And when it finally tapered away, she couldn’t let go. She never wanted to let go of this man, this moment.

  This memory. Forever.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  He wasn’t sure what woke him—all he knew was that awareness seeped in, and with it the warmth of Rae’s bare body spooned against his, the weight of her breast cupped in his hand.

  He snuggled closer. Yes, snuggled. And it felt good.

  Until his cell rang on the bedside table.

  “Damn.” That must be what had woken him. Reluctantly he pulled himself away from Rae and turned to grab the phone, clicking to accept the call on the way to his ear. “Yeah?”

  “It’s Remi.”

  Saint slid up in bed, tension already invading his muscles. “What is it?”

  “You need to get Rae out of there, now.”

  “Why?”

  “Eli pulled up nearby video feeds to see what he could get on the aftermath of our little visit today.” Remi’s voice was piss and gravel, so whatever they’d seen couldn’t be good. Saint slid out of bed and headed for his clothes. “He went back a little too far and ended up going over the tail end of the footage from this afternoon. Saint, they found our truck.”

  “What?” Jacking his fatigues up his legs, he left them unbuttoned and hurried over to Rae, shaking her awake. “What did they do?”

  “They tracked the fucking thing is what they did,” Remi growled. “The Expedition had a tracker on it when we got to your place. You’ve got to get out of there.”

  “On it.” Saint clicked off the phone, then pulled up King’s number. Rae was sitting up, rubbing her eyes. “Get dressed, cariño.”

  She shook her head, confusion flashing across her face even as she slid from under the covers.

  “Hurry.”

  King picked up. “Saint?”

  “They know where we are, bro. They put a tracker on the Expedition.”

  The sleepiness in his teammate’s voice disappeared immediately. “I’m on my way. Get out; I’ll get the rest of the team.”

  A light began to flash next to Saint’s side of the bed. “Too late. They’re here.”

  He hung up.

  “Who?” Rae asked, already drawing on clothes.

  Saint turned his phone on silent, shoved it into his pocket, and pulled on a dark long-sleeved T-shirt to cover his too-pale skin. “Our friends from this afternoon.” He crossed the room to the closet and opened the gun safe. “They’re already here, Rae. There’s no time to run. Backup is at least half an hour out.”

  “How did they find us?”

  “Something must have tipped them off this afternoon while we were with Lonergan. They circled back and tagged our truck.”

  Rae cursed. Saint watched from the corner of his eye as she filled her pockets: cell, money, some keys she’d found in her things. No good for a vehicle, but for self-defense… She even threw in a hairbrush. “I need a weapon,” she said.

  Saint checked his GLOCK and added ammunition to his pockets. “Looks like you’re doing pretty well over there already.”

  A hard shake went down Rae’s body. “I really don’t want to fight off members of a criminal network with a fucking hairbrush.”

  As he pulled a pair of night-vision goggles over his head to settle around his neck, a chuckle surprised him. He strode across the room, a small .22 in hand. “Here.”

  She took the gun.

  “Safety is off. Point and shoot.” He gave her a hard, quick kiss. “I’m locking the doors. Go in the bathroom; I’ll be there in a sec.”

  She went without question, and pride filled his chest until he thought his ribs would crack. Yesterday she wouldn’t have trusted him like that, but tonight, after the hours they’d spent together in bed, hours filled not just with sex but with conversation, she didn’t even hesitate. Thank Christ.

  There were a lot of ways someone could get into a house if they really wanted to, the easiest being to shatter windows. Saint had put bulletproof glass in the sliders at the back of the house, but not the other rooms. He closed the bedroom door and fastened both the door lock and the special bolt he’d installed, then retreated to the bathroom and did the same there. In addition to the single closet in the bedroom, there was another here, and he guided Rae inside it. “Wait here for me.”

  “Where are you going, Saint?”

  The concern that glimmered in her eyes punched him in the gut. “I’ll be back, cariño, I promise. But I can’t focus or react on instinct if I don’t know a hundred percent that any of my targets are not you, okay? Stay here, lock the bolt, and don’t open it unless you hear my voice or one of my team. Got your phone?”

