J Saint - Collateral Damage

She grasped his arms, feeling the tense bulge of his muscles and the strength and rage teeming within him. She meant to push him away from her. His life? He'd vowed his life. She could never let that happen. She had to leave him to protect him. But instead of distancing herself from him she buried herself into the warmth of his embrace.

Shot. Jack had been shot. Lauren saw the barely healed wound on his temple rip open and the bullet whizzed over her head before it clunked into the roof of the car. It all seemed to play out in slow motion right before her eyes and every core emotion she possessed-love, fear, anger, hate-coalesced into a gut wrenching cry. "Jack!" she screamed.

Blood splattered her face and gushed down the side of his head. She grabbed him as he fell and did the only thing she could think of, use all of her weight to shove him farther into the car and out of harm's way. She didn't know how badly he was hurt, and every fiber of her being hurt too. She gasped for air as the world careened around her. Somehow his gun ended up in her hand and she tightened her grip on it.

Dear God! She prayed for a miracle and latched onto the only lifeline she had at the moment-the bullet had grazed his skull rather than bore a hole through his head.

He fell on his side, head in the passenger's seat, the console crushing his ribs, his hips in the driver's seat and his legs sticking out the door. The pistol he'd shoved into her hand was still warm from his skin and bolstered her strength as she crouched behind the car door. Her purse still hung from her arm and swayed with her every movement. She was wedged between the car door and Jack's legs with her heart beating so hard that she thought her chest would split open from the force. Two things consumed her now.

She was damned determined to protect Jack.

And she would kill to do it.

A man dressed in all black and wearing a ski mask dropped into view in the carport. He carried a rifle and stopped to grab some rope draping from a hook on the carport wall before he moved. He didn't seem to be in any hurry and obviously thought she'd be easy pickings. He even shifted his rifle under his arm so he could loop the rope as if preparing a special knot just for her.

She shivered hard and aimed the gun at him, using both hands to hold it. Her body shook from head to toe, making it hard to focus and steady the pistol, but she knew enough to keep the gun out of sight as she concealed herself behind the car door. The man didn't know she was armed, which increased her odds of getting herself and Jack out alive. Instinctively, she waited for him to come closer, knowing her chances of hitting him with a bullet would be greater.

Surely she could aim, pull the trigger and kill the man. She gulped for air, her hands sweaty, her skin freezing.

"I'm calling the police," she yelled, voice warbling with fear. She would have been on the cell phone already if it wasn't buried under Jack.

The man didn't hesitate, but kept coming her way, slowly as if relishing every moment. "Go ahead, Sex Slave. Cops can't help you now." His guttural voice cut like a knife. "You're mine for as long as I want."

Sex Slave? It was the last thing Lauren expected to hear. What in the hell? What did this have to do with terrorists and Bill's coded letter? Was this some sort of nightmare that she'd soon awaken from? The wetness of Jack's blood on her face told her it was more real than she could imagine.

Dear God. The man coming after her seemed almost maniacal, as if he belonged in some B-rated horror flick. Still, his manner was more than effective. His complete assurance and total lack of fear for the authorities had her freaking out, despite the lethal gun in her hands.

"Guess what I'm going to be doing to you when the cops arrive at the door, Sex Slave? Your ass was made for my dick." He laughed and her stomach wrenched. He made her feel violated already. She tightened her grip on the pistol, waited a moment longer, then brought it up and took aim. He was too far away to reach her and too close to avoid her. She pulled the trigger several times. The unexpected force of the gun flung her arms upward, and sent her back into the car. The man yelled, falling backward.

She didn't wait to see what would happen next. She sat half on Jack and half on the seat, barely fitting into the car with her head cocked to the side and her knees against the dashboard. She started the engine and shoved the car into drive. The incline of the driveway had them immediately rolling forward toward the street, gaining a momentum that her stomp on the gas pedal fueled faster.

The driver's side door hung open with Jack's legs sticking out from about his lower calf on down. She had to maneuver carefully down the drive, afraid that she'd hit something and crush Jack's feet with the car door. They no sooner hit the road than she heard him groan.

Within seconds of that his body tensed. He'd regained consciousness. "Son of bitch." He grabbed his head. "What in the hell happened?" he sounded, gloriously normal and the relief flooding her made her giddy.

"I could use a little help here." She maneuvered around a sharp curve.

He angled up on his elbow, hindering her ability to drive even more.

"This position is killing me. Pull over." He pressed his palm to the blood welling from his head wound and groaned harder.

"I was lucky to get most of you into the car." She glanced into the rearview mirror. "I don't think he's coming after us. I shot him. Besides, there wasn't a car there, right?" She eased toward the roadside and brought the car to a stop.

"No car," Jack said, succinctly. By the time they untangled and got out of the car, no part of her remained un-touched by him or his effect on her, which only amplified her need to pull him close to her heart and thank God he was alive. She wanted to hold him, to feel his heart beating, to feel the life rippling through his body. But if she touched him at that moment she didn't think she would be able to stop for a long time, she fetched her cell phone from the seat and tried to focus on what they needed to do next.

Jack grabbed some tissues from the console and pressed the wad to his wound to stop the bleeding. He was pale and in obvious pain. She needed to get him medical help and make sure they remained safe. Provided she could get her own thoughts together. Every fiber of her being shook over how close he had come to being killed.

"I'll drive," he said.

She glared at him then pointed to the passenger seat. "You'll sit and you'll do it fast. The man I shot was alone, but he could have a partner nearby, and we aren't wasting precious time arguing over your Superman complex."

He clenched his jaw. "My what?"

"You heard me. Consider yourself kryptonited. Now sit."

He didn't argue, but staggered over to the passenger's side and got in the car. She slid behind the wheel, wiped the blood from her face with a tissue then buckled up and took off.

"Kryptonited?"

"Yeah. And you might as well know right now that I'm taking you to the hospital."

"Absolutely not. No hospital. Just get us to a hotel to rest in and get cleaned up. I'm going to be fine. I've been injured enough times to know if I need medical attention or not and right now I don't, Kryptonited or not."

"But-"

He held up a hand. "If things change, if I start acting odd, get unusually drowsy, or if this headache worsens, then you can take me in, but I think the metal plate the doctors put in two weeks ago absorbed the brunt of the bullet's force and averted any serious injury. What's more important right now, is you telling me who you shot."

After glancing at him several more times to assure he wasn't delusional, she let the hospital issue go for now. The metal plate in his skull may have just saved his life. A life put on the line because of her. This was no game and she had no idea what she was going to do next. How could she let Jack keep putting himself in danger for her? Yet how could she possibly face this danger alone?