Chapter 22

CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO

Slate frowned down at his phone, reading the text from Ashlyn. She hadn’t answered his call, which was somewhat surprising. He couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t picked up when he called. It might not be too surprising if she was in the middle of a conversation with James, even though that had never stopped her in the past. But it was the text that convinced him something wasn’t right.

Ashlyn: bsy cnt talk will cu soon I love you

Again, she’d never been too busy to talk to him. But that wasn’t what had the hair on the back of Slate’s neck standing straight up.

Ashlyn didn’t abbreviate words when she texted. Ever. It was a small thing, and there was always the chance she was distracted and had done so this time for brevity. But Slate didn’t think so.

He checked the tracker app once more and saw that she was at James’s house. At least her phone was.

He was moving before he’d thought about what he was doing.

Slate needed to head over…just to make sure everything was all right. If he was overreacting, so be it. Ashlyn would complain that he was being overprotective and he needed to tone it down, and he’d apologize. But if he wasn’t overreacting…

Slate had no idea what could go wrong during a visit to James’s house. He just knew that if he didn’t act, and Ashlyn needed him, he’d never forgive himself. For all he knew, she sent that text to make it clear that something was wrong. As a message. Or it might not have been Ashlyn who’d sent it at all. Either option wasn’t good.

He was grateful there wasn’t a lot of traffic on the roads, because Slate drove a little recklessly, his intuition pushing him to get to Ashlyn as soon as possible.

He was five minutes from James’s house when it occurred to him that he shouldn’t be going in alone. He’d been too preoccupied thinking about what could be wrong, and why Ashlyn didn’t answer her phone, and why she’d sent that odd text. He hadn’t even thought about calling his teammates.

He rectified that now.

“Hey, Slate. What’s up?” Mustang asked.

“I’m on my way to James Mason’s house. I need backup,” Slate told his team leader.

“What’s the situation?” Mustang asked in a no-nonsense tone that actually helped calm Slate a fraction.

“I don’t know. I’m going in blind. Ashlyn’s not answering her phone, and I just got a text that didn’t sound like her. There might not be anything wrong…but James gave her twenty grand yesterday that he’d been hiding around his house because he hates banks. Told her to keep it safe for him. He also fired his home health aide because he caught him spying on him after he’d supposedly left. I’m not getting warm and fuzzy feelings.”

“You call anyone else?”

“No. Just you.”

“I’ll take care of calling the team. Where are you?”

“I’ll be on location in three.”

“Wait for us,” Mustang ordered.

Slate didn’t like disobeying a direct order, but there was no way in hell he could wait outside when Ashlyn could be in danger. “You know I can’t do that,” he told his team leader.

“Fuck,” Mustang swore, but didn’t reprimand Slate. “Right. Get the lay of the land, gather intel, and pass it on before you go in then.”

If something was wrong, Slate wasn’t sure he’d be able to do that either, but he said, “Ten-four.”

“We’re comin’, Slate. No way we’re gonna let anything happen to your woman. Hear me?”

He did, but Slate knew better than most that sometimes shit happened no matter what preparations were made. No matter how deadly and accomplished the team was. “I hear you,” he said belatedly. “I hope like hell I’m overreacting,” he said, fear threatening to overwhelm him.

“You aren’t,” Mustang said. “I know you, and you might be an impatient son of a bitch, but your instincts are spot on. Watch your six and try not to shoot us when we make entry,” Mustang said before clicking off the connection.

His team leader wasn’t joking, it had happened in the past, team members getting caught in friendly fire incidents in chaotic situations, but that wouldn’t be an issue today—as Slate realized he’d left his house without a weapon. It was a dumbass move, but he’d been more concerned about getting to Ashlyn than arming himself.

Slate prayed he hadn’t made a deadly decision by leaving without his gun, but tried to reassure himself that he was just as lethal without one. He’d been trained by the best of the best, knew how to kill with his bare hands and how to use things in his surroundings as weapons if necessary. And if Ashlyn was in danger, nothing would prevent him from eliminating the threat.

A few minutes later, Slate pulled onto James’s street, and was actually relieved to see Ashlyn’s car parked in front of the house. That didn’t necessarily mean she was there, but it was a hell of a lot better than her phone being there and her car missing.

Slate threw his car into park a few houses down from James’s and got out, leaving the keys in the ignition. He went into SEAL mode and did his best to make himself invisible as he made his way toward his target.

