Authors: Lori Foster
She thought of Mick, thought of everything she wanted to tell him, and did what she had to do.
* * *
Mick wiped blood from his face with one shaking hand and maneuvered the slippery, winding road with the other.
After smacking his head on the steering wheel, he’d come to in enough time to see the car leaving with Delilah—but not in enough time to stop them.
Going seventy miles an hour to diminish their lead, he’d called for backup. His actions had been by rote, because both his mind and his heart stalled the second he’d realized what had happened.
He reached the river just in time to see the car sail off the dock and hit the churning water with crunching force. Terror blinded him. He wasn’t aware of slamming on his brakes. He wasn’t aware of the other police cars pulling up at the same time, sirens blaring and lights flashing.
He threw open his car door and hit the ground running, his only thought to get to Delilah. The storm surrounded him, lashing his face, making his feet slip in the wet weeds and slimy mud. Just before he reached the end of the dock, he got tackled hard and then held down. He fought the restraining hands without thought, hitting someone, kicking another.
“No, goddamn it,” Faradon shouted when Mick almost wrenched loose. “Hold him!”
Mick barely heard. Three men gripped him, twisting his arms, making his wounded shoulder burn like fire, but it was nothing compared to the agony in his heart.
They jerked him to his feet, and all around him men shouted orders, while sirens continued to squeal and blue lights competed with the white flashes of the storm.
Numb, Mick continued to strain against the arms holding him. Faradon stepped up close. “We have a team preparing,” he said not two inches from Mick’s face. “Dawson, do you hear me? They’ll be in the water in ten minutes tops.”
Mick shook his head. In ten minutes she would be dead.
With renewed strength he lurched forward, taking the men by surprise. They lost their footing on the slippery, weathered boards and their holds loosened. Mick broke free.
He’d taken two running steps when someone shouted, “Look!”
A spotlight searching the surface of the water reflected off Delilah’s inky-black hair. She sputtered, coughed. Mick went into the water in a clean dive. With several hard fast strokes, he reached her.
When he closed his hands around her, she at first fought him.
“It’s all right, baby,” he said, spitting dirty water, “it’s me.”
“Mick?” She dog-paddled, swallowed some of the water and choked, then cried,
“Mick!”
She clung to him. Mick felt so weak it was all he could do to drag in air. Then several men surrounded them, catching them both and pulling them to the docks.
He hoisted Delilah up first. Faradon himself leaned down. “Give me your hands, miss,” he said, and Delilah reached upward.
Sloshing, shivering, she landed on the dock, and someone rushed to put several blankets around her.
“M-M-Mick?”
He heard the shivering alarm, the need, and helped to drag himself out. Officers tried to cover him, too, but he wanted only Delilah. Weaving on her feet, she reached for him, and then he had her, tight in his arms where she damn well belonged and where she’d damn well stay.
He heard her crying, and his knees went weak. He tangled his hands in her wet hair, knowing he was too rough, but unable to temper his hold. “I’ve got you,” he said gruffly, and crushed her to him.
“Mick, c’mon, man,” said a gentle voice. “Let’s get her out of the rain.”
As if from far away, Mick heard Faradon speaking to him. He wrapped Delilah closer and allowed them both to be led to the outbuilding. It was dry inside, that was the best to be said for it.
Faradon stood there, looking slightly embarrassed. “We’re, uh, fetching some dry clothes.”
Mick gulped air, swallowed choking emotions and a love so rich he couldn’t bear it. Delilah clung to him, and he didn’t know if he’d survive the fear of thinking he’d lost her. He lifted his head. “The bastards who took her?”
“We’re looking for them. If they surface, we’ll fish them out. If not, we’ll start diving until we find them.”
Delilah struggled for a moment, and Mick loosened his hold.
“Take this,” she said, digging a gun out of her baggy jeans pocket. She held it out to Faradon, and he carefully accepted it.
“You disarmed them?” he asked, his voice heavy with awe.
Mick pressed her face to his shoulder. “She can explain to you later.”
Faradon didn’t look like he wanted to wait until later, but then a cop wearing a slicker stepped into the doorway. He held out a bundle of clothes, wrapped in another slicker, then nodded and excused himself.
