Terms of Surrender Read online

  The perp turned to face him. “Were you feeding me a load of bull in there or were you telling me the truth?”

  “Which part?”

  “The part about passing this from father to son? What do I gotta do?”

  Through the weariness and grief that always slammed into Gage following a defused domestic situation, a smidgen of hope broke free. “It’s a cycle, Henry. Get help. Let your wife get the help she needs, too.”

  “Did you break the cycle?”

  Self-survival jumped to life and Gage motioned for the uniform to take the perp away. “If you love your wife and unborn child, get help before it’s too late.”

  Henry wrenched free, agitated, angrier than before. “I asked you a question, cop. Did you break the cycle or not?”

  Without a moment of hesitation, the lie rolled off Gage’s tongue. “Yeah, sure I did. You will, too, but only if you get help.”

  Moving aside to allow the paramedics access to the house, Gage watched Henry disappear into the backseat of the cruiser. He couldn’t help wondering if—or when—he’d be back to this house.

  He looked away.

  No good dwelling on it. He’d done his job. The rest was up to the courts, the counselors, Henry and his wife. Jail time would give the perp the opportunity to reconsider his actions and options.

  Gage started to make his way down the steps, until the faint scent of vanilla caught him mid-stride. He hesitated. Told himself to walk away before things got complicated. But he couldn’t disregard Harley any more than he could’ve dismissed Henry’s threat to his family.

  Pivoting on the heel of his boot, he let his gaze run over the fragile looking woman headed his way. Five-foot-two, delicate frame, enormous doe-like eyes.

  Under the dim glow of the front porch light, he bent his head to take a closer look, and saw the pallor of her face was a sickening shade of green. In her rush to escape the house, she slammed her palm against his chest and shoved him aside.

  Gage lost his balance and hit the wooden railing with his backside. As he heard the sharp crack of wood, he grabbed for the doorknob, missing it by a millimeter. He toppled backwards off the landing and ended up butt first in the flowerbed.

  Not exactly how he’d envisioned the end to a successful negotiation. With a scowl, he clambered to his feet and brushed the dirt off his back end.

  Somewhere in the vicinity, a camera light flashed.

  Tomorrow’s front page news.

  Perfect for keeping the hero-of-the-hour’s ego in check.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Harley shouldered her way past Gage and stumbled down the rickety wooden steps of the compact bungalow, past the crumbling cement sidewalk, and onto the tinder-dry grass. As the stuffing in her legs gave out, she dropped to her knees.

  Tears filled her eyes. Sweat bathed her body. She wrapped her arms around her waist, leaned forward, and gulped in the first breath of fresh air she’d taken since her neighbor had returned home with his rifle in one hand and his temper in full projectile mode.

  “Jesus, Harley.” Gage’s shiny black boots appeared under her nose and he crouched down in front of her, all macho and distant and heart-stoppingly gorgeous. “What were you doing in there?”

  A wave of nausea hit her square between the ribs and threatened her precarious control over her stomach, her pride, and her fear-numbed brain. She put her head down, fixed her gaze on his boots, and closed her eyes. “Go away.”

  With one of his large hands, he smoothed the hair back from her face. The gentleness of his touch eased the tightness in her stomach and soothed her raw nerves. Harley finally gave in to the urge to look at him and recognized the conflicting emotions in the ocean blue depths of his eyes.

  Concern for her welfare. Wariness at their unexpected encounter.

  The pleasure of his company wouldn’t last long. Minutes if she was smart enough to follow his rules. Seconds if she breached their silent agreement. Inevitably, she’d do something idiotic, Gage would remember he didn’t want her, and he’d disappear faster than a box of chocolates at the nurses’ station.

  As if any of it mattered after what they’d been through. Yet here she was, wondering why she had to run into him now, when she looked like a scarecrow in a cornfield and he looked good enough for a midnight snack.

  Well, it was better than thinking about the alternative.

  Henry.

