Chapter 24

A Lot to Be Thankful For

NOAH PARKED AT THEend of the road and cautiously approached on foot, assessing the situation as he slowly moved in. They'd never made it to Parra's apartment. On the way, he'd received a text he'd both anticipated and dreaded. Parra had Fiona and demanded a ransom of two million dollars cash. Noah was to deliver it alone, and unarmed.

He wouldn't risk Fiona's life by not following the instructions to the letter, but he didn't believe for a minute he'd simply hand her over for the money. Although he'd take that deal in a minute.

Parra was a smart guy, a fucking psychopath but sharp enough he'd quietly carried out a twenty-two-year murder spree without being caught. He'd laid a trap, Noah was certain. The question was where and when he would spring it on him.

He wasn't a fool, either. Hidden in the trees surrounding the cabin were his Rossi brothers, watching and waiting for his signal, two with sniper rifles to take the bastard out. That was Plan B, if Noah could get him into the open for them to take a shot.

Plan C was for Noah to take him out physically, with his fists or the 9 mm he had hidden in the duffel full of cash. That was the only thing he'd actually followed through on. Not that it was easy.

You couldn't just walk into the bank and ask them to hand over that much cash. Local branches didn't have that amount and required several days to physically transfer it in. He'd had to pool resources from multiple accounts and multiple sources, his private funds from years as a practicing surgeon, and borrow from his friends at Rossi and the club. He didn't want to ask, but to get that much in a short time, he had to.

His eyes scanned constantly, searching for trip wires and traps, or anything unusual or even slightly out of place that might be a sign of trouble for him. The drought conditions didn't help his cause. Dried leaves crunched loudly beneath his feet.

They took stealth out of the equation. He might as well have used a bullhorn to announce his arrival. Fallen tree branches and out-of-control weeds also covered the poorly maintained road. It didn't look like a car had passed this way in months, maybe years. Which posed the question: how did he get Fiona inside?

As he got closer to the cabin, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Stopping twenty feet from the front door, he dropped the duffel and raised his hands. "I'm here with your money, Parra," he called. "Send Fiona out."

When there was no response, he sidestepped, so he had a view through the front window. It was dirty and nearly opaque, but he should have been able to make out light or movement. He saw neither.

"Jordan!" he shouted. "I've done as you asked. Let's get this done."

Still silence from the cabin.

"What do you see?" Keiran asked in his earpiece.

"Nothing. It looks abandoned."

He took a step toward the door and heard an ominous click. Although he was on edge, his instincts were sharp. He spun and hit the dirt a split second before the cabin exploded. Noah covered his head as dirt, rocks, wood chunks, and glass shards rained down on him.

When the shower of debris stopped, he hefted the large pieces off him, got to his feet a little unsteadily, and stared at what remained of the cabin.

A couple of support beams, a small section of an interior room, and a teetering side wall were ablaze with dark smoke billowing into the air.

"Dammit, Doc. Answer if you're all right!" Keiran called. He realized as it penetrated, it wasn't for the first time.

"I'm good," he replied as shadows moved on his periphery and his team moved out of the trees, weapons trained needlessly on the decimated cabin.

One man, breathing hard, halted beside him. Keiran's voice echoed through the smoke-filled air and through the device in his ear."Fiona?"

"Wasn't here," Noah stated in disgust. "No one has been on that road in months."

"He did all of this to take you out?" He bent and picked up the duffel. "Why risk the ransom?"

"You think I have a clue into this bastard's psyche?" Noah bit out angrily. "I wish the hell I did because we're back at square one with no idea where Fiona is."

BONE TIRED, FRUSTRATED, and covered in dried blood from dozens of tiny cuts caused by flying debris, Noah let himself into his empty condo. He didn't want to leave headquarters with the frantic search for Fiona continuing, but Keiran had ordered him to go home, clean up, and grab a few hours of sleep.

