Deliver Us from Evil (37 page)

Ah, her spunk and fire had returned. Good. He'd grown weary of besting wimpy victims. He'd enjoy robbing this one of her life. “You think not?”

“No.”

He laughed as they reached the car. He pushed her against the hood, meeting her steely gaze. “So tell me, where's good ol' Marshal Holland, huh? Where's he hiding out, waiting for me to show?” He pointed the gun straight at Brannon's head. “And don't insult my intelligence by pretending he's not here.”

She swallowed so hard he could hear the gulp. “He's in the security office.”

Oh, he enjoyed this more than he had anything in a long time. “So far from the action?”

Her eyes went cold, and she shot him a glare that could freeze an ice cube. Anger . . . hatred . . . he liked it.

“What about those pesky FBI agents? Waiting at the terminal? Hiding on the plane already?”

“No, they aren't here.” She lifted her chin, staring at him with those different-colored eyes.

Little spiders of unease skittered up his spine and spread across his shoulders. Goose bumps pimpled his arms.

No, he wouldn't let this woman bluff him, toy with him, and make him second-guess himself. The Colonel would come after him from the grave if Warren allowed a
woman
to get the best of him.

“I suppose I'll just have to alter my plans somewhat.” He gestured her toward the driver's door. “Feel up to a little trip, Ms. Callahan?”

“Look, why don't you run? Get away before they arrest you. Leave me here.”

“Right.” He snorted. What kind of idiot did she take him for? How insulting for this woman to believe she could play him? “Get in the car.”

She hesitated.

He leveled the gun barrel at her temple. “I said, get in. Don't make me tell you again. You've tried my patience long enough.”

She reached for the handle.

“McGovern!” Marshal Holland's voice exploded behind him.

Warren glanced over his shoulder.

The car door rammed into his side.
Oof!

He spun and his face met with Brannon's fist. Searing pain shot through his right cheekbone. His head jerked left.

He raised the gun, leveling the barrel at her. She moved fast—her blow smacked against the top of his shoulder.

Stinging advanced down his arm. His hand became incapable of a grip. The gun clattered to the concrete.

Brannon whipped around the door and shoved him to the ground. His hip landed on loose rocks, digging into his sensitive flesh. He moaned as he rolled to his hands and knees. He had to get to his feet. Grab the gun.

“Don't
you
move, Congressman.” She stood above him, his mother's gun in her hand . . . pointing at his chest.

THIRTY-FIVE

Thursday, 4:45 a.m.

Fort Sanders Sevier Medical Center

Sevierville, Tennessee

“SOUND LIKE I MISSED a great time.” Lincoln shifted against the hospital bed in his private room.

Brannon laughed, relieved her friend had come through the surgery well. “I don't know about that. I'm just glad it's over.”

Lincoln sobered. “Me too. I'm even more glad the congressman didn't hurt you.”

Tears she couldn't blink back welled in her eyes.

“Hey.” He reached for her hand, gripping it in his cold one. “It's okay. We're fine.”

“But your knee. If I'd acted faster, maybe you wouldn't have gotten shot.”

Lincoln squeezed her hand. “Don't think like that.”

She sniffed, but the tears demanded release.

“Aw, Brannon. You have no control over stuff like that. ‘Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.'”

Smiling through her tears and fighting her tumultuous emotions, Brannon wiped her face. “Book of James.”

“Chapter and verse?”

She grinned, never able to stand firm against Lincoln's infectious positive outlook. “Four, fourteen.”

“Very good.” He adjusted his IV before leveling her with a parental stare. “Now, talk to me about Roark.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “He took the congressman back to the courthouse for processing.”

“That's not what I mean, hon, and you know it.”

She let out a long breath, then forced a yawn. “Don't you need your rest?”

“Oh no. You don't get off that easy. I don't care that you look like you need to be poured into bed. I want to know what's happening with you. And Roark.” He winked at her. “Come on, spill.”

“How do you know something's going on?” She jabbed him gently in the side. “You think the surgery gave you ESP or something?”

