Safe from Harm (6 page)

He narrowed his eyes at that, not believing her for a second. “You sure about that, honey?”

“I'll be okay,” she assured him, nodding a little, her lips pressed together as if she was trying to convince herself of the truth of her words. “It's just…” She sighed. “I almost died yesterday.”

There it was. The truth they both needed to face. Elle was no fool. Hell, she was brilliant as far as he was concerned. She must've known as certainly as he did how close they'd both come to losing their lives the previous day. So there was no denying her words, no use trying to convince her she was mistaken.

“Yeah,” he said, still caressing her pulse point. “You sleep at all last night?”

She shook her head, her eyes beginning to glisten with unshed tears. “No. All I could see when I closed my eyes was—” Her words broke off when her voice hitched with emotion.

Ah hell.

He slipped his hand into the thick waves of hair at the base of her neck and pulled her toward him. Every inch of him—especially those hidden under the blanket—longed to kiss her lips, but at the last moment, he pressed his lips to her forehead in a lingering kiss.

He didn't know what to say to make her feel better. It wasn't like that time when Todd Jenkins had broken up with her a week before the homecoming dance and Gabe had hinted to Chris that maybe
he
should ask her. Or the time her biggest rival was made editor of the school yearbook and he'd broken into her locker before school to leave her flowers (anonymously, of course). Or the time he'd given Aaron Maguire a fat lip when that asshole had gotten a little grabby with Elle in spite of her saying no loud and clear. Or the time he'd driven two hours to the college she was attending to fix her car on the sly because her aunt Charlotte had mentioned that it wasn't running and Elle refused to ask for the money to fix it.

He'd been secretly looking out for Elle for as long as he had known her, never letting on that he was the one, never asking for anything in return. Knowing she was safe and happy was enough. But he was at a loss on how to comfort her this time, when they were very literally face to face.

He'd never known how to deal with a woman when she was upset. He supposed he got that from his father, who wasn't exactly the most nurturing guy. Normally, Gabe bailed when things got serious enough with a woman that she was actually sharing
emotions.
Okay, to be honest, he usually bailed way before that. But seeing Elle looking lost and afraid brought out a protective urge in him that he'd never really experienced with anyone else—not to this extent, anyway.

He could lie and say she'd be fine in a few days. But the truth was, it might be something that haunted her far longer. God knew he had plenty of nightmares—some of them walked and talked and dropped by for a visit in his hospital room in the middle of the night.

Elle's hand came up to rest lightly on his chest, and he felt her breath quicken as tension began to build in the air between them. “Thank you for saving my life,” she whispered. She pulled back enough that their faces were just inches apart. And for a moment, he thought
she
might actually kiss
him
. The look in her eyes told him she was considering it, which shocked the hell out of him.

But as he leaned in to close the gap, his hospital door opened. “Good mornin', baby!”

Elle started and stumbled back a few feet as the nurse, Wanda, came in pushing a cart filled with flowers, balloons, and plush animals holding little stuffed hearts.

“What the hell?” Gabe muttered irritably, pissed off at the intrusion.

Nurse Wanda parked the cart at the end of his bed and began to unload the various deliveries onto every flat surface in the room. “Looks like you have a few admirers,” she said, giving him a knowing grin. Then she turned her attention to Elle. “How are you, honey?”

Elle looked a little uncomfortable as she took in all the crap from his well-wishers.

“I'm good. Thanks, Wanda.”

“Oooh, look at this one,” Wanda said, holding up a ridiculously sweet-looking teddy bear with huge, teardrop-shaped eyes. She lifted the card and read aloud, “Get well soon, sweetums. Smooches, Beth.”

Gabe frowned.
Beth? Who the hell was Beth?

Wanda picked up a vase of some kind of blue flowers and read, “To my little snookie-ookums. Feel better. Hugs and kisses, Amy.”

Okay, so Amy he remembered. She was the college student who'd picked him up at Mulaney's a month or so ago when they'd gotten together to welcome his brother Kyle back to town. God, he'd gotten totally shit-faced that night. Fortunately, he'd only made out with the hot little blond. But apparently it'd been enough to make an impression on her.

“Oh, and look at this one—”

“Thanks, Wanda,” he interrupted, casting a glance at Elle, embarrassed by the ridiculous sentiments being lavished on him. Not that he wasn't grateful people cared enough to send flowers and shit, but
snookie-ookums
? What the fuck was that about?