Since leaving his special forces unit, he was used to giving orders and wasn't much on following them. Still, he was here, the silence deafening without Fiona's usually enthusiastic greeting. He intended to shower asap because his shirt had stuck to the small wounds on his back and shoulders. Every time he moved, it pulled at the dried blood, and they broke open again. Sleep, with Fiona still in that maniac's hands, wasn't happening, so he'd follow two orders out of three.

His Rossi boss would have to be satisfied with that.

Noah dropped the ransom-filled duffel at his feet and emptied his pockets onto the console table in the entryway, as was his habit. The phone joined the rest after he checked his messages again. There were none. No voice mails or missed calls, either. Why hadn't he made contact to gloat, make more demands, or at the very least to check if his exploding-abandoned-cabin ruse had taken him out?

He dropped the phone with a clatter, then, not bothering with the lights, walked through the darkened living room to the back hallway. In his office, he flipped on the wall switch, squinting when the overhead lights lit the room.

As his eyes adjusted, he noticed signs of Fiona's presence. Little things like a coffee cup on the tray on the ottoman by his oversized chair, a fuzzy beige throw cascading over the arm to the floor, as if someone had hastily gotten up, and the pink roses in a vase on the side table. He'd sent them a few days ago to cheer her up.

Fiona was introverted by nature, but being confined to the condo 24/7 made even her climb the walls. Other than the bedroom, his office was where she spent the most time. When he worked at home in the evening, she'd curl up in the big chair and read, content to be in his company.

He crossed to the chair and picked up the fuzzy blanket. He rubbed the fabric between his fingers. When it released a familiar scent, he brought it to his nose and inhaled. Hypnotic Passion, his birthday gift to her, the scent now synonymous with Fiona. She wore it every day, not so much because she liked it but because he did.

He buried his face in the fabric and breathed in her scent again. "Oh, kitten," he whispered, "what has he done with you?"

A noise in the empty apartment put him instantly on alert. He froze, listening, then called himself an idiot when the water for the ice maker in the freezer shut off.

Noah knew he should try to rest. Being on edge and sleep deprived wouldn't help him find her faster, but the thought of lying in bed while a vengeful lunatic held her captive was unimaginable. After a shower and a massive cup of coffee, he'd be good to go again.

He laid the throw over the arm of the chair like she had left it then switched off the light and left the room.

In his bedroom, he was shrugging out of his shirt, wincing as it pulled at his wounds, when a voice came out of the darkness. "Look, kitty cat. Master's home."

He searched the shadows with his weapon drawn, but the sight that greeted him when the bedside lamp switched on made him stand down and raise both hands in surrender.

"Don't hurt her," he stated, his calm tone belying the fear raging inside him.

"You mean you'd be upset if I sliced up your little kitty?" Jordan asked as he pressed the edge of a wicked-looking blade against Fiona's throat. He sat behind her in the bed, a hand in her hair pulling her head back. If she flinched, the knife could deliver a fatal cut.

"I have your money," Noah stated. "It's in a duffel in the front hall. Take it and go. If you don't hurt her, we'll end it there."

"What's keeping me from killing her, and you, then taking the money anyway?"

"You wouldn't be wanted for a double homicide."

His laughter, low and malicious, exposed his questionable sanity. "We both know that's not true."

With the knife still at her throat, he ran his other hand up Fiona's bare belly to her breast, where he squeezed harshly, making her whimper.

"I don't think I'll go just yet. I want to play with your kitty a bit more." He nodded at the chair at the foot of the bed. "Have a seat, Doc. But drop your gun and kick it across the room before you do."

Noah had no choice but to do what he asked, sliding the gun on the hardwood all the way to the bathroom door where he couldn't reach it. The wingback chair he folded himself into usually sat beside the other one at the window. The bastard had staged all this.

As Jordan wiggled out from behind Fiona, he produced a gun from the rumpled linens and aimed it directly at his chest. Even though the threat to him was real, his relief was immeasurable with the knife no longer at her throat.

