Taking the Heat Page 9
She hadn’t seen Brian in over twenty-four hours.
Her grief over that was a mixed blessing. It dulled her anxiety, which allowed her to get through the AUSA’s questioning. She faced more questions tomorrow, followed by cross-examination. She’d been dreading her court appearance for months, but now she was too consumed by fear and concern to devote any energy to nervousness.
“You did well today, Layla,” AUSA Terri LeBow said with a reassuring smile.
For a moment, the cold dark eyes of the man who’d shot her and murdered Agent Sandoval invaded Layla’s mind. As she’d relayed the events of that horrible night in Mexico to the jury, the reality of having her nightmare sitting just feet from her had brought a cold sweat to her skin. If not for the numbness brought on by Brian’s disappearance, she might have broken down into a sobbing, quivering mess.
“I want that bastard to pay,” she said with quiet grimness.
“We’ve got a strong case.” Terri slowed, then stopped before a closed door. She gestured to it. “If you could step in here for a moment, I’ll see about your escort.”
With a sigh, Layla entered the room. She paused when she found two men bent over paperwork on the table and a third one standing behind them. For a moment, she stepped back, thinking she was intruding by accident. Then the man farthest away from her straightened and looked at her.
She sucked in a ragged breath. “Brian!”
He met her halfway, crushing her to his chest. “Sweetheart. I’m sorry I wasn’t in the courtroom today; I had some things to take care of. I’ll be there with you tomorrow.”
“I don’t care about that. I was worried sick about you.” She pulled back to examine him. “Are you okay?”
“I will be.” His smile had an edge. He looked tired, but there was an air of anticipation that lent him energy.
The other men in the room departed, the smiles on their faces defusing some of her worry. Still, she had to ask, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He looked down at her with heated eyes. “Depending on what you say next, things could be really damn right.”
A flutter tickled her tummy. “Oh?”
Brian urged her toward a chair and she sat. He inhaled a deep breath, then sank to one knee.
“Oh my God,” she breathed, feeling dizzy.
He reached into his back pocket and withdrew a ring box.
Her heart hammered in her chest. “What are you doing?”
“Getting ready to tell you I love you,” he said softly. “And then asking you to marry me.”
Her eyes fell to the ring he revealed, a large round diamond in an antique platinum setting. Her hands lifted to her mouth.
“Layla Creed. I love you and I really need you to marry me.”
She looked at him over her fingers, her breathing rough and eyes wide. “What . . . ? How ... ?”
Smiling, he explained, “I signed the contract to join you in WITSEC. The two gentlemen who left the room work for the county. One can get us squared away with a marriage license and the other can marry us in a civil ceremony. In about an hour, you can own me for life.”
“I don’t already?” she asked hoarsely, joking because her brain was unable to fully grasp the enormity of what he was offering to do for her.
“Let’s make it official. We can make it pretty in a few months with a proper ceremony, once we settle wherever we’re going to end up.”
Layla exhaled in a rush, her hand lowering to touch the gorgeous ring. “Your job ... ?”
He pulled the ring free of its velvet box and slid it onto her finger. “I’ve got money socked away from the sale of the house and the past five years of doing nothing but working. You’ll get through school, then we’ll start our own security firm. I can’t imagine anything that would make me happier.”
She cupped his cheek. Her lower lip quivered.
“Well?” he prompted. “I’m dying here.”
“Shh.”
His brows rose.
“If you wake me up,” she warned, “I’m going to kick your ass.”
His laughter broke through the chill she’d felt all day. “No more dreaming, baby. I want the real deal.”
“What are the odds that we’d get this second chance?”
“Slim to none. Don’t blow it.”
Layla leaned forward and pressed her forehead to his. “I won’t.”
“Is that a yes?”
“That’s a hell yes.”
Brian stood and pulled her up with him, lifting her into the air.
“It won’t be easy,” she warned, remembering vividly how hard it was for her in the beginning of the program.
“I can take the heat.”
Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, Layla seized what she wanted. “Take me instead,” she purred.
“’Til death do us part,” he vowed, carrying her to the door.
Keep reading for a preview of the third book in the Shadow Stalkers series by Sylvia Day
ON FIRE
Available now from InterMix
Darcy Michaels adjusted her gloved grip on her toolbox and picked her way carefully over the charred remains of her favorite candy store. Around her, firefighters moved through the smoldering ruins, checking every crevice and corner to be certain the fire was completely extinguished. Water dripped from the blackened walls and ceiling to puddle on the floor below, and the smell of smoke and burned sugar clung to her nostrils and skin, sinking into the very fiber of her uniform.
