Midnight Hero - By Diana Duncan Page 0,63
of the Rings. The books had been Bailey’s favorites for years, and she owned every DVD version and every soundtrack CD. She had a thing for Aragorn, the sword hunk who would be king. She’d even talked Con into dressing up like the guy to her Eowyn for the precinct’s Halloween party. It could have been worse. At least he hadn’t had to wear tights. Or heaven forbid, be a Scotchgarded-at-birth elf. “A fond memory. Even if you did go through a package of tissues and soak the front of my shirt.”
“I get choked up all over again just thinking about it,” she whispered. “So poignant. Ordinary people, fighting great evil. Never giving up, no matter the odds. No matter the cost. Courageous, noble. What a triumph.”
Yeah, except in the movies, the good guys always won. Real life wasn’t as neat and tidy. He tugged her into his arms. He needed to prepare her for what would happen next. “You’ve been a huge asset. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
She stiffened in his embrace. “I feel a ‘but’ coming on.”
“The situation is about to reach critical mass. I’ve got to play the rest out alone, darlin’.”
“No!”
He cupped her face in his hands, looked into her beautiful blue eyes. “This is what I’m trained for, Bailey. You’ve done great, but you’re a civilian. You need to step out of the line of fire.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. “I’m afraid for you, Con. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Me, either. I’ll be careful.” He rubbed her taut, quivering back. “I’ll take you upstairs and stash you somewhere safe. Then you have to let me go.”
Bailey clung tightly to Con’s warm, capable hand. Everything inside her roiled in hot rebellion. No. Why did she have to step aside and let him risk his life alone? It wasn’t fair. Wasn’t right. She wouldn’t do it.
As they approached the huge Christmas tree near the escalators, her steps dragged, slowing Con’s momentum.
“C’mon, sweetheart. Time’s a’wastin’.”
She scowled at the towering wooden Nutcracker soldiers, hand-carved by local artisans. At the acres of fake snow batting mounded around the area near the tree’s base. Decorative, but serving no real purpose. Was that how Con saw her? Drat the man, she could help him, had helped him all night. “Con—”
“Don’t argue. I’m in charge here.”
Yes, but he didn’t have to be so all-fired bossy about it. “Con, dammit! Stop!”
He stopped, pivoted and arched a dark brow. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you swear.”
“It won’t be the last unless you stop towing me along like luggage on wheels and listen to me.”
“We’ll talk. Upstairs.” Still holding her hand, he bounded up three flights to the top floor. On the way, he instructed her to monitor both walkie-talkies and what to do if Tony called again.
Upstairs, she leaned against the wall, the plaster rough and cool behind her. She tried to catch her breath enough to speak. “You said I was an asset.”
He wasn’t even breathing hard. “I meant it. But things could get ugly. Dangerous. I won’t risk your life.” He stepped close and smoothed the frown lines from her forehead. “Baby, you said yourself you weren’t sure how you’d react if you had to hurt someone. Mere seconds can cost lives. If you hesitated…”
He didn’t need to finish. Bottom line, he couldn’t depend on her to come through for him. He was better off alone. Her shoulders slumped. “Okay. Where do you want me to hide?”
“The food court. It’s circular…if one of the robbers comes looking, you have an escape route.” He moved closer, his big, warm body pressing into hers. Solid. Strong. Sustaining. Her traitorous brain superimposed another image—his body slumped, bloody and lifeless. She blinked away the agonizing picture.
He tipped her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Don’t.” He lowered his head and kissed her. His tongue stroked sure and deep. She tasted his dark, heady essence mingled with cinnamon. Felt the soul-deep connection shimmering between them. She would never get enough of him. She treasured him more than life. Needed him more than her next breath.
Loved him enough to let him do what he had to.
Her intention to break up had been in his best interests. Yet she was forced to admit her choice then had been born of love and fear. Not only for him, but herself. She’d been afraid of getting hurt. Now, her determination to release him was for