“What are you waiting for?” I ask, trying to keep the panic out of my voice.

  “Jackson and Cage are going to approach the house on foot, find out how many are inside.”

  “With that heat radar thing you mentioned?” James asks.

  “Yup,” he says just as his phone rings. He answers it on speaker.

  “Seven people inside.” It’s Jackson. I’ve met him a few times while staying at the Jameson building in Pittsburgh. “Five in one room at the back, two nearer the front of the house.”

  “And no cars in the driveway,” Bebe muses. “So, not a party.”

  “Not a party,” Jackson says grimly. “We can see Dozer, and Borovsky’s in there.”

  “What?” I exclaim, ripping off my seat belt and pushing my shoulders between the two front seats.

  “We were able to enter the back of the property as there’s a pool house there to hide us. They have him in a room off the back patio. He’s in a chair, and Borovsky’s working on him.”

  “What does that mean?” I ask, hysterical.

  Jackson doesn’t answer me, and Kynan doesn’t ask for details. I think it’s to spare me, but Kynan wastes no time.

  He opens the door, exits, and then looks back to Bebe. “Call the SAC and get them in here.”

  “On it,” she says, and then Kynan slams the door and is gone.

  I twist in my seat, watch in the rearview mirror as he blends in with the shadows, skirting pockets of light as he makes his way to the house where Dozer is. He melts into the darkness and is gone.

  “I’ve got the radar feed,” Bebe says, and I whirl to look over her shoulder. James leans forward too.

  “How are you getting that?” he asks.

  “Jackson must have propped it up on something. It’s fed through satellite hookup to me.”

  My jaw drops as I see orange men inside a house. There’s not enough detail to know definitively they’re men—I just assume they are. As Jackson said, two are in a room near the front. Five are in a room at the back, and of those five, one is clearly sitting in a chair. I can’t see the chair, only the orange glow of his body in what looks to be a sitting position.

  I’m not sure if it’s my eyes or my fear, but it seems the seated man’s orange is duller than the others.

  “That’s Dozer in the chair,” I breathe out. James leans further forward and curses. “Why is his color not as bright?”

  Bebe’s answer comes a little too quick and smooth. “That’s just satellite interference.”

  I know she’s lying.

  My breath catches as I see other orange figures enter the screen. Two sneaking up to the rear of the house, and then there’s Kynan again, moving to the front porch. At least I assume it’s Kynan, and the two at the back are Jackson and Cage.

  What happens next is so fast, I’m not sure I even understand the coordinated attack. From the porch, Kynan must ring a doorbell as the two glowing figures walk that way. The doorbell must make the other group leery, as two of the men walk out of that room.

  Then Jackson and Cage enter from the back patio—maybe the door was open—and their stances are such it’s clear they’re pointing guns at the men. All of them put their hands up except Dozer in the chair and the man closest to him.

  I flick my attention back to Kynan’s ghostly orange figure. He’s in the house, and those two men have their hands up.

  Not a single shot is fired.

  And then one is.

  I hear it through the closed car windows, and my head whips back toward the house to see if I can see anything.

  Nothing. Pitch-black. The door to the house is closed. I don’t see Kynan.

  My gaze goes back to the screen, and I don’t know what I’m seeing. At first, Dozer’s no longer sitting in the chair but seems to be on the ground with the other man on top of him. They’re a big blob of orange glow, and neither is moving.

  “Oh my God,” I shriek. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know,” Bebe says, sounding as stressed as me.

  All I know is that I can’t stand one more second of not knowing if Dozer is alive or dead.

  I jerk the door handle and throw myself out before Bebe can think to order me to stay, or before James can grab me.

  I run as hard and fast as I can in my sandals, hearing feet pounding behind me. It’s James, and he doesn’t try to stop me but flies past. I kick out of my sandals so I can keep up with him, my bare feet pricked by pebbles and then sharp grass.

  Without any thought to his own life, or whether things are still volatile, James rushes right up the porch and barrels into the front door. I’m on his ass, and I clear the threshold to see that Kynan has two of the men on their knees at gunpoint, their hands behind their heads.