Avoiding the front entrance, Slate continued around the house until he reached the side door, which led into the kitchen. The screen door was shut, but the inner door was wide open. He listened for a moment and didn’t hear anyone, which he didn’t consider a good sign. But more disturbing was the state of the kitchen. There was food and debris everywhere. It looked as if the contents of the cabinets had been thrown out and left lying all over the counters, table, and even the floor.

Swearing to himself, he moved to the window beyond the door. He glanced in carefully, and saw James lying still on his bed. It looked as if he was sleeping.

Praying the door didn’t squeak, Slate backtracked and entered the house. He stepped over as much of the broken ceramic and glass as he could, sticking to the wall. When he was just steps from the entryway that led into the living room, he finally heard someone speaking. But it wasn’t Ashlyn.

“Fuck! This is bullshit! Where the hell is it?”

Slate didn’t recognize the voice, but it didn’t matter. Peeking around the entry, he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Ashlyn. She was sitting in the chair James usually occupied. Her hands were gripping the arms of the chair and she had her gaze locked on the other side of the room. On a man with his back turned.

All of his training flew out the window. Mustang would kick his ass when he heard about this, but Slate’s only thought was getting to Ashlyn.

He quickly stepped into the living area, his hands held out to his sides, indicating that he was unarmed.

Ashlyn’s eyes widened when she saw him, but she didn’t make a sound. The man in the room chose that moment to turn around.

Slate immediately recognized him as Aiden, the recently fired home health aide.

“What the fuck?” Aiden exclaimed. Ashlyn sprang up from the chair, even as Aiden barked, “No! Sit down!”

Ashlyn acted as if she didn’t hear him, racing to Slate.

He wrapped his arms around her and immediately turned his back to the room. If Aiden had a weapon, any shots fired would likely go right through him and into Ashlyn, but getting her out of the direct line of sight was instinctual.

He could feel her trembling against him, but other than being scared, she seemed to be uninjured. A huge weight lifted from Slate’s shoulders. She was upright, breathing, and seemed to be fine. He could work with that.

“Get away from her!” Aiden shouted.

Turning his head, Slate saw the man had taken a step closer. And he’d indeed produced a pistol. He could only assume he’d had it on his person somewhere.

“No,” Slate said, trying to stay calm as he assessed the situation.

“I knew you’d come,” Ashlyn whispered.

“Of course,” he said.

“Shut the fuck up!” Aiden yelled, a little hysterically now.

Tensing, Slate peeled Ashlyn away and pushed her farther behind him as he turned to face the man.

“Thought you were fired,” Slate said before he thought better of it. Agitating the man further wasn’t smart. He was just so damn relieved to see Ashlyn alive that he wasn’t thinking clearly. He had to get his shit together.

“Yeah, well, thought I’d come by and thank the old man personally for ruining my life,” Aiden sneered.

It was then Slate realized the guy was under the influence of some sort of drug. It was going to be very hard to reason with him. And it made the weapon he was brandishing all the more threatening. Aiden was obviously desperate and not thinking clearly.

“Shit!” he seethed, not lowering the weapon. “This is not going the way I’d planned!”

“Knew that text wasn’t from Ashlyn,” Slate said, wanting to keep the man talking. He had to give Mustang and his team time to get there. “It was a good attempt, but I know my woman. She never uses abbreviations in her texts.”

“Whatever. Get away from her! Go sit over there on the couch,” Aiden ordered.

“No.”

Aiden frowned. “What?”

“No. I’m staying here with Ashlyn,” Slate said. What he really wanted to do was push Ashlyn into the kitchen and tell her to run, but even though they weren’t that far from the entrance, the route was still in the direct line of fire. He’d have to keep her behind him for the time being.

“Damn it!” Aiden exclaimed. “I’m the one with the gun! Do as I say!” He was seriously agitated.

“Are you looking for James’s money?” Slate asked. “Maybe we can help you search. The sooner you find it, the sooner you can leave.”

Aiden looked confused for a second, then he sneered. “Sure, right, you’ll help me look. I’m not an idiot! The second my back is turned you’re gonna jump me. I know who you are. The old man talked about you all the time. You’re a fuckin’ bigshot Navy SEAL. I’m not taking my eyes off you for a second!”

“If you know who I am, you know this isn’t going to end well for you,” Slate said in a deadly tone.

