Page 27 of Fatal Love
At that moment, the man himself stumbled into the room, barely able to stand or speak. In a slice of moonlight coming through the window, Connor saw sweat running down Cal’s face.
He’d lost a lot of blood, and the pain showed.
“Beatrice,” he panted. “How is she?”
“She’s shooting at me,” Connor said.
Hunter chuckled in his ear. “That’s B for you.”
Cal grimaced as he shuffled forward. “What’s the status of the bomb?”
“Whoa, there. Steady.” Connor grabbed Cal before he toppled over. Carefully, he moved him to the bed. “I couldn’t diffuse it. You sit here and I’ll get Beatrice.”
From the closet, a guttural, primal cry rose. “CAL…LAN!”
“I’m being paged,” the man said with a loopy grin. “How much time do we have?”
Better not to tell him. “The best thing you can do, sir, is to get your butt out of here. I’ll get Beatrice.”
“No can do. She’s my—”
Crack!Connor didn’t wait for him to finish, kicking the closet door in. “Don’t shoot me, boss!”
The wood splintered and he pushed the sections away, knocking a metal pole to the floor and nearly hitting the midwife.
Maria groaned from her spot on the floor and Connor pulled up short at the blood covering her.
Three people. He had three people to get out of this house and one of them was…
His gaze swung to his laboring boss and quickly darted away.
Because,ho boy, that was more than he needed to see of Beatrice Reese.
“I have to…push!” she screamed. Her face was pulled taut, teeth gritted. Her knees were bent and her legs spread wide.
Shit, shit, shit. What the hell was he going to do? Cal and Maria were in no shape to help him, and he couldn’t just throw Beatrice over his shoulder and haul ass.
“Coldplay, come in. Now!”
“On my way, Irish. Hold onto your panties.”
He reached down and grabbed Maria by her wrists, dragging her body out of the closet. He laid her by Cal’s feet. “I’ve got three people to get out of the house and that bomb’s going to explode in…”
He checked his watch and swore loudly.
“Get Beatrice out,” Cal commanded.
At the same time, Hunter said, “Beatrice goes first!”
Connor was already back inside the closet, but it was a no-win situation. He couldn’t drag her across the floor; that would take too much time. And he couldn’t pick her up and carry her in her current state.
We’re fucked.
How many times had he thought that in the field? Too many to count.
And yet, here he was, still standing.
He was lifting a writhing Beatrice into his arms—which was no easy task—when Hunter ran in. “Side to side.”
