Sinclair Justice (Texas Rangers #2)(81)

Chad forced Cervantes up the slope. “I’ll send the medic. Lie still, Ross.” And to Emm, “He’ll be fine.”

When Cervantes dragged his feet, Chad kicked him in the butt. “I’d purely love to plug you, so keep it up!” Cervantes didn’t know all the words, but he knew the tone . . . reluctantly, he climbed.

Abby smiled at the pair on the ground as the general tied up the wounded Chechen. More sirens blared up the hillside, and they knew the situation was, finally, under control.

Ross’s hand, grimy and dotted with a few sprays of blood, reached shakily toward Emm’s head. He stroked down over the side of her hair, which was stiff and standing up, darker than the other side, with the blood from her scalp wound. “We’ll start a new style,” he teased. His voice was steady, as strong as ever.

Satisfied he’d be okay, she sat back on her heels and gave him a brilliant smile back. “What’s that? Zombie chic?”

Ross ignored her protests and levered himself to a sitting position, wincing a bit but looking steadier every minute. He fumbled inside the jacket she’d removed and unzipped an inner pocket. “No, how to propose in extreme situations.”

Emm went very still.

Abby knew she was decidedly de trop and turned to open the back of the Jeep to begin searching it. The general gave the pair a curious look and climbed the slope to assess his men. For the moment, the couple were alone, or as alone as they could be surrounded by dead and wounded men.

Ross pulled out the small box he’d brought along, just in case. It had been rattling around in his inner flak jacket pocket, along with the spare bullets for his Ed Brown. Appropriately enough, he decided, his mouth quirking. No nonsense mixed with the sublime.

Just like Emm. He waited for her response.

She stared at the ruby and diamond ring winking at her in the moonlight. Ross had had several nice rings left to him by his paternal grandmother, but this was his favorite. Three carats. The center Burmese ruby, virtually impossible to find today in this clarity, was as perfect as the woman he was gifting it to, and it was surrounded by brilliant white diamonds. When she still didn’t answer, Ross pulled the ring out and lifted her finger.

“I know this is a bit sudden, but hell, it may ease the way with the Mexican authorities. We’re in a very macho country.” He began to get nervous when she still stared down, mute. “Besides, this is the best way I know of to hold you close, where I can keep an eye on you. Handcuffed to my bed . . . pregnant and barefoot in my kitchen.” He was deliberately goading her, trying to get a rise out of her. But his fingers began to tremble a bit when she still sat there, on her heels, staring at the ring. Was she going to say no?

Dear lord, he’d never even considered that possibility. “Wow, if I’d known this was the way to shut you up, I’d have stolen the Hope Diamond,” he joked. Still nothing.

Finally he added, “It’s my sworn duty, too, in the interests of protecting my fellow law enforcement officers. Now you’ve helped catch one of the world’s most dangerous drug dealers, you may tackle the Mafia next, God forbid.”

To his huge relief, Emm finally stirred. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, hard.

He kissed her back, not even feeling the pain in his side. They were sweaty, dirty, blood streaked, sore, and Americans in a foreign country, but no kiss had ever satisfied either of them as much. When they drew apart, she looked at him seriously. “What about Elaine?”

“Who the hell is Elaine?” he said and slid the ring on her finger. “What about your career?”

She couldn’t avoid a flicker of regret, but she said, “If I have to choose, I choose you.”

“Maybe you don’t have to choose. I’ll have a heckuva wedding present for you.” And to shut her up again in that most pleasurable of ways, he kissed her, sideways this time. Deeply.

As the medic clambered down the slope toward them, he found the couple entwined in a passionate embrace and slowed his pace a bit. Ross would obviously live.

Ross would. And, well . . .

And there, beneath a smiling half moon, Ross Sinclair pledged his troth in the age-old way, kissing Emm through blood and grit and grime, which somehow made the vow a bit more sacred. Even if it was on foreign soil. Literally.





CHAPTER 16

A few days later, Emm carried a big bouquet into Yancy’s hospital room. Her sister was sitting up, a drip still attached to her arm, but color had begun to come back into her face. Emm had visited a few hours after the gunfight, relieved when the doctors told her they’d reached her in time, and that Yancy’s wound had slowed to a trickle.

Emm and Ross had checked into the nicest hotel in Mexico City and cleaned themselves up, teasing each other about comparing scars. Then they’d been taken to police headquarters for a very long, tedious debrief that lasted almost two more days. Yancy had also been quizzed as soon as she was conscious, and her information, she’d learn later, would lead to the arrest of