“No, Ms. Smarty, I just know you. I can read you like a book.”

“Can you now?”

“Yep, and whenever you mention his name, you blush, and your eyes get all misty.” He pointed at her. “So you can deny it all you want, but there's something between you two, and I want to know what.”

Busted. She dipped her head, the heat spreading across her face just thinking of Roark. Remembering their kiss. The feelings it sent flooding through her.

“Brannon?” Lincoln's tone turned serious. Dead serious.

She raised her head and met his stare.

“This is it, isn't it? He's the one.”

“No. Maybe. I don't know.” How to answer such a loaded question? She really couldn't explain. She hadn't had a chance to talk to Roark after he'd stormed onto the scene with the congressman. She'd been whisked off to give another statement to the FBI, then rushed straight to the hospital. Brannon didn't know what to make of their kiss. Of her feelings for him.

“Honey, I know. I can tell.”

Misery weighed on her shoulders like an iron shawl. “Is it that obvious?” What if Roark's feelings didn't run as deep?

“Only to someone who knows you like I do.” Lincoln took her hand again. “Talk to me, Brannon.”

“I don't understand why I'm so hesitant. He's given his life back to Christ, he's not involved with anyone else, and he's a good man. Why am I so reluctant?” She shook her head. “And no, I don't feel like I'm still committed to Wade, so don't give me that lecture.”

“I know you're not. But, hon, it's not doubt holding you back.”

“Really? Then what is it, O Wise One?”

Lincoln didn't give in to her joking. His expression remained somber and tense. “It's fear.”

“Fear?” Just saying the word made something resonate inside her. Lincoln was dead-on.

“Fear of loving again. Fear of losing.”

“But I didn't feel so reserved with Wade.” Saying his name aloud didn't hurt this time. The first time ever. But what would Lincoln think of her falling for someone else? Wade was his brother. Did he feel like she'd betrayed him?

“Because Wade was your first love. Everything was roses and candy. You thought y'all had forever. But then you lost him. Now you're scared to love again because you don't want to chance getting hurt again. Of losing someone else you love.”

Lincoln nailed her feelings exactly.

He squeezed her hand. “Brannon, Roark isn't Wade. He isn't supposed to be. He won't replace what you felt for my brother.” He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. “Roark's a new love for a new stage in your life. He's the promise of your future.”

Silent tears tracked down her cheeks. “But I haven't known him that long.”

“And you didn't know Wade more than a few weeks before you were sure.” Lincoln sighed. “Sometimes God puts that special someone in your path and you just know. Your heart recognizes the person as
the one.
”

“But only after a week?”

“Tell me where there's a time line written for a heart to open up to love?” He shook his head. “I'm not telling you to run off and elope anytime soon, but closing off your heart to the possibility of a lasting love relationship . . . Well, I don't think that's healthy.”

“What should I do?”

Lincoln grinned. “I'm not an expert in relationships, obviously. Only you can decide where to go from here.” He pressed her hand to his lips and gave it a gentle kiss. “I just don't want you to let fear stop you from being happy. God wouldn't want that, either. Scripture tells us over and over that fear is not of God.”

As always, Lincoln spoke the truth in love. She squeezed his hand back. “Will you pray with me to discern God's will for me with Roark?”

Thursday, 5:30 a.m.

Fort Sanders Sevier Medical Center

Sevierville, Tennessee

BRANNON SLEPT IN THE chair in the waiting room, hair splayed across the cheap vinyl. Her lips were slightly parted as her chest rose and fell rhythmically.

Roark stood over her for a moment, watching her sleep. She looked peaceful . . . angelic. Yet she still radiated that quiet inner strength of hers.

He slipped into the chair beside her, then eased her head onto his chest. She settled without opening her eyes. He let his fingertips stroke the sleek strands of her hair. The silkiness caressed his touch. Strange sensations, ones he'd never felt before, did odd things to him. Logic and reasoning fled. His mind warred with his emotions, and he hadn't a clue how to call a cease-fire.

