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  "Cory, isn't that—"

  Cory was already out of his seat and headed for the door to the station bays. Yes, it was his address. A breaking and entering with injuries and, dear God, possible—

  "Nox, don't you fucking pull out without me." Max yelled across the station even as he ran to catch up.

  Cory shut off his thoughts. "Then you better hurry, Lieutenant," he fired back as he slid behind the wheel of the Rescue truck. He might pay hell for disrespecting a superior later, but right now, rank was the last thing on his mind. Operating on both adrenaline and fear, he had the truck moving before Max reached the passenger’s side. Terri was nowhere in sight.

  "God dammit, Nox, I told you to wait." Max's reprimand fell on deaf ears as he jumped into the truck.

  Cory didn't hesitate. He flicked the switch for the lights, grabbed the radio from its holder, and tossed it to Max even as he steered the truck onto the road, siren blazing. "Call us in route," he shot curtly at Max. "That's my house."

  "Mine too, dumbass, and Rayne is my sister." Into the mic, Max said, "Rescue 4 in route."

  Hearing her name sent a razor sharp dagger of terror slicing through Cory. Yeah, he and Max both feared the same thing. Max was the one with balls big enough to say it.

  "It has to be her. Who else could it be? But what would she be doing at the apartment? She's supposed to be on a photo shoot with Karlston."

  "I thought she was safe," Cory muttered more to himself than to Max. Christ, he hadn't truly thought she was in any real danger. B and E with injuries, possible fa―He couldn't even finish thinking the word. Memories swamped him, the dispatched voice of another call, other injuries, and other possibilities.

  "No!" He slapped the steering wheel and pressed harder on the gas. That was then. This was now. It wasn't the same call and it wouldn't be the same outcome. He wouldn't lose her, too. If he did, he might never recover.

  * * * *

  Ford steadied himself as he hopped out of the car, simultaneously pulling his weapon from his shoulder holster, and scanning the immediate surroundings. Not an open stretch of highway lined with thick trees, he noted in an attempt to ward off that particular picture. What he saw instead was a parking lot with a scatter of people starting to gather and an apartment building with the door hanging open. Not the scene of a terrible car accident that would change so many lives, but a scene of violence and possible life altering events, nevertheless.

  Rayne was inside. He knew it in his gut, his bones, and his heart. The call had come through the police radios, a B and E—breaking and entering—with injuries and possible fatalities. He'd known. Instantly, he'd known it must be her. Dear God, it was happening again, except it wasn't. This time was no accident. This time was his fault.

  "Get control of this crowd." He barked orders to Theresa Keaton as the officer came up at his side, her own weapon drawn and at the ready. She wanted to go in, to be part of whatever action awaited them inside, but she didn't argue. Smart rookie. She'd get her chance someday. Today's scene belonged to him, his place, his woman inside.

  "Yes, sir. Don't go in there alone, Detective." Tess's voice rang with as much command as there had been in his. Yeah, she might be new to the job, but she could already read him like a book. "Detective Becket and Agents Cosmos and Bingham are right behind you."

  Ford barely had a second to turn before, indeed, Michael Cosmos was there. He flicked his gaze to the street as the sound of more approaching sirens split the afternoon air and saw Cory behind the wheel of the Rescue truck, Max with him in the passenger’s seat.

  Ford turned to Cosmos. "We won't be able to keep them out." He didn't have to say names for the agent to know who he meant.

  "Then we better get this place secure as quickly as possible."

  Ford nodded, turned, and found Tess standing in his path. "The elderly lady over there," she pointed and kept talking, "says she's your downstairs neighbor. She's the one who made the call. She heard something that sounded like a pop, maybe a silenced pistol, a few muffled cries, and some loud banging as if something or someone hit the wall. She didn't see anyone, but she's certain whoever they were, they're gone."

  "Good job, Keaton." He shot a glance over his shoulder at Cosmos. "You hear that?"

  "Yeah, I heard it. You and I will go in together. Becket and Bingham are circling around back, just in case."

  Ford didn't waste any more time discussing it. His grip firm on the butt of his gun, he moved inside. Both doors to the downstairs apartments were closed. A quick check revealed them to be locked tight. Another glance over his shoulder to Cosmos, a slight tip of his head toward the stairs, and the other man nodded.

