Search and Rescue by April Wilson

Chapter 25

Hannah McIntyre

Being with Killian is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. He’s all-consuming. He’s all strength and power and stamina, and yet he’s also a considerate lover. Everything about Killian is big—his arms, his chest, his legs. And, appropriately, so is his cock. I noticed that when I rolled the condom onto him.

After Killian disposes of the condom in the bathroom, he crawls back into bed and lies close to my side. He presses a kiss to my temple, then runs his fingers through my hair. “If your brothers knew what I just did to you, they’d have my head.”

I laugh. “They’d probably give you a medal.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

“I mean it. They’ve been talking you up to me for months.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“I’m serious. Especially Shane.”

“I’ll be damned.”

“He thinks we have a lot in common.”

“We do.”

“My family doesn’t like the idea of me living out here all alone. They think I need a man to protect me.”

He chuckles. “I don’t think you need any help at all, unless you’re being chased by poachers.”

“Touché. I guess we all need someone at some time in our lives.”

He runs his finger lightly down the side of my face, tracing the curve of my cheek and following it down to my throat. “I admire you for following your own path in life,” he says. “That takes guts, and you have it in spades.”

I turn to face him and gaze up into his dark eyes. He has a handsome face, with strong cheekbones. When I cup his face and stroke his beard, which is surprisingly soft, he closes his eyes and leans into my hand.

Just looking at him makes me breathless. I let my fingers trace the outline of his biceps, then run my fingers down his forearm to his hand and link our fingers. His tatts are sexy as hell, full sleeves that end at his wrists. Just looking at him makes me hot and bothered.

I lie quietly, still feeling the residual pulses of desire coursing through my body. My sex is tingling still, and I feel a bit of a burn from being stretched.

Killian returns, sitting on my side of the bed holding a warm wet cloth, antibiotic ointment, and a fresh bandage. “Let me check your sutures.” He redresses my injury efficiently and effectively, like a battlefield nurse. Once that’s finished, he asks me if I need to use the restroom.

“Yes, I probably should.”

Without a word, he scoops me into his arms and carries me to the bathroom.

He doesn’t have to say a word. He sets me on my good foot in front of the toilet and leaves the room to wait out in the hallway, the door open. “Holler when you’re done, or if you need help.”

I laugh. “You’re a very practical man, Killian,” I say as I pee. “I appreciate that about you.”

When I’m done, I pull myself up onto my good foot and wash my hands. I also take the opportunity to brush my teeth again. “Can you grab my crutches, please?”

“You don’t need crutches when you have me.” And then he walks into the bathroom, as naked as the day he was born, and scoops me up in his brawny arms. I catch a glimpse of our reflection in the mirror, and my belly flutters deliciously. All that bare skin, and all those muscles. Swoon. It’s intoxicating.

He carries me to bed and lays me down gently, then climbs over me to his side of the bed. After arranging my cast on the pillow, he draws the bedding up over us and leans in to kiss the side of my neck, just below my ear. I shiver in response and suck in a dizzying breath.

“I told Owen about us today. Cameron, too.”

I smile. It’s like we’re in middle school. “I told Maggie.”

Seeming satisfied with that announcement, he nods. “Good. They might as well know we’re together—because we are, right?” His gaze locks onto me with the singular focus of a laser.

I can’t believe I’m going to say this. I can’t believe I’m doing this. Because even though I think this might be a bad idea—even though I’m afraid he’ll regret it—I can’t walk away from this chance to be with the most exciting man I’ve ever known. “Yeah, we are.”

He nods, apparently satisfied with my response. “Just wanted to make sure we’re on the same page. Tu es ma petite amie, oui?”

“I’m your girlfriend?” My French is rusty, but I think that’s what he said.

He nods.

“Then, yes, I am.”

He reaches past me to turn off the lamp and settles beside me in bed. “Bon soir, Hannah.”

“Goodnight, Killian.”

Scout jumps onto the bed and curls up at our feet, and we’re one big happy family.