“I'll leave you alone to go through all your…” Elle's words trailed off as she gestured toward Wanda's cart, a look of mild disgust and disappointment on her face. Then she forced a tight smile and handed him the little bouquet of wildflowers he hadn't noticed she was carrying—wildflowers that were remarkably similar to the ones he'd left in her locker back in high school. “Take care, Gabe.”

“Elle,” he said, his stomach sinking at the thought of her leaving so soon. “Please don't go. I—”

“I'll see you soon.”

Before he could say another word, she turned on her heel and practically fled the room.

“Did you have a good visit with your friend?” Wanda asked as she absently moved some of the arrangements around to make room for more. “She's a pretty little thing.”

“Yeah,” Gabe said, staring at the closed door, hoping she'd come back in. “Yeah, she is.”

“Was awfully worried about you last night, too,” Wanda told him.

This brought his gaze back to her. “Yeah?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Her lips curved up in a little smile. “And I'm guessing she wouldn't call you her
snookie-ookums
.”

He actually chuckled a little, wincing at the pain in his ribs where one of Monroe's bullets had struck his vest. “No. I'm sure she wouldn't. She prefers
jackass.
”

It'd been a mistake to visit Gabe. Elle had known it the moment she'd walked in only to see his perfect ass peeking out of his hospital gown. Then, when he'd turned around… Good Lord.

She once more pushed away the images of the two of them going at it like rabbits that had flooded her mind when she'd caught a glimpse of his erection. No wonder women were constantly throwing themselves at him.

And to think she'd been
this close
to breaking her own promise to not be one of them. She was pretty sure he'd been about to kiss her again when they'd been interrupted by Wanda and her cartful of crap from Gabe's previous—or, hell,
current
for all she knew—conquests.

She gave herself a quick mental shake as she strode toward her black Honda Accord, but her steps faltered when she got closer and one of her tires was flat. Her embarrassment from her visit with Gabe was replaced by fury. “Are you freaking
kidding
me?”

She quickly did a mental map of all the places she'd gone that morning, wondering if she'd driven through a construction zone or over any road debris, but when she was within a couple of feet of her car, she noticed it wasn't just a flat tire. A jagged scratch ran the length of her door where someone had keyed the paint job.

Clearly not an accident.

“Son of a bitch!”

It was like the universe was trying to smack her upside the head to clue her in that allowing herself to get even a little close to Gabe was a mistake. Clearly, she shouldn't have gone to the hospital that day. The only bigger sign would've had to be in flashing neon, for crying out loud.

She heaved a sigh and fished her phone out of her pocket to call a tow truck. Then she phoned her Aunt Charlotte, leaving her a message to fill her in, leaving out the part about seeing Gabe half-naked and nearly kissing him.

She'd just hung up when a Fairfield County sheriff's car pulled up behind her. “Hey, Elle. Need some help?”

She turned to see Gabe's younger brother Joe. “Hey. No thanks. Tow truck's on the way. But thanks. Are you still on duty?”

Joe didn't bother suppressing a smile. “Just got off. Thought I'd stop in and see my brother for a few minutes before I meet up with Sadie. She's having her ultrasound today. Have you seen her?”

Elle shook her head, sorry to have missed Joe's fiancée. She'd always liked Joe—he was a sweetheart and clearly adored Sadie, who had been the love of his life since they were all kids. Joe had nearly been killed while on deployment in Afghanistan and then had nearly lost Sadie when a crazy ex-boyfriend had stalked and threatened to kill her—and might have followed through had Joe not been there. Elle had definitely been glad to prosecute that asshole and make sure he served time for his crimes.

Seeing Joe and Sadie so happy together now, seeing their joy as Sadie's pregnancy progressed, Elle couldn't help but be reminded of the family she'd once had, the joy that had filled her home growing up until all that had been so cruelly wrenched away. She prayed Joe and Sadie always had the love and happiness they had now—they certainly deserved it.

“Elle?”

She started, realizing that he'd been talking to her. “Sorry,” she said with a little laugh. “I was distracted. Been kinda crazy, you know.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I do. If you need to talk to anyone about what you're going through… Well, I've been there.”

He'd had his battle with post-traumatic stress disorder after he'd returned from the war. She could only imagine the kind of hell he'd experienced and what it had cost him to learn to cope.

“Thanks, Joe,” she told him sincerely. “I'll definitely keep that in mind. Good luck with the ultrasound. And give Sadie my best.”