  Back to the wall, Ford slowly climbed the stairs. He scanned for any sign of movement. He trained his ears for any sound but heard nothing. He topped the stairs and motioned for Cosmos to take the lead. Stealthy, Cosmos stepped past Ford, his weapon up and out as he turned the banister of the staircase and moved against the opposite wall. He cast a silent questioning look at Ford. Which apartment? The doors to both stood open, Ford's apartment door gaped wide while the one to Max's apartment stood only ajar. Ford's gaze dropped and he spotted the shadow of something on the carpet inside his and Cory's apartment. He angled his chin toward it and Cosmos looked, too. He gave a single brisk nod. Ford eased to the open doorway. Cosmos stayed half against the wall, half not, covering Ford's back from the as of yet unchecked apartment across the hall as well as Ford's front as Ford stepped into view of anyone inside his own apartment.

  "Shit." Ford knelt beside an unmoving David Karlston even as his gaze searched the room for intruders. The living room was trashed. He caught that in a glance. The cushions had been thrown from the sofa, the coffee table upended, movies yanked from the video cabinets and slung around the room. Could that be the something his downstairs neighbor heard hitting the wall?

  "Is he alive?" Cosmos's voice came barely louder than a whisper, his gun now trained at the open door across the hall.

  Ford touched the man's neck, felt a pulse strong and consistent. "Yeah, but unconscious." He started to stand when Cory appeared at the top of the stairs, Max close at his heels, and Terri Vega behind him. Their gazes met and a myriad of memories and emotions passed in that few short fractions of a second.

  "Rayne?"

  Ford read the name on Cory's lips rather than hearing it. "I haven't found her yet. Karlston's out cold. He needs medical attention."

  "If you'll let me through, I'll take care of him," Terri started to move, but Cosmos held up a hand.

  "This top floor isn’t secure. We need more officers in here."

  As if summoned by will alone, Bingham and Becket came up the stairs.

  "Stay there until we check out Max's apartment," Ford told the firefighters. Mirroring ‘To-hell-I-will’ expressions crossed both Cory's and Max's faces, but both men wisely didn't argue. "Bingham, Becket, check out the rest of the rooms in this apartment." He moved out of the way and Bingham went in cautious but fast, Becket at his back, both with weapons drawn. He let Cosmos take the lead, flanking the right side of the slightly open door to the apartment across the hall. Cosmos backed against the left and pushed it open further with the barrel of his gun.

  He spotted her immediately. Her sprawled and unmoving form felt like a knife to his heart. Sunshine sat at her side. The little dog whimpered when it saw Ford and nudged at Rayne’s lifeless body with its nose.

  Ford wanted to rush to them. He wanted to draw Rayne into his arms. He wanted to assure himself she was okay, that she was alive. Instead, he met Cosmos's gaze. The other man went in first, his gun out and sweeping the area as he took slow steps inside. Ford moved in after him, remembering his training, forcing himself to do his job instead of going straight to Rayne as he needed desperately to do.

  They checked the apartment together, rotating the frontline, watching the other's back, until they knew for certain each room was secure. Outside the spare bedroom Cosmos turned to him. "Computer tower is g
one, but there's no one here. Get the medics in here. Take care of your girl."

  Ford holstered his weapon even as he ran back through the apartment to Rayne. "Cory, get in here. Rayne's hurt." He sank to his knees beside her and, Christ, the bastards had beaten her bad. He didn't know where to touch her. Behind him, Cory made a sound he’d only heard the man make once, when they came in contact with the sight of the first woman they loved bloody and broken.

  * * * *

  Rayne heard her name, faint but insistent. First Cory's voice and then Ford's, pulling her back, reeling her through the deep pit of darkness like a fish on a hook. She went willingly, knowing instinctively she needed to follow. But then she stopped, falling back again as the pain slammed into her.

  "Rayne, can you hear me?" Cory's soft, soothing tone, always gentle and very loving. Yes, she heard him.

  "Come back to us, baby." She heard Ford's voice, just as soft but with a gentle command she recognized so well. She wanted to do as he told her, but going back would mean feeling all that pain again. God, it hurt!

