Chapter 10

Rory sat beside the bed and listened to the beeps and hisses that issued from the array of medical equipment. He came every day, picking a time when the family was absent, to sit with Nelda Whitson. He talked to her. Told her he was sorry. He even read romance novels to her. Because her daughter said in a television interview that her mother loved reading them. But not today. Today he’d come to say goodbye. The family was meeting with Nelda’s battery of doctors—all the specialists who’d worked so diligently to keep her alive. He knew what the meeting entailed. The doctors wanted to pull the plugs, to stop the machines that breathed for her, pumped her heart, fed her. He knew whatever made her “Nelda” was no longer here in this bed. Her spirit was gone, leaving only the husk of her existence behind.

Like mourners gathering around a granite headstone, her family had clung to this last vestige of wife, mother, friend. Now, they’d had time to say their goodbyes. The time had come to move on. For him, too.

Rory squeezed her hand, stood, and bent to place a kiss on the cheek that remained mostly intact. His lips brushed her withered skin and his belief was confirmed. A husk. That’s all that was left.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. His nostrils burned from the tears threatening to swamp him.

“I thought you were the one.”

He whirled.

Nelda’s twelve-year-old granddaughter stood in the doorway.

“Everybody’s still talking and I got bored. I don’t like that Nana is alone. But she’s not. You’re always with her.”

“Not—” He ahemmed to clear the lump in his throat. “Not always. I come by when I can.”

“She would have liked the book you brought her.”

He glanced at the book on the bed table. “I’m sorry.”

The girl walked over and put her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek to his chest. Rory stood stone still for a long moment and then his arms, of their own volition, curled around the child.

“You don’t have to be.” She raised her head to look up at him. “You didn’t mean to shoot her.”

His heart stopped beating. How did she know? His name had never been released. Reflexes took over, restarted his heart, and forced air into his lungs.

As if she didn’t notice his shock, the girl continued. “You wanted to take out the bad guy, before he hurt anyone. And he would have. He would have hurt everybody there. He picked my nana because he thought she was old and wouldn’t fight. Nobody knew her like I did. She would have wanted those people to be safe. You and my nana, you rescued them.”

Rory’s throat closed and he closed his eyes against the moisture filling them. Her arms tightened around him in a fierce hug.

“You came to say goodbye. That’ll make Nana happy. She’s ready, you know.”

He nodded, still unable to trust his voice, and then the girl stepped away from him. She stood on her tiptoes and placed her hands on his shoulders for balance. She kissed his cheek. “I wish I was old enough to go out with you,” she whispered. “You remind me of one of the heroes in Nana’s books.”

Rory stifled the groan but couldn’t stop the tear that trailed down his cheek. The girl brushed it away. “Don’t be sad. I’m not. Nana’s in a better place.”

A better place, he mused sometime later. He’d stayed to confirm the decision and ended up meeting the rest of Nelda’s family. The men shook his hand. The women hugged him. And they all told him he’d been a hero. He hadn’t killed their loved one, the man who took her hostage had by his actions.

Alone in his truck, he gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white and cracked from the squeezing pressure. A song came on the radio. Something gravelly. And he gave in to emotion as the refrain washed over him. “If today was your last day...” Tears flowed unheeded and his throat ached from the sobs he swallowed.

****

Delaney leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. She fiddled with the pen in her hand, twisting and spinning the silver cap, as she studied Rory. His eyes appeared red-rimmed like he hadn’t slept—or had been drinking. She suspected the former. He’d never given any indication of being a heavy drinker. When dealing with PTSD, many of her patients self-medicated with alcohol. Rory? He was Type A all the way. He’d confront things head on, for better or worse.

He stared back at her, as still as a predator. She shivered when the light bulb turned on. He was a predator. And his prey consisted of other predators, so he was a hunter, too.

“How many?”

Rory didn’t blink. But he didn’t reply either.

“The sooner you talk to me, the sooner we can work through this, and the sooner you can get on with your life.”

His smile curled like a lazy river across his face but didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ve already gotten on with my life, Doc. You’re the one who is stalling. Why is that?”