“You’re wrong!” The words came out shrill.

“There is no money,” Ashlyn told Aiden softly.

“Hush, Ash,” Slate said, a little more harshly than he’d intended.

“No, don’t fucking hush! What do you mean? I was with James when he cashed that check a couple days ago. And I know for a fact he’s got bills all over this fucking house,” Aiden said, waving the gun around as he spoke.

“He saw you spying on him,” Ashlyn told him. “He realized you were stealing. He gathered all his cash and gave it to me for safekeeping. You looked at my texts. You had to have seen one of the last ones I sent to Slate. I deposited it in the bank this morning. There’s nothing here to find.”

Slate tensed as he saw Aiden’s eyes widen in disbelief. “No…” he whispered.

“I’m sorry,” Ashlyn said, and she truly sounded as if she regretted there being no money in the house for Aiden to steal. “Your best bet at this point is to leave. Just go out the door and get the hell out of here.”

“I need that money! I have to have it,” Aiden said, sounding seconds away from breaking into tears.

Slate subtly pushed Ashlyn more firmly behind him, preparing to rush Aiden, when the other man said, “Then I’ll just have to take you with me. We’ll go to the bank and get it back. Once I have it, I’ll drop you off somewhere and we’ll both go about our business.”

He was seriously delusional. There was no way Slate was going to let him leave the house with Ashlyn. And there was no way any of them believed he’d just drop her off somewhere, safe and sound.

“Go, Aiden. It’s over. You’ll have a head start before we call the police,” Ashlyn urged. “You can be far from here by the time they arrive.”

“No!” Aiden yelled. “No, no,no! You don’t understand!”

Slate understood that time was running out. Aiden was quickly becoming unhinged. He couldn’t wait for his team to get there. He thought about James lying still on his bed. It was possible he wasn’t sleeping, that Aiden had killed him, and the thought gutted him.

This needed to end. Now.

He shifted, getting ready to make his move—

A crash sounded from the back of the house…from the direction of the bedroom.

Aiden turned automatically to look toward the sound, the hand holding the gun dropped slightly—and Slate lunged.

Aiden reflexively pulled the trigger, shooting wildly in different directions as Slate charged, tackling him around the waist.

They both went flying backward, slamming into a bookshelf against the wall with their combined weight. The crack of Aiden’s head hitting the edge of a shelf was loud, despite the ringing in Slate’s ears from the gunshots. He could also hear Ashlyn yelling behind him, but his concentration was on mitigating the threat.

They crashed to the floor amid piles of books. When they were on down, Slate grabbed Aiden’s wrist but the gun was no longer in his hand. Looking around, he saw it lying nearby.

Aiden wasn’t even fighting him, but Slate wasn’t taking any chances. His adrenaline pumping through his veins, he lurched sideways and shoved the weapon out of arm’s reach. Then he reached for Aiden’s other wrist and pinned the man as he tried to catch his breath.

“Slate! Oh my God, you’re bleeding!” Ashlyn cried.

It wasn’t until that moment that Slate realized his arm was on fire. Looking down, he saw a dark red stain on the upper sleeve of his shirt and felt the blood begin to run down his biceps.

“Shit!” he exclaimed, flexing his arm. It hurt like hell, but the blood wasn’t spurting out, which was a good sign. “Lift my sleeve, Ashlyn. I don’t want to let go of him to look at it.”

Ashlyn stepped toward them, her face white as a sheet, and gingerly pulled up the sleeve of his T-shirt as he’d asked. There was a strip of flesh missing from his upper arm. It was painful and messy, but not life threatening.

“Is he…” Ashlyn’s words tapered off as she looked down at the unmoving man beneath him.

Slate finally realized that Aiden still wasn’t struggling. A pool of blood under his head was growing at an alarming rate.

“Fuck,” Slate said. He slowly let go of the man’s wrists and scooted back until he was sitting on his heels. Aiden remained still, exactly as he’d landed. His eyes were closed, and when Slate studied him closer, he couldn’t see his chest moving up and down.

“Not much we can do for him,” Slate said. “You want to go check on James?” He wanted her out of this room. Didn’t want her to have to look at Aiden’s dead body any longer than she already had.

When Slate turned to look at Ashlyn, he was alarmed to find her swaying on her feet. He didn’t think it was possible, but her face looked even more ashen now than it had a moment ago.

