Safe at Last (Slow Burn 3)

Well, he’d certainly been right on that count. Because even when she’d disappeared, everything had revolved around finding her again.

He’d planned their lives together to the nth degree. He wanted her to have everything she could ever dream of. Though he planned to always take care of and provide for her, he knew an education was important to her. Her circumstances embarrassed and shamed her. He hated that, hated that he couldn’t take that away for her. He didn’t care if she had a degree or not. He knew he’d make good money playing pro ball and that she and their children would never want for anything he could give them.

But at the same time, he wanted her happy. And so they’d talked about her going to college after she graduated from high school. They were young. Had all the time in the world—or so he’d thought. No need to rush anything. He wanted her to have security. So she’d attend college, earn her degree, and only after would they think about having children.

Honestly, waiting to have children wasn’t an issue for Zack. Yes, he had it all planned. But he wanted those years with Gracie—just the two of them—before they added children to their family.

Maybe he’d been so wrapped up in the future that he hadn’t been paying enough attention to the present. Obviously something had gone extremely wrong. Something he’d been oblivious to, because he’d never seen this coming. He’d never forget the shock of finding her gone. Vanished. And the incessant question, one he’d hammered on repeatedly for the next twelve years. Why?

By the time he jogged through his complex toward the east wing, which was made up of three-level town houses, dusk had faded to night. His breath blew in a cloud and the evening air brushing his sweat-glistening skin caused a cascade of goose bumps over his arms.

He slowed to a walk when he neared the gate leading to his unit. Though the town homes were connected, the front and back yards were separated by privacy fences. And the gate at the end of the paved walkway to his front porch was opened via a security code.

He frowned when he saw the display was completely dead. Just what he needed. To be locked out of his own goddamn apartment. Frustration coiled through his blood like a venomous snake. He slammed his fist against the gate with an emphatic curse.

To his surprise, the gate wobbled and opened a few inches. Zack frowned, wondering just how good the supposedly high-tech security features actually were in this joint. Well, he wouldn’t bitch too much. Having the gate open saved him the hassle of contacting the manager and being able to get into his own goddamn house.

His motion-activated lights were obviously a victim of whatever was wrong with the gate. A prickle of unease raced up his spine. His head came up, his nostrils flaring as he scanned the dark exterior of the house. The light was on in the midlevel TV room. But the outside light that illuminated the steps to the porch, and which he always left on, was off.

Cursing the fact that he didn’t have his pistol, he paused at the bottom step. From his periphery, a shadowy form came into focus. His head yanked in that direction and he tensed, prepared to defend himself.

He blinked to narrow his focus and realized that he was looking at a person, obviously unconscious—or dead? Sprawled a few feet from the bottom step, hidden from the street by shrubbery, was a human body. It had to be a woman or a very small man. The only thing readily visible was two bare feet.

His pulse accelerated and he rushed to the body, his chest hammering in fear as he reached to turn the person over. The head lolled as he rolled her to her back and then all his breath left him when he saw who the person was. Oh God. Oh God. No. Please no.

“Gracie!”

Her name escaped him in an agonized cry.

His heart nearly exploded in his chest. He let out his breath in a long, visible cloud. His vision swam with moisture and he blinked, needing to see how badly she was hurt.

Oh dear Lord. She was beaten. Badly. Bruises marked and colored her swollen features. Dried blood was smeared down her chin and neck. Worse, her hands were tied behind her back. She’d had no way to defend herself. No way to ward off the blows she’d received.

Bile rose in his throat and it took every ounce of strength not to throw up. Tears burned his eyelids. His hand shook violently as he fumbled at her neck for a pulse. Let her be alive. Don’t let him have found her after twelve long years only to lose her again.

With his other hand, he gently smoothed her hair from her face, wincing when he saw the extent of the bruising. God, where could he even touch her? What if she’d sustained internal injuries? She could be bleeding. He could still lose her!

He nearly wilted with relief when he felt the faint, erratic patter of her pulse. And then he shook the shock and utter confusion away and bolted into action. He yanked his cell phone up and quickly dialed 911.

As he spoke with the dispatcher, providing his location and Gracie’s condition, he tried to make Gracie as comfortable as possible without moving her too much. The last thing he wanted was to cause her further harm by doing something careless.

His call ended, and he tossed the phone down so he could focus more carefully on Gracie. He bent down and gathered her gently against his chest, hoping his body heat would offer her some respite from the damp chill. He tugged at the ropes that had cut into her wrists. Then he frowned when he felt the rough abrasions on her skin.

She was so still. One could easily believe she was dead. Her breaths were so light that her chest barely made any movement at all. They were also shallow. He knew she needed oxygen and silently urged the ambulance to get there as fast as possible.

When he’d arranged her head so that it wasn’t at such an awkward angle, he quickly assessed the rest of her body, his heart in his throat. Nothing looked broken, but how was he to know?

And then something else caught his eyes. Something familiar. He went utterly still, his gaze fastening on the tag affixed to her toe. No. Oh hell no. There was no fucking way.

An inarticulate sound of rage erupted from his throat as he ran his hand down her leg, checking for further injury before he carefully detached the tag from her toe. He was careful to only touch what was necessary and then he read the scrawled words, the now-familiar handwriting like salt poured on an already festering wound.

This is what happens to people who get in our way.

Son of a bitch! Gracie had been targeted because of him. He’d led the enemy straight to her! How could he have known?

His entire body was flushed with heat—rage. His skin and heart burned with it.