Delaney swallowed. Hard. His smile grew colder—the predator sensing his prey’s weakness. “You—” She coughed to clear the constriction in her throat. “Have a maddening habit of ignoring my questions.” She narrowed her eyes and glared at him. “You’ve killed people, Rory. And…injured others.” His brown eyes turned the color of burnt coffee.

“Killed, Doc. All of them.”

“But I thought Mrs. Whit—”

“Her family pulled the plug this morning.” He spit the words out, short, succinct—a sound bite delivered with no emotion.

His blood-shot eyes. So much became clear for her now. Vulnerable. Off balance. Now was the time to press home her advantage, get him to open up, and purge all the baggage he swore he didn’t lug around.

“How can you sit there and insist that those lives mean nothing to you?”

His eyes narrowed. His nostrils flared. His fingers curled around the arms of his chair in lieu of forming fists. “I’m sorry Nelda Whitson got in the way, Doc. But I didn’t kill her. The man holding the gun to her head did that. He sealed her fate and his own the minute he walked into that bank and tried to rob it.”

The righteous outrage rolled off him in waves. Delaney was missing something, some important clue. “I don’t understand.”

Rory pushed out of the chair, paced to the window and stood, feet braced a shoulder’s width apart, his hands fisted at his sides. Stiff. Proud. Deadly. This was not a man she ever wanted to cross.

He turned, regarded her with dispassionate eyes. “Exactly, Doc. You don’t understand. You’re…prey. A victim waiting to happen. You’ll never understand.”

She suppressed the cold shiver clawing up her spine. “Then do us both a favor and try to explain it.” Her voice sounded sharp in her ears, but his expression didn’t change.

“Explain it. Okay.”

He stalked toward her, stopping when his shins bumped her knees. Rory towered over her. With the sinewy grace of a natural hunter, he bent, his hands gripped the arms of her chair and caged her between his arms and body. His face, within inches of her own, looked like a mask. She swallowed hard. Again. And hated herself for showing the weakness and fear he’d just accused her of.

“You need to understand, Doc. At an incident, the only person with absolutely no choice is the hostage. Me? I can quit. I can put down my rifle, stand up, walk away. I can go grab a hamburger. Drink a beer with my buddies. Sleep.” His breath hitched in his chest. “Make love to a beautiful woman.”

His exhaled breath whispered across her skin, and she recognized the flare of heated passion in his eyes. Her tongue peeked out between her lips and tucked her bottom lip between her teeth. Rory was aware of every movement she made. He stared, holding her gaze for a heartbeat. Four. Ten. He straightened and strode away from her returning to the window. He continued speaking, still staring out across the city.

“The bad guy. He chose to be the actor, Doc. He willingly placed himself in the situation. He holds the power. He can walk away. He can choose to end it.” His shoulders stiffened and his head jerked as he raised his chin. “But the victim? The hostage? That’s the only person who has no choice. Take Nelda.”

That he referred to the victim by her first name was telling. Delaney made a note on her pad, the scratching of pen against paper loud in the quiet of her office.

“Nelda went to work. Like she had for countless other days. She was living her life. A nice lady with a family. Getting ready to watch her granddaughter’s piano recital next month. And she had all her choices taken away the moment that asshole walked through the doors and pulled his gun. The minute he grabbed her as a shield, her choices ended. The bad guy made the choices for her, Doc.”

He inhaled deeply, his shoulders rising and falling. His fists loosened and he worked his fingers to ease tension before fisting them again. He turned.

“Do I feel guilty when I put a bullet through the bad guy? Not one shred, Doc. He had every chance to change his mind, to make a different choice. But he didn’t. He forced the action.”

“But you made the choice to end his life.” Her voice quivered.

Rory spun around, stalked back and glowered down at her. “No. He made that choice, Doc. Every one of the choices was his. He chose to enter the bank. He chose to hold hostages. He chose to grab Nelda. He chose not to put down the gun. He chose, Doc. Not me. He looked at me knowing I watched through the scope, smiled and tightened his trigger finger. I was faster. Yeah, I hit Nelda. But a heartbeat later, I killed him, too. Do I feel bad about Nelda? Hell yeah. She was a victim. But she was the criminal’s victim, not mine. That asshole will never hurt anyone else, Doc. I can live with that. If he’d killed all those people? That’s when I would need the rubber room. I did my job. I’ll do my job again.”