He gave her a terse nod that seemed to be a trademark of the Dawson men and offered a wave as he drove off. While Elle waited for the tow truck to arrive, she tried not to dwell on the dark memories that haunted her and instead tried to focus on something positive—like the date she had coming up later in the week with an investment banker who had jokingly offered to take her to dinner in a little seaside spot in southern California after a short plane ride on his private jet. At least, she'd thought he was joking. But maybe not.

Any woman would've been flattered to receive such an offer. And she
had
been. At the time. But every time she tried to picture Brad's face, all she could see was Gabe Dawson. God, what the hell was wrong with her? Was she seriously so swept up by his heroism the previous day that she was now willing to overlook all his flaws?

The number of goodies being delivered to him was a none-too-subtle reminder of what was in store for her if she hooked up with Gabe Dawson. Because that's exactly what it would be. A hook-up.

Fortunately, the tow truck didn't take long to arrive and she was soon distracted from her brooding by a massive man in a mechanic's jumpsuit with sweat stains under his arms. He was chomping on the stub of a cigar when he rolled up and continued to do so even after she was riding with him in the cab of his truck.

An hour later, when he finally came out from his workshop to talk to her about her tire, she was glad to see he'd ditched the cigar. “Found the problem,” he said, wiping the grime from his hands with a rag as he made his way behind the counter.

“Road debris?” she asked, hoping there was a way that the flat tire and keyed paint could be blamed on something other than someone intentionally vandalizing her car.

He grunted. “Not unless you hit a guy with a tactical knife.”

She jerked a little at his words. “You're sure?”

“Your tire was slashed, Ms. McCoy,” he informed her. “Whoever did this made damned sure it couldn't be repaired. And the scratch on the paint's pretty deep. Then there's the brakes—”

“The brakes?” Elle interrupted. “What was wrong with the brakes?”

“Been tampered with,” he told her. “I think you might want to give the police a call.”

* * *

Tom rose to his feet and put his hands on his hips, frowning as he continued to study Elle's tire. “We can try to get a print, I guess,” he said, “but I doubt we'll find any except for your mechanic's.”

She caught the guarded glance he sent her way and could tell he was thinking the same thing she was. Considering the events of the previous day, it was all a little too coincidental. This wasn't a random act of vandalism. Whoever had done this had specifically targeted her car. Had targeted
her.
Unfortunately, she had a pretty damned good idea who might want to leave her a very pointed message.

“I'll see if we can get anything from the hospital security tapes,” Tom continued. “Maybe one of the cameras caught something.”

She nodded. “Thanks, Tom.”

“You need a ride home?”

She shook her head. “No. I'm good. I'll give Aunt Charlotte a call if Al can't get my new tires on today.”

He jotted down something in his little black notebook and stowed it in his shirt pocket, giving her a sidelong glance. “You doin' okay?”

“Oh, yeah, sure, fine,” she stammered too eagerly. “Yep. I'm good. Just pissed about my tires.”

But he didn't return her forced smile. Instead, he narrowed his eyes a little, studying her.

Unnerved by his scrutiny, she grasped at some other—
any
other—topic to divert his attention. “How are you doing? Did you ever go out with that EMT? What was her name…Lindsey?”

He flinched a little at her question but recovered quickly. “No.”

The sudden tension in his expression told her more than he probably realized. Clearly, she'd chosen the wrong topic to get Tom talking. Fortunately, she was rescued from the awkward silence by his cell phone ringing. He snatched it from the clip on his belt and answered with a terse, “Dawson.”

Elle turned away to give him some privacy but came to an abrupt halt when she saw the man watching her from the pickup truck parked across the street from the mechanic's. He looked familiar. But as her mind raced, trying to figure out how she knew the driver, the truck slowly pulled away from the curb and drove off. Not exactly the hallmark of a person trying to avoid being seen, but then, maybe he'd wanted her to see him, wanted her to know he was watching.

Goose bumps prickled her flesh at the thought that it might be the same man who had so viciously slashed her tires. Worse, she finally realized where she'd seen him before. She could've sworn that it was one of the Monroes sitting in the driver's seat. One of Jeb's sons. At least that's what she suspected. She couldn't be certain, but she knew she had seen him in the courtroom during the trial, sitting with the other family members and looking nervous, as if he were on trial himself.