"Big tough guy. Thinks his shit doesn't stink," Jordan sneered as he came toward him. "Rich and successful wasn't good enough. You had to be a military hero, a savior to poor kids around the world, and a fucking dom at my club. Do you know how many times subs turned me down on the off chance they might catch Doc's eye for the night? Then a juicy cunt comes along, and you take that from me, too. Greedy fuck. Must you have everything, even the unwanted scraps?"

Parra moved behind the chair and pressed the gun to his temple. "Put your hands behind your back," he ordered.

Noah's gaze met Fiona's as he did what he demanded. She was naked, bound and gagged like in the picture, and trembling. Then it struck him. It was exactly like in the picture. She'd been in his bed, lying on his sheets, and he hadn't noticed.

How was it possible? The fire department had swept the building.

"You've been here all along," Noah accused.

"Rossi Security," he smirked as he wrapped restraints attached to the chair legs around his wrists. "Everyone thinks you're a big fucking deal, but you couldn't find the bitch when she was right under your nose." He rose and surveyed his handiwork. "I found the cuffs in your club bag in the closet." Suddenly, Jordan bent at the waist, getting in his face. And he patted his cheek, matching the staccato rhythm of his words, "Thanks for your help, buddy."

Only the pats were more like hard slaps. Noah didn't react except to glare at him.

Laughing, he slowly circled the chair. "I had rope ready, but I was never any good with knots."

Noah's eyes returned to Fiona's, and he wondered if she realized the gift the crazed fucker had given them. He doubted it. She was breathing fast, her eyes darker than usual with dilated pupils, and her once-vibrant complexion pallid and chalky. She was likely in shock.

Jordan rounded the bed and set the gun on the nightstand. He picked up the knife again, and his gaze swept Fiona's body as if trying to decide where to begin.

Noah had options now, but he needed more time.

"How did you outsmart us? We never would have guessed you were holding her here. I live here and didn't."

"I had a little help from a friend. You might know her. She lives in the building."

He frowned. He wasn't home much and didn't know all of his neighbors, especially the new ones.

"She's not your type," Jordan went on as he ran the flat of the blade over Fiona's breast then circled the nipple with the tip. "She's skinny and shrill—a real cunt. You like 'em sweet"—the knife traveled down her stomach to the neat little brown triangle above her pussy before he added—"and ripe."

He flipped the blade end over end and caught it, miraculously without cutting himself. Holding it up, he eyed the gleaming steel, as he mused, "I didn't see any dildos or vibes in the bag. Pretty boy ain't much for toys, is he? Poor Sofia."

Noah's head jerked at the name. The sick fuck thought Fiona was his dead mother. The mother he had stabbed to death and buried in his backyard. Holy fuck!

Parra went on in a singsong voice, although his words dripped with malice. "What a shame. I guess I'll have to improvise."

The gag muffled Fiona's panicked cries as he wrapped his fingers around her inner thigh and pulled them farther apart. Noah knew as well as she did what he intended next.

He'd bought enough time to free his wrist from the broken cuff. Jordan thought he was so much smarter, but the idiot hadn't bound his feet. In one motion, he jumped up and swung the chair at Fiona's kidnapper's head and chest, careful to knock him away from rather than into her.

The force of the impact sent Jordan sprawling to the floor, and Noah was on top of him immediately after. One fist was all he needed. It connected with his jaw then his temple again and again.

When Parra lay motionless, he got up, preferring not to touch the piece of filth when unnecessary, but to get to the bed meant dragging the chair still attached to him.

He searched the floor for the knife, quickly cut through the cuff, and was at her side. He removed the gag, which released what had to be hours of pent-up emotions.

Instead of sobs, and pleas to be set free, she screamed, "Finish him! Or at least tie him up. Haven't you ever seen a horror movie?"

Noah knew when someone was unconscious but, to satisfy her, and the nagging doubt she'd instilled in him, he tied Jordan up with his own rope, which he found in a bag in the corner.