  She patted her pocket. “I do.”

  “Good girl. Don’t call Leah right now. Remi knows what’s up, and he’s on his way already. But if you wait an hour and none of us come to the door, call her. Got me?”

  She moved into his arms to give him another kiss, this one softer, full of emotion. “I got you. Now come back to me safe, you got that?”

  He stood a moment, waiting for her to lock the bolt inside the closet, and when he heard it ram home, he hurried across to the bathroom window. Seemed to be his day for bathroom windows, didn’t it?

  The goggles allowed him to survey the backyard almost as well as if it had been day. He waited, not only for signs of the enemy but for his usual battle-ready calm to settle over him—only the calm never came. These men were after Rae, had come to his home to take her away from him, and now that she was secure, he discovered that a boiling rage was beginning to churn deep inside him. His team had left Lonergan and his partner essentially unharmed, definitely intact, had taken nothing but Rae’s things, and they’d come here? To threaten his woman?

  He didn’t fucking think so.

  The sound of breaking glass reached him from what was probably the dining room, but at the same time, a shadow rounded the end of the house and began moving along the back toward him. Saint would guess he was facing two to four men (if Lonergan’s entire team had come along). He knew where two were, but the rest?

  Didn’t matter. Rae needed to be safe, and there was only one way to ensure that.

  The shadow stopped at the sliding glass doors leading to the living area, raised what looked like a crowbar, and swung for the fence—only to snap back when his weapon rebounded off the glass. A grim smile touched Saint’s mouth. That shock would reverberate up the man’s arms, numbing them. And he’d hesitate the next time. Saint knew where the next time would be.

  As the shadow crept closer, it firmed into the lines of a man. Thick chest—probably Kevlar. An odd shape to the head meant goggles just like Saint’s, so the man could see as well as he could. Long arms grasping the crowbar, but Saint detected at least one holster, at the man’s thigh.

  Ready for a fight.

  So was Saint.

  Knowing it would be mere moments before the man turned his attention to the bathroom window, Saint tucked directly beneath, waiting. Like their entrance this afternoon, the window was just big enough for the bastard to climb through. Unlike this afternoon, there was a surprise waiting inside.

  The shattering came moments later. Shards scattered across Saint’s body, nicking his skin, but he avoided the worst of it since the force of the blow had pushed the majority of the glass farther inside. The rage in Saint’s belly coalesced, becoming a tight ball of determination, and as the man raised his crowbar to knock the remaining shards out of the frame to clear his way inside, Saint popped up, took aim before the man could react, and fired a shot.

  One down.

  The body hadn’t hit the ground before Saint was out the window. Instead of moving toward the sliders, he hurried in the opposite direction, around the corner, and along the north side of the house, eyes constantly moving, searching, alert to the slightest movement. At least one man was inside already, looking for Rae, but he had the entire house to get through first. And the locked doors. Not only were the locks virtually unbreakable, but the doors were steel, not wood. That would take him time.

  If he had help…

  The front side of the house was likewise empty, but the same nondescript SUV from this afternoon was parked just before the driveway rounded toward the front steps. Saint moved carefully, easing through shrubbery toward the porch, bending over to stay beneath any windows until he made it to the alcove for the front door. A quick code typed into the keypad released the lock.

  A nudge to the door allowed him a glimpse of the foyer, which was empty. A single man stood across the living space at the back sliders, his gaze outside. Stupid mistake. Saint took his time aiming, knowing this man wore the same bulletproof vest as the first one. He had two policies for intruders. The first was, keep them out. If they managed to come in, the second was, shoot to kill.

  A single shot sent blood spurting from the man’s neck. He dropped where he stood, never even turning around.

  Two down.

  Saint crossed the foyer and knelt at the corner leading into the hall. He wasn’t using a silencer, so whoever remained had to know he was coming. Could pinpoint his location from the shots. Which meant if there were two left, one of them should be on their way.