She heaved a sigh and turned back to her ruined tires, frowning at how the rubber had been shredded with such savagery, and wrapped her arms around her torso, suddenly cold in spite of the summer heat.

“I gotta go.”

Tom's announcement was so abrupt, Elle started at the sound of his voice. She cleared her heart from her throat with a cough before asking, “Everything okay?”

“That was Gabe,” he explained. “He wants us to come back to the hospital. Something about Jeb Monroe paying him a visit.”

She nodded and headed for his Tahoe. “Okay, then. Let's go.”

“By
us
I meant us Dawsons,” Tom called after her. “I wasn't—”

She whirled around to face him, cutting him off. “I'm not letting you Dawson boys sideline me just because I don't have a badge,” she snapped. “I was there yesterday, Tom. Remember? And it's because of me that Gabe is lying in that hospital bed now.”

Tom gave her a sympathetic look. “We put our lives on the line every day, Elle,” he told her. “We knew the risks when we chose this career. You can't blame yourself for what happened to Gabe.”

“I'm not blaming myself,” she insisted. “I'm stating the facts. And here's another fact for you—I'm going to nail that bastard Jeb Monroe to the wall when we prove he's behind this.”

* * *

Jeb Monroe slid the sharpening stone slowly along the blade of his hunting knife, studying the gleaming edge of the steel, searching for any pits that needed to be ground out. It was the fourth such knife he'd sharpened that day. And it was completely unnecessary—he kept his weapons in immaculate condition, as his father had taught him. But it helped relieve the ache that had settled in the center of his chest.

Mark is dead.

The horrible truth echoed over and over again in the cavernous depth of his soul. His eldest son. His right hand. The man who would've inherited the farmland that had been passed down in their family since the first Monroes had settled there over two hundred years before.

He heaved a sorrowful sigh. He had three other sons who would be eager to carry on the family name, the family legacy. But they weren't Mark. Weren't his courageous, brave boy who'd been willing to give his life in the fight for freedom against a tyrannical government.

The hole his absence left could never be filled. But Jeb was damned well going to try. The first steps toward filling that hole had already been put in place with his visit to that bastard Gabe Dawson.

The arrogant pretty boy had thought he was untouchable because of who his father was. But Mark had proved otherwise. Now that little shit was scared. Jeb had seen it in his eyes. He'd seen that look before, in the eyes of other men who'd looked into the face of death and had seen their sins staring back at them. Gabe Dawson was no different. And the pretty little whore who had prosecuted his son Derrick would pay her own price. He'd sent his son Jeremy to deliver
that
message.

Jeb slid the stone down the edge of the blade again, the soft scraping oddly comforting.

Oh yes, they'd pay for their transgressions. No one oppressed the Monroes—not the federal agents who had tried to keep his people from running booze during Prohibition, not truant officers who'd tried to make his father send him to school, not the IRS agent who'd darkened his doorstep to try and force him to pay his taxes a year ago.

Most of them had been run off and had eventually given up, seeing they were no match for the Monroes. Only the IRS agent had refused to heed Jeb's warnings. And now that agent of evil was buried fifty miles west of their property in a little patch of woods. But he wouldn't be so subtle with the Dawsons. He wanted them to know what was coming, to live in fear, to know whose hand delivered final justice.

Movement in the corner of his eye brought his gaze up briefly, and he saw his only daughter entering the kitchen as quietly as possible so as not to disturb him.

“How's your mother?” he asked, startling the girl.

Sandra set the plate of uneaten food on the countertop and swiped at her eyes quickly before turning to face him. She'd been crying. His baby girl had been crying. He had to clench his jaw to keep from going into a rage at the thought of the pain his son's death was causing his family. Especially his sweet girl.

“She hasn't stopped crying,” Sandra told him, her chin trembling. “And I can't get her to eat anything.”

Jeb returned his attention to the knife. “Leave her be for a while,” he advised. “She'll be alright.”

The room was so quiet that, for a moment, Jeb thought his daughter had left, but then he heard her cough a little, clearing her throat, and he glanced up to see her chewing her bottom lip.

“What is it, Sandra?” he prompted.

“I was just wondering…” she began, pausing for a moment as if considering her words. Finally she continued, “I was just wondering if we're doing the right thing.”

Jeb's hands halted, midswipe. “I beg your pardon?”

“Mark tried to kill that lawyer,” Sandra pointed out. “He tried to kill that deputy. What did you think would happen? What did
any
of you think would happen?”