The man had to be referring to Lily. Panic gripped Chase. Was this thug planning to use her to get to him? The thought of some goon hurting her in the name of revenge made him break a cold sweat.
Too late, he saw the gun come up. He reached for the muzzle to deflect it, but because of his awkward position, he wasn’t fast enough. A second gunshot rent the night. The bullet struck his arm like a five-hundred-degree baseball bat slamming a home run. But he didn’t have time to feel the high-voltage shock of pain. The son of a bitch was already lining up for another shot.
Pulling away, Chase shoved the gearshift into Drive and floored the accelerator. The limo jumped forward like a big predator. The engine roared, the RPMs redlining. Chase cut the wheel. The front quarter panel clipped a streetlight. The limo spun. Chase saw the man slide across the backseat and crash into the door. Jamming the limo into Reverse, he hit the gas. The vehicle shot backward like a racehorse out of the gate and slammed into a parked car hard enough to whip his skull against the headrest.
Knowing this was probably his last chance to gain control of the situation, he reached for his own weapon beneath his seat and swung open the door. By the time he was out and had yanked open the passenger door, Michaels had slipped out the opposite side.
“Halt!” Assuming a shooter’s stance, Chase took aim over the limo’s roof and fired off three shots. But the man moved too fast, darting around cars and through the crowd. Within seconds, darkness swallowed him.
Chase stood trembling, wondering what the hell had just happened. The pain in his arm snapped him back to the situation at hand. He glanced down, saw blood soaking his sleeve.
“Damn,” he muttered. “Ruined my best shirt.”
But his mind churned with the threats the man had made.
I want you to be alive when we kill her.
The words echoed in his head like some terrible mantra. He hadn’t mentioned a name, but Chase knew the bastard was talking about Lily.
Jerking open the door, he slid behind the wheel. The engine had died. He turned the key and pumped the gas, but the motor only wheezed like a sick cow. Frustrated and more scared than he’d been in a very long time, he rapped his palm hard against the wheel.
“You picked a hell of a time to let me down, Irma.”
Chase threw open the door. Ignoring the blare of horns and throngs of stranded motorists, he broke into a dead run toward the only woman he’d ever loved.
IT WAS GOING TO BE a long night.
Lily Garrett rushed down the wide corridor toward Examination Room Two, her footfalls hushed on the tile floor. The hall was dimly lit, the only light coming from overhead emergency bulbs powered by generators that had kicked on automatically when the blackout hit.
She glanced at the wall clock to see it was just after four in the morning, and wondered vaguely when the power would be restored. An emergency room nurse at New England Medical Center, she’d been hard at it for sixteen hours. Her feet felt every hour she’d been on them. Being seven-and-a-half months pregnant wasn’t helping matters. Her stamina wasn’t what it used to be. Her body simply didn’t move as quickly as it once had. To make matters worse, the baby had chosen tonight of all nights to kick a field goal every minute or so.
As always, the thought of the child growing inside her made her think of Chase. For months she’d done her utmost to get him out of her mind, working many a night to the brink of collapse. When she wasn’t working, she spent much of her time with friends. Anything to fill up that great big hole in her life where he’d once been. But despite her efforts, he always found his way back. He was the kind of man a woman never forgot. The kind of man a woman went to her grave loving, no matter how many times he hurt her.
Damn Chase Vickers and his addiction to adrenaline.
Her decision to walk away hadn’t been an easy one. It wasn’t until she’d found out she was pregnant that she’d stuck to her guns and totally cut him out of her life. What kind of father would he make? The kind that turned a woman into a widow and left a child emotionally traumatized.
At any given time he was running off to war zones all over the globe. Any woman who loved him would always be left at home, wondering when he was going to come back. Wondering if he would come back. And she would inevitably pray that when he did, it wasn’t in a body bag.
Not Lily. She and her baby were better off alone. It wouldn’t be easy. But even as a single parent, she would be able to give her child stability. Chase Vickers didn’t know the meaning of the word.