  “Jesus Christ,” he mutters as he takes us in. But then he gives me a comforting smile. “He’s fine. They’re down that hall.”

  James leads the way, and when we enter the room where they’ve got Dozer, I’m not prepared for the horror I see.

  I glance at a body on the ground—it’s Borovsky, a bullet hole in his head—and I don’t bother looking at him again. That’s not the truly horrifying thing.

  It’s Dozer, covered in blood, standing near the chair, knocked over beside Borovsky’s body. There’s so much blood, I can’t tell where it’s coming from. Jackson is behind Dozer, cutting ties off his wrists, and he grimaces as he rolls his shoulders and rubs at the abraded skin. Cage has his gun trained on the other Russians as they, too, kneel with their hands behind their heads.

  Dozer looks over and sees me and his dad standing there. His eyes grow warm with relief, and I brush past James, who seems frozen in place.

  “Oh God,” I moan as I reach him, coming to a dead stop, terrified to touch him. I look around wildly, see Jackson is the closest, and snap at him. “Give me your shirt.”

  “What?” he asks dumbly.

  “Your shirt. Can’t you see Dozer’s bleeding to death?”

  “I’m not,” Dozer starts to say.

  I ignore him and snap at Jackson. “Your fucking shirt.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he says and whips it off, handing it to me.

  I turn back to Dozer, afraid to meet his eyes. I can now see a large cut across his chest that had freely bled but seems mostly clotted. One on his abdomen still oozes.

  “There’re a few smaller ones on my back,” Dozer says, and my eyes whip up. “The one on my stomach… press the shirt there.”

  Gently, I do as he asks, and he grits his teeth through the pain. Vaguely, I hear sirens, and I hope to God one is an ambulance.

  James, apparently jostled out of his paralysis, moves to his son’s side. “Let’s sit you down.”

  Dozer shakes his head. “No sitting down. I want out of here.”

  Covering my hand with his, Dozer takes over holding the shirt to the laceration on his stomach. His dad moves to his side, loops Dozer’s arm over his shoulder, and lets his son lean on him as we walk out of the room, leaving the carnage behind.

  “What happened to Borovsky?” James asks as we maneuver into the hall, heading for the front door. Red and blue lights flash through the windows.

  “When Cage and Jackson came in, it caught everyone by surprise. The other guys surrendered, but Borovsky said he wasn’t going back to jail and lunged. Cage shot him in the head, which caused him to fall on top of me. Some of this blood is his.”

  I grimace, but it doesn’t matter.

  It’s over.

  Borovsky is dead, and Dozer is safe.

  Police and FBI agents move through the house. Bebe meets us at the door and in true fashion, she gasps, “God, Dozer… you look awful.”

  “Feel awful.” He grins, which means he still has a little bit of spunk left in him.

  “Rather have you feeling awful than feeling dead,” she replies, but she’s not smiling. She’s as shaken as I am.

  We’re met at the bottom of the porch by EMTs with a gurney. The fact that Dozer doesn’t decline the gurney tells me he’s worse off than he’s letting on. His dad helps him lie down and I say, “I’ll ride with you to the hospital.”

  One of the paramedics shakes his head. “It’s against hospital policy. You’ll have to meet him there.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Dozer soothes, and I nod as his dad pulls me back so they can work on him.

  Griff comes out of the house, and I’m not even sure when he went in. He moves to Dozer’s side and puts a hand on his shoulder. “You good?”

  “I’m good,” he says, but we know he’s not. He needs to be patched up big-time.

  Griff walks toward us, his eyes moving over Bebe to make sure she’s okay. His voice is grim as he says, “We found the Grecos. Mom, dad, and daughter are dead in one of the guest bathrooms.”

  It’s now that I think of Borovsky, and I remember when Dozer told me he hoped the outcome would be Ivan’s death. I didn’t understand how he could think that way. Life is precious.