Mick said to Faradon, “Get out. And don’t let anyone else in.”
Half grinning, shaking his head, Faradon said, “Right.”
The door shut behind the detective, and Mick forced himself to loosen his arms from around Delilah. The small building was dim, crowded with boat trailers, ski equipment, tools. Mick bent, touched his nose to hers and whispered, “Let me get you dry, okay?”
She nodded. “I’m all right now.”
“I know you are.” He strangled on the words and had to stop, had to draw in a shaky breath. His hands trembled as he stripped away her sodden blankets and started to work on the fastening of her loose jeans.
“I lost my shoes in the river,” she said.
Mick wondered if she was in shock. He needed to get her warm and dry, needed to get her to a hospital.
He needed... Swallowing hard this time didn’t help. He hated it, hated himself, but tears clogged his throat. He felt unmanned, vulnerable.
Without the gentleness that he intended, he removed her clothes and turned to rummage through the bundle inside the slicker. He found a loose jacket, two more blankets.
“Lift your arms,” he murmured, and she obliged. The jacket, apparently donated by one of the officers milling around outside, hung to her knees. Mick shook out another blanket, this one thankfully dry, and draped it over her.
Delilah clutched the edges together and said, “It’s not really cold. I mean, it must be eighty-five outside. I’m just chilled....” Her teeth chattered, making her explanations difficult.
“Shh,” Mick said, and stripped off his own shirt so he wouldn’t get her wet. There was nothing he could do about his pants. He sure as hell wasn’t going to run around bare-assed. He pulled one slicker over Delilah’s head, then another over his own. “Let’s get you to the hospital so you can be checked over,” he said, deliberately concentrating on only one thing at a time.
Her fingers clutched at his arm, gripping the slicker with surprising force. “Mick, I don’t...I don’t want to go back out there yet.”
His heart hit his stomach with her trembling words. He turned to her, opened his arms.
And she launched herself into him. “I was so—so scared,” she said on a wail.
Mick wanted to absorb her into himself, to surround her always and keep her from ever being hurt again. Those damn tears got him again, and he squeezed her tighter, assuring himself that he had her, that she was okay.
Rain drummed on the metal roof of the shed and wind howled through every crack and crevice in the aged boards.
Then Delilah said something that made his knees give out. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“What?”
She sniffed, shook her head while tears mingled with the wetness on her cheeks. Her words were broken, scattered and rushed. “I saw the blood on your forehead and I thought you might be dead or dying. You’ve already been hurt so much because of me.” She leaned back to gently touch his face. “Are you all right? Truly?”
Mick dropped to his knees and stared up at Delilah, not caring that he cried, having totally forgotten about his own cut head. “
You
almost died,” he groaned.
“Oh no. I knew what I was doing.” She smoothed his sodden hair, her hand tender, loving. “I was afraid at first. Terrified really. But I kept thinking about you. I kept thinking what if I survived and you didn’t? When I realized it was you in the river with me, I went weak. I was...well, I was doing fine until then.”
Mick pressed his face into her belly. The chill had left her body and she felt warm, smelled musky and damp, and he knew he couldn’t stand it, knew he was going to embarrass himself.
He held her tighter but it didn’t help.
Faradon rapped at the door. “You two about done changing?”
“Go away!” Delilah yelled impatiently. “We’ll be out in a minute.”
Faradon grumbled something, but he didn’t open the door.
Mick felt her cool hands cup his face, but he couldn’t let her go, couldn’t unclench his muscles. He hated feeling like this, powerless and weak and... He opened his hands on her behind and squeezed her closer, grinding his face into her, trying to absorb her.
He heard Delilah’s smile as she said, “I love you, Mick Dawson. More than anyone or anything, now and forever.”
He drew a shuddering breath and rubbed his face over her belly, on her borrowed blanket, drying his eyes and attempting to regain control. He had to get hold of himself. He had to...
“Tell me you love me, too,” she whispered.
“I do,” he said without hesitation. Only a trace of tears remained in his raw voice, not that he gave a damn. Delilah deserved to know everything about him.
“You do?” she asked.
