Page 69 of Merciless Protector

I went into my bedroom and opened the bedside table. Inside was a box. I pressed my middle fingertip on the scanner, and it opened. Too many people use the thumb as their security fingerprint.

The box opened, revealing my SIG Sauer P226. I’d just checked the magazine, which was loaded with fifteen rounds when I heard the knock at my door.

“Just a second,” I called so I could be heard before I walked in that direction with the SIG aimed at the floor.

I felt my heart rate increase as I approached the door, knowing that I had to be careful. I took deep breaths, trying to steady my nerves. My heart was pounding against my chest, and my palms were getting sweaty. I had to take a moment to compose myself before I opened the door.

Through the peephole, I saw a man dressed in a delivery uniform holding a paper bag. He looked like an ordinary delivery guy, but I couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was off about him. His posture was too rigid, and his eyes seemed to be avoiding the peephole.

I hesitated for a moment before he lifted the bag and aimed it at the door. I flattened myself to the wall in time before he shot dead center through the door.

Training kicked in, and I should have shot back, aiming for center mass, but I didn’t. I reached for the handle and wrenched open the door, flattening myself against the wall again.

Another shot rang out and I hurried to see through the opening to make sure none of my neighbors had come out in the hall. In the split second I had, I fired. Though the target area would be smaller, I aimed lower and hoped I’d hit pay dirt.

He went down. Flat on his back. His leg hemorrhaging. I went for one of the cushions on my couch before going to the man.

I pushed the gun out of his reach and applied pressure to the wound.

“Call the police,” I said when my elderly neighbor’s grandson stepped out of the doorway. He nodded and dashed back inside.

My heart raced with adrenaline. I was grateful I hadn’t broken under the pressure. It was a testament to my therapy and training that I could still function in a high-pressure situation. I hadn’t dissolved or frozen from fear. That was a good thing. I’d come a long way. Now, I wasn’t just fighting for me but my unborn child as well.

Police and EMTs were there in minutes, asking me to get on my hands and knees. Though I shouted that I was FBI, they were trained to cuff me and assess the situation. I tried not to be offended by how little care they took in doing so.

After I was perp walked back just inside my apartment, I was forced to stand in handcuffs until a detective finally approached me. For a second, being bound this way brought back ugly memories. I focused on my breathing as I reminded myself these were the good guys, not the bad. I would be released soon enough. I closed my eyes and saw Shawn’s face, his voice in my ear, my wrists bound with red silk.

“I’m Detective Lacey. And you are?”

The memory vanished and I opened my eyes to see a man a few inches taller than me standing too close. If not for Shawn consuming my heart and mind, I would have taken more notice of how attractive the man was. “Special Agent Tayla James,” I said and couldn’t hold out a hand because mine were handcuffed behind me.

“So I’ve heard.” Apparently, the officers had understood me even though they acted like they hadn’t. “Do you have anything to corroborate that?”

I told him where my ID was in my purse, hidden behind some clothes in my closet. It was when he pulled it out that he finally uncuffed me after contacting the bureau to confirm.

“Sorry about that. Procedure.”

When I said nothing, he went on to ask me to recount my story, which I did.

“That should be enough for now. Your door still works, though I would replace it,” he said cheekily. “I could help you with that.”

“Thanks. I think I can handle it.”

“By the way, your groceries arrived, and the perishables were put in the fridge.”

“Thanks,” I said, having forgotten all about them.

He pulled out a card. “If you can think of anything else or need a hand with that door, call me.”

His wide smile likely melted hearts, but mine already belonged to someone else. After he left, I stepped back into the living room, where a tech had just removed the bullets from the small wall between my windows.

When everyone was gone, I closed the door and stared at the nickel-sized hole splintered in my door. Had I not moved, I would be dead.

I debated on leaving or going into the office. My boss would have left by now, and I decided I wouldn’t let any asshole displace me. That didn’t make sleep come easy. I worked on my reports of the incident and what had happened to me since I was taken from that op.

Then I rested, or I tried. I fought the ghosts of Ruin and the memories of Shawn. Both haunted me through the night. I’d been wrong about Ruin not wanting me. I couldn’t think of anyone else who would try to kill me. I hadn’t worked at the FBI long enough to have enemies. But I also couldn’t’ figure out why Ruin would send someone to kill me when he’d kept me the last time. Shawn would hate that I hadn’t run and gone to hide out somewhere else. But I couldn’t run forever.

I kept my gun loaded and next to me, wondering if Shawn would show up like a knight in shiny armor. The morning did bring a guest, but not the one I expected.

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