  But Borovsky didn’t see it that way. People were expendable, and now I’m so glad he’s dead and can’t hurt anyone else again.

  The paramedics start to move the gurney toward the ambulance, but Dozer yells, “Wait.”

  They stop and his head pops up to address me directly. “Get busy working on the wedding plans.”

  And now I smile. “Is that your way of proposing?”

  “It’s all I got in me right now,” he admits.

  I push through the EMTs and bend over Dozer, bringing my lips to his. “I love you, and I’ll get hopping on the wedding plans.”

  I lift up and stare down at him. The man who would have died for me.

  “Sooner rather than later, okay?” he says. “I want to get married sooner rather than later.”

  “Okay,” I whisper.

  “We have to go, ma’am,” one of the paramedics says, cutting into my marriage proposal.

  “We’ll follow you to the hospital,” I promise as they wheel him toward the waiting ambulance. Dozer offers me a thumbs-up.

  James puts an arm around my shoulders and brings me in tight. We stand that way until they have Dozer loaded and they’re shutting the doors.

  Squeezing my shoulder, James looks down at me. “Wedding, huh?”

  “Appears so,” I reply with a smile, my eyes still on the ambulance where I can see them working on Dozer through the window as it pulls away.

  He’s leaving me for now, and I’ll be right behind him. But in this surreal moment, following such horror, fear, and tragedy, I’ve never felt better knowing that our future starts now.

  CHAPTER 22

  Dozer

  I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting on my woman to get ready. I take the opportunity to scroll through the messages on my phone.

  Jess walks out of the bathroom, head tilted as she puts in an earring. “Have you seen my heart necklace? I wanted to wear it today.”

  I bought her a Tiffany gold interlocking hearts necklace, and I know damn well she hasn’t lost it. JJ’s just not very good about keeping things in proper places.

  Nabbing the pair of silk panties beside me on the bed, I twirl them around my finger. I ignore the matching bra she set out. “No clue where your necklace is, but I found these.”

  “You didn’t find them,” she says with an eye roll. “I laid those out to wear. Two very different things.”

  “Why don’t you come over here and let me put them on you?” I leer openly at her. She’s so fucking beautiful, how can I look at her any other way in her short satin robe, barely closed in front, her very naked body underneath? Probably the worst thing that could ever happen is for me to go blind so I couldn’t see this vision every day for the rest of my life.

  Jess saunters my way, a sexy smile on her face. My blood quickens, even though we spent a luxurious hour in bed this morning thoroughly wearing each other out.

  It just as quickly slows when she grabs the panties and takes two steps back. “No way in hell I’m letting you put these on me, because that’s just code for getting me back in bed, and we’re going to be late.”

  “My dad won’t care,” I insist, moving fast from the bed to grab her. I pull her into me and she laughs, arms going around my neck. Slipping my hands under the back of her robe, I squeeze her bare ass and kiss her hard.

  “Stop,” she moans into my mouth, “or we’ll never get out of here.”

  “Don’t care.” I move my mouth to her neck.

  “You totally care.” She laughs, hand pressed to the back of my head as I nibble down to her collarbone.

  Lifting my head, I lock eyes with her. “Fine. I care.”

  Reluctantly, I release her and tug at the tightness of my pants that she just created. I’m uncomfortable, but she’s right. We really can’t be late.

  “Your necklace is on the dresser,” I say, nodding toward it.

  She beams. “What would I do without you?”

  “Lose a lot of jewelry,” I quip, and she laughs, moving back into the bathroom to get dressed.

  But the real question is, what would I do without her? It’s something I hope to never find out. The relief that hasn’t abated since Cage killed Borovsky means I’ll cherish every day with her.

  The last few weeks have been a whirlwind of me healing, adjusting to a new life, and being grateful every day for all the amazing people in it. My incredible team who put their lives on the line to save me and protect Jess.