  She gulped back another wave of nausea, gritted her teeth, and repeated herself. “Go away.”

  “It’s over, babe,” he murmured in the tone of voice he used to calm all rabid people, including women who knew better than to get into the middle of a domestic situation. “Henry’s in custody. You’re safe again.”

  Harley wanted to believe his words. She really, really did. But how could she feel safe when she knew the truth?

  There were a gazillion men like Henry who relished the control and pain they wielded over their victims. Why couldn’t the rest of the male population be like Gage? Dangerous on the outside, totally disciplined where it counted the most.

  A bubble of craziness slid up her throat. She swallowed it back down, and gripped his forearm so he couldn’t run away and leave her alone, scared, and dwelling on how they’d almost died.

  God, he looked good. His dark hair was shorter than the last time she’d seen him, as near to a buzz cut as one could get without actually having one. And his face…tanned from the heat of the summer sun, making the blue of his eyes stand out even more. She smoothed her hand along the stubble on his jaw, the growth of whiskers raspy against her palm.

  Gage Toryn had the kind of dangerous looks that turned sane women into lunatics. She’d seen it happen more than once. Heck, she’d even been one of those women.

  She blinked away the tears which stung her eyes and obstructed her vision, and forced a bravado she didn’t feel into her voice. “Those were some pretty nifty lies you told in there. Especially the one about your mom. How’s she doing anyway?”

  He took hold of her wrist and pulled her hand away from his face, his neutral expression easing the tiniest bit as he allowed a small smile to escape. “Living the retirement dream. She finally convinced Dad to buy a motor home and head south for the winter. Even though they don’t leave for another three months, she’s busy packing and planning.”

  “Good for her.” As another round of nausea hit, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and forced herself to look back at him so she could continue the charade. “And the wife? Did you finally outgrow your commitment phobia?”

  “No wife.” He smiled at her, his teeth flashing white in the dark as he shifted his weight to one side and peeled off his gloves, flexing his fingers. “How long has it been?”

  Automated brain reflexes kicked in. “Two months, twelve days—”

  She glanced down at the watch on her wrist, then back up at him, the breath suddenly gone from her lungs. Two hours, nineteen minutes, and twenty-three seconds.

  She bit back a groan. When would she learn to keep her mouth shut? Right about now, a small rabbit hole under the front steps would be incredibly sweet. Nothing too big or obvious. Maybe something large enough for her to crawl into and hide for the rest of her life.

  As if that would erase the humiliation.

  His thick black brows arched in surprise and a low whistle escaped from between his teeth. “You kept track?”

  As she hid her embarrassment behind one of those devil-may-care grins she’d learned from him, her stomach resumed its churning. “Yeah, well, it pretty much coincided with my sister’s funeral, so it’s easy to remember.”

  At least she was smart enough to know the drill. Walk away. Don’t look back. Bury the pain.

  His soft soothing tone was a prelude to another gentle touch as he brushed back the hair from her forehead. “You’re hurt. Let me see.”

  Harley soaked up the contact, until he touched her temple and a stab of pain shot through her head. She jerked away, fell backwards on her butt, and scowled up
at him as he held out his hand to help her up.

  “Sorry, babe. Didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  Harley batted his hand away. “Don’t babe me. What were you checking for? My pain tolerance? Let me tell you, it would be fine if you kept your hands to yourself.”

  He stared at her for a silent moment, his eyes and face devoid of all emotion, which reminded Harley of the image he’d projected while dealing with her gun-brandishing neighbor.

  He was trained to be calm, cool, unemotional, unlike her who tended to show every thought and emotion that passed through her brain and body. Right now, she could practically envision the flashing IDIOT sign suspended over her head.

  Okay, so sniping at him wasn’t the way she wanted him to remember her. Maybe she should try another approach.

  Gage started to straighten and her panic revived the nausea. She scrambled to her knees, clutched him by the shoulder of his t-shirt, and yanked him back down to a crouching position. The movement made her forehead throb and her stomach roll. “Wh-where are you going?”

