Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
He was speeding, and breaking a few laws to get there. He didn’t care.
His hands flexed on the wheel.
Shots had been fired.
There was an officer down.
He already knew that Brynn was okay. Rhys had called him.
But Vander needed to see for himself.
He screeched to a stop out front of the bar. There were a number of police cars and ambulances.
He watched paramedics loading a gurney into the back of one. Two uniforms and a detective saw him and waved him in.
The inside of the bar was dingy. His gaze caught on the blood on the floor, and his gut tightened.
He scanned the devastation and spotted Brynn. She sat hunched in a chair, staring at nothing. Rhys stood close by, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed.
Vander strode across the room, and his brother caught his eye and nodded.
Vander crouched in front of her. “Hey.”
Pale blue eyes full of misery met his. “Hey.”
“How are you holding up?”
“Pretty crappy.” She swallowed. “One of my fellow detectives got shot. Chest. He’s in surgery.”
“That is crap.” Vander wanted to make it better, and it pissed him off that he couldn’t.
“Trucker is critical, too. And I killed the gunman.” Her chest hitched. “I don’t even know his name.” She held his gaze. “I killed someone.”
He pressed a hand to her knee. “I’m sorry, baby.”
“You’ve killed people.”
“Yeah.” And their faces had long-ago blurred into one.
“Does it…stop hurting?”
“No. But you remember why you did it, and accept that you can’t change anything. The pain dulls.”
Her lips trembled. “The dealer never showed.”
Hmm . Likely Trucker was set up. “You need to switch it off for a bit now, Detective.”
She looked at her hands. He saw that they’d been mostly wiped clean, but there were still remnants of blood under her nails and smears on her white tank top.
“I should go to the hospital and check on—”
“There’s nothing you can do.”
Her face twisted. “I hate that.”
Yeah, being helpless was the worst.
Vander couldn’t stand the misery on her face any longer. He rose and pulled her into his arms. Then he dropped into the chair and tugged her into his lap.
The way she curled into him made his chest tighten. She pressed her face under his chin and grabbed his hand.
He looked up. Rhys was eyeing him with a raised eyebrow.
Vander didn’t give a shit that he’d get an interrogation from his brother later. All that mattered was Brynn.
Vander had always been a protector. He felt a deep need to take care of those he considered his. But this wave of… Shit, he didn’t know what it was. Tenderness? It left him feeling a little unsettled.
He glanced back at Rhys. “You got an ID on the shooter?”
Rhys nodded. “I took a picture and sent it to Ace. His name is Duane Smith, goes by Bones. Member of the Blades. He’s been suspected of being their assassin. Likes to shoot people in the head while they sleep.”
Vander felt Brynn’s fingers clench on his. He knew it would help to know the man she’d shot had been scum who’d hurt people.
“And the dealer didn’t show,” Vander said.
Brynn lifted her head. Her cheeks were pale, but he saw her brain ticking over. “Trucker was set up.”
Vander nodded. “The dealer decided to eliminate him once and for all.”
“Damn,” she said.
Vander cupped her cheek. “You need to put it aside for now.”
“I should go to the hospital and get an update on Mike.” Her voice hitched. “He’s got a girlfriend, and two kids from his first marriage. They’re pretty tight.”
“There’s nothing you can do. You need to rest and regroup.”
“I’ll just keep hearing those gunshots. Seeing that guy fall. Mike’s blood on my hands.”
A man came through the bar’s front door. Hunt’s gaze fell on them and Vander noted the mix of emotions that hit the man’s face: relief, surprise, shock, anger.
Hunt strode over. “Brynn, you okay?”
“Hunt.”
She tried to get up, but Vander tightened his grip.
“Jankowski took a bullet,” she said quietly. “I shot the gunman.”
A muscle ticked in Hunt’s jaw. “You did what you had to do. I already heard the witness reports. You had no choice.” His green gaze hit Vander’s. “Why is my cousin sitting in your lap?”
“Because.”
That muscle ticked again.
“Come on, Brynn,” Hunt said. “I’ll take you home.”
Her fingers tightened on Vander’s again. He didn’t stop to think. “She’s coming with me.”
Hunt stiffened. “No, she needs—”
“She knows what she needs,” Vander said.
Brynn looked into his face. He already saw that her steel was reasserting itself. She held his gaze.
She blew out a breath. “I’m going with Vander.”
Hunt bit out a curse, then speared Vander with a sharp look. “You take care of her.”
Vander lifted his chin, then rose, keeping her close.
“Hunt,” she said. “If you hear any news on Mike…”
Her cousin nodded. “I’ll let you know.”
“And don’t tell Mom, or Bard, or my sisters what happened.”
Hunt stared at her.
