And what a homecoming it had been, so perfect, and somehow he'd felt like a freaking black cloud walking through the clean light of his house. Like now, standing in the hall, wanting to go back up those stairs and wondering if staying away was better for her in the long run.
He glanced upstairs, frowning. Had he started to understand, then, this deeper love he felt? God knows it confused the hell out of him now, and he'd been too much of a mess then to process much of anything.
Holy crap. He slumped against the wall, bracing his foot on the banister across from him for support. He hadn't walked away to protect her. He'd left because the dawning realization of how much he loved her scared the hell out of him.
He couldn't reconcile it all then. Still wasn't sure he could.
Except now, he wanted to.
At least he was home. Alive. He could—and damn well would—deal with the rest. Once he got his head on straight. He needed five minutes to pull it together again and then he'd go back upstairs for damage control.
He opened his office door.
To find a man dressed in black and a ski mask sitting at his desk, rifling through drawers. What the hell?
The man looked up, eyes narrowed in the ski-mask slits. Anger, rage, raw emotions still stark and ugly on the surface roared to life. J.T. launched forward.
The man's hand slid into sight—holding a Glock, the big nasty-looking 9mm stalling J.T. quicker than a brick wall in the face.
The dark eyes blinked from inside the mask. "Well, hello, Sergeant. I was hoping to finish up here before you came in, hut now we're out of luck."
Options raced through his head. If he called a warning, Rena would come downstairs. As much as he hated having made her cry, at least it might keep her safely upstairs.
One-on-one odds he could handle. Hell, right now he welcomed the chance to fight back, better than being stuck in a cell with his hands tied behind his back.
The man's attention shifted. J.T.'s muscles bunched for action.
The gun twitched. "Well, hello there, ma'am."
Ma'am? Rena? Adrenaline turned to icy heat. A trick? Maybe, but with that gun possibly pointed at Rena, J.T. couldn't afford to act until … he … looked…
At his wife standing red-eyed and horrified in the doorway.
Oh God, babe, I'm sorry.
Pain exploded in his head. J.T. managed a half turn toward his attacker before…
Everything went dark.
Chapter 15
Rena screamed. Ran forward. Tried to catch J.T. as he fell toward the ground. God, he was heavy. She crumpled to the floor with him, hard, but at least she'd kept him from cracking his head on the desk on the way down.
As if he hadn't already taken a hard enough hit to the skull when the guy looming in dark clothes and a ski mask had knocked J.T. out with the butt of his gun. Bile bubbled up, scalding her throat.
She cradled her husband's head in her lap, fear snaking through her, gripping, like poison ivy to fertile ground. "Take whatever you want. I'll tell you where everything is in the house, the keys to the car. Just take it all and go, but please don't hurt us."
Don't hurt J.T. again.
Gun level, the lean man skirted around the corner of the desk. "I need your husband's flight schedule, ma'am, for tonight and tomorrow, and then I'm out of here. Out of your hair. It's really simple, actually. I have everything under control."
What the hell did this guy want with a flight schedule? His flat accent gave her no hints of his background other than that he sounded educated, not some street thug in search of a quick pawn. Something niggled at her about his voice, but she couldn't place him as anyone she knew well.
Rena studied his clothes for clues, black pleated pants and T-shirt, nice cut and make on a tall, fit frame. Not someone she had any real hope of taking out.
Her world had gone crazy in a couple of weeks.
She didn't know why this man had a gun pointed at her, but she knew enough to realize this was bad. Really bad. "And if I find whatever schedule it is you're looking for, you'll let us live?"