  He closed his hand around her wrist and attempted to pry her fingers loose. “I want someone to check your head.”

  Cold chills raced across her skin. Her teeth started to chatter. Was she going into shock? She released her grip on his t-shirt, fell back to sit on the grass, and rummaged through the compartments in her brain, replaying the events of the evening.

  Backhand across the face. Ring on the bastard’s finger. Head bashed against the wall.

  No wonder her head hurt. And by the concerned expression on Gage’s face, she didn’t think he was going anywhere until he’d satisfied his deeply buried need to ensure all of the victims were okay.

  Even if it included her.

  Yeah, she’d taken a psych class or three. So hallelujah. Maybe she could play up the injury, faint in his arms, pass out on top of him, all so he’d extend his stay beyond five minutes. Too bad she was such a lousy fainter and an even worse liar.

  She touched the side of her forehead and instantly regretted it. “It’s just a scratch. Probably looks worse than it really is. No need to bother anyone.”

  “Maybe so, but I’m not leaving you alone until someone checks it out.”

  With a scowl, Harley watched him walk away. He was headed toward the flashing lights of the ambulance, his shoulders broad, his strength and tenderness addictive.

  Good riddance.

  In the edge of her vision, she caught sight of the front door of her house and recalled how easily Henry had broken through the lock. Like it wasn’t even there.

  All she’d tried to do was protect his wife. The pregnant woman had shown up on her doorstep with a black eye, seeking refuge from her angry husband. Harley had barely had enough time to call 911 before he’d busted through the lock on her front door, and grabbed his wife by the hair to haul her back home.

  Harley had followed them and discovered she was no match for his rifle.

  The bubble of panic in her throat threatened to choke the air from her lungs and a blast of fear hit her square in the chest. She raised her arms to shield her head from another blow and tried to shrink into a tiny ball of nothingness.

  The familiar voice of Jazz, the youthful paramedic from the hospital, broke through the frightened scream in her head.

  “Well, well, well, Harley Jane Davis. Isn’t it way past your bedtime, girl?”

  Relief washed through her and she lowered her arms, embarrassed. “Ha ha. You’re a funny guy.”

  As she clambered to her feet, a moment of dizziness washed through her head, made wet noodles out of her knees. She closed her eyes, willing away the sensation, and felt a strong hand catch her under the elbow.

  “Hold steady there, Harl.” Gage’s calm voice soothed her nerves, gave her the strength she needed to keep her eyes closed as Jazz probed the wound. Pain spiked near her temple and receded, returning to a dull ache.

  “Let’s have a look at those pretty eyes now, Harley, my sweet.”

  “Your sweet nothing,” she muttered. She opened her eyes and stared into the flashlight beam, wishing the hand gripping her elbow and the arm around her waist didn’t feel quite so impersonal. Wouldn’t that take the edge off her self-pity trip?

  “How does it look?” Gage asked from beside her.

  “She’s fine. A little bruised. A tiny cut. Head wounds always bleed more because of vascularity.”

  As Jazz dabbed at the wound, antiseptic bit into the injured flesh. She gritted her teeth, hissed out the air in her lungs, and swallowed the curse lingering on her tongue. “Ouch.”

  “Sorry, sweet thing.” Jazz covered the wound with a Band-Aid. “I recommend you find someone to babysit her for the night, though. You know, in case.”

  Babysit? She frowned. “In case of what?” She felt as though she should know the answer to her question, what with her nurse’s degree and all, and yet, nothing.

  “In case you have a concussion.” Jazz frowned. “Maybe I should take you to the hospital for the night. They can monitor you, check for internal damage.”

  Harley forced a grin. “Really, I’m okay. I was joking.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Gage said as though she hadn’t spoken. “Thanks, man.”

  “Let me at least get her an ice pack.”

  “That’d be great. Thanks again.”

  “Yeah, thanks, Jazz.” Steadier now, Harley watched the paramedic disappear around the side of the ambulance.

