Hot Property Page 16
Good God, Michael thought, he had to do something and fast. If she were to topple over that railing, she would die when she hit those solid flagstones. And that was only if her assailant didn’t kill her first.
Michael saw no easy way up—no convenient trellises or trees with low branches. Only the exterior wall, made of rough-hewn Austin stone, offered any hope of access.
It would take him too long to go around. He leaped away from his cover and drew closer to the house. Three stories of sheer wall, straight up. But the cornices would work as footholds. And there was a puny ivy that might offer a handhold. He’d done some rock climbing once.
He kicked off his shoes and started the climb, working his way foot by foot, sometimes inch by inch, upward.
The band had started up again, but Michael could still hear Wendy screaming. Each shriek that tore from her throat made him die a thousand deaths. Could no one else hear her?
“You’re tougher than you look,” the assailant—definitely Captain Patterson—said. He was breathing hard. He wasn’t a large man, and at sixty-five he’d probably lost some of the strength of his youth. Wendy apparently was holding her own against him.
Fight him off just a few seconds longer, Wendy, he silently begged. I’m coming for you.
Michael’s head cleared the balcony floor, and he could see them now through the slats in the wooden railing. Patterson had hold of Wendy by the shoulders and was attempting to knock her against the stone wall. Michael realized the man’s diabolical plan in an instant. He was going to beat her to death, then toss her over the railing, so it would look as if she’d jumped.
Michael grabbed onto the railing with one hand just as his foothold gave way. He found himself dangling in thin air by one arm. That was when Wendy saw him.
Their eyes met for an instant. She let out an involuntary gasp, which was all it took to alert Patterson to Michael’s presence.
Michael pulled himself even with the top of the railing and swung one leg up, trying to strengthen his precarious perch before Patterson could come after him. He had only a second or two. The old man, with the light of insanity burning in his eyes, turned away from Wendy and toward Michael.
Patterson stepped on Michael’s hand where it extended through the railings.
“Damn it, Tagg, why couldn’t you let it be? Now I’m going to have to kill you too.”
Michael couldn’t say anything through the haze of pain coming from his hand as Patterson casually crushed his fingers against the concrete balcony.
“Stop it!” Wendy grabbed Patterson’s arm and tried to pull him off balance, but he shook her off. Wendy looked around frantically until her gaze fastened on a wire mesh hanging basket filled with petunias. In milliseconds it was in her hands. She bashed Patterson over the head with it.
The impact stunned him. He staggered, and Michael reclaimed his hand. Somehow, during those few seconds it took for Patterson to recover, Michael pulled himself fully to the top of the railing. Wendy grabbed onto his leg, then his arms and shoulders, and hauled him the rest of the way over.
“Michael, look out!”
Patterson was himself again. He immediately set upon Michael, grabbing him by the lapels of his jacket and pushing him backward against the railing. Michael hadn’t had time to prepare for the attack. He couldn’t find a handhold, could only flail at Patterson. He didn’t dare kick and lose his tenuous grip on the balcony floor.
Wendy was on Patterson again, kicking with her spike heels and beating his head with her dainty fists. Her fighting style wouldn’t win her many points, but she proved just enough of an annoyance that Patterson’s concentration broke.
He pulled away from Michael to jab an elbow into Wendy’s stomach, momentarily incapacitating her.
That break was all Michael needed. With a mighty push, he launched himself off the railing and toward Patterson, felling him with one body blow.
But Patterson wasn’t about to give up. He tripped Michael with a scissors kick. Michael fell with an “Oof!” on top of the older man, and they rolled around on the concrete, neither really taking the advantage for long.
“Wendy, go get help,” Michael ground out as Patterson got a hand around his throat.
She didn’t budge, just stood there transfixed by the violent dance in front of her.
“Wendy!” He choked.
From the corner of his eye, he saw her go down.
“I’ll see you in jail for the rest of your life for assaulting a superior officer,” Patterson said. “Don’t think for a minute anyone will believe—”
The French doors burst open, and Captain Rogers leaped onto the balcony with two officers. “Freeze!”
Michael was more than happy to stop struggling. But Patterson, seeing no way out, gave one last mighty shove, pushing Michael through the flimsy railing and over the balcony.
During that split second when he teetered on the edge with nothing but empty space below him, Michael had a choice. He could either let go and fall to an uncertain fate, or take Patterson with him.
He chose to let go, but Patterson didn’t. He clutched at Michael’s jacket and allowed the momentum to pull him after Michael. Wendy’s agonized “No!” followed them as they fell.
Wendy groggily opened her eyes. The first thing she noticed was a splitting pain in her head.