  He counted his heartbeats, hard and demanding justice with every thump. One. Two. Three. Four. Fi—

  The scuff of a boot on the hardwood floor reached his ears seconds before a gun peeked around the corner at waist height. Saint curved his hand around the corner and fired up.

  A shout, stumbling, then the fall, but the man wasn’t dead; his curses proved that. Saint stepped out, taking in the blood pooling beneath the man’s thigh, the gun coming up in a trembling hand, but he never got a chance to fire. Saint fired first.

  Three down.

  The hall was a straight shot to Saint’s bedroom, and when he stared toward it, he could see the bedroom door already open. How the fucking hell they’d gotten it open, he didn’t know, but they had. With the hallway clear, he hurried toward his room, toward Rae, his heartbeat finally picking up speed. At the door, a quick peek showed a fourth man bent over the bathroom lock. Saint couldn’t see what he was doing, but whatever it was, it was effective enough that the door gave way. The man stepped into the bathroom, took a quick look around, and turned in the direction of the closet.

  “I hope you’re in there,” Saint heard the man say. Lonergan. The menace in that voice shook him. The team had been instructed to take Rae alive, but that voice told him Lonergan had something else in mind. “My team’s already taken care of that asshole you’re fucking. You know that, right? Didn’t you hear the shots? He’s bleeding out somewhere right now, wishing he’d handed you over instead of taking us on.”

  Was that a whimper from the closet? Saint prayed not. He waited against the wall outside the bathroom, looking for an angle, trying to sight Lonergan in a clear shot, but the door obstructed his vantage point. He’d have to step inside to take the shot. Lonergan wanted revenge; that much was clear. He’d be fast, lethal.

  Saint had to be faster.

  A scraping sound from the bathroom—Lonergan working on the closet lock. Saint breathed, deep, slow, narrowing his focus down to his lungs and the sound of Lonergan taunting Rae in the bathroom. He walked through every step in his mind: exactly how hard he needed to push the bathroom door, where to place his feet as he moved inside, where to angle his muzzle based on Lonergan’s height. Again, and then again, until it became instinct, a feeling in his gut more than a plan in his mind.

  A scrape as the lock gave way. Lonergan’s laugh. The door creaking open.

  Rae’s gasp covered the scrape of Saint’s boot as he twisted around the doorjamb.

  Then two shots, fired simultaneously. One from his gun. One from inside the closet. Lonergan stumbled back from the closet, then fell to the floor in a heap. His temple held a single hole, the opposite side a mangled mess, and his chest bloomed with blood.

  “Nice shot, cariño.”

  Rae shot out of the closet with a cry, leaping over the body and hitting Saint’s chest like a runaway train in her haste to get into his arms.

  Chapter Thirty

  “Well this is a helluva mess.”

  Saint glanced up from where he sat in the armchair beside the fire, Rae wrapped in a blanket on his lap. It was the only place not currently swarming with cops and personnel from the medical examiner’s office. Jack Quinn stood at the opening to the foyer, one hand on his hip, a grave look in his eye. Not disapproval—the cofounder of JCL Security had been in more than one tight spot and seen plenty of dead bodies; he had no qualms about doing what was necessary to protect their clients. It was just a matter of proving it had been necessary.

  And only one thing needed to be said to prove that.

  “They came after her.”

  Jack nodded, and Saint knew that was that.

  His boss crossed the room to stand beside the chair. “Ms. Conté”—he extended a hand—“it’s a pleasure to meet you. I only wish it were under better circumstances.”

  Rae unburied a hand that was finally, an hour later, no longer shaking. “Thank you. And you are?”

  “Jack Quinn. I run JCL along with my partner, Conlan James.”

  “Ah.” Rae reburied her hand and snuggled her head back beneath Saint’s chin.

  “The entire team came, Jack. They’d tagged our vehicle without us knowing it this afternoon. Remi Agozi called me just as they arrived.”

  Jack looked around, grabbed the coffee table, and dragged it closer to use as a seat. “That family is…”

  When Jack seemed unable to finish the sentence, Saint nodded, his chin stubble catching in Rae’s curly hair. “That would be my take on it as well. But the man saved our asses. Or made it possible, anyway. If I hadn’t had those few minutes’ heads-up…” He didn’t want to think about it.

