The Bride Wore A Forty-Four (10 page)

Michael managed to lift up the top she wore,
one-handed, then he pushed it higher, exposing her breasts to the
night As he fondled them he whispered, "God, I've missed you, Kira.
The feel of you. The taste of you." He kissed a path down her neck,
across her chest and breasts, and then he suckled her, and she
clutched his head and whimpered in pleasure. His hand moved lower,
between her legs, rubbing there, until she arched her hips off the
ground. He responded instantly, easily unzipping the pants. She
pushed them down as far as she could reach, then wriggled them the
rest of the way off, and kicked them aside. She lay there, naked,
and he rose up a little, so he could look at her. He stroked her
thighs until she parted them, and then he put his hand between
them, rubbing, spreading and exploring her.

She put her hand over his, and pushed him
deeper, arching her hips, rubbing against his fingers, closing her
eyes. She moved her own hand to the bulge of his pants, then,
stroking him until he groaned. Then she unfastened the button,
carefully lowered the zipper, and shoved the pants off him.

Impatient, he backed away, only for a moment
When he came back to her, he was as naked as she, and when he began
to caress her and suckle her again, she clutched his hips and
pulled him to her, wrapping her thighs around him, tugging him
until he slid inside her. Then she closed her eyes and whispered
his name. "Oh, God, Michael. Yes."

He drove into her then, beyond restraint, she
thought. He drove the breath from her lungs and filled her so
deeply she cried out and moved to take him into her again and
again. He kissed her as he plunged into her, pushing her closer and
closer to heaven, and when she exploded around him, he clasped her
hip in his hand, holding her to him to take even more. Her body
shattered, shuddered, convulsed, and she moaned in pleasure, then
held him hard as he spilled into her.

He held her tight in his arms while her body
stopped shaking, and her muscles uncoiled, even as the sparks of
pleasure played out. Eventually, he rolled onto his side, pulling
her into his arms and holding her as if she were something
precious.

His fingers framed her chin and jaw, and he
tipped her head to his, kissed her. "You're the best thing that
ever happened to me," he told her. "Thank you for coming back to
me, baby. I couldn't have survived if you hadn't."

She drew a breath, "Things got tense between
us, before all this."

He nodded. "I thought you blamed me for the
rift with your father."

"No. It wasn't that I was holding back,
protecting myself from being hurt again, the way he hurt me. I
remember so much more now. I'm sorry, Michael. I'm so sorry I hurt
you."

"It doesn't matter."

"It does. But I want you to know that even
though I remember that feeling, that fear, I don't feel it anymore.
I left it behind. I know you'll never hurt me."

"I'd die first."

"I know. I really do."

He kissed her again, and she thought she
tasted a tear on his lips, and she was overwhelmed with the
intensity of her feelings for this man. Her husband.

But as much as she would have liked to lie
there in his arms until sunrise, she knew they had to move on. He
needed treatment. And they both needed to put more space between
themselves and Peter's thugs. She sat up, reluctantly. "We should
get dressed, get moving."

"I know. Our backup should be arriving to
meet us about three miles from here."

She nodded, reached for her clothes and
pulled them on. By the time she finished, he'd pulled on his pants
and shirt, but was still struggling to fasten them one-handed.

"Let me get that," she said, smiling a
little. She moved close to him, and he arched against her hand as
she fastened the jeans. She stroked his chest, teasing him, as she
buttoned up his shirt When she finished, he covered her hands with
his good one. "I never stopped loving you, Kira. I want to be sure
you know that. Not for a minute."

Her throat went tight "I—"

"Don't even twitch," Peter shouted from the
darkness. "You're completely surrounded."

Michael's hands tightened on hers, and his
eyes held hers for an instant before shifting past her to scan the
darkness around them.

"Step away from him, Kira, or I'll drop you
both where you stand."

She glanced downward, seeing her gun belts on
the ground, concealed by the grass. "He's not well, Peter. He can
barely stand on his own."

"Back away from him."

So they can kill him,
she thought
Peter would take me
alive, avenge his wounded pride
before he finished me off.

