Ruthless Game (GhostWalkers, #9)(30)

There had to be a warning system. He and Rose had missed it. The system couldn’t consist of motion lights; Jimenez wouldn’t want anyone who hadn’t actually spotted the house to be alerted by a light coming on, nor would that help during daylight hours. Kane moved through the dark house to the bedroom, turning the puzzle over and over in his mind. He stopped abruptly in the doorway, staring at the empty bed. His heart stopped beating—at least it felt that way. The jolt was sickening.

He spun around, eyes wild, feeling frantic. Had he missed something? He drew his weapon and stepped close to the tunnel entrance, looking for signs that someone had used it to come into the house.

Rose! She hadn’t contacted him telepathically. If she was in trouble, surely she would have. Rose, answer me, damn it. He bit out each word, authoritative. Commanding. The edge of ruthlessness more apparent than he would have liked, but he was trying not to panic.

“In here. I need your help.”

His heart began beating again, but the taste of fear remained in his mouth. He found her in the kitchen, waving at him from a nearly invisible ledge built along the windows. A single hard-backed chair was set just under the ledge. She’d obviously climbed onto the chair and inserted herself, baby and all, onto the ledge.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded.

She handed him a rifle. “My job.” She reached for him, wincing as her belly slid along the ledge.

He took her into his arms, carried her through the house to the bedroom and, resisting the impulse to drop her, sat her gently on the bed. “Your job is to keep from having the baby early, Rose, not play soldier.”

Her eyes darkened from rich chocolate to nearly black. “I do not play at being a soldier. I am a soldier. We’re a team, and I do my part, which is to watch your back.”

Fury burned in her eyes. He’d touched a sore subject, no doubt about it, but he wasn’t going to back down. She was pale. Little beads of sweat dotted her forehead. He could tell by the way she involuntarily rocked that she was in pain. He glared at her. “You were supposed to rest, not put yourself in danger looking out for me.”

“Diego made this house defensible. I knew that meant he would have places he could see out but no one could see in. Or he could shoot from, if needed. It didn’t take that long to discover he built a shelf in every room along the windows so he could see anything coming at him or shoot anything endangering him. I just climbed up there and watched your back, just like you would have done for me.”

There was no apology in her voice, and he knew he wasn’t going to get one, no matter that he was right. She’d climbed up on a chair to reach the nearly hidden shelf where she had to lie on her stomach, rifle in hand, tracking the enemy. He wasn’t a man known for his temper, but she was skating the edge of it more often than anyone he’d known.

“So you stood on a chair and pulled yourself up there.” He couldn’t look at her without wanting to shake her—or kiss her—so it was just easier to be angry.

“That’s exactly what I did.” There was defiance in her voice, and that told him she hadn’t thought it was such a hot idea either. “Kane.” Her voice softened. Dripped over him like warm honey. “Don’t be upset with me. I don’t want you upset with me.”

He made the mistake of turning his head. She sat on the edge of the bed, rocking back and forth, her hands cradling their baby, looking so far from a soldier his treacherous heart turned over. She looked vulnerable and beautiful and his. He’d never experienced the sensations taking place in his body—or his head. She’d slipped inside him and had coiled tightly around his heart. That mixture of fragile porcelain doll and fierce fighting soldier was a potent combination, keeping him off balance.

Her eyes, those melting chocolate almonds, blinked back at him all too innocently. She looked close to tears. He shook his head, ran both hands through his hair until it was completely disheveled. “I’m not upset. Well, a little. I don’t want you climbing on chairs in your condition. It’s not that I don’t think you’re capable, Rose; I do. It’s just that a man feels the need to protect his woman—and his child. The thought of you falling or hurting yourself or the baby is ...” He searched for a word that was appropriate to say around a woman. “Distressing.”

She nodded. “I’ll be more careful. Really.” Blink. Blink.

He was falling hard. One more little bat of her eyelashes and he was going to be on his knees. This wasn’t going the way he wanted it to go. He was totally wrapped around her little finger with just one little blink of her long lashes. For God’s sake, he was a tough guy, wasn’t he? Why the hell was he turning into jelly just looking at her?

“You’d better be,” he said, his voice gruff. “Have the—um—pains eased up?”

She shook her head. There was fear in her eyes.

He stepped closer to her. Her scent surrounded him, making it more difficult to think straight. He put his palm on her belly, spreading his fingers to take in as much territory as possible, willing the baby to stay put. “How early?”

“Too early. Nearly five weeks, Kane.” Her voice shook.

Keeping one hand on the baby, he curled the fingers of his other hand around the nape of her neck in a slow massage. “We’ll get through this.”

“We have to stay,” she said. “You know I can’t leave like this.”