“There, she’s coming to,” a strange female voice said. A terrible smell invaded her nose. Her eyes flew open. She was lying on her back on the balcony, and a woman she’d never seen before bent over her with a vial of smelling salts.
“Michael?” she croaked. “Oh, God, he fell—” She tried to sit up, but the woman—a paramedic, Wendy realized—restrained her.
“Easy now. You’re going to be fine.”
But what about Michael? He’d fallen three stories. “Michael?” she said again, in a stronger voice. “Someone please tell me what happened.”
“I’m right here.” His voice was strong and sure. Relief flooded her, and she would have jumped for joy if she could have. Unfortunately, she was completely immobile, strapped onto a board of some kind. A big foam contraption around her head prevented her from even turning to look in his direction. But she felt it when he stroked her hand, distinctly recognized his touch from those of several strangers working on her.
“Sir, could you please move aside and sit down?” the paramedic said. “John, do something about this guy’s arm.”
His arm? What was wrong with his arm? “Michael, are you all right?”
He let go of her hand, but he remained near, talking to her. “I’m fine. You’re going to be fine, too, you hear me?”
“Yes.” She wanted to close her eyes and sleep, but she was afraid she would fall unconscious again. Her head felt like a walnut being cracked. “How did you …”
“I didn’t fall all the way down. I caught myself on the second-floor balcony. Broke my arm, I think.”
“You think?” someone said.
“And Patterson?” Wendy asked.
“He didn’t die from the fall. They’re working on him. But he confessed, Wendy. Before the ambulance got here, he told half a dozen witnesses that he and James set you up and framed you. The charges against you will be dropped.”
Damn, she thought. The man had had a shred of conscience after all. She tried to hate him, but all she could feel was pity, and sorrow for his wife. She couldn’t even hate James, who’d played her for an incredible fool. She was too filled with relief that she and Michael had both survived.
After all she’d been through, the news that she’d been cleared seemed anticlimactic. She was almost disappointed. No more excuses to see Michael. Which was probably for the best, she thought glumly. He’d be going away soon.
“I’m sorry about your arm,” she said. “That won’t hurt your chances for the FBI, will it? I mean, they can wait a few weeks for you to start training, right?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m withdrawing my application first thing Monday morning.”
Wendy didn’t know what to say.
Michael stood up and leaned over her stretcher so she could see him, and she almost wished he hadn’t. He looked as if he’d gone a few rounds with Mike Tyson. “Oh, Michael.”
He ran one finger over her cheek in a caress as light as a butterfly’s wings. “Wait till you see your own face, kiddo.”
“Are you sure? About the FBI, I mean?”
“The Bureau’s not important to me anymore. I’m happy with my job. I think I just needed a kick in the pants, a wake-up call to show me what’s really important. And maybe someone to share the ups and downs with.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. Was he saying what she thought he was?
“We’re moving her now,” the paramedic said.
“No, wait,” Michael said urgently, “just one more second.” He turned back to Wendy. “I love you, Wendy. No way could I go traipsing off to Quantico and leave you here.”
She wished she could touch him, clasp his hand against her face or kiss his palm. She settled for words. “Oh, Michael, I love you too. When I saw you go over the edge of that—”
“Time’s up,” the now-annoyed paramedic said. Reluctantly Michael pulled his hand away. “Get well, Wendy. Soon as you’re feeling up to it, I owe you a heckuva birthday celebration.”
She didn’t know how her heart could soar when her body hurt so badly, but she’d never been happier in her life.
“And then we’re going to talk about getting you some self-defense training. You fight like a girlie-girl.”
“I am a girlie-girl,” she called as the stretcher was carried away. But his teasing didn’t dampen her mood one bit. Michael Taggert loved her. That love surrounded her in a warm glow that mitigated her pains. She would recover in record time.
EPILOGUE
Wendy’s thirty-first birthday was definitely better than her thirtieth. Michael, now her husband and a homicide lieutenant, took the day off and let her sleep late, then brought her breakfast in bed. He’d even included the traditional bud vase with a single rose and, of course, the paper.
“I stole the sports section,” he said, “but I left all the shopping circulars intact. You can read them, but no coupon cutting. You promised to take the whole day off.”
“I know.” And she intended to keep that promise. Jillian had taken on more responsibility as Wendy’s pregnancy neared term. Wendy could relax today, knowing everything at Born to Shop would run smoothly.
She sat up and propped some pillows behind her. But there was no way the breakfast tray would go over her lap. Her knees, maybe.
After a couple of attempts, Michael finally set the tray on the bedside table. “There.”
