Feel the Heat: A Contemporary Romance Anthology (67 page)

W
hen Santos entered
the kitchen through the back door, he waited, listening for movement. The house had an empty feel to it, but he couldn’t assume anything. The storm still raged, rattling the windows and slamming against the exterior.

The shadowy figure of the woman passed in front of the kitchen.

Hayley? He unzipped his dive boots and took them off to decrease any noise he might make. He pulled out his .45 and skulked toward the figure he’d seen. He watched her go up the first flight of stairs. He counted to ten and then followed. He stopped on the landing and darted into the hallway that led to the second-floor bedrooms. He’d barely attained cover before the fit young black woman turned on the staircase and studied the space he’d occupied seconds before. She continued to the third floor.

Not Hayley.

But it appeared Logan had at least one bodyguard on site.

He waited in the shadows, thinking about his next step. Was the bodyguard securing Hayley in the room? Or would she take Hayley somewhere safer?

At the sound of the door creaking open, his pulse jumped.

The bodyguard crept down the stairs and behind her, the woman who could ruin his life. He fell back deeper into the darkness of the narrow hallway. He waited until he saw the black woman stopped on the landing to do a perimeter check. As her head swiveled toward the hallway, he held his breath.

He didn’t know if he’d inadvertently given himself away or if she was just being thorough, but she raised the gun and moved toward his location.
Fuck this.
He lifted the .45 and squeezed the trigger. The flash of the gun firing gave him a second’s view of the woman’s shocked expression.

The bullet slammed into her, and she flew backward, managing to fire her gun once before she tumbled down the stairs. The thud onto the floor below confirmed she was a goner. Unfortunately, her bullet grazed his shoulder. The impact made him stagger.

He heard Hayley’s feet hit the stairs and the slam of a door. Gritting as his arm started to throb, Santos pushed away from the wall and followed his prey.

* * *

W
hen Logan woke
, confusion reigned. It took a moment to figure out where he was. His head hurt like a bitch.

What the hell was he doing on the floor of the shed? He slowly sat up, touching the back of his skull.
Ow.
The flashlight’s beam pointed at the wall. He reached over and picked it up. The light glinted off the huge wrench. Then the beam caught his fingers, and he saw his own blood smeared on his hand.

Realization dawned.
Hayley!
Cold terror shuddered through him. He rolled to his feet and bolted out of the shed.

* * *

T
he locked door
was no match for a .45. Santos shot through the wood near the knob and kicked hard below the lock. The wood cracked and the door flung open. Santos stalked inside, his gaze bouncing around the darkness. Thunder bellowed and then lightning jabbed, illuminating the room briefly.

Hayley crouched near a dresser, her eyes wide with terror.

“You bitch.”

She stood up and tried to run past him. He grabbed her by the hair and yanked her to a stop. She screeched in pain as he forced her to her knees. He pressed the gun against her temple then changed his mind. He pushed the barrel against her lips, forcing her mouth open.

“Sometimes people survive if the bullet ricochets,” he said, fascinated by the growing fear in her eyes. “It might travel to your brain and kill you instantly.” He tilted her head back, pressing the tip of his .45 against the roof of her mouth. “Or it might just blow out the back of your neck. You’d be paralyzed then. Unable to speak. Unable to move. You’d spend the rest of your days with someone else wiping your ass for you. Feeding you through a tube.” He tapped her forehead. “All the while, your mind is as sharp as ever.”

He smiled as her whole body began to tremble.

* * *

L
ogan tore
through the kitchen and into the lobby. He immediately saw Claire crumpled at the bottom of the stairs. He hurried across the lobby and squatted down, pressing two fingers against her carotid pulse. It was strong. Relief flowed through him. Then he noticed the sticky substance.

Blood.

He wasn’t going to panic. Hayley was somewhere. Safe. She had to be safe. Claire would’ve protected her.

Claire moaned as her eyes fluttered open. “Shit,” she said. “That hurt.”

“You okay?”

“I will be. I just need to patch myself up.” Her eyes widened. She struggled to sit up. “Oh, my God, Logan. Hayley’s alone. And Santos is in here!”

Jolted, he stared at his friend. “Where?”

Hayley’s scream broke through the storm’s noise, the noise echoing down the staircase. Logan jumped to his feet.

“Go,” yelled Claire. “Go!”

