Midnight Hero - By Diana Duncan Page 0,97
leave simply meant Mommy dearest would get what she wanted sooner.
“Maybe. I hope so. I’m glad she didn’t kick up more of a fuss. I honestly expected her to.” Bailey sighed. “I’m too beat to even begin to decipher her sudden about-face tonight.” She leaned her head back against the seat. “What was that explosion when the SWAT team burst inside the theater? I thought DiMarco disarmed the doors.”
“He did. It was a flash-bang grenade. SOP for dynamic entry.” The windshield had finally cleared, and he reached across and buckled her seat belt. “The brilliant light and loud kaboom scrambles the senses. The shock factor gives SWAT time to neutralize the bad guys. And the smoke provides cover.”
“Oh,” she replied in a listless tone.
He glanced at her in concern. He needed to get her home ASAP. He’d tried to send her home with her mother, but she’d refused. “I’m sorry you worried about me, sweetheart. My brothers were just looking out for my welfare. They didn’t know how bad of a hit I’d sustained. Sometimes mortally wounded people don’t even realize they’re injured. Adrenaline blocks the pain.”
He released the emergency brake, and slowly drove out of the parking lot and onto the icy street. “Aidan and Liam knew you’d be taken care of. We’re briefed on the situation before going in, and each team member is assigned a specific duty.”
“Hunter took good care of me. Even if he wouldn’t let me go to you,” she added in a grievous tone.
“You looked like you were about to hurt him.”
“Darned right. I was afraid you were…” She choked.
Yeah, and it wouldn’t tilt the odds in his favor. His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Don’t dwell on that. We’re both okay, and that’s what matters.” The moment of reckoning would arrive all too soon.
She didn’t say another word all the way to her place. Con parked in the small lot behind her building. Had she fallen asleep? He grabbed his nylon gym bag from behind the seat before striding around to the passenger side and opening the door. He’d planned on the two of them spending the night together at the Ambassador Hotel and had packed accordingly.
She stared straight ahead, her expression dazed, and he touched her arm. “Let’s get you inside.”
He tried to carry her, but she refused. He supported most of her weight as he helped her to the top-floor apartment of the converted Victorian house. He held the vase of roses while she fumbled in her purse for the key. Good thing Liam and Aidan had been on the ball or he would have had to kick in the door. And wouldn’t that have gone over well?
Inside, she flicked the light switch. Nothing happened. She groaned. “The electricity is out. I’m glad I have gas appliances, because I am not waiting one more minute for a hot shower.”
“Is that the best idea? You’re nearly out on your feet—” He broke off at her cranky scowl. “On second thought, it will probably make you feel better.”
She trudged toward the bathroom, then turned back. “Con? Don’t leave.”
He wasn’t about to leave her in this condition. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Her teeth worried her lower lip. “We need to talk.”
The emotions he’d been stonewalling whammed him in a rush of dread. “I know.” Heart sinking, he headed into her bedroom. They would talk. But not before she had a chance to rest.
Luckily, Bailey the romantic had candles all over the apartment. Even better, there was a fireplace in her bedroom. Bless the Victorians and their lack of technology. He set the roses on the nightstand alongside a stack of books, dropped his bag beside it, and then built a roaring blaze.
Firelight washed the pearl gray walls, and the chilly room warmed. Bailey floated out of the attached bathroom in a cloud of rose-petal-scented vapor. Carrying his leather jacket in one hand, she wore a long, cream silk nightgown that left her arms bare. Damp, golden-red curls, brighter than the crackling flames, spilled over her shoulders. Her sleepy blue eyes reflected the glowing light. His breath jammed in his lungs. His goddess. Aphrodite rising from the misty sea.
She draped his jacket over a gray upholstered chair beside the queen-size bed, and said something. He saw her sweet mouth move, heard her low, musical voice, but the words did not compute. She cocked her head. “Con?”
He blinked away the sensual haze. “Sorry, what did you say?”
Her tired smile was patient. “I left you plenty of