“Please. I’m…not ready yet.”
Hunt released a breath. “Okay.”
Vander waved goodbye to Rhys, then herded Brynn out to his X6. She sat in the passenger seat, her gaze dull.
He drove with restrained fury. He hated seeing her like this. He knew she was a cop, but he’d spare her this if he could.
He drove to the Norcross office and parked. “Come on.”
He took her hand and led her into his private elevator up to his apartment. As they stepped out, she looked around. “Your lair. Wow, you let sunshine in here?”
The smartass was returning. He shot her a look.
She ran a hand along the back of his black, leather couch. “This is nice, Vander.”
His place had the same industrial vibe as the office below, with wood floors and touches of black iron. His bedroom and bathroom were walled off, the kitchen was at the back, and a wall of accordion doors could be pushed back to open onto the huge roof terrace.
She wandered over to the windows. Outside, the setting sun glowed orange. The buildings of the city speared up, making it feel like his place was nestled in the middle of it all.
She gasped. “This terrace is amazing.”
“Thanks.”
Then she looked at her hands. “I still have Mike’s blood under my nails, I—” Her chest hitched.
“Hey.” He slid an arm around her. “Come on, Detective.”
He led her into his guest bathroom. She looked around blankly, and he knew she was still lost in what had happened.
“Here.” He flicked on the tap in the sink and pulled her hands under the water. He squirted some liquid soap on his own hands and ran them over hers.
She watched the water, silent. He really hated seeing her like this.
Noting the streaks of blood on her Harley Davidson tank top, he decided to find her a fresh shirt. “Stay here.”
She nodded.
Vander hurried to his room, and snagged a T-shirt from his drawer. When he returned, she was still scrubbing her now-clean hands.
He shut off the water, then yanked her tank over her head. He studiously kept his gaze off her white, lacy bra and what it was cupping.
She jerked. “What are—?”
“Easy, Detective, I have a clean shirt for you.” He helped her pull it on.
She fingered the soft, well-worn gray fabric. It had Army stenciled on the front.
“You were Delta Force,” she said quietly.
“Yes. For a few years before they recruited me into Ghost Ops.”
“Best of the best.”
He took her hand and tugged her back into the living room. He went to his built-in bar and lifted a decanter. He poured two glasses of his favorite bourbon.
She took a glass and wrinkled her nose. “I hate bourbon. My dad used to drink it.”
“This is Eagle Rare. The 17-year-old.”
“Sounds expensive.”
“It is. Drink up, Sullivan.”
She gulped and pulled a face. The haunted look returned.
“I keep running through it all. Every step. Jankowski called out. Why didn’t the gunman run? I saw Mike go down. Hell, I heard a bullet whizz past me.”
Vander’s hand curled around his glass. He hadn’t heard that part. She’d almost been shot.
“It all happened so fast.” She rubbed her temple.
“There’s no point reliving it.” He knew that better than anyone. “Would you pull the trigger again?”
She looked at him for a beat. “Yes.”
“Then that’s it.”
“God, I hope Mike pulls through.”
She looked so shattered and tired. He took her glass and his, and set them down on the coffee table. Then he pulled her down on his couch.
He lay back and pulled her down so she was stretched out, her long length pressed against him.
She leaned into him and he heard her sigh.
“Right here, I feel like nothing can get to me.”
Vander pressed his cheek to her hair. He would damn well make sure that was true.
* * *
Brynn woke wrapped around a hard, male body, her nose pressed into the skin at Vander’s neck.
Mmm . Her belly flip-flopped and she realized she’d be happy to wake up like this more often.
She turned that thought over in her head, listening to his steady breathing and the solid thump of his heart under her cheek.
Vander was dangerous and complicated. And she suspected his demons ran deep.
But she wanted him. She wanted to dance with the darkness.
She noted the early morning light leaking around the blinds. Oh, boy, she’d slept with Vander Norcross, minus what she knew would be the exciting bit. Heat coiled in her belly.
She wanted that bit, too. She wanted to see if he’d let go of that legendary control.
She wanted to see all of him. Not just what he showed the world.
“How are you feeling?”
Of course, he was awake. She savored that deep rumble. “Pretty good, considering.” She lifted her head and met those dark-blue eyes. “You make a very comfortable bed, Norcross.”
His hand slid up to cup her hip. “Glad to hear it.”
She nuzzled his throat and felt him tense. And when she heard that steady heartbeat trip, it made her giddy. “I wanted to say thank you.” His skin was a little salty, and she wanted to bite him.
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I know, but having you there helped. I’ve never taken a life before and knowing you understood helped.”
His hands clamped on her harder. “I checked my phone earlier. There was a message from Hunt. Jankowski pulled through his surgery.”