* * *

I wake with a panic, clawing at the hand that’s covering my mouth.

“Shh,” comes a low whisper in the darkness. He sucks in a breath—I think I drew blood. “Don’t make a sound.”

Killian slowly removes his hand from over my mouth. “The cameras are going apeshit.” He holds up his phone and shows me the series of alert notifications taking up his phone screen. “Someone’s outside.”

As he quietly gets out of bed, I glance at the digital clock on my nightstand. It’s three-thirty. No one should be outside my cabin at this god-awful hour. I sit up and turn so that my good foot is on the floor and I’m able to open the second drawer of my nightstand and grab my spare handgun.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Killian yanking on his black boxer-briefs. He grabs a tee and a pair of jeans off the floor and dons them quickly.

“Where are my underwear?” I mutter as I hunt around in the dark.

Killian tosses them to me. “Get dressed quietly and stay in the bedroom with Scout.” When he comes to me, he’s dressed, and his gun is holstered onto his chest. I watch in the dim lighting as he inserts an earpiece then clips a small black radio to his jeans. He tucks my hair behind one ear and inserts a similar device in mine, then hands me the radio.

He grabs my underwear off the floor and works the left leg hole over my cast. I slip my right foot into the other leg hole and pull them up. He grabs a pair of my knit shorts lying on the seat of a chair and does the same, helping me dress quickly. He clips a radio to my waistband and switches it on.

“Can you hear me?” he whispers.

I nod as I adjust the earpiece and click the mic button. “Yes. I mean copy.”

He starts to move to the door, but I snag his hand. “I’m coming with you,” I hiss.

He grasps my jaw firmly and stares hard into my eyes. “You stay right here, love.” His voice is sharp. He cups my face and leans in to kiss my forehead. “I mean it, Hannah. You stay.” And then he’s gone, shutting the door quietly behind him.

“Fuck that,” I mutter as I retrieve my crutches and push myself up onto my feet. I swing over to the only window in the bedroom and, standing to the side, crack the curtain just enough that I can peer out into the night. Thanks to heavy cloud cover tonight, there’s not much moonlight to speak of. Scout paces in front of the bedroom door, huffing softly, and I listen for any sounds coming from outside. I hear nothing.

I’m not about to sit in here like a good little girl while Killian takes all the risk. If the poachers are here, there are at least two of them, possibly more. That’s two-to-one, not in Killian’s favor. If I help him, at least we can even the score.

“I count at least two at the tree line,” he says quietly in my earpiece. “And I see the front bumper of the black SUV. I want you to call the sheriff’s office.”

“Roger,” I say as I grab my phone and put it on silent. I’ve got Sheriff Nelson’s office on speed dial. When a dispatcher answers, I fill her in. Then I tuck my phone into my pocket.

“Done,” I tell him over the radio.

“Good. Now hunker down and stay out of sight. I’ll hold them off until reinforcements arrive.”

I never was one to follow instructions—just ask my parents. I crack open the bedroom door and listen. Nothing. Scout is eager to break out of the room, but I hold him back with one of my crutches. If anyone’s going to get shot, it’s a hotheaded puppy barking his head off at armed strangers.

Carefully, I slip through the door and close it behind me, shutting Scout in. Fortunately, he doesn’t bark.

The cabin interior is dark, but I know my way around by heart. I shuffle down the hallway to the living area. There’s barely any moonlight coming through the front windows, but it’s enough that I can see that my shotgun is missing from the rack on the wall. And there’s no sign of Killian in the cabin. He must be outside already. Damn it! He’s out there alone, with no backup.

My heart practically stops when I hear two shots in rapid succession, then three more, followed by a muffled grunt of pain.

Shit!

I creep toward the living room window to peer outside. From where I’m standing, the porch is empty. There’s no sign of Killian or the poachers. I’m working in the dark here, and I don’t know how to help him.

Then I remember the app on my phone that shows the surveillance camera feeds. I open it and quickly flip through the live feeds—one just down the lane, showing the front end of a black SUV. There are feeds showing all four sides of the cabin, plus two encompassing the big front yard.

