wearing a vest.
“Colby…” She laid a hand on his cheek, but he didn’t stir.
Closing her eyes, she bent over him, rested her brow to his. Just a minute, she told herself. She needed just a minute. God. Thank God. He was alive.
And before she realized what she was going to do, she pressed her lips to his. “I love you…”
chapter twelve
“Fractured ribs.”
Mica leaned against the wall as Colby eased himself up in the bed.
It was dark. Hours later. She’d just managed to get away from the scene, and the entire time, her mind had been here. Here, with him, nearly an hour away while he was getting worked over, poked and prodded by paramedics.
She wasn’t done, and she knew this wasn’t where she should be.
It was simply where she had to be. For a few minutes, at least. Even though he’d been awake well before the paramedics arrived, she’d had to come see him.
As his blue eyes cut to hers, she moved deeper into the narrow little cubicle, her hands inside her pockets. He was pale, fine lines fanning out from his eyes, bracketing his mouth. But when he saw her, a faint smile curled his lips.
She resisted the urge to smile back. “Fractured ribs. Bruised insides. Shot at point-blank range. That how they teach you to do things at the FBI, Mathis?”
“Only when you have to go backing up hotheaded cops who do things they know they shouldn’t,” he responded easily. He went to stand up but stopped when she came to stand in front of him.
“You really need to be moving around?” She barred his way, figuring he’d hurt too much to go around her or try moving her.
“Yes. Because I really need to get out of this hospital.” A grimace twisted his mouth. “I hate hospitals. I can’t get out of here until I move off the bed.”
She rested a hand on his shoulder. “You just got shot.”
“Yeah, well, the vest took most of the damage.”
Catching her lip between her teeth, she reached out and caught the V opening of the button-up shirt he’d scrounged up from somewhere. Probably bullied it out of a doctor or charmed it out of a nurse, she figured. The mottled bruising was spreading all over the upper part of his chest, and she couldn’t even see the worst of it that well, she suspected. “It looks like you took enough damage. You should be still…rest.”
“I will. When I’m someplace other than here.” He closed his fingers around hers and pressed a kiss to the back of her wrist.
“Colby…”
“Mica…” Sliding her a look from under his lashes, he said, “You’ve got a case to wrap up, don’t you?”
She froze. Something warm and hopeful had been working inside her heart for…hell. Almost from the moment she saw him on the beach. It had damn near died when she saw him go down, only to flare back to vibrant life, and now, he was shooing her off?
Swallowing, she pulled back. “Yeah. Yes, there’s a case to wrap up.” Carefully sidestepping all the various crap medical types managed to cram into an ER room, she made her way back to the curtained door. “Should I have the captain contact you, fill you in once it’s wrapped up?” she asked coolly.
“Nah. It’s not necessary.”
“Okay, then. Have a nice life, Colby.”
HE WATCHED AS she disappeared, just barely resisting the urge to go after her.
The problem was, right now, he’d almost have to crawl.
And that wasn’t happening.
She didn’t realize he’d heard her.
That whisper through the darkness had guided him, made it easier to get past the pain.
I love you…
Yeah. He was holding on to that. And the two of them were going to have to face each other, figure out how to live with each other.
Because he loved her, too, and he wasn’t letting her go again.
Part of that, though, included figuring how to live with himself again.
“GOOD WORK.” CAPTAIN Alice Kellogg finished the report and then settled back in her chair, studying the woman before her.
Mica stood with her hands linked behind her back, her face blank. There were signs of sleepless nights visible in the shadows under her eyes, but she didn’t care. She looked like shit. Big deal. Who was there around that would even care anymore?
The captain studied a photo wrapped in an evidence bag.
“You look like her.”
Mica glanced down and then away. Phillips’s wife. Her name had been Christine. She’d divorced him eight years ago, and according to what Mica had unearthed, Christine Phillips had left the country with her lover shortly after the divorce. There was even a marriage license for them filed in Jamaica…and a house. One that had been abandoned. There had been no sign of her or her new husband in nearly five years.
She didn’t need the captain pointing out the similarity—she’d seen it. The same dark, curly hair, the same tall, lean frame, even their eyes had looked similar from what Mica could tell. Mica had been eerily disturbed when she’d watched Phillips’s wedding video—their wedding song had been “Hero” by Enrique Iglesias—the song Colby had heard the bastard singing over and over to the women he’d killed.
