Page 3 of Married With Lies

The strongest, most fearsome man I’ve ever met is flat on his back in my driveway.

“Call 911,” I say to Jasper.

Then I yelp when my wrist is grabbed.

“Don’t. Do. THAT.”

Even when borderline unconscious he manages to sound like a general on the battlefield. There’s never any room for arguments when it comes to Cale Connelly. He expects his word will be final. I’m sure it usually is.

“Cale.” I twist free of his grip and place my palm on his forehead. “You need help.”

Those intense eyes don’t shift from my face. “No hospital. No cops.”

With a jerk of his hand, he flings open the jacket of his expensive suit. A button gets ripped off and lands four feet away but there are much bigger things to worry about.

The lower right side of Cale’s shirt is soaked with blood. I hear Jasper’s sharp intake of breath. My hand flies to my mouth. When I spot the small hole in his shirt I understand the reason for the blood.

Now I know why he won’t go to the hospital. A gunshot wound would mean questions. There are likely a thousand reasons why Cale Connelly steers clear of law enforcement and none of them are good.

While I’m processing this, Cale grimaces and he manages to rise to a sitting position. Then he tips over again, nearly face planting into the driveway.

Jasper is staring at me with wide eyes. “Who the hell is this dude?”

Cale hears the question and even though he’s dizzy and bleeding and clinging to the real world, the corners of his mouth twitch with amusement. “Tell him, Scraps. Tell him who I am.”

Got to give him credit. He sure picked a great time to get under my skin.

I narrow my eyes at him before answering Jasper’s question through gritted teeth. “He’s my husband.”

Jasper blinks. “Your what?”

In spite of being frighteningly close to death’s door, Cale belts out a loud laugh. A laugh. Lucky for him I’ve committed to a personal crusade of self-improvement. One of my goals is to remain calm in the face of adversity.

This qualifies as adversity.

I glare at him to get the message across that nothing about this is funny.

Anyway, who does he think he is?

We had a deal. Yet he’s here, full of blood and bullet holes and ready to ransack my life.

Cale tries to stand and his face goes pale. A spike of terror pierces my senses. I don’t know anything about gunshot wounds but I’m sure there’s never an upside to having a hole in your body. It’s almost impossible to think of Cale as vulnerable but he’s lost a lot of blood, he’s obviously in pain and I can’t let him die out here by the gate.

Or anywhere else.

No, Cale Connelly isn’t allowed to die at all.

The sharp fear turns to something else. Something more complicated that I don’t have time to sort out right now.

There’s a decision to be made and without thinking twice I’ve made it.

“Come on.” I slide my arm around Cale’s waist but have no luck trying to lift him. “Jasper, help me get him up and into the house.”

Jasper says nothing as he moves to Cale’s other side. Together, we help Cale to his feet and then the three of us stagger toward the house. This is no easy task, lugging a six-foot-two, bleeding, muscled mafia hitman.

However, if I said that I didn’t know how on earth I got to be in this position then I’d be lying.

I know exactly how I got here.

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