Beverly Barton - Paladin's Woman

« ^ »

Nick didn't know why he'd followed Addy McConnell outside. He wanted to see her again? Yeah. He wanted to talk with her? Yeah. He wanted to get to know her better? Yeah. He wanted to drag her into the back seat of one of those big, shiny limos parked in the driveway and find out if she was as frigid as her ex-husband had implied? Damn, yes. Some gut-level instinct told him that Addy was as fiery as her hair, as hot and wild as the look he'd seen in her bright green eyes. But she would be that way only with him … only for him.

He heard the scream. A bloodcurdling scream of pure fear. And then he saw them. The tall redheaded woman and the muscular youth who held her. She wasn't struggling, she was just standing there in his arms, screaming. Nick moved forward cautiously, knowing he mustn't surprise Addy's attacker. He cursed his bad leg for slowing him down. Time was of the essence. He wouldn't have been the only one who'd heard her screams. Soon the lawn would be swarming with curious guests. No telling what the assailant would do if confronted by a mob of onlookers. He could panic and kill Addy.

Nick saw the gun held to Addy's ribs. The metal housing sparkled like shiny glass when the moonlight struck it from the right angle.

Nick eased off the veranda and out onto the drive, his steps faltering slightly as he leaned heavily on his cane. He could make out only the shadows of Addy and the man holding her captive. He crept along behind the parked cars, edging his way closer and closer to the woman he desperately wanted to save.

Nick saw several uniformed chauffeurs coming around the house, followed by five parking attendants in white coats. Damn! He hastened his lame gait, cursing the pain in his calf. He had to get to Addy.

The mansion's double front doors swung open. At least two dozen people ran outside, Rusty McConnell leading the back. Double damn!

Nick crouched down behind the driver's side of a white Rolls, peering over the hood. If he reached out he could touch the hem of Addy's dress.

"Damn you, bitch," the man with the gun shouted. "See what you've done. See what you've done!"

He jerked Addy away from the passenger side of the Rolls, twisting her arm behind her back and pointing the revolver directly at her head. Addy had stopped screaming. Her face, only lightly covered with translucent makeup, was almost as gray as her dress. The fear reflected on her peachy flesh made the smattering of tiny freckles across her nose visible even in the moonlight.

Nick knew he had few options. Capturing the assailant wasn't his top priority. Saving Addy was. That meant disarming her attacker before he had the chance to use his gun.

"Good God, it's Addy!" Rusty McConnell bellowed like a wounded bull, his voice carrying loudly in the stillness.

Nick could hear the rumble of voices, the tantalizing moan of a saxophone from inside the house, the labored breathing of the sweating man who began walking backward, practically dragging Addy with him. Nick slipped around the side of the Rolls, keeping his head low, groaning silently as excruciating pain radiated from his calf up into his bent knee. Coordinating his movements perfectly to keep pace with Addy and her kidnapper, Nick reached the rear of the car the moment they did.

He had one chance and one chance only. If he failed … If the man panicked …

Nick made his move. The man, young and scared, his dark eyes riveted to Nick, swung Addy around hard, using her as a shield. His long, sandy ponytail flipped over his shoulder. He tightened his hold on Addy. For one split second, he raised the gun a fraction of an inch, the barrel shining brightly just above Addy's head, the man's white hand clearly visible against Addy's flame red hair.

Using his trained warrior instincts, Nick raised his black walking stick with split-second precision. The gold tip touched the assailant's hand. He reacted quickly, shoving the gun against Nick's cane. Nick pressed the concealed lever. A sharp stiletto sprang from the tip of the cane and pierced the attacker's hand, slicing through flesh and muscle. Blood gushed from the wound. The man yowled in pain, dropping the gun. The metal rattled as it hit the driveway. Using his good leg, Nick extended his foot and kicked the revolver under the Rolls. The young would-be kidnapper, having lost his gun and inadvertently released Addy, glared at Nick, who swiftly and adeptly pulled the knife out of the man's hand and, with a quick press of a lever, returned the knife to its secret bed within his black lacquer stick.

When the young man made a move toward Addy, Nick used the gold-tipped staff to ward him off. Twirling the cane around, Nick slapped him across the face, bloodying his nose.

Nick heard the sound of voices coming closer, the loud pounding of running feet. Panting, the assailant glared over Nick's shoulder, then back at Nick. Easing away slowly, the man turned and broke into a full run. Nick made no attempt to follow. He leaned over to help a badly shaken Addy McConnell to her feet. Her tightly coiled topknot had come loose. Thick, heavy tendrils of bright red hair fell down her back, over her ears, and wispy curls framed her face. The sleeve of her unflattering gray dress was ripped, one of her two-inch heels was missing and there was a run in her panty hose that stretched from her ankle all the way up and beyond the hem of her dress. Her silver and black beaded purse rested at her feet where it had fallen from her shoulder.

The delicate fragrance of her expensive perfume mingled with the heady odor of her female perspiration. Nick could smell her heat … and he liked her uniquely sweet scent.

Leaning on his cane, Nick pulled Addy up against his body, hugging her close. Her breathing was labored, her eyes wild with fear, her full lips parted in the prelude to a sigh or a moan or a cry. Nick wasn't sure which. God, he wanted to kiss her. He wanted to hold her so close, so tight, that she would become a part of him. He wanted to run his hands all over her, from neck to knees, to make sure she was unharmed, to reassure her by his touch that she was alive.

The voices and running feet came closer. Within seconds a crowd would surround them. He looked at Addy. She looked at him.

"Oh, Nick…" Her voice was pleadingly soft, issuing both thanks and invitation in the way she uttered his name.

She leaned into him, resting against him. She put both of her arms around his waist, clinging to him. He'd never felt so much a man. Not in all his life. Was this what it felt like, he wondered, to protect your woman?

"You're all right, Addy." Nick lowered his head, his breath mingling with hers. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"No—not really—just … just scared me." She raised her lips to his.

Just as Nick's mouth covered hers, he felt the hardy slap of Rusty McConnell's big hand on his back. "What the hell was going on? Who was that man?"

Addy turned her face toward her father, but she remained in Nick's arms, her hands clutching at his back. "He … he was trying to rob me," she lied. "Nick showed up just in time. I … don't know what I would have done."

"The police have been called." Rusty stared at his daughter, doubt and fear raging in his dark green eyes. "Some of the men are trying to catch your attacker. I'd let the dogs loose if we didn't have guests wandering around out here."

Nick could feel the quick, hard beat of Addy's heart where her chest rested against his side. Her breasts were crushed into him. They weren't as small as he'd thought, but they were just as firm.

There was more to this attack than a man trying to steal a woman's purse. If that was all the man had been after, he'd have taken it and run. No, the man, whoever he was, had wanted Addy, had been trying to take her with him. That meant he was either a rapist or a kidnapper. If he'd been a murderer, he could have shot her before Nick saw them. Addy was lying to her father, and Nick didn't understand why. Who was she trying to protect? Surely not her attacker.