It had been damn freaky seeing that man dance with a woman who had looked so much like herself. Damn freaky. Christine, though, had a softness to her that Mica didn’t. A gentleness, perhaps.
Abruptly, Mica figured something out. And even as that mystery revealed itself, she wanted to kick herself. Mica looked in the mirror every day and saw strength—she just hadn’t ever really realized it before. Strength—she had strength inside her. She wasn’t the coward she’d once been…
Aware of the captain’s gaze, Mica forced her thoughts back to the case. Away from her self-realizations. She could deal with those later. Clearing her throat, she nodded to the wedding photo the captain still held. “Did you notice the flowers she’s holding?”
“Yes. The Queen of the Night, right?”
“Yes. She was a horticulturist—she doesn’t have any family living, but I was able to track down some friends. She was very fond of that breed of tulip.” Shifting her gaze away, she stared out the window into the burning-bright light of the afternoon.
“I heard from a friend of yours a short while ago.”
Mica cut her eyes back to the captain as her heart stuttered in her chest.
Colby—
“Jones called. Apparently, he got a text from his former agent while you all were out there. He didn’t go into much detail, but he did want to make sure I had the relevant information about the house’s owner…It had belonged to the wife’s father. Phillips has been quietly caring for it all this time, which you already know.” Kellogg tapped the report with a pen. “I’d say once Mathis made the connection, that’s what pushed him into the house. I have to guess at that…seeing as how your report was sketchy on those details.”
Mica tensed.
“Any reason you didn’t get me those details?”
“He left the hospital,” she said stiffly. “Left town. Seeing as how you wanted his involvement kept to a minimum during the case, I didn’t see why you’d want to change that now.”
“Hmmm. Good cover-up
.” Kellogg continued to stare at her. “I almost believe that.”
Then she bent back over her desk. “You need a few hours off. Take the afternoon.”
“Captain, I—”
“Take the afternoon,” Kellogg repeated, looking up with a steely glint in her eyes.
AS MICA DISAPPEARED through the doors, Kellogg rose from the chair and moved to the window.
Considering her angle, she doubted Mica had been able to see him.
But he’d been out there for the past hour, leaning against Mica’s car. Unmoving. Patient as the sea.
Considering he’d just taken a bullet to the chest not that long ago, Kellogg hadn’t been able to make him wait any longer.
THE HEAT WAS a bitch.
Colby took another drink from his water bottle and shifted on the car.
His chest was aching like hell, and if she didn’t come outside soon…
It was past lunchtime.
He’d spent those hours loitering around the front steps, certain she’d head out to grab a bite from the deli across the street, but she didn’t.
So now he was just waiting for her shift to end.
He figured he could have gone to her house.
He knew where she lived, although she hadn’t ever given him that information and it wasn’t exactly public knowledge. And he would go there, if he had to. Just…not yet. Not until he actually had to pull that desperate, I-can’t-live-without-you stalker routine.
Something warm and sweet bloomed inside his mind.
The heart inside his bruised and battered chest started to race.
Lifting his head, he saw her.
Striding out the door, shoulders set, a look on her face that said, loud and clear, I’m pissed…lemme alone.
“Sorry, baby.”
She stilled. Almost like she heard him.
But he imagined she only sensed him. The way he sensed her. The way he’d sensed her all those years ago. Need, a heavy ache, throbbed inside his veins. Desire pulsed hot and bright. And love, so pure it hurt, beat inside his heart. He didn’t want to be without her. He’d done it before and it had made him miserable. He could be whatever, do whatever he had to…as long as she was with him.
Her head lifted, and across the hot, shimmering heat of the parking lot, their gazes locked.
Knowing he’d pissed her off, and good, he figured he might as well make it a challenge for her. After all, if he pissed her off, she was much less likely to storm back inside, at least not until she’d torn a strip from his hide. Right?
It took everything he had to paste a smug, smirking smile on his face, to tip his water bottle in her direction in a cocky salute.
But it worked.
She came storming in his direction, the light of battle in her eye.
* * *
HE WAS HERE—
Mica’s heart started to race.
He was here—
“It doesn’t mean anything,” she muttered, squaring her shoulders as she continued on her way toward him. She resisted the urge to fiddle with her hair. Resisted the urge to tug at her shirt. It clung to her skin already, but hell, it was summer in Texas. What did she expect?