She met Michael's eyes, then shifted hers
downward, toward the guns in the grass nearby. She saw him follow
her gaze.

"He'll drop like a rock if I let him go."

"He's gonna drop like a rock either way. Back
off."

She met his eyes again, prayed he would do
what she wanted him to do. Then she brought her hands to her sides,
backing two steps away, deliberately staying between Michael and
Peter. Michael slumped to the ground.

"Kill him," she heard Peter say. " Michael
shouted, "Down, Kira!" And even as she dropped to her knees, he
rose up onto his, tossing one gun to her with his wounded hand,
while firing the other one in the direction of Peter's voice. The
meadow exploded in gunfire.

Kira caught her weapon, turned and dropped to
her belly in the grass, putting her back to Peter, firing at the
muzzle flashes around them, one after the other. Gun smoke rose,
because they were all so close and firing so rapidly. It stung her
eyes, choked her.

And then the shooting stopped all at
once.

She lay still a moment, trying to see through
the smoke. It hovered there, in the heavy air, not rising or
dissipating as fast as she wished it would. "Michael?" she called
softly, half expecting the sound of her voice to draw more
gunfire.

When it didn't, she pushed herself upright.
"Michael?'

No reply. She walked through the mists,
trying to find her way and realized slowly that the sun was rising.
Its rays pierced the mist, to fall upon bodies in the grass.
Peter's body, those of his men. Bloody, still, lifeless. Dead, all
of them.

"Michael?"

She searched for him, through the smoke and
now the mist rising from the lake as well, and suddenly she was
back in Africa. Blood was trickling down her face from the wound to
her head, and she staggered as she walked through the rubble and
smoke, searching for her father.

And then she found him. He lay beneath a pile
of debris, and she fell to her knees, pushing it aside, gathering
him to her. They'd been angry enemies for months by then, but
suddenly, it didn't matter. "Dad. God, Dad, are you all right?"

His face was ashen, but his eyes blinked
open, met hers. "Kira."

"I'll get help," she promised. "Lie still,
I'll get help."

He clutched her hand in a grip surprisingly
fierce. "No. Listen. Listen to me, daughter." She blinked, staring
down at him. "I was wrong," he told her. "I was wrong, Kira.
Michael's a good man. Maybe...the best I've ever known."

"What are you saying?" she asked, stroking
his head.

"Your mother—she hasn't been happy in our
marriage. Too many secrets. Too much I have to hide from her. But
you...you're not your mother. You're strong. And you know."

"Mom loves you," she assured him.

"And suffers for it. I didn't want that for
you. But...he loves you, Kira. You marry Michael. You tell
him...tell him I'm sorry."

"You can tell him yourself." She bent closer,
kissed his cheek. "I'm going to get help."

He nodded. "I love you, Kira. Be happy."

Then his eyes fell closed, and she knew he
was gone. Even though she searched for a pulse, she knew he was
gone, and when she saw the hole in his chest, she knew there was no
chance to revive him. She held him in her arms, and she cried,
until, swamped with dizziness and weakness, she let him go and fell
to the ground beside him. Moments later, Michael was leaning over
her, whispering her name, and she was staring up at him, trying to
speak. And then there was only darkness.

The memory faded, and she was kneeling beside
Michael, lifting his head, searching his body. Blood pulsed from a
chest wound, and she pressed her hand to it to slow it down.

"Michael," she whispered. "Open your eyes.
Listen to me. You are not dying, do you hear me? You are not
leaving me, not now."

His eyes opened. He seemed short of breath,
but focused, conscious, aware.

"I love you, Michael," she told him. "I don't
just remember loving you, I feel it, maybe more so now than ever
before. I love you so much it's overwhelming. It's all-consuming.
Don't leave me."

He smiled weakly.

"Michael, I remember that final day. I
remember what happened before I lost consciousness. I found Dad. He
lay there, dying, but with his final breaths, he gave us his
blessing. He said you were the best man he'd ever known. He loved
you, you know."

Closing his eyes slowly, Michael whispered,
"Thank you for that It means...so much."

