was done. Finished. He loved Jessie, but it wasn’t enough. It was time to go back to Dallas. He’d hire twenty-four-hour protection till Ray Cummings was back in custody.
He topped the last stair and headed down the hall. Who had he been kidding? Getting out of Jessie’s life was the best thing for both of them. He was supposed to be protecting Danny’s sister—not falling in love with her.
He pulled out the key she had given him and unlocked the door. As his fingers circled the knob, the muffled sound of a man’s voice reached him.
“Put the gun down, Jessica. We both know you aren’t going to shoot me.”
Fucking Ray Cummings. Fury burned through him. Reaching beneath his jacket, he drew his Glock from the holster on his belt. Icy calm settled over him the way it always did, his mind sharpening, senses honing, giving him the control he needed. He quietly turned the knob and eased the door open a crack.
Jessie stood in the living room, his revolver gripped in both her hands. “Leave, Ray. Do it now, while you still have the chance. Come one step closer, I’ll pull the trigger.”
Cummings stood in the bedroom doorway, six feet tall, dark brown hair, a nasty smirk on his face. He was pointing a big semiauto at Jessie. It was all Bran could do not to just shoot him.
“I’ve got a gun, too, Jessica,” Cummings said. “Put your pistol down and I won’t have to use it.”
“I’ll shoot, Ray. I swear to God I will.”
“We both know what happened in that basement. How you wanted it, just like the others. You shouldn’t have run, Jessica. If you’d stayed, I would have given it to you, just like you wanted.”
“You’re insane.”
“Put down the gun, sweetheart, and come to Jordy. We’ll finish what we started.”
Bran kicked the door open with his boot, his Glock aimed center mass at Cummings’s chest. “She won’t have to kill you, Cummings. It’ll give me great pleasure to take care of it for her.”
“Brandon...” The hand that held the pistol eased to her side.
“Get out of the way, Jess. Let me finish this.”
Her gaze snapped to his. “No, Bran! You can’t just kill him!”
Bullshit. He wanted Cummings dead, wanted Jessie safe. His finger tightened on the trigger.
“Don’t, Brandon, please!”
She didn’t want him to kill the prick. His jaw tightened. He’d told her he could change. He looked at Cummings. Hesitated. Maybe there was another way.
Cummings’s hand moved. Bran saw it an instant too late. A gunshot cracked, a thunderclap in the confines of the small apartment. Jessie! Then Cummings hit the floor.
Jessie dropped the pistol, turned and ran straight into his arms.
“Easy.” Bran holstered his weapon and his arms tightened around her. He didn’t let her go. “It’s all right, baby. Everything’s okay.”
She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. “You waited. Why did you wait? You could have been killed.”
He kissed the top of her head. “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”
“Oh, God.” She hugged him harder. “You could never disappoint me, Brandon. Never.”
He kissed her quick and hard, set her away, and went to see about scumball Ray Cummings. As he knelt to assess the wound, he looked back at Jessie. “Your shot missed the heart. You didn’t kill him.”
“I didn’t miss. I didn’t kill him because I wanted to so badly.”
He almost smiled.
“I’ll call 911.” While Jessie went to make the call, he grabbed a towel and used it to slow the flow of blood.
Jessie made another call, this one to Detective D’Marco Porter. “Ray Cummings is on the floor of my living room. He’s bleeding from a bullet to the chest that came from my pistol.”
Porter said something, then Jessie ended the call and turned to Bran. “The police have been dispatched. Detective Porter is on his way.”
Bran pressed harder on the wound. “He’s losing a lot of blood. Grab another towel, will you?”
“Or maybe we should just let him bleed out.”
This time he did smile. “There’s my girl.”
Shaking her head, Jessie went after more towels.
Cummings was still breathing when the ambulance hauled his sorry ass away. Porter and another detective took his and Jessie’s statements, then, finally, they were alone.
“I shouldn’t have left you the way I did,” Bran said, pacing over to the window, his hands on his hips. “The bastard could have killed you.”
“I don’t think so. If anyone was going to die today, it was Ray Cummings.”