  "We have to move her." Cory's voice again and, was that his hands on her neck, her arm, circling her wrist? She felt the contact a mere heartbeat before the pain returned. She tried to fall back, tried to sink into the comfort of the darkness where there was no ache, but his touch kept her grounded.

  "Is she stable enough?" Ford's question came louder, clearer, as did the pain. She stopped trying to bury herself in the shadows of her mind, knowing that particular escape was too far away now.

  "No." She tried to say it, but couldn't be sure it came out as more than a moan. It sounded lucid in her head, but her throat felt like sandpaper and each breath seemed to be a test of her tolerance for pain. Whatever the sound she managed to make, the hands on her body stilled.

  "Rayne, baby, can you hear us?"

  She opened her eyes and immediately wished she hadn't. With them closed, she at least had the illusion of blocking out the throbbing in her body. Open now, she felt every pulse, every ache, and every break. Her vision wasn't in much better shape. A kaleidoscope of blurs and lights made her struggle to focus. Slowly, everything cleared and dimmed until she saw Cory looking down at her.

  "There you are." His lips spread into a shaky smile, but worry lines etched his handsome face and tears glistened in the sparkling green pools of his eyes. "You had me worried for a few minutes."

  Rayne licked her lips and winced when her tongue raked over the busted, swollen corner of her mouth. "Hurts." She managed to whisper the word, her voice cracking and barely audible to her own ears. Cory, however, had no trouble understanding her. She watched in almost absent amazement as his face contorted, nearly crumbling before he composed himself and nodded.

  "I know, sweetheart. I'll give you something for the pain as soon as we get you to the ambulance waiting outside."

  “Sunshine?”

  “One of the other detectives took her to Mrs. Svergie, the downstairs neighbor. She’ll take care of her until we come get her.”

  "I don't suppose you could bring the ambulance to me instead." It was hard to talk, harder to breathe. Still, it was worth the pain when her words drew a shaky chuckle from Cory's lips.

  "Wish we could, darling, but I don't think it'll work." Ford's face appeared in her vision, his whisky eyes dark with worry and a pain that mirrored everything she felt. "Despite their band-aid buggy nickname, ambulances are a bit larger than a band-aid box. The hallway out there, however, isn't."

  "Oh, well, it was worth," she stopped, swallowed, winced, "worth a try. I'm mad at you, by the way."

  Ford closed his eyes and nodded. When he looked at her again, the worry she'd seen had been replaced by an apology so intense, it nearly broke her heart. "You have every right to be. I should've protected you, should've taken the threat more seriously. I knew you could be in danger and—" He broke off, shaking his head.

  He thought she was mad at him because Phay's men beat her up. He thought she blamed him. She opened her mouth, unsure of exactly what she wanted to say, how to correct his assumption, but Cory cut her off.

  "Later," he said to Ford. Then his attention shifted to her. "Right now, we need to get you out of here and to the hospital. It's going to hurt when we move you."

  "Do you have someone else you're mad at?" a female voice asked.

  Rayne shifted her gaze over as Terri Vega's head came into view beside Cory's. The other woman's hair was pulled back, her face made up in light, neutral tones, her lips curved in a comforting and friendly smile. "Yeah, you," she told the female EMT with as much feigned dislike as she could muster. It wasn't much. "I look like shit right now and you look perfect."

  That got her a laugh from Terri and the men.

  "Honey, you look worse than shit right now," Terri told her helpfully. "But that's okay. Be angry at me and focus on that instead of how bad it hurts."

  "I'm mad at Foul Smell, too." Rayne tried to wrinkle her nose, remembering the awful stench of the brute's breath. Her anger only intensified when the razor sharp sting sliced through her face. That bastard Roumduol had broken her freaking nose! "The fucker took the tower to Max's computer and my camera, too."

  "Even better." Terri grinned. "Curse at him, rant and rave a little if you want. Think about shoving that computer tower up his n—" She stopped abruptly and Rayne knew the woman had been about to say nose. Not a good place to think about when Rayne's nose was broken.

  "Up the tiny hole in the tip of his equally tiny cock," Rayne finished for her.