She smiled at him. “This is wonderful, Michael. You still haven’t told me what you want for your birthday dinner tonight.” Her discovery that they shared the same birthday, that his thirty-fifth hadn’t been any more fun than her thirtieth, had been a fun surprise.
He winked. “How about you, covered with whipped cream?”
“That’s disgusting!” she objected, whacking him with the folded paper. A few months ago, maybe. But now that she was as big as a house—
She froze as a wave of pain rippled through her belly. “Oh, no,” she murmured. “Not before I’ve had my breakfast in bed.” She’d decided to go off the ridiculous diet her obstetrician had put her on, just for this one meal. She reached for a piece of bacon and smiled up at Michael as she crunched it. “Mmm, delicious.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“You look funny.”
Bill and Ted jumped on the bed together and started rubbing at Wendy’s arm. She scratched them both behind the ears. “Nothing’s wrong.” She took another bite of bacon and promptly doubled over.
“Wendy!”
“Looks like we’re going to have a third Taggert birthday to celebrate today,” she said as calmly as she dared.
Seven hours later, after a lot of cursing and panting and ice chips, Wendy gave one final push, and their baby came into the world. Michael watched the miracle happening, and he thought it was even better than when Maggie Courtland’s baby had been born.
“It’s a girl!” the doctor crowed, though Wendy and Michael had known the baby’s sex for months. Still, the reality was so much better than the anticipation. The baby squalled its first, Wendy laughed and cried, and Michael hugged her gently. She’d been a trouper through the agonizing labor, and he’d been thanking every deity he could think of that he’d been born male.
Now the struggle was over, though. The doctor laid the incredibly tiny baby girl on Wendy’s stomach. She touched it cautiously, her eyes full of wonder.
One of the delivery nurses looked on, grinning. “She’s beautiful. What are you going to name her?”
Wendy and Michael looked at each other. “Consequences,” they said together, then laughed giddily. Truthfully, they hadn’t been able to decide on a name yet.
“Connie for short?” the nurse asked, playing along.
Connie. Yeah, that wasn’t bad, Michael mused. From Wendy’s thoughtful expression, he imagined she was thinking the same thing.
“Constance?” Wendy said, and Michael nodded. Constance was perfect. Their daughter’s name would stand for the constancy of the love that had brought her into the world, the love that had sustained her parents through months of the painful aftermath following Patterson’s death—he’d survived only a few hours—and James Batliner’s prosecution.
Michael knew that love would sustain them through the rest of their lives. He brushed Wendy’s hair from her face, then kissed her softly. “Constance,” he murmured, and the baby squalled her approval.
THE EDITOR’S CORNER
Welcome to Loveswept!
Love is in the air this month — and no, I’m not talking about that holiday. I’m talking about all of our fantastic Loveswept releases coming up, and I’m so excited to share them all with you.
Tina Wainscott’s red-hot WILD ON YOU introduces the Justiss Alliance, an elite team of heroes out to do right. This is one book that will be hard to put down, as one untamable SEAL meets a woman who handles the wildest sort of animals — until she herself becomes the hunted. Another book that I keep raving about it Sally Eggert’s electrifying romantic suspense, IN THE DARK, where passion raises the stakes when a woman is drawn into a dangerous game, with a man who may not be what he seems. Intrigued? I was! If you’re a fan of historical romance with tons of sensuality, adventure and intrigue, look no further than Sharon Cullen’s PLEASING THE PIRATE, where a ruthless pirate and a Scottish lass are wrenched between love and duty. And if you were sucked into Stacey Kennedy’s CLAIMED like I was, you’ll be happy to hear that the oh-so-sexy Club Sin returns in BARED — a wicked and wild tale of submission, seduction, and love.
And of course, we can’t forget about those classic romances that made us fall in love time and again. This month we have two fantastic books from two beloved authors: Sandra Chastain’s irresistible reads: JOKER’S WILD and LEAN MEAN LOVING MACHINE, and Ruth Owen’s wonderful historicals: MIDNIGHT MISTRESS and GAMBLER’S DAUGHTER. Then there’s Karen Leabo’s tale of hot pursuit and hotter passions, HOT PROPERTY, and Linda Cajio’s EARTH ANGEL, where a boardroom hotshot discovers heavenly pleasure with an unlikely angel. And a sensuous historical tale from #1 New York Times bestselling author Iris Johansen, WILD SILVER: THE DELANEY’S — who doesn’t love a story with a wicked prince and a beautiful, willful captive?
Be swept away with Loveswept!
Gina Wachtel
Associate Publisher
Love stories you’ll never forget
by authors you’ll always remember
eOriginal Romance from Random House
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