Raw Redemption (Crossing the Line #4)(7)

Another creak outside on the porch. “Ailish O’Kelly?”

The booming voice startled her—and then she heard a pop. Followed by a pained growl. Ailish stared at the hole in the door in disbelief before transferring her attention to the gun in her hand. It was hotter than it had been a moment ago. She’d fired a bullet? How was the possible? No…it wasn’t possible. She’d barely grazed the trigger.

“You shot me?”

Okay, maybe she had pulled the trigger. Oh God. What would she do if this unknown person died? Worst-case scenario, she’d planned to aim for their leg and call an ambulance while she slipped out the side window. But the bullet had fired high. “Are y-you okay?”

A long pause. “I don’t know how to answer that.”

Ailish set the gun down on the rickety wooden dresser before thinking better of being weaponless and picking it up again. “Who are you? Did my father send you?”

“No.” A gritted curse. “I’m…with the Chicago Police Department.”

Her stomach dropped. “I don’t know which one is worse.”

A quick expulsion of laughter. “Trust me, your father is worse. I’m here to make sure he doesn’t touch you.” While Ailish was processing that surprising news, the man spoke again. “He got to you in Wisconsin, didn’t he? I found the knife. I thought you’d been stabbed, but now I’m beginning to think”—his breathing was becoming labored—“beginning to think you might have done the stabbing.”

God, she absolutely shouldn’t be feeling guilty right now. “Well, you shouldn’t have been sneaking around on my porch.”

“There’s no light out here.” There was a loud thump, as if he’d leaned against the doorjamb. “I was checking the cabin number to make sure I had the right one.”

Oh. “What do the police want now? They released me.”

“Yeah, I heard.” The man didn’t speak for a while. “Look, I’m here to talk about your options, Ailish. We need something solid on your father, and we can accomplish that through you. It would mean an end to the running. And the end to a lot of unnecessary violence in Chicago.”

A hand closed around her throat. “I can’t do that. I—whatever he’s done, he’s my father.”

“Nothing has to be decided tonight. And when the time comes, you’ll be doing the deciding.” He didn’t continue for a few, heavy seconds. “I’m not here to force you into cooperating.”

Holding the gun down at her side, Ailish glided toward the door. There was a certain way her father’s men spoke. Rough, careless. This man reminded her more of the cops who’d interrogated her. He inspired trust, even as he represented the possible end of her new lifestyle. She knew better than to be lulled into a false sense of security, however, especially by a voice alone. Opening the door and bandaging his wound didn’t pose a threat, though. Not so long as she had the gun. And her rights.

“I’m opening the door.”

“Okay.”

She settled her palm over the doorknob. “What’s your name?”

“Henrik. Henrik Vance.”

Goose bumps lifted on her arms. Something about the way he’d said his name. Like a vow that he would be giving Ailish a good reason to remember it. Beyond curious to see the man’s face, she took a calming breath and opened the door. And found herself eye level with his heaving chest.

Huge. He was…huge. Her neck craned back, further and further, to find his head resting against the doorjamb, beneath a crooked elbow. Awareness flitted through her belly when those eyes pegged her through the darkness, holding her gaze like he was in no hurry to let it go. Nighttime wrapped around the man, giving him an air of danger, but his stillness kept it from breaking loose. He appeared to be…allowing her to get used to his size. The air of a cop, minus the knowing smirk she was used to receiving.

Realizing they’d been locked in a stare-off for far longer than was normal, Ailish forced herself to look down—and saw blood spattering the top of his shoulder. “Oh God. I shot you. I shot a cop.”

Her words seemed to startle him out of some fog. “I’m only an honorary cop now. Don’t even have a badge to show you.” His eyebrows drew together. “You know, you really should have asked to see my badge.”

“You just said you didn’t have one.” Did he really just stifle a laugh? Maybe he was going into shock. Lord, that was the last thing she needed. She’d never be able to drag him inside. Not without a crane or maybe a tractor. “I think you should come inside so I can try to keep you alive.”

“I’ll come inside when you put some pants on.”

That awareness in her belly spun like silk around a fist. He hadn’t even looked down, as far as she could tell. Not once. The reservations she had about Henrik thinned. Too easily? Yes. She’d grown up constantly surrounded by men, and she’d never felt comfortable with a single one of them. Why wasn’t she more wary of this man? She would have to think about it later when blood wasn’t pouring from the wound she’d inflicted.

“Hang tight. I have some leggings…” Ailish sidestepped out of his view to riffle through the dresser one-handed, until she realized the gun was still clutched in her other hand. With a glance at the doorway, she buried the weapon underneath some underwear and quickly tugged on a pair of black capri leggings. “Okay. Come on in.”