“So much it hurts.”
“I don’t want you to hurt.”
“Then don’t ever leave me.”
“Never.” She slipped to her knees in front of him, still cupping his face. She kissed him, then kissed him again. She even smiled. “Will you stop calling me Delilah and call me Del?”
His shoulders shook. “No.”
“Oh.” She sounded surprised and disgruntled, and that went a long way toward helping him regain his discipline. Even at the worst of times, she amused him.
Finally she asked, “Well then, will you marry me?”
He actually laughed, but it turned into a groan. “I was going to ask you, you know.”
“Sorry.”
He touched her face, her sodden, tangled hair, her small breasts and narrow hips and long thighs. “God, I love you, every inch of you. I’ll always love you, I swear it.” When she gave him a brilliant smile, he added with more strength, “You’ve stolen forty years off my life with that last damn stunt!”
Her smile never wavered. She stood and held out her hand to him. As if
he
needed
her
assistance to stand!
He did.
He still felt wobbly, but as long as he didn’t think about the moment that he’d seen that car go into the river...
He shuddered, took her slender hand and let her help haul him to his feet.
She put an arm around him and leaned her head into his shoulder. “I lost fifty years, leaving you behind in that car, bleeding. Nothing has ever scared me like that.”
They headed for the door together. Just as Mick opened it, someone shouted, “I’ve got one of ’em!”
They followed the spotlight, and saw several cops converge on a man trying to crawl onto the muddy, thickly weeded shore. He was promptly handcuffed.
It wasn’t until the next day that the police finally found the other man’s body and confirmed his death. But they had two of them, Rudy Glasgow and the driver. They also had fingerprints, both from the apartment next to Delilah’s and the gun she’d retrieved from the car.
It was over.
* * *
Del flitted from one person to the next. She loved being in a large family, even if most of that family was male and not really family at all. They felt like family, treated her as such, and they loved Mick to distraction. That in itself made her more than a little fond of them.
At the moment, Angel and Celia were perusing Mick’s new bookcases, now holding her books. Del had pretty much taken over his house. His spare bedroom served as her office, and he’d already had an extra phone line put in.
The kids were all outside playing, but they could be heard through the open windows. Every minute or so one of the adults went to check on them.
Dane and Alec were seated on the couch, Josh and Zack in adjacent chairs, all of them watching a sports channel. Now that Del was used to them, Dane no longer seemed so imposing and Alec was nowhere near as frightening. But they were still fascinating characters.
Grinning, Del dropped down on the seat between them, using each hand to pat a hard masculine thigh. The two men looked at her warily. “Now that I’ve finally finished my current book and got it all turned in,” she said, “I’ve been thinking of doing a book about two PIs who—”
Mick, who’d sauntered over to stand behind the couch, covered her mouth with a large hand. Del froze.
“If either one of you wants to remain in my good graces you won’t tell her anything about anything...dangerous.”
Alec saluted Mick with his cola. “Sorry, but Celia knows everything dangerous involved in my job, and she’s been chewing Del’s ear for the past hour.”
True enough, Del thought, appreciating both Celia’s forthright information and the way everyone had taken to calling her “Del,” once she’d explained that she only used the name “Delilah” for writing.
Everyone except Mick, that is, who swore he loved her name as much as he loved her. The charmer. He even claimed “Delilah Dawson” had a very nice ring to it. Del couldn’t wait for that to become her name in fact.
Dane nodded. “Yep, I’m afraid you’re preaching to the choir here, Mick. You should have gagged the women, not us.”
Mick groaned with heartfelt sincerity. He’d promised to be understanding about her research, though Del knew he wanted to keep her in a cotton-lined box so she didn’t so much as stub her baby toe.
Del pulled his hand away and tipped her head back to see him upside down. “How’d you sneak in here behind me?”
Mick rolled his eyes. “Sweetheart, when your brain is plotting, a herd of buffalo could tramp through and you wouldn’t notice.”
Since that was true, she said instead, “But I thought you were outside playing with the kids.”
“They did me in. They’re vicious little brutes who keep singing about how I was saved by a woman.”
Del frowned, feeling a good dose of jealousy. “What woman?”