It took longer to release Fiona. He'd used thick hemp rope, and the knots weren't the quick release they used during a scene. He had to saw through them with Parra's knife, which he discovered wasn't as sharp as he'd initially thought.

As soon as the last rope fell away, she climbed him, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.

"Please, get me away from him," she sobbed.

Without hesitating, he stepped over the body on the floor and carried her down the hall to his office. He sat with her in the big chair and covered her with the soft blanket.

"I'll get blood on it," she protested.

"It will wash," he assured her, not sure that it would, but she was shaking, and he needed to get her warm.

While he held her close and rocked her, he called the Rossi control center who would make all the other necessary calls—911 for the police and an ambulance, Keiran and the team, and Brent Owens.

"Thank you for finding me, Noah," she whispered against his neck.

"I didn't, kitten—"

She flinched violently. The bastard had called her kitten and kitty, ruining that forever between them. Suppressing the overwhelming desire to return to the bedroom and beat him more, he replied calmly for her sake, "All I did was come home, baby."

"But he had a knife and a gun, and is out cold, tied up in there while I'm here, warm and safe in your arms. So, thank you for coming home and saving me, Noah."

He didn't deserve her praise, so he squeezed her in response. "I'm thankful I never got around to throwing out that broken set of cuffs. Jordan wasn't really a dominant. If he was, he would have realized the importance of checking his equipment."

"It sounds like we have a lot to be thankful for," she said, her arms flexing tighter around his neck. "I'm most thankful to have you."

Something he needed to know but didn't want to find out had to be addressed. "Fiona," he said as gently as he knew how, while his hand moved soothingly up and down her back, "did he hurt you aside from what was visible?"

"No," she whispered. "That would truly have been horrible."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, Noah. He wanted to hurt me, but, even more so, he wanted to save the...uh...festivities, until you arrived."

Her voice hadn't faded when a thunderous bang, loud enough to rattle the windows, resounded through the condo.

"That will be the Rossi cavalry," he assured her over her screams.

"Doc! Fiona!"

"In the office," he called in response to Samson's booming shout. "Hopefully, the ambulance is right behind them."

Still breathing hard from this last fright, she shook her head. "I'm okay. I don't need to go."

"I counted seven cuts without turning you over. They need to be cleaned, some may need to be stitched or glued, and you'll need antibiotics."

She sighed. "Can't you do it?"

"I'm a doctor, baby, not a pharmacy. They'll probably want to inject the first dose, at least."

"Yay," she replied unenthusiastically.

The boots pounding down the hallway stopped in the doorway.

"You'll find him tied up in the bedroom," Noah explained to Samson and Keiran.

When they moved on, Eric took their place. His gaze swept Fiona from head to toe, but she was almost entirely covered.

"Are we good in here?" he asked.

"She's got some cuts that need tending to. Send the paramedics in when they arrive."

He turned to glance down the hall at the faint wail of sirens. "I'll go direct them."

"Thanks. Can you do one more thing? Call Val. We're going to need a referral."

His eyes were gentle on her as he replied, "I'll do that no problem."

With the arrival of more voices, he left to take care of that, too.

When he was gone, Fiona insisted, "I told you he didn't do what you're thinking."

"I believe you, but that doesn't mean you won't relive this nightmare, at night and during waking hours. You already had an issue after the first time with him. This might make it worse, and it would probably be better to be proactive than reactive. Don't you think?"

Finally, her face came out of his neck. She looked at him through spiky lashes wet with tears, but with much more color in her cheeks. "Are you always right about everything?"

"I screw up like everyone else, which is why I want to be extra cautious with you on this."

"There is one thing. I don't think I'll be able to sleep in that bed again."

"I don't think I'll sleep again. Period."

With a look of concern for him, despite everything she'd just been through, she gently stroked his cheek and along his bearded jaw. "Maybe you need a referral, too."

He didn't agree or disagree, only closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers.