Killer Curves Read online

  “Doesn’t matter. I’m not going to wait. I’ll find Daniels and ask him myself,” Ciaran said, grim pleasure coursing through him.

  “Copy that. We’ll see you soon.”

  Ending the call, he stalked from the room and headed for the foyer, damn near running for the steps. The room. That’s where he’d left her. But minutes later, after tearing the bedroom apart, he had to concede she wasn’t there. Panic clawed at his ribs, strangled his throat. No. Christ. He forced the terror down, iced it over with hard-won calm and logic. The same kind he’d forged by fire with the DEA. Sloane needed him to think and save the emotion for later.

  He charged out of the room and bounded down the steps. As he cleared the bottom step, a man wearing the white shirt and black pants of the serving staff passed by him.

  “Excuse me.” Ciaran grabbed the other man’s arm to ensure he had his attention. “Have you seen Sloane Barrett?”

  “Um, no, sir,” the staff member stuttered. “I mean, yes, sir. About ten minutes ago. Adam was talking to her.”

  “Adam. Where is he?” Ciaran demanded.

  “I-I’m not sure. The kitchen, maybe?”

  Ciaran wheeled the younger man around, and led him back down the corridor. “Let’s go find him.”

  “Wake up, Sloane.” The gentle croon was followed by a hard, stinging slap to her cheek. Pain chased away the fuzziness that had already begun to lift. A palm caressed her face as if soothing away the soreness. “Come on, Sloane. Open your eyes. I don’t want to have to hit you again.”

  She forced her eyelids up. Blinked away the heaviness. Slowly, she lifted her head, but a sharp agony pierced her skull. She cried out, tried to ease the pain. But her hands refused to cooperate. Cautiously, she wriggled her hands. Bound. They were bound behind her back.

  Oh God. Fear, acrid and thick, swelled inside her, packed her throat, almost smothering her. Helplessness. Terror. It converged on her like a tidal wave, almost dragging her under its obsidian, choking depths. No, no. She shook her head, and this time, expecting the blast of agony, she used it to fully awaken. Swallowing convulsively, she pushed back the bile and blinked away the swarm of black and gold dots.

  Focusing, she took note of her surroundings. A large bed. Cherry wood dresser and vanity. Blue and green comforters and drapes. The deep aqua sparkle of the pool and lush greenery beyond the window.

  The pool house. She sat on the bedroom floor of the pool house.

  “There you go, honey.” Matt’s face hovered in front of her. “I was getting worried he might have hit you too hard.”

  “He?” she questioned. Even the soft whisper set off a pounding in her head, but she shoved it aside.

  Crouched down before her, Matt tsked as if in disappointment. “Leo. He’s a bit…overzealous. I talked to him about that incident at the pool. But he’s more trustworthy than those two now in police custody.” He frowned, drumming his fingers on his thigh. “Last time I ever hire through someone else for such a sensitive task.”

  A sensitive task? Hurting and abducting her was a sensitive task? Who was this man who wore the face of the godfather she’d loved all her life? Who would have never harmed a hair on her head, but had now sanctioned her kidnapping?

  “Matt,” she said. Damned if she would ever call him “uncle” again. And if the softening of his face with what appeared to be regret was any indication, he didn’t miss the slight. “Why? I loved you.”

  “Loved,” he repeated. With a sigh, he rose to his feet, walking over to the window. But careful to stay out of the line of view, she noticed. “I’m sorry to hear you say it in the past tense, although not unexpected. Still, it hurts. You are the daughter I never had, Sloane. And this pains me so much.”

  Crazy. Matt had to be crazy. Had he snapped? What else could explain his claim of loving her even as he held her shackled on the floor?

  “But the fact is, you’re not my child, Sloane. My son killed himself. Do you know the utter devastation to walk into a room and find your son hanging? Dead by his own hand? I couldn’t save him. I was too late. All I could do was cut him down, hold his body. As a father, you couldn’t possibly comprehend the grief, the powerlessness, the failure. The desire to die right there beside him.” A sob escaped him, wracking his body with the force of it. “He wanted to make me proud, prove to me he could build a business of his own as I had. He didn’t need to, though. The reason I worked so hard was so he didn’t have to. But he didn’t believe it. So he went behind my back and joined in one of John’s ventures, invested everything he had. And lost every. Bit. Of. It. Because of John.”

  Steel bled into his voice. The same flinty hardness glinted in his eyes, straightened his shoulders. In seconds, the man capable of masterminding a plan involving criminals, kidnapping, and assault stood in the same room as her.

  “He cost me my son. If not for him convincing Matt to gamble everything he owned on a hope and a prayer, my son would be here. He wouldn’t have felt like so much of a failure he took his life and left me and his mother.” Matthew’s thin frame shook with his rage, his fingers balling into tight fists that trembled. He no longer stared at her, but his narrowed gaze was fixed on the far wall at something only he could see. Taking advantage of his inattention, she inched her legs under her. “A child for a child,” Matthew ranted.” That’s the price for John’s betrayal. A child for a child. He took mine, I’m going to take his in the same way I lost mine. Hanging. Struggling for breath. Having to loose the rope from around your throat. Only then will he feel the pain I’ve suffered.”

  He reached behind him, withdrawing a black gun that seemed longer than usual. A silencer. Horror propelled her to her knees, but the hefting of the weapon froze her.

  “Don’t think about getting up. I’d hate to cause you any unnecessary pain, but I will if you leave me no choice.”

  Slowly, she lowered to the floor again, but as her butt hit the floor, the room swerved to the side. Or maybe that was her. Woozy. Like she drank too much. But she hadn’t even sipped coffee this morning.

  “Ah,” Matthew hummed, moving forward. “That must be the sedative taking effect. I didn’t want you to suffer. Contrary to what you probably think of me right now, I’m not a monster.”

  Sedative? Her increasingly whirling mind tried to grasp the implication of the word, but then her focus zeroed in on the rope he picked up from the top of the dresser. A rope with a noose fashioned at the end.

  Adrenaline kicked in like a mule, racing through her veins and momentarily dispelling the influence of the drug in her system. She struggled to her knees, tried to make it to her feet, not caring about the gun. Primal, survival instinct demanded she get away, escape. Live. But the sedative overwhelmed her and the rush to her system. She toppled over, her shoulder slamming into the wall with a thud. Pain jettisoned through her joints and down her arm, momentarily numbing it.

  Above her, Matthew shook his head, that terrible mixture of sympathy, love, and resolve filling his expression again. Tenderly, he looped the rope around her neck and fit the knot to the nape.

  “Don’t move, Sloane,” he warned her, the barrel of the gun fixed on her.

  With a grunt, he tied the other end around a light fixture in the wall, then tugged on the cord. Most likely to ensure her weight didn’t tear the fixture free.

  “As you fall forward, your body weight will strangle you, but the sedative should eliminate your struggle and pain. I’m just going to wait here with you while the drug takes effect,” he said, settling on the edge of the mattress. “Unlike Matt, you won’t be alone when you die.”

  Was that supposed to comfort her?

  “Matt,” she pleaded, her words slurring as her tongue grew thicker in her mouth. “Please don’t do…this.”

  “I don’t have a choice. It will be easier if you don’t fight it.”

  How the hell would you know? The deafening scream rebounded off the walls of her head. But she couldn’t say it. A heaviness infiltrated her limbs as her
body mass doubled, and she strained to remain upright. But even as she fought the lethargy, Matthew wavered in front of her… God, no. Not like this. Not without saying good-bye. With her family believing she would do this to them. Without Ciaran knowing…

  Crash.

  She jerked her head around—or tried to. Her head slowly swayed in time to see glass implode into the room like a bomb had been detonated. A tall figure leapt through the window, crouching low. Ciaran.

  Joy, relief, fear. They jumbled inside of her like a snarled ball of yarn.

  Matthew launched from the bed, gun in hand. The muted percussion of a bullet leaving the gun silencer permeated the room, and she lurched forward as Ciaran ducked, his leg shooting out and connecting with Matthew’s arm.

  She choked as the noose tightened around her neck. On reflex she attempted to jolt back, but her muscles wouldn’t comply. Her voice wouldn’t cooperate.

  She could do nothing as the noose slowly strangled her…

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ammonia. Laundry detergent. Wood chips and fresh rain.

  Sloane pried her eyelids open, battling the peaceful, seductive darkness that called to her. For a moment, she surrendered, sinking back into its welcoming arms. But the wood and rain. They both called to her, dragged her to the surface…

  An IV stand and clear bag of fluid. A monitor with steadily blinking lights. Heavy green drapes and the ugliest couch in creation.

  The hospital. She was in the hospital. Searching her foggy mind for how she ended up there and why, she shifted. Or at least she tried to move. She glanced down where a heavy, muscled arm banded her waist, holding her in place. Suddenly, the mist cleared from her brain as if a strong, nor’easter had blown in and driven the haze away. And she became aware of a big frame pressed against her back and thighs, spooning her.

  Holy hell.

  Gingerly, careful not to pull on the needle taped to the back of her right hand, she turned. And came face to face with Ciaran.

  Long, thick lashes rested under his eyes, and in sleep he appeared younger, less intense with those piercing blue eyes closed—wait. In sleep…

  Ciaran was asleep.

  Beside her. With her.

  A snail can have about 25,000 teeth.

  Her heart thudded in her chest, and the rapid pounding had nothing to do with waking up in a hospital with a fuzzy brain. What…why…did he?

  Ciaran’s lashes lifted. And they stared at one another for several long, silent moments.

  “You’re sleeping with me.” Jesus Christ. Had she been hit on the head?

  “I was.” A smile tugged at the corner of his sensual mouth, but the humor faded as he cupped her jaw and studied her with the penetrating inspection she’d grown accustomed to. “How’re you feeling?”

  “Fine—” As if his question had twisted a faucet, the memories flooded into her head. Matthew. Pain. The rope. The sedative. Ciaran. The gun.

  Gasping, she shot up, reaching for him. But a vicious throbbing in her head halted her, stealing her breath. Good God. It was like tiny men were whistling while they worked with little pick axes against her skull.

  “Shh. Easy, sweetheart,” Ciaran soothed, and cradling her shoulders, gently lowered her to the bed. “The doctor said your head would hurt for a little while because of the drugs and the concussion.”

  Swinging his legs over the bed rail, he rose and grabbed a dark brown carafe as well as a plastic cup. The muscles underneath his gray T-shirt flexed as he poured water into it, and just the sight of the clear liquid had her desperate for a taste. Slipping a straw into the cup, he cupped the nape of her neck and helped her tilt forward to sip the cold, delicious drink. God, had anything ever tasted as good? In this moment, no.

  “Thank you,” she murmured. Closing her eyes, she inhaled a deep breath, held it, and waited for the pounding to subside. Finally, she returned her attention to Ciaran, who studied her from his perch on the bed. Part of her wanted to ask him to lie down beside her again. But that same need held her back. “How long have I been here?”

  “Two days. They had to make sure the sedative was completely out of your system, and then make sure there wasn’t any swelling of the brain from the head injury.”

  Jesus, that sounded so scary.

  “Matthew?” she whispered.

  “In jail,” he replied, voice as soft. “Him and the guy he hired to help him subdue and kidnap you.” Ciaran went on to relay about Maddox’s phone call, her father’s dark financial situation, and how they figured out Matthew blamed John for his son’s suicide. “I found the staff member who gave you the note from Matthew. Thank God he was nosy and read it. When I went to Matthew’s room, this Leo Gardner was just coming out. Apparently, Matthew had sent him back to the room to ensure no sign of you remained. First thing I noticed about Leo was the scratches on his wrists and hands. With some persuasion”—a grim smile curved his lips—“he told me where you were. I was almost too late.” He tangled his fingers with hers while the other hand brushed a caress over her cheek.

  “The gun went off.” The terrible horror of seeing the gun fire and being unable to move, to even speak, surged within her, threatening to drag her back under. “I thought you were…”

  “No, sweetheart. He’s a horrible shot.” Again that half smile that helped battle back the terror of those memories.

  She snorted. “Not funny.”

  “It kind of was.”

  Before she could reply the hospital room door opened, and her mother, father, and sister swept in. The candid relief and love on all of their faces when they saw her brought the prickle of tears to her eyes.

  “Sloane.” Mallory sailed to the other side of Sloane’s bed, across from Ciaran. Eyes bright with moisture, she pressed a cool palm to her cheek and kissed the other. “We were so worried. Oh my God, you almost died. I can’t believe Matthew would do this to you. To us. I still don’t understand why,” she practically wailed.

  “Grief over Matt. I think he just snapped, but none of us are to blame,” she murmured, meeting her father’s stricken gaze over her mother’s shoulder. Guilt and sadness lined his face, making him appear so much older than he had the last time she’d seen him on the patio. She glimpsed the truth in his eyes, realized he understood the motives behind his former best friend’s deadly actions. He gave her a subtle nod. But she sensed John would bear the burden for a long while to come.

  “We spoke to the doctor on the way in,” her father said, voice tired, weary. “They’re going to run a few more tests today, but if they come back clear, you can leave tomorrow morning.”

  “And you’re coming back to the house so I can watch over you until you’re fully recovered,” Mallory interjected, her tone fierce as if anticipating Sloane’s objection. In her mother’s narrowed glare, Sloane glimpsed not just determination, but fear. Fear of almost losing her child.

  A warmth suffused Sloane’s chest, and she smiled. Hell, she wasn’t turning down a little pampering either. Although after a couple of days she might want to plan a prison break. “Okay, Mother.”

  Mallory blinked. “Well…okay, then.”

  Chelsea snickered. “I think you just did the impossible and rendered her speechless.”

  “Chelsea,” their mother hissed.

  Her sister chuckled and squeezed Sloane’s leg. “I’m glad you’re okay, sis,” she rasped. Clearing her throat, she wrapped her arm around John’s waist. “And don’t worry. Dad and I will run interference when you leave here. Just like this one”—she dipped her head toward Ciaran—“has been doing since they admitted you. He hasn’t left your side once.”

  Sloane glanced at Ciaran, who steadily contemplated her.

  “We’re going to leave, honey. Let you get some rest.” Her father circled the end of the bed and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “We’ll be back tomorrow to bring you home.”

  “We’re going to be okay, Dad,” she whispered, clasping his hand.

  He nodded, eyes glistening with
unshed tears. Moments later, the door shut behind her family, leaving her alone with Ciaran, who hadn’t moved from beside her on the bed.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

  He cocked his head to the side. “For?”

  “For you having to go through this again.” She started to shake her head, but stopped in time. “I can’t imagine how you felt having to face almost the same situation as four years ago.” Oh God. Had she just implied that he’d once more ridden to the rescue of a woman he loved? She flinched. “I mean, not that you…you know what I mean…”

  Swallowing a curse, she pinched the bridge of her nose. It must be the head injury that had turned her into a babbling, blushing idiot.

  “Sloane. Look at me.” A gentle, but firm hand lowered hers back to the mattress. But he didn’t let go. Just waited until she complied and met his unwavering regard. “I do. And yes, I know what you mean.”

  She stared at him. “I’m sorry, what?”

  His full, sensual lips curled into a smile. One reflected in his gleaming blue eyes. “I do love you. And yes, I do know what you mean. I did risk my life for you. And I’d do it again.”

  Shock robbed her of her voice, but hope—fragile hope—fluttered in her chest.

  A person consumes one tenth of a calorie with every lick of a stamp.

  Dolphins sleep with one eye open.

  A giraffe can clean its ears with its twenty-one-inch tongue.

  He snorted. “I can imagine how convenient that is when a Q-Tip isn’t around. Sweetheart.” He lifted her hand, pressed his lips to her palm. “I wasn’t looking for you. But from the moment you walked into that restaurant, I haven’t been able to look away from you. Your beauty, your strength, your courage—you’re this light burning away the dark place I’ve existed in for so long. Existed, not lived. For four years I’ve been afraid to feel, to love. But almost losing you, almost having to wake every day without you in this world made me realize I want to live. With you. Sleeping next to you every night knowing I’m holding everything I need in my arms.” He crawled up on the bed, stretching out next to her and cradling her face in both of his hands. “I started this job hoping you would be my redemption, my absolution. You ended up being my heart. Let me be yours, duchess.”