“Um…I don’t feel good,” she whispered.

Slate was moving even before her legs collapsed under her.

“Ash!” he cried as he caught her and lowered her to the floor. He put her on her back and ran his hands over her body frantically, trying to figure out what was wrong. When he brushed the left side of her chest, she let out a small moan.

She wore a black shirt, and he couldn’t see any blood, but he didn’t hesitate to lift the cotton to find the source of her pain.

For a second, Slate had a hard time wrapping his mind around what he was seeing.

There was a small hole in her chest, just below her breast.

Way too fucking close to her heart.

As he watched, blood pulsed out of her body, as if in time with her heartbeat.

“Slate?” she whispered. “I can’t breathe very well.”

Lowering her shirt, he clamped his hand over the wound. Hard.

This time, Ashlyn cried out in pain, arching into him, trying to dislodge his hand.

“No, stay still,” he ordered. His words sounded weird to his own ears.

Ashlyn stopped moving, bringing a hand up to grip his wrist tightly. “He shot me?” she asked.

“Looks that way. But don’t worry, you’ll be fine.” Slate knew he was talking out his ass. He had no idea if that was true or not. If the bullet nicked her heart, she’d bleed out in a matter of minutes. He rose on his knees and pressed harder on the wound, desperate to keep that from happening.

“Oh, God, Slate!” she wheezed in an anguished tone.

“No!” he practically barked at her. “Do not go there. You’re going to be fine!”

But a tear escaped her eye, sliding down into the hair at her temple. “I love you.”

“I love you too, but don’t you think this is the end. I just found you, I’m not losing you now!” Where the fuck was his team?

He knew it probably wasn’t a fair question; it felt as if hours had gone by since he’d arrived, but in reality it had only been a matter of minutes, not enough time for his team to get here yet. But the truth was, he needed them more now than he ever had before.

A sound behind him had Slate whipping his head around, but he didn’t let up on the pressure on Ashlyn’s chest. If Aiden hadn’t actually died when his head busted open after hitting that shelf, and he’d been able to get a hold of the gun once more, Slate still wouldn’t lift his hands. Someone would have to fucking shoot him to get him to leave Ashlyn’s side.

But it wasn’t Aiden. He was still lying motionless where he’d fallen. It was James. He looked tired, and definitely not one hundred percent all there. He’d propped himself up against the doorjamb of his kitchen.

“I called the police,” he said. “They’re coming.”

As relieved as he was to see the older man alive, Slate couldn’t do anything but nod and turn his attention back to Ashlyn. “Hear that, babe? Help is on the way. No, don’t close your eyes! Keep them on me.”

He could tell she was trying to cling to consciousness but was losing the battle.

“Slate,” she whispered.

His throat closed up, and Slate swallowed hard. Ashlyn needed him to be strong right now. He couldn’t lose his shit.

He opened his mouth but before he could say anything, he heard footsteps in the kitchen. Then his team was there. Slate had never been so relieved to see anyone in his entire life.

“Mustang…!” he said, not hiding the anguish he felt as he looked up at his team leader.

Mustang and Midas immediately knelt by Ashlyn’s side. Aleck and Pid went to James, and Jag headed for Aiden. Simply having his team with him gave Slate hope.

“Gunshot wound to the left chest,” Slate told them.

“Okay, just stay where you are, keep that pressure on and don’t let go no matter what,” Mustang ordered.

Slate nodded jerkily and stared back down at Ashlyn. She hadn’t taken her gaze from his face. She was laboring to breathe but wasn’t panicking.

“You’re doing great, babe. Just keep breathing, no matter what. Hear me?”

“I hear you,” she said on a gasp.

Slate could hear Pid on the phone, most likely talking to a dispatcher about what was going on. He knew he needed to give his team a rundown of what had happened, but he couldn’t. All he could do was stare at Ashlyn and try to lend her his strength.

“You’re doing so good,” he praised.

“Am I going to die?” she asked.

“No fucking way,” he said, a little harsher than he’d intended.

“But he shot me…”

“He got me too,” Slate reminded her. “But I’m gonna be fine, and so are you.”

“I think…being grazed in the arm is…different than…being shot in the chest,” she wheezed.

“That’s my girl. Always disagreeing with me,” Slate said.

“Because I’m right and you’re wrong,” she said weakly.