  The last thing she wanted Gage to think about was baby-anything.

  Okay, maybe it was time for a graceful exit herself, although she didn’t have a clue where she was headed. She looked next door toward her house, saw the front door swinging on one hinge, and recalled how easily her neighbor had kicked in the lock. A wave of panic rolled through her chest and her legs gave out.

  She sat down on the grass. No way was she going back to her house alone.

  Think of something else. Anything.

  Gage moved to stand in front of her and her breath stalled in her lungs. He towered above her, all six-foot-two, one-hundred-and-ninety-nine pounds of irresistible man in the flesh. As he peeled off his flak jacket with one hand and flipped open his cell phone with the other, the last of her brain cells went on standby. All she could do was ogle the way his sweat-soaked, regulation black t-shirt clung to the muscles of his shoulders, across his chest, and down the hard washboard of his stomach.

  How much better could a fantasy get?

  Except that Gage wasn’t just any fantasy. He was the fantasy, the same one she’d been having since she was in high school.

  He hunkered down till he was at eye level with her. “You should have someone stay with you tonight.”

  What were the rules? His rules, not hers.

  No touching allowed. Forever acquaintances. Never lovers.

  “Earth to Harley?” He snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Is there someone I can call?”

  He was looking at her strangely, as though any second he expected her head to implode. She needed to distract him, prove to him that she was healthy enough—both physically and mentally—for him to leave.

  She forced herself to stand, to ignore the frown gathering between his brows as he stood and towered above her. Hooking one hand on her hip, desperate to distract him, she went for what she hoped might be her sexy look—whatever that happened to be—and forced another grin. “What’s a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?”

  The furrowed brow eased to a frown. “Don’t change the subject. How ’bout if I call Mike?”

  The mention of her brother-in-law shocked the shock right out of her system, and while Gage continued to look at her as though any second he expected a meltdown, she decided she better tune back in before she agreed to something she shouldn’t. She bent and brushed away the grass stuck to her knees, and hid the deep well of hurt inside with a shrug and a nonchalant tone. “Please don’t call your brother. He’s got enough on his plate without adding me to the mix.
Besides, he’s been staying clear of me. You know. Since Hannah’s funeral.”

  “That’s tough.”

  The velvet texture of his voice made her stomach lurch in a nice way this time, reminding her of the sensation of racing over the back roads of the foothills on his motorbike. She tried not to think of the way she’d once clung to him, her breasts pressed against his back, her arms wrapped around his waist, wishing just once that he’d stop in the middle of a deserted road, drag her onto his lap, and kiss her breathless.

  But he wouldn’t. Not back then. Certainly not now that she looked like something out of a horror movie. Yet the slow sweep of his gaze, from her feet to the top of her head, turned the heat-oppressive night even warmer.

  Goose bumps rose on her skin, cold fighting against the sudden surge of her body temperature.

  “Harl?”

  She blinked and the concerned expression on his face came into focus. What had they been discussing? Oh yeah. Who could he dump her on? With a shrug, she oh-so-casually hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “There’s no one to call, Gage, so I’ll be on my way now.”

  By the look on his face, she could tell he didn’t like it. How could she distract him? Because once he got something into his head, he was like a dog with a bone. Totally obsessed.

  She breathed out a quiet sigh, and on legs still wobbly from her encounter with Henry and his loaded gun, faced Gage down. “Look, you probably have a stack of reports to fill out tonight. You’re free to go. Don’t worry about me. I’ll get a hotel room. By tomorrow, I’ll be ready to come back home.”

  He took a single step closer, and the heat and nearness of his body was enough to trigger an internal meltdown. Images flashed through her thoughts, naked bodies slick with sweat, limbs entwined. Oh yeah, a lovely bout of bone-melting sex with this man would definitely take her mind off everything.

  “Maybe we could get a cup of coffee, do some catching up,” he said. “You know. Talk away the night.”