  "Ooo, she's vicious." Terri laughed.

  "You have no idea," Ford and Cory said in unison.

  "The ambulance is ready to roll as soon as we get you down there. I've got a stretcher right here," Terri told her. "Cory and I are going to lift you on to it, okay?"

  "I think your right wrist is broken," Ford said. He guided her right arm to bend, easing her injured wrist onto her stomach. "Try to keep it resting here if you can. Does it hurt to put it here?"

  "No." Wow! She must really be in bad shape if he was afraid holding her own wrist to her middle would hurt that bad. She knew her nose had to be broken, knew her cheek was likely the size of a softball. She thought she could feel a mirroring softball on the back of her head, probably where she'd landed against the wall. Her stomach hurt, her midsection bruised from the punch to the solar plexus Roumduol had given her. Her chest ached, too, and a spot just below her breasts burned like mad. Broken rib? Probably.

  "Brace yourself," Cory instructed as he positioned himself on her right, Terri moving to her left. "On three."

  "Wait!" Rayne stopped them, suddenly remembering. "David? Is he all right? Is he…" Dead. She couldn't finish the question.

  "He's all right," a new voice told her. It was a voice she'd heard through all its irritating stages of life and, just now, one of the most beautiful voices she'd ever heard.

  "Max." She managed a tiny smile.

  "I'm here, sis. Staying out of the way to let these guys take care of you. You're in good hands with Nox and Vega here. David's on his way to the hospital, too. A concussion and a few bruises."

  "He got off lucky then," she kidded but relief warmed her veins.

  "Yeah, in comparison, he got off real lucky."

  "They wanted the pictures."

  "We know." Ford gently touched her uninjured cheek. "Don't talk about it right now, okay."

  Rayne looked at him. "He, Roumduol, said to give a message to some guy named Cosmo. Do you know a Cosmo?"

  Ford nodded. "Michael Cosmos, he's with the DEA."

  "Roumduol said to tell him to stay out of their way or they would come for him next." Ford's gaze flicked up and to the left and she figured he was looking at someone, maybe this Michael Cosmos. Then he looked at her again, those tender eyes burning her with their intensity and love.

  "I'll tell him. Now, you go to the hospital and get fixed up. I love you, baby." He leaned down and brushed a featherlike kiss to her forehead.

  Rayne's
throat tightened. Even now, through all the pain wracking her body, seeing all the concern on his face, hearing it in his voice, she had to wonder was it her he loved or his memory of Paula?

  * * * *

  Michael got the message. Not that it concerned him much. He'd been threatened plenty in his years with the DEA. He figured it came with the territory, saw it as much a part of his job as his badge and gun. True, some threats were more serious than others. He knew this latest one from Phay's cartel was not one to be taken lightly. Already, Phay's men had gone after Ryan Magee, a direct result of one of the former Naval officer's last ops with the SEALs. He'd been easily accessible now that he'd left the team. Or at least Ving Kim Phay had thought. But Michael knew, once a SEAL meant always a SEAL, even if the man was no longer employed by the US Navy.

  The team had come to Magee's rescue, put a gigantic gaping hole in Phay's plans, and likely cemented further in stone Phay's vendetta to get them one way or another. The SEALs had sent him scrambling underground for years. A fact Phay was determined to make them pay for. And apparently, Michael's name had been added to the drug lord's revenge list. No doubt because Michael had played intricate parts in both the mucking up of Phay's plans on the docks six months ago as well as the deals going down here and now.

  It wasn't over. He knew that as certainly as he knew his own name. Causing Roumduol to run, to kill off Minh, to abandon whatever current setups he'd been making for future drug drops only succeeded in throwing a pebble in Phay's path. A pebble he would likely and rather easily go around at the first opportunity. Already, a part of Michael's brain was working out the logistics to take Phay and his entire cartel down. He didn't want them scrambling this time, running underground. He wanted them down and he wanted them out, permanently.

  Michael stepped up to the ticket window outside the multiplex and spoke through the small circular speaker box in the glass, sliding the appropriate bills into the concave slot. The actions came almost second nature, which surprised him. When was the last time he'd actually gone to the theater to see a movie?