Slate wanted to yell at the unfairness of what was happening. Intellectually, he knew this was a freak incident. She couldn’t have known Aiden would be at James’s house today. Hell, none of them had a clue he could be dangerous. And yet, here they were.

Sirens sounded in the distance, and Slate said, “Hear that, babe? They’re almost here. The EMTs will get you all fixed up and you’ll be as good as new.”

There was no color in Ashlyn’s face whatsoever now, and she was gasping for air. “No matter…what…happens,” she said between gasps. “I’ll never…regret asking you…to be my friend-with-benefits.”

“Best day of my life,” Slate told her honestly. “Took me too long to get my head out of my ass and see the treasure I had right in front of me, but I’ve never met a woman as perfect for me as you.” He kept talking because he was afraid if he didn’t, she’d close her eyes and stop fighting. “You made me less grumpy, less impatient, and more appreciative of what I have in my life.”

“But you still drive…too fast,” she said, attempting to smile. Then she closed her eyes.

“No! Look at me, babe,” Slate ordered frantically.

It took her a moment, but she forced her eyes back open.

“I love you. More than I ever thought I’d love anyone in my life. Don’t you leave me!” he begged, the tears finally breaking free of his iron control and slipping down his cheeks. “You’ve made me a better man, a better SEAL, a better friend. I need you!”

“It hurts, Slate,” she whispered.

“I know, and I’m sorry. But as the SEALs say, the only easy day was yesterday. Fight, Ash. For you, for me…for us.”

“I will.”

“I know it hurts, but the pain means you’re alive. Don’t give in, please!”

Ashlyn licked her lips and nodded. Then her eyes closed once again, and the tight grip she had on his wrist slackened before her hand fell to the floor.

“Fuck,” Slate whispered, tears steadily falling off his cheeks and onto her shirt, soaking into the material as he hovered over her.

“Everyone put your hands where we can see them!” a loud voice ordered, but Slate ignored it. He wasn’t moving his hands from Ashlyn’s chest. The cop who’d just entered the house would have to shoot him first.

It took a short while for the police to secure the scene and reassure themselves that the men in the house weren’t a threat. Not long after that, the first paramedics entered. And still Slate didn’t remove his hands. Mustang spoke for him, explaining Ashlyn’s condition and as much about the situation as he could.

“You need to scoot back,” one of the paramedics said. “We’ll take over from here.”

Slate couldn’t move. He was frozen in fear.

It was Jag who convinced him to let the paramedics do their job by saying, “You’ve done all you can, Slate. If you want to give her a chance, you need to let them do their thing.”

Slate looked up and met the gaze of the nearest paramedic. Staring him in the eye, he said, “She’s my everything! Please don’t let her die.”

He could’ve sworn he saw a look of determination creep into the other man’s eyes. “I’ve never lost a patient before, and I’m not starting today,” he replied.

Nodding, Slate moved. He lifted his hands and quickly scooted backward, giving up his place by Ashlyn’s side to the two men. They worked fast, cutting off her shirt, getting a quick look at the wound in her chest, then putting pressure on it once again.

“Load and go,” one of the young men said. With the help of his team, they got Ashlyn onto a stretcher and were headed out the front door before two more minutes had passed.

Slate tried to follow but one of the police officers stopped him. “We’re gonna need you to explain what happened.”

Without taking his eyes off the stretcher holding the woman who was his entire world, currently lying motionless, Slate said, “Then you better get your ass in gear, because I’m going to the hospital with my woman.”

Luckily, Aleck stepped in and finessed the situation. Slate was well aware that there was a dead man on the floor behind him, and a good possibility he could be charged with manslaughter, but nothing was going to keep him from being at the hospital with Ashlyn.

“Slate?”

The only thing that could’ve stopped him from following the ambulance right that second was James. Slate turned. Pid had gotten the older man to the couch. He looked at Slate with conviction.

“She’s gonna be all right.”

James didn’t know anything more than Slate did at that point. He wasn’t a psychic. Couldn’t tell the future. But for some reason, those five words settled in Slate’s soul. “I know,” he said, nodding at the man. Then he turned and headed for the door.

Pid was on his heels, keys in hand. “I’m driving.”

Slate nodded again. He was in no condition to drive, and he knew it. The last thing he wanted was to get into an accident and be unable to take care of Ashlyn when she was allowed to come home. And she would be coming home. He wouldn’t accept anything less.