I don’t see anyone, which makes it difficult for me to know what I should do. I don’t see anyone behind the cabin, but I can’t very well climb out a window with a broken ankle. My only way of getting out is through the front door, and that might make me a sitting duck—which would only endanger Killian in the process.

I spot movement along the side of my Jeep—it’s Killian. He’s facing the SUV. The intruders must be behind their vehicle.

When Killian raises his head just enough to see over the hood of the Jeep, two more shots are fired from the direction of the other vehicle. Killian drops back down after firing a shot of his own. It’s a stand-off, two against one. He’s keeping them from coming closer to the cabin.

If it weren’t for my ankle, I could slip out a back window and make my way through the woods and come up behind the poachers. Then we’d have them cut off, trapped between us, and we’d just have to hold them there until the cops arrived.

The radio crackles quietly, and then I hear Killian’s voice. “Stay in the bedroom.” His voice is calm and quiet. “Owen’s on his way. Please don’t shoot him.”

I suppress a laugh. “Copy.”

Then we hear police sirens, multiple vehicles approaching, followed by the sound of an engine revving as the SUV makes a three-point turn and heads back down the lane to the main road, away from the cabin. Undoubtedly, they’re hoping they can disappear before the cops pen them in.

When Killian stands, his posture relaxed, it’s my signal that they’re gone.

I open the front door and swing out onto the porch. “Chickenshits.”

He comes up onto the porch, taking the steps two at a time, and walks me back into the cabin, shutting the door behind us and barring it. He leans down to get in my face. “What the hell happened to staying in the bedroom?” he growls at me.

“It was two against one. That’s hardly fair.”

He starts to retort but, instead, snaps his jaws shut and shakes his head. “I guess it’s to be expected.”

“What is?”

“That you don’t listen. You’re a McIntyre. It’s in your DNA.”

“Killian, I am not about to sit back and let—”

Lifting me, he sits me on the table and steps between my legs. “Of course not. You’re a force of nature, and that’s what I love about you.” He steps closer, pressing himself against me and wrapping me in his strong arms. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“No. My ankle is fine.” I’m ignoring the fact that he said the L-word. He doesn’t seem one bit fazed by what he said. He doesn’t even attempt to take it back or make a joke of it. Instead, his fingers thread through my hair, and he kisses me. Not a light kiss, but a deep, soulful kiss that does something to me. My chest tightens, and I can’t catch my breath.

Headlights flood the front of the cabin as several cars pull into the yard. Killian abandons me momentarily to glance outside. “Two police cruisers and Owen. Looks like the chickenshits got away.”

That makes me chuckle.

He returns to the table and sets me on my good foot before he hands me my crutches. “Come on, McIntyre.”

I like that. I think if he’d called me baby or sweetie, I might have punched him.

By the time I make my way outside onto the porch, Killian is deep in conversation with three uniformed deputies, Sheriff Nelson—who must have been roused from a sound sleep because he’s out of uniform and his hair is sticking up in tufts—and Owen, who looks equally disheveled.

Owen glances my way and gives me a silent nod, which I return.

I guess if the poachers are here, they can’t be harassing Maggie. Still, I worry about her. I motion Owen over, and he joins me on the porch. “If you’re here, who’s with Maggie?”

“Ruth is with Maggie and the boys. Between the four of them, they’re armed to the teeth.”

“Good. I just wanted to be sure. Thanks for watching out for my friend.”

Look a bit bashful, he nods. “You don’t need to thank me. I’m happy to do it.” He glances out into the yard at Killian and the officers. “It looks like you’re in good hands here, so I should get back.” He turns to go.

As Owen walks to his vehicle, Killian joins me on the porch, slipping his arm around me and drawing me close. We wave as the sheriff and deputies leave, Owen, too.

Killian nudges the cabin open, then swings me up into his arms and carries me inside. I laugh as I grapple with the crutches.

“Back to bed with you,” Killian says, carrying me to the bedroom.