"It isn't gonna mean a damn thing if you
don't hang on for me. God, Michael, I've been so empty. Walking
around like a hollow shell. A body without a soul. And I know what
was missing, now, Michael, because I've found it again. It was us.
It was you."

She waited for his reply, but there, wasn't
one. He'd passed out Or died.

She heard something then—the cell phone,
ringing. She dug it from Michael's pocket and hit the button.
"Where the hell are you guys?"

"Kira? Holy, shit Kira, you almost sound like
your old self."

She recognized Kelly's voice, not as her
mother's housekeeper, but as a colleague. "I'm back," Kira told
her. "The bad guys are dead, and Michael is down. We need a
chopper."

"We're on the way," Kelly barked. Then, more
softly, "Welcome home, Kira."

She was holding his hand, having put in the
longest night of her life, when he woke in the hospital bed. He
looked around the room, looked at her, smiled a little, and it even
reached his eyes. "Hey, beautiful."

She was far from beautiful, she thought
Though her mother had brought her a change of clothes, she'd
refused to leave her husband's bedside long enough to shower. Her
mom brought her a basin of warm water, some soap, and deodorant
then stood guard at the door while she washed up beside the
bed.

She looked down at the clothes her mother had
chosen. A dressy pantsuit far from her usual attire. "Not exactly
what I would have chosen," Kira said.

"I do love you in leather," he said. "Better
out of it, though."

His voice was coarse, and she reached for the
water pitcher, poured some into a glass, and then held the flexible
straw to his lips.

He drank, then let his head rest on the
pillows.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Weak as a kitten. A little groggy. Not sure
if I'm remembering what really happened, or if it's a bad case of
wishful thinking."

She leaned over him, pressed her mouth to
his. "You want me to climb into that bed and refresh your
memory?"

He smiled against her lips. "Damn straight I
do, so long as you don't mind doing all the work."

"I always liked being on top," she said.

Then she sat on the edge of his bed, better
to cradle his head to her chest. "You're gonna be okay," she told
him. "They got the bullet out of your chest. It missed your heart.
You'll be fine."

"I've never been more glad to be alive,
Kira."

"Neither have I." She sat up a little, but
couldn't keep her hands off him, and so she stroked his shoulders,
upper arms, occasionally his face as she spoke. "I had a long talk
with Mom," she said. "Explained to her that I've been a deep-cover
DEA agent for the past five years and that the whole thing with
Peter was just a ploy to bust him for drug trafficking, and I was
already married. To you."

"Must have broken her heart."

Kira smiled widely. "You know what she said?"
She went on without waiting for an answer. "She said she kept
wishing I wasn't engaged, because she would have managed to throw
you and me together. She loved you from the minute she met you—in
your guise as wedding planner."

"She said that?"

She drew an
X
across her chest with a
forefinger. He nodded, smiling.

Then his smile died and he looked at her
neck, frowning. "Where's...?"

"My ring?" She held up her hand, showing him
her wedding band, resting right where it belonged, on her finger.
"I told you before, Michael. I love you. I want our life back. I
want you back."

He closed his hand around hers. "You never
lost me, babe." He glanced toward the door. "So you gonna lock that
door and climb into this bed with me or what?"

She smiled, got to her feet, and went to the
door, then she came slowly back to the bed, still smiling. "Now,
you've been injured," she said. "I don't want to do anything that
might hurt you. So I want you to lie
perfectly
still.
Understand?"

"I'll do my best."

She kissed his jawline, his neck, and reached
her hand underneath the covers to stroke him. "You just let me take
care of you."

"Anytime," he said. "But there will be
payback."

She squeezed him. "Oh, I'm counting on
it"

If you liked The Bride Wore A Forty-Four, check
out Maggie’s new witch series,
THE PORTAL
.

Coming September 2012!

New York Times bestselling author Maggie
Shayne has published more than 50 novels and 23 novellas. She has
written for 7 publishers and 2 soap operas, has racked up 15 Rita
Award nominations and actually, finally, won the damn thing in
2005.