  Another commotion at the door and King entered. Beside him was a small woman that barely reached his shoulder, along with a taller man in a suit. Saint smiled at the woman as he nudged his own. “Rae.”

  She sighed, letting him know she really didn’t want to leave her cocoon again, but sat up anyway. He kissed the side of her neck gently as the group arrived, then waved a hand to the shortest member. “This is Charlotte, King’s fiancée.”

  Rae reached her hand out again, this time to shake Charlotte’s hand. “I’d like to say it’s nice to meet you, but really I just want to go back to bed and pretend this never happened.”

  Charlotte’s smile was kind. “I don’t think anyone here would be surprised at that.” Glancing around, she seemed to take in the bustle of the bodies and myriad conversations. “How about I make some coffee while y’all talk?”

  She was off to the kitchen before anyone responded. King shrugged. “She’s a born caretaker. The minute I answered the phone, she started dressing; there was no question as to whether she was coming with me.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “Plus I think she wanted to meet the woman who has our Saint wrapped around her little finger.”

  “And that’s the way he likes it,” Saint said, his grin tired but there.

  King gestured to the suit. “Saint, you know Douglas Fortner from the police commissioner’s office.”

  Saint didn’t stand, though he shook the man’s hand. “Thank you for coming.”

  “Anything for JCL,” Fortner said. “I’m going to have a chat with the detectives. Back in a minute.”

  “He’ll take care of everything,” King said quietly after Fortner was out of earshot.

  “I wish there wasn’t anything to take care of,” Saint said, “but it was four against one. There was no putting them in cuffs like we managed yesterday afternoon.”

  “Fortner understands that, Saint,” Jack assured him. “You know JCL has a direct line to the commissioner. There won’t be any issues here. It’s a clear case of self-defense.”

  “I hope so.”

  Jack frowned, easing to one side when Charlotte arrived with a tray of coffee. Everyone took some, King mixing the brew for Rae before handing it over. She cupped the warmth gratefully in her hands. “Can you bring me up to speed on the details of what you know?” Jack asked.

  Saint talked, Rae sipped her coffee, and light grew through the windows as dawn broke. Saint knew Rae had to be exhausted; fuck knew he was. When he finished answering Jack’s questions, his boss nodded and drank from his own cup for a few minutes without speaking. Then, “Okay, here’s what we’ll do. You’re already packed, right?”

  The man knew them well—Saint had packed their belongings and put them in his SUV before he’d contacted anyone, knowing they’d lose access to large areas of the house once the police arrived. “Yeah.”

  “Good. I’ve got some phone calls to make.” He stood. “I want your team to meet me up at the office in three hours.”

  “Will do.”

  King pulled the opposite armchair closer after Jack left, settling Charlotte in his lap with her drink. Rae rested against Saint’s chest, head tucked once more beneath his chin. He felt a shiver hit her despite the coffee.

  After taking her cup from her hand, he set it on the table and snuggled her close. “Rest a bit, okay. We’ve got a little more time before we can leave.” Fortner had finished his discussion with the detectives and left with Jack, giving Saint a nod as he went out. He assumed that meant things had been smoothed over.

  Rae mumbled something about not wanting to be rude but didn’t argue further. He knew her adrenaline had to be crashing as hard as his was, but he’d had years to get used to it. If she could doze for even half an hour, she’d feel much better.

  He stared across at King, who was conversing quietly with Charlotte. In the few weeks since they’d been back together, Saint could see the stress from the years they’d been separated peeling away. Before, both had been struggling to live without each other; now, happiness had lifted that burden, despite both of them being shot by the man who’d tried to steal their goddaughter. King hadn’t been back on duty long when Saint met Rae. Curled in the chair opposite him, the couple seemed absorbed in each other in the way only people truly in love were. He envied that. Rae was growing closer to him, but their trust was fragile after the mistakes he’d made. He’d give anything to be on solid footing, knowing Rae was out of danger, looking into a future with her instead of worrying about the past.