* * *

F
acing
the man she feared the most, Hayley was instantly transported back to that awful night Santos murdered his wife. Maria had been too terrified to fight for her own life. She thought she knew Santos. She believed that she could soothe him, placate him. But you couldn’t bargain with a soulless, conscienceless psycho.

Gathering her courage, she clasped her hands together and struck upward. She hit Santos’ wrist as hard as she could. The unexpected motion knocked the gun out of his hand. It skittered across the floor.

“Goddamn it!” he roared. He struck her so hard that she slammed into the floor, pain radiating from her jaw to shoulder.

She heard a cry that was filled with part fear and part fury. Logan ran full force at Santos. Her heart slammed against the wall of her chest, and her lungs squeezed as he tackled the asshole.

The lights flickered, and Hayley realized the storm was finally abating. As the rain lessened and the thunder faded, the sounds of the scuffling men became more prominent. Santos connected a fist to Logan’s jaw. Logan wrapped him up with a leg and threw his elbow into Santos’s gut.

Hayley had to find the pistol that she’d knocked out of Santos’s grip. She dropped to the floor and started searching for the weapon. Where the hell had it gone?

He yanked himself from Logan’s grip and scrabbled next to her, apparently after the same prize. Hayley saw the gun a second before he did. She slid along the smooth wood floor and rejoiced as her fingertips touched the warm steel barrel.

A hand gripped her leg, and she yelped. Santos had a hold of her and was reeling her toward him. He laughed, his face contorted with maniacal pleasure.

Hayley kicked him in the face.
Smile about that, asshole.
She crawled forward toward the gun. Santos punched her calf, the pain flaring below her knee. She screamed, but she refused to let the agony keep her from snagging the weapon.

She fumbled the .45 around until the grip rested in her palm, and her finger was on the trigger guard. Logan’s body tangled with Santos. She stood, waiting for her moment. When Logan separated from Santos, she would shoot the son-of-a-bitch.

L
ogan had managed
to restrain Santos with an arm around his throat. Hayley aimed the gun at Santos’s chest.

“It’s over,” she said. “You’re going to prison, asshole.”

Santos laughed, but the sound was choked off as Logan squeezed harder.

Hayley saw movement by Santos’s leg.

The next thing she knew, Santos had something in his hand that he thrust backward into Logan’s thigh.

Logan cried out and released Santos, who turned and jabbed Logan again, this time in the stomach.

Hayley lowered the .45 and shot Santos in the calf.

Santos screamed and fell to the floor, dropping the small blade he’d hidden in his wetsuit.

Logan turned bone-white, his pained gaze on hers. He pressed his hands against his stomach wound. Blood seeped between his fingers as he sank to the floor.

“Logan!” she cried.

Santos laughed again. “He’s going to bleed to death, Hayley. You can let him die, or you can let me go.”

Fury put fire in her veins. “Get up, you piece of shit.”

Santos rose unsteadily, trying to keep the weight off his injured leg.

“Go on. Shoot me. Take your revenge.” He shuffled forward, his grin evil and taunting. “Shoot me!” Santos’ expression had taken on a maniacal sheen. He continued to advance on her.

“Move another step,” said Hayley. “And I’ll kill you.”

Santos grinned and leapt forward. She fired the .45 at his chest. Three times. Then the gun clicked.
Shit!

Santos slowed his pace, but he was like the goddamned Terminator. He wouldn’t stop.

The next thing she knew Logan appeared behind Santos. He knocked the wounded man to the floor, and they began grappling. Her hands shaking, she dropped the gun.

“Run!” screamed Logan.

* * *

B
en struggled
against the wind and rain, wading through the last three feet of churning water. Captain Wise rowed the dinghy back to his boat, his yellow slicker the only sliver of color in the roiling black sea.

The house was dark. Shit. The storm probably blew out the power.

He trudged up the beach, struggling through the wet sand and scratchy grass. The house was a dozen yards away—it might as well have been a million miles. His heart thudded in dread. Finally, he saw the boardwalk. After he got on more solid footing, he increased his pace.

A gust of wind slammed him back, and he felt something clobber him, sending him crashing to the sand. His breath whooshed out, pain jagging up his ribs. He looked behind him and saw a beach chair tumble into the darkness.

Fuck, that hurt.
He sat up, adrenaline pumping, and stared the Victorian house through the pelting rain. If he didn’t know better, he’d think it was empty. Lightning flashed, and for a split second, he thought she saw a pale form lurching across the balcony. He watched as one pale leg thrust over the railing.

