Chapter Sixteen
Gabe practically took the corner to the bungalow on two wheels, tires shrieking as he jerked the truck into the narrow driveway.
His heart had only picked up more speed the faster he drove from the airport, but when he saw the little house sitting there like nothing was wrong, his heartbeat hit a brutal pace.
His instincts told him Felicity wasn’t inside.
He barely remembered to put the truck in park before he bolted toward the front door. The lock had a code, and he punched it in from memory.
He stormed in. “Felicity!”
The place smelled like her shampoo and their bags sat by the door.
“Felicity!”
She didn’t answer.
He raced through the rooms, only to find exactly what he knew he would.
She was gone.
Then he saw the slip of paper on the counter. In three strides, he snatched it up.
Gabe,
Andrew called. Said he has some of Henry’s books for me. I took an Uber to his house. Back soon.
–Felicity
Around her name, she had doodled the little wreath that matched her stamp. Only this time, instead of leaves, the wreath was linked with tiny hearts.
His vision blacked.
She’d gone to the Alder mansion. Alone.
Terror and rage tangled together in a white-hot current.
He stuffed the note in his pocket and was already moving to the door when his phone vibrated. Carson.
He answered on the first ring, running for the door. “She’s gone.” The words were ash in his mouth. “She left a note. She went to the nephew’s house thinking she was looking at books. I’m going now.” He leaped behind the wheel of the truck and backed out at mock speed.
“I’ll get the PD. Bring her out alive, Marine.”
“I will. Then I’ll hunt him down and carry him out in a body bag,” he snarled.
He drove on muscle memory and fury, weaving through traffic, barely seeing the city. All he could picture was Felicity in that big old house, alone with a man who had nothing to lose.
His hands tightened on the wheel until his knuckles went bloodless. “Hold on, bookshop. Just hold on.”
When he skidded up to the mansion, he drove right through the yard to the front porch. Every nerve was going haywire, but like a switch flipped, he calmed the noise. The sound of a dog barking faintly down the street cut off. The noise of a car engine silenced.
He didn’t go for the front door but circled through the side yard. The back of the house had a small patio with a pair of French doors. He stuck close to the wall, on the lookout for security cameras, pausing under a window, listening.
No voices or footsteps. He moved to the French doors but only saw a room filled with plants.
He rounded to the front again, stepped up to the door and pressed the lever to open it. It was locked.
“Andrew!” he bellowed. “Open up! Now!”
Silence answered him.
He lifted his boot and drove his heel just to the side of the deadbolt with all the force of his body behind it. The frame splintered with a crack. On the second kick, the latch gave, and the door flew inward, banging hard against the wall.
He stepped over the threshold, head swinging left and right. “Felicity!” His voice echoed.
No answer.
He strode through the rooms. The living room was empty. So was the dining room, chairs pushed in. He moved quick, clearing each space, flipping into full op mode, checking corners and keeping his back angled so no one could sneak up on him.
He hit the hallway to the back of the house. A faint sound reached him. Not a voice.
A scrape, followed by a muffled thump.
He followed it, hand on the sidearm he’d pulled from the console of the truck and tucked along his spine. The study door was closed.
“Felicity?”
“Gabe!” Her strained cry sliced through him.
He grabbed the handle and found it locked. One shoulder slam cracked the frame and sent the door blasting inward. Felicity was there.
Tied to a chair, zip ties cutting into her wrists and ankles, hair mussed and her eyes wide and shining with terror and relief. The sight of her stopped his heart and jumpstarted it all at once.
“Gabe!” It came out as a broken sob.
He crossed the room in three long strides and dropped to his knees beside her. “Got you.” His voice was rough as he cupped her face, needing to assure himself her skin was warm under his palm even though he knew she was alive. “I’ve got you.”
He was already reaching for his knife, flicking it open with a snap. “Hold still, bookshop.”
He slid the blade between plastic and skin, so careful even though his hands shook with rage that the fucking nephew had done this to her. One hard twist of the knife and the ties snapped. Her arms flew forward, a choked whimper escaping her.
She grabbed at him.
“Ankles next.” He ducked down, slicing through the restraints at her feet. The second they fell away, she surged out of the chair and into him, arms flung around his neck.
“You’re okay!”
“I’m here. Nobody is taking you away from me.”
The click of a safety on a gun cut through the air.
“Touching,” Andrew drawled from the doorway.
Gabe pivoted, keeping Felicity partially behind him, body shifting to that protective stance that had been branded into his muscles years ago.