“Third one in as many weeks,” James Ralston muttered behind her. “I’m sorry, Darcy. I know you loved this place.”
She stopped and faced her mentor, her chest gripped in a vise of pain. Like the two previous fires, this blaze had destroyed a location that was dear to her and had held precious memories. She’d celebrated her twelfth birthday at the Sweet Spot candy shop, and she stopped by every Friday to stock up on the sour lemonade straws her sister had turned her on to.
Focus on the details, Darcy. Don’t lose it now.
“Whoever the arsonist is,” she said, “he’s not going to quit. He’s been doing this too long. It’s in his blood.”
The frequency of the acts and the terrible brilliance of the timed-delay incendiary devices being used spoke of someone who’d had time to perfect his madness.
She couldn’t help feeling violated, despite knowing how irrational that response was. As much as she’d wanted to leave Lion’s Bay as a kid, she couldn’t even contemplate abandoning the sleepy seaside town now. The same memories that had driven her parents to move away kept her bound to the area.
“I don’t know what to make of it.” Jim’s forest green eyes were warm with compassion and intent on her face. “We don’t have any new residents and it’s the off-season. Tourism is down. Anyone not from around here sticks out like a sore thumb.”
She turned in a slow circle, her trained gaze following the burn patterns he’d taught her to read.
“This guy didn’t just crawl out of the w-woodwork,” she said, startled to hear her voice cracking. She cleared her dry throat. “I think we need to bring the big guns in on this.”
“Miller’s doing a good job. He’s meticulous and thorough.” He touched her elbow lightly. “You don’t want to be the one who steps on his toes.”
Darcy nodded, acknowledging the sensitive nature of her relationship with the town’s sheriff. “I know, but I think he needs more resources, and I think he’s too stubborn to ask for help.”
The last time the Feds had come in, they’d run roughshod over Chris Miller and his deputies, cutting him out of the loop while draining his limited resources. She remembered that tense time all too well, because the murder they’d been investigating had been the tragedy that brought her home. “And frankly, Chris’s ego is the least of our problems.”
“Let’s gather the evidence, then we’ll discuss the next best steps.” Setting his hand on her shoulder, Jim gave her a reassuring squee
ze. “Maybe you should stay with someone tonight?”
Reaching up, she set her hand over his. He knew her so well.
She wanted a particular kind of support, the kind where someone was nearby if she needed them but out of her way if she wanted time to just retreat with her thoughts.
Her gaze met Jim’s and he read her mind. “My couch is always open to you, Darcy. You know that.”
She nodded. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.”
Turning away, Darcy looked for a place to set down her kit and begin.
* * *
Rolling over with a sigh, Darcy looked at the clock over Jim’s fireplace mantel and noted the time: quarter after five. It was still dark outside and she’d been tossing and turning all night, too wired by her restless thoughts to catch the sleep she desperately needed. There was something about the fires that was niggling at her, but she just couldn’t place it. Turning it over and over in her mind wasn’t bringing the answer she was looking for to mind.
Sitting up, she rolled her shoulders back, knowing what had to be done. She wanted her treasured equanimity back, and the only way to make that happen was to find the psycho who was stealing it from her and see him in a cage. The sooner, the better. A possible pissing match between authorities wasn’t going to be enough to hold her back. So far no one had been hurt, but their torch was barely catching his breath between fires. If he kept to his established pattern, they had only days before he struck again.
A warm exhale over her toes brought her attention to the handsome German shepherd sprawled on the floor at the foot of the couch. When her brief relationship with Jim had fizzled out, she’d felt the loss of his dog keenly.
“Thanks for watching out for me, Columbo.” Reaching down, she scratched behind his ears.
The residents of Lion’s Bay were paying her to provide the same service to the town—to watch out for them and keep them safe.
She wasn’t going to let them down.
• • •
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Sylvia Day is the #1 New York Times and #1 international bestselling author of more than a dozen award-winning novels sold in thirty-nine countries. A reader favorite across several genres, there are millions of copies of her books in print worldwide. She has been nominated for the Goodreads Choice Award for Best Author, has won the RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice Award, and has been nominated for Romance Writers of America’s prestigious RITA award twice.