God, thank You for keeping her safe. I don't know what I'd have done if McGovern had hurt her. I think I'm falling in love with her. We've only known each other for a week or so, but I've never been so sure of what I felt.

He dipped his head, planting a feathery kiss on her crown.

Her eyes fluttered, then went wide. She bolted upright. “Roark.”

“Brannon.” He grinned at her.

She wiped at her eyes and smoothed her hair. “When did you get here?”

“A few minutes ago.” She looked downright cute with the remains of sleep hovering in her expression. “Where are Jefferson and Steve? I thought they'd still be here.”

“I sent them home to get some sleep.”

He tweaked her chin. “Like you don't need any, Wonder Woman?”

A tinge of pink dotted her cheeks. “I wanted to wait and see Lincoln one more time before I catch a few winks.”

Roark tucked an errant strand of her hair behind her ear. “How's he doing?”

“Good. They gave him something for pain at 4:30, and it wiped him out.”

“What's his prognosis?”

She lifted her nail to her mouth. He grabbed her hand and held it tight. She smiled. “No promises. They can't tell much until the swelling from the surgery goes down and he works through physical therapy.”

“That's good. At least the surgery went well.”

“There is that.” She kept her gaze to the floor, her voice low even though they were the only ones in the waiting room.

“Brannon, what's wrong?”

She met his stare. “I want to talk about that kiss.”

Heat burned within him at the memory. “What about it?”

“What do you mean
what about it?
” Her voice raised an octave. She looked even cuter when she was perturbed.

“Brannon, are you asking for another one?”

Her eyes widened and her face flushed. She opened her mouth, paused, then snapped it shut.

He couldn't help it—his emotions took control of his actions. He wrapped his arms around her, turning her to face him. Roark pulled her close. When they were a breath apart, he put his hands on either side of her face. “I'm going to kiss you again. And this time you'll understand what I mean by kissing you.”

Roark centered his mouth over hers, putting every bit of what he felt into the kiss. She clung to him, shocking him with her response. He kept his thumbs on her cheekbones but expanded his fingers into her hair, rubbing against her scalp.

She made little throaty sounds against him. Deepening the kiss, Roark let his emotions loose with tenderness.

When he felt as if she would consume him in heat, Roark pulled back but kept his hands firmly cradling her face. His erratic breathing matched her jagged gasps. He waited until his heart stopped racing to even try to speak.

“Do you understand now? Do you realize I'm falling in love with you?”

Tears shimmered in her eyes even while her brows knitted. “Oh, Roark.”

So serious, so determined to analyze his intentions and her reactions. He chuckled. “Don't worry about it. We have plenty of time to figure out everything.”

He planted a kiss on her forehead and rubbed his thumbs over the delicate skin of her cheeks. “And I'll give you lots of opportunities to understand exactly what my kisses mean.”

EPILOGUE

Thirteen Months Later

Howard Baker Federal Courthouse

Knoxville, Tennessee

“WELL IT'S FINALLY DONE.” Lincoln smiled at Brannon and Roark. They stood beside him in front of the courthouse, holding hands.

“I'm glad it's over.” Brannon leaned against Roark, her face glowing with happiness.

They were so in love and had overcome great obstacles to find true bliss. Lincoln was happy for them, he honestly was, but witnessing their special relationship was a painful reminder of the loneliness in his own heart.

“I'm relieved the judge gave McGovern the maximum sentence. We won't have to worry about him being eligible for parole anytime soon.” Roark untangled his hand from Brannon's and rested his arm across her shoulders.

The sun tiptoed behind a large cloud. The wind picked up, reminding them winter hadn't made its great departure yet. Lincoln knew it better than most. The cold weather played havoc with his knee. After a year of recovery and daily hard work, the physical therapist had finally released him. But he still walked with a limp, the cold weather making it more pronounced.

Instead, he'd ridden desk duty for the past year, praying for a full recovery. Now he had to face facts—that day would never come. He'd never return to 100 percent.