Andrew stood in the splintered doorway, eyes cold, a handgun aimed directly at them.
Felicity’s fingers dug into Gabe’s back. “Gabe, I think he killed Henry!”
“I figured you’d come looking for her,” Andrew said.
“Your fake text was good—but I’m better,” he growled.
Andrew’s jaw clenched. “She stole from me. Those bonds—”
“Were never yours,” Felicity snapped, her voice shaking with what sounded like fury. “Henry wanted me to have them.”
“Shut up,” he hissed, gun twitching toward her.
Gabe moved with it, staying in the line of fire. The barrel settled dead center on his chest.
He slowly lowered his arm. Just a few inches and he’d have his hand on the grip of his own gun.
He should have pulled it when he stormed into the room, but the only thought in his mind was getting to Felicity.
“Hands up!” Andrew snapped.
Gabe slowly lifted his hands. Behind him, Felicity’s fingers tightened in his shirt—then froze as she felt the hard steel snug against his spine.
He felt the slightest tremor run through her, then she eased her fingers under his shirt.
“Let her go.” Gabe had to keep Andrew distracted from what Felicity was doing. “Take this up with the police and Henry’s lawyers if you think you’ve got a claim. You’re not getting out of this house with her. That’s a promise.”
Andrew laughed, a short, ugly sound. “And you’re going to stop me? One disgraced Marine who thinks his trauma’s healed? You haven’t begun to see trauma yet.”
He didn’t respond to the taunt, just fixed his stare on Andrew, calculating the tiny shifts he made that told him where the man’s weight was and where it would go next.
And he watched his finger hovering over that trigger.
At that moment, Felicity eased the weapon out of Gabe’s waistband.
Andrew’s gun arm dipped a fraction.
“Now!” He reached behind himself, and Felicity shoved the gun into his hand. He swept her out of the way just as Andrew swung the weapon at her…
And pulled the trigger.
The sound ricocheted around the room, deafening. Felicity screamed, and Gabe dived sideways.
The bullet seared a line of fire across his upper arm, hot and tearing.
But not enough to stop him.
He lunged forward, slamming Andrew into the doorframe. His gun skittered across the floor, spinning. Gabe followed him down, pinning his wrist, driving his knee into the man’s ribs with brutal efficiency.
Andrew snarled, bucking. But he was no soldier. No trained operative. He was just a rich man with a gun and a taste for control.
Gabe had been forged to steel in far uglier places.
He wrenched Andrew’s arm behind his back, grinding his face into the expensive floor until he heard the air punch from his lungs. “Don’t move,” he growled.
Andrew went still, panting.
“Felicity?”
“I’m okay.” Her voice shook but he heard the truth behind her statement.
“Good. You hear those sirens?”
“Y-yes.”
He looked up to see her swaying on her feet. “Can you sit down?”
“Yes.” She slowly sank to the floor, legs clutched to her chest.
Sirens grew louder, and a car screeched to a stop out front. Moments later, uniformed officers flooded the study, weapons drawn.
Everything happened fast after that, but Gabe didn’t ease his hold on Andrew until an officer had him cuffed.
Gabe crossed the room and pulled Felicity up into his arms. She clung to him, shaking. Then her hand found the blood soaking the sleeve of his shirt.
Her gasp cut through the chaos. “Oh my god! You’re bleeding!”
One of the officers radioed for medics, and more people rushed into the space. Felicity stood back, watching, her hand pressed over her lips.
“Hey.” He held out his good arm that the medics weren’t trying to staunch the flow of blood on.
She drifted near, leaning into him.
He brushed his lips over her forehead. “It’s just a graze. I’ve had worse paper cuts taking your sister’s art class.”
A rough sound burst past her lips, part tears, part amusement, and threaded with shock. “This is not a paper cut, Gabe.”
He winced as the EMT pressed gauze to the wound they’d exposed by cutting through his shirt sleeve.
“Okay, maybe a big paper cut.” He gently pressed his knuckle beneath her chin, lifting her shimmering eyes to his. “I bet it doesn’t hurt as much as your feelings.”
Her mouth fell open. “What?”
“When you realized I was right about Andrew.”
Another laugh burst from her. “You are such an ass.” Tears spilled over. “And I love you.”
His chest tightened with something better than the terror of losing this woman. He lowered his forehead to hers, letting the EMT work around them. “I love you too, bookshop. And I am never letting anybody get that close to taking you from me again.”
* * * * *
When they finally headed for home—the Black Heart Ranch and Willowbrook—Gabe drove one-handed, his bandaged arm resting carefully against his side.