Hayley? His heart stopped.
Oh, my God.
He struggled to his feet and raced toward the house.

* * *

L
ogan managed
to get behind Santos. Blood loss made him dizzy, but fear for Hayley kept his adrenaline pumping. He hooked his arm around the bastard’s thick neck. He put his other arm at the back of Santos’ head and started squeezing.

Santos struggled weakly, already succumbing to his injuries. Seconds later, Santos went unconscious. He dropped the criminal to the floor and limped toward the French doors.

“Hayley?” The balcony was empty. He leaned over the railing. “Hayley!”

The storm’s frenzy was gone. The rain fell softly now, and the velvet black of the sky peeked through the gray clouds. He looked everywhere, around the balcony, above him, at all angles of the roof, and finally, at the sandy ground three stories below. Tears pricked his eyes. “Hayley!”

“Logan.” His name was a mere whisper and came from the right. He leaned as far as he could over the railing and saw her hands grasping the rain gutter that ran under the balcony. “Hang on, baby! Just hang on!”

“I’m already doing that. Any other swell advice?”

He choked on the laughter. She sounded scared but strong. Yes, she was strong, his Hayley. He clambered over the railing, his feet sliding on the tiles. “Shit!”

“Be careful!”

“Yes, dear.” He crouched low, slowly stretching onto his belly. He knew the stomach wound wasn’t deep, but the injury on his thigh was another story. He ignored the pain and inched toward the gutter, sweating and cursing, until his hands grabbed hers. “Thank God. Are you okay?”

“Almost.”

He slid his arms down on hers, offering his strength until his hands reached her armpits, and he pulled her up. She grabbed onto his arms and struggled upward until her knees hit the roof. She slowly turned and sat, watching as he rolled over and did the same. His pale color told her he’d lost a lot of blood. Still, he’d fought for her like a lion.

“I’m okay,” he told her, his voice barely a whisper. “It’s just a flesh wound.” He grimaced when she applied pressure to his wound. “Hurts like shit, though.”

His heart nearly beat out of his chest. He’d almost lost her. Relief made him giddy. He fisted his hands in her hair and kissed her until they were breathless.

* * *

B
en burst
into the house and took the three flights of stairs two at a time. His heart nearly jumped out of his throat when he barreled through the broken door, gun drawn.

Santos lay on the floor. His blood spread out from underneath his body.

“Hayley!” He quickly cleared the room. No sign of anybody else.

“Ben?”

His sister’s voice came from the balcony. He rushed through the opened French doors.

“Over here.”

Ben looked over the railing. Relieved, he watched Logan and Hayley crawl across the roof toward the balcony. He helped Hayley over first, and then Logan.

“Dude,” he said. “You look like shit.”

His pale color told Ben he’d lost a lot of blood.

“You fought for me like a lion, babe,” said Hayley. “You better sit down.”

“It’s just a flesh wound.” Logan grimaced as he sat down and moaned when she applied pressure to his injury. “Hurts like shit, though.”

“Is this asshole dead?” asked a female voice. They looked into the room to see Claire, her shoulder freshly bandaged, standing over Santos. She toed him with the tip of her black boot. “Yeah. He’s dead.”

“Keep pressure on Logan’s injury. I’ll call for help.” Ben withdrew his smartphone relieved that he finally had a signal. He immediately dialed the Coast Guard and then his boss at the FBI. Shit. He was going to be on the phone for a while.

“Did you hear that?” Hayley asked Logan. She kissed his sweaty forehead. “Ben’s getting help.”

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart.”

“You better not, Logan Hunter Greyson. I still haven’t seen you in a dress.”

He laughed then he sucked in a breath. “You’re right. I do have the legs for it.”

His brown eyes seemed to darken in color as his expression serious. “You scared me tonight, Hayley. You put yourself in danger. I thought I would lose you.”

“I thought I’d lose you, too.”

Claire knelt on the other side of Logan, a first aid kit in her hand. “Let me treat him. Hayley hold his hand. Keep him distracted.” Claire smiled. “He can be a big baby at times.”

“Don’t worry. I can distract him.” She kissed Logan “I love you.” She kissed him again. “I’ve never stopped.”

“Coast Guard is on the way. The storm seems to be easing up as well,” Ben said as he walked back to them. “How are you guys doing?”

“I’m perfect,” Logan said as Clare expertly bandaged his thigh.

Hayley smiled. “Me too.”