She stopped barely two feet away, hands hanging at her sides.
“Yeah?”
A spark glinted in those endless blue eyes. A smile tugged at his lips. He looked tired, though. She couldn’t help but notice it. Was he still hurting? Shit, why wouldn’t he be? It had been only four days.
He opened his mouth and her gaze dropped to said mouth as her heart started to race. Stop it, Mica. He booted you out, remember?
“So did you wrap up the case?”
She lifted a brow at him. “You came down to ask that? You could have called.”
“I could have.” Then he reached out, quick as a wish, and hauled her against him. It was so sudden she barely had time to blink. As she crashed against his chest, he muttered, “Oomph.” Then he covered her mouth with his. “But then I couldn’t do this.”
Couldn’t do—
That was about as far as she got before her brain shut down and her body turned on, taking control from her. As his tongue slid along the crease of her lips, she opened for him. Five seconds passed—ten, twenty—
And then she shoved off his chest, stumbling away, panting.
“Ouch,” he muttered, wincing and pressing a hand to his chest.
She almost apologized, but then she bit it back. “What in the hell are you doing?”
“Was I doing it wrong?” he asked, lifting his brows.
Mica gaped at him. Doing it…What…Shaking her head, she skimmed her hands along her hair, straightening the disheveled ponytail. “What do you want, Colby?” she asked, turning away, staring out in the distance. Buildings, large and small, filled her vision, kept her gaze focused on something other than him.
“This.” He didn’t move. He spoke quietly, but with such intensity the word reverberated through her. “I want this.”
She glanced at him, the question forming despite her best intentions otherwise. But then it lodged in her throat as her gaze locked on what he held in his hand. It was a small, blue, velvet box. An open one, one that displayed a ring that reflected the rays of the sun in a dazzling rainbow.
“This was my grandmother’s,” he said quietly. “My dad’s mother. I was going to give it to you fifteen years ago…I even had it planned out. But you left.”
Shaken, Mica jerked her gaze to his. “Colby…”
He moved then, finally, shoving off the car and closing the scant distance between them. He snapped the box closed and lowered it as he used the other hand to press against her mouth. “I loved you then. I love you now. I loved you every fucking day in between…and I’ll love you until I breathe my last. I can live without you in my life, Mica. But I sure as hell don’t want to.”
Tears clogged her throat. “This…” She cleared her throat and shook her head. “But you pushed me away. It’s only been four fucking days and you pushed me away.”
“I was flat on my back in a hospital bed,” he said, quirking a smile at her. “And I didn’t want to say this when you had to be rushing off to finish up a case, when I was still floundering around trying to figure out what I needed to do with my life. I took a few days to make sure I knew the answer to that…and to make sure you didn’t have those loose ends.”
“You planned on coming back.” She stared at him. Desperate to believe that. He planned on coming back. “You planned on coming back for me.”
He cupped her chin in his hand and lowered his head. As he brushed his lips against hers, he whispered, “Pretty much from the second I saw you on the beach, I think some part of me was planning to come after you, Mica.”
Shaken, she slid her arms around his waist. “And everything else? You…I mean, you said you had to figure things out?”
“I’m going to freelance and shit. I’ve got a contact in Georgia who can probably point me in the right direction, and I doubt Jones would mind tossing some stuff my way if he had a use for me. I…” He sighed and shifted his gaze past her shoulder to stare off into nothingness. “I’ve been hiding from myself for too long and I can’t keep it up. I won’t try to…”
He trailed off and she reached up, touched his mouth. “I can’t keep hiding, either. I figured something out earlier—I’m not as weak as I always thought I was. Or maybe I’m just tired of being that way. But I’m done hiding.”
“Mica.” He threaded his fingers through her hair, tugging out the band that held it confined. “You were never weak. We all just adjust at our pace, that’s all.” He nuzzled her mouth again and then whispered, “What do you say…you think the two of us can do the rest of the adjusting…together? Will you marry me, Mica?”
Easing back, she stared into those endless blue eyes—those eyes, his face, he had haunted her. From the time she’d walked away. No more, she told herself. “Colby,” she whispered, leaning forward and pressing her mouth to his. “You bet your ass I�
��ll marry you.”