  Cage, in particular, who, without hesitation, shot Borovsky dead. The shooting was investigated and found to be self-defense since Borovsky—a convicted murderer of children—lunged at Cage with a knife. But still, it’s a risk when you take the law into your own hands, and Cage acted without thought to the consequences he might face. I can never repay that, because it has eliminated the threat posed by Borovsky permanently. The FBI—through their informants—are confident that Jess is safe now. Borovsky’s vendetta against her was personal and while the family had no problem in helping in his escape, they were not going to be pursuing things further.

  Still, we’re vigilant and I’m teaching Jess how to shoot a gun.

  Bottom line, though, with Borovsky dead, it’s allowed Jess and Thea to lead a free life, and it has made all my dreams come true.

  I’ve settled into a new life here in Miami, sharing JJ’s house with her and Thea. At first, it was nothing more than rest and relaxation so I could recover from the injuries Borovsky and his men inflicted. The stitches on my front and back came out four days ago, leaving vivid scarring against my dark skin. Jess caresses and kisses them tenderly and tells me how sexy they are. I don’t know if she’s pulling my leg, but they are a permanent part of who I am and a daily reminder of my priorities.

  Jess and Thea.

  It’s why I’m relocating to Miami to start my life with my new family. JJ and I sat down with Thea and had a frank conversation about the feelings we have for each other, that I was going to be living with them, and while I’m still Uncle Dozer, I’m hopeful that sooner rather than later, she’ll call me Daddy. For now, it’s enough that I think she’s more excited than Jess to have me in the house.

  As for Jameson, I’m still gainfully employed with them. I mean, how could I ever leave a company—no, a family—who put their lives on the line for me and Jess? There were serious discussions about where we should live—here or Pittsburgh—but Jess really loves her job, and Claire is here, and really… I want a relationship with my father.

  So, the solution—thanks to Kynan and his entrepreneurial spirit—is to open a Miami office, which I will run. Right now, said office is really just my laptop on the dining room table, but Kynan is hoping to buy some property and outfit it within the next few months. I’ll still commute now and again to Pittsburgh, but that’s not Kynan requiring it. So many in that office are my family, too, and I need time with them.

  Especially Bebe. While she’s happy for my happiness, she’s sad to lose her lab partner and closest friend. I suggested perhaps she borrow Camille’s plane more often and come visit me here. Camille, by the way, was in no way put out by Bebe’s white lie about her destination, and once she learned the truth behind it was very forgiving. I’m sure she’d let Bebe use the plane on another occasion if she so requested.

  Jess walks out of the bathroom again. I stand near the dresser and watch her drop the robe and put on her bra. She has no shame prancing around me naked, for which I’m eternally grateful. It’s a feast for my eyes to watch her do something as simple as pull a dress from the closet and slip it over her head. She smooths it over her hips and twirls. “Do you like it?”

  It’s a light peach confection, fitted through the bodice and floaty around her legs, coming down just below her knees. “You’re stunning.”

  “Of course I am,” she teases and twirls again. “But what about the dress?”

  “It’s okay,” I tease back, moving to take her in my arms. “Let’s see how it moves.”

  We dance slowly, not pressed into each other but in a waltz where I twirl her around. We laugh, and before she pulls away so she can put on her heels, I kiss her hand.

  Her left hand, to be specific. Just at the knuckle, below which a large diamond ring sits.

  When I was released from the hospital, about midday following Borovsky’s death, I headed straight to a jewelry store. Jess thought I was nuts, but I dragged her in and let her pick out a ring. It wasn’t very traditional, but considering I hollered from an ambulance gurney that she start on our wedding plans, it seemed appropriate.

  Ultimately, she didn’t pick. I did because she was trying to be frugal, and I wanted her to sparkle. I love the four-carat stunner she now wears.

  Jess pulls away from me, smiling. We hold hands until our arms are stretched to the max, fingers sliding away from each other, and she moves to the closet again to grab her shoes.

  ♦

  My dad moves to my side and rests a hand on my shoulder. “Nervous?”

  “A little,” I reply without hesitation. This is a big deal.

  “Think I have a chance with Claire?” he asks, and my head whips his way.

  “You really want to talk about Claire right now?” I ask incredulously.