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Could she keep them from destroying it?
For the first time in years Alyssa had slept in a bed the night before. Sheltered between Shane and Sebastian, warm, secure. When she’d been certain she could never sleep with them surrounding her, she’d slept deeper than she had since returning from Spain.
For once in eight years the total aloneness she had felt had been absent.
But, as she stepped from the curb, she realized she was just as alone now as she had always been. She hadn’t found the courage to live again after losing so much. Not really.
At that thought the sound of a woman’s terrified screams pulled Alyssa quickly from her musings. Whirling around in shock, she felt horror slam inside her. The black SUV bearing down on her with frightening speed had her freezing for a precious moment.
A hit-and-run? Really? Today of all days?
That astounded thought raced through her as she tried to throw herself out of the path of the oncoming vehicle only to have it swing in her direction once again. The driver was determined to run her down, she realized, feeling herself flying through the air, she was dead.
*
Shane curled his body around the delicate fragility of Alyssa’s as he took the brunt of the fall, attempting to cushion her from the sudden, bruising tackle he’d made to push her out of the SUV’s path.
As he raced for her, he’d taken in every particle of information possible. The make and model of the vehicle, the driver with his dark glasses and dark jacket. There was a sticker on the window, a parking sticker, though the details were blurry.
Shane could hear the shouted orders of the several men following her before his body hit the sidewalk and from his periphery he realized the two men had drawn weapons as tires screamed behind him.
The bastard meant to swerve and come back for her? Son of a bitch, that took balls. A scream of tires and the sound of the racing motor disappearing in the distance assured him Alyssa’s would-be murderer was escaping.
“No plates,” he heard one of the men shout. “Call Mustafa.”
Mustafa? Khalid Mustafa?
Rolling from his back, one hand cushioning Alyssa’s head, he laid her back on the pavement, his heart suddenly in his throat as he realized she was unconscious.
“Alyssa? Baby, wake up.” His hands raced over her body, searching for wounds, broken bones, whatever could explain her lack of awareness. “God…”
Her pulse was present, a bit thready but not alarmingly so. Her heart was beating; there were no gunshot wounds, nothing to explain—. As his hands moved to the back of her head he felt the slightly damp area, pulled back, and saw the blood on his fingers.
His hands shook with fear now.
“She hit her head when she tried to jerk away from you.” Marty Mustafa, Khalid’s wife, was kneeling next to Alyssa. “You were already rolling with her.”
He looked up at Marty, seeing the agent she had once been in her cool, determined features.
“The bodyguard has called the ambulance. They’ve also called Khalid.” She grimaced at that. “He thinks I’ve gone home.” And no doubt Khalid would be there in a matter of moments. The restaurant was less than a block away.
As the thought crossed his mind he glimpsed the three men racing toward them from the other end of the block, one small female protected between them.
Courtney. Damn, he didn’t need the coming inquisition.
Turning back to Alyssa, brushing her hair back from her pale face, he focused on her, tried to tell himself she would be okay.
She was breathing.
“The driver was trying to hit her!” Marty snapped. “Dammit, Connor, what the hell are you and Sebastian involved in?”
He ignored her. Just as he ignored Ian and Khalid behind him.
It was Chase Falladay, one of Ian’s most trusted employees and friends, who knelt next to Alyssa.
“Get a fucking ambulance here!” Shane snapped.
“Already called,” Chase informed him as he checked Alyssa’s pupils, her pulse. “Ian put the call in. They should be here quickly.”