Her fingers curled against her palm, the sudden need to reach out and touch him, to wrap her arms around him palpable within her. Delaney held herself rigid. But she knew the minute she gave herself away by the look in his eyes. He smiled. Cold, almost cruel, but for the heat blazing in those incredible amber eyes. He bent. His face softened and then his lips touched hers.

“Prey, Doc, but I’ll never let you be a victim.”

He whispered the promise across her mouth, and hungry need pooled low in her body. She fisted her hands, willed them to stay still on the arms of her chair. She steeled her expression but her heart pounded, tripping like a snare drum. His eyes focused on her throat.

Betrayed again by my stupid romanticism and raging emotions.

What was it about this man that stirred her so? Was it that he kept kissing her—okay, it wasn’t a real kiss—

His lips sealed on hers, not asking. This time he took. His rough hands cupped her cheeks with a gentleness belying his strength. He devoured her, hungrily thrusting his tongue against the seam of her lips, demanding to be let inside. Her lips softened and he swept inside, tasting and teasing her. Her hand uncurled from the armchair, only to curl around his biceps. Her chest rose, lifting her torso away from the chair, her breasts seeking contact with him.

Rory pulled her up then his hands surrendered her cheeks to wrap around her, clutching her to his chest with searing need. His erection nestled against the vee of her thighs, and she pressed against him, rubbing shamelessly until he groaned. One hand dropped to her butt, cupping that cheek like it had cupped her face just moments before.

“I want you.”

Her heart hammered at his words. She wanted him, but one small, rational portion of her brain poked her psyche. Hard.

Patient. Well, he’s supposed to be a patient. Ethics, woman!

She pushed away from him, and stumbled backward when he relinquished her. Rory quickly steadied her, though, and she glanced up at him. He appeared as stunned by events as she did.

“We can’t.”

“We could.”

“No. You’re a patient.

“Yes. Because I’m not a patient. I never have been. I’m only here because regulations say I have to sit in that chair until you sign off on my CISD paperwork.”

Delaney huffed. “No.” God she hated that she purred that word, her voice husky as she flirted with him. She cleared her throat. “No. I mean it.” Oh that devilish grin that reached his eyes and made them twinkle. She just managed to stifle the deeply feminine sigh threatening to escape.

“Yes.” He quirked a brow and leaned in to kiss her forehead. “Maybe not now. But someday, Doc. Someday soon. I’m going to take you to bed. And when I do, it’ll be a night you’ll never forget.”

She arched a brow in response. “Pretty darn cocky, aren’t you?”

“Nothing cocky about it, ma’am, when it’s a promise.”

She sighed. Despite her best efforts to hold it back, that sigh whispered from deep in her chest. Before she could retort, he kissed her again. On the lips. Just as fervently, if not so demanding and hungry.

“This was just a taste, Doc. When I get you in my bed, I’m going to kiss you like that all over. And I do mean all over.”

She flushed and trembled in places deep inside. She had to clench her thighs together to keep from swaying toward him. She reached for the one defense she had. A question. “Why?”

Oh, that lazy grin, and the devil behind it. “Because.”

He eased her back into her chair. With what seemed like reluctance, his hands dropped from her arms but one palm cupped her face and he tilted her head up to look at him. “That’s a promise, Doc, and I always keep my promises.”

His thumb teased her lips as sweetly as a kiss, and the shadows she’d always associated with him withdrew for a few heartbeats. She closed her eyes and breathed for a moment. When she opened her eyes, the door to her office clicked shut. Rory was gone and she wanted to cry. For just a moment, she wanted to cry. She felt his loss with an intensity that rocked her.

After long minutes, she managed to get up and walk to her desk, only to sink into the chair there. With shaking fingers, she reached for her digital recorder to dictate her notes on today’s session. With an unconscious gesture, her fingers grazed her lips. They felt hot and swollen and as she shifted uncomfortably in her chair, she realized other lips felt the same. She couldn’t breathe for a moment, had to clench her thighs together, and rock her hips to ease the pressure down below. Cold shower. She needed one desperately. But she didn’t want cold, she wanted heat. The heat of his arms around her, his mouth on her, tasting her, licking her, suckling her like she was some delicious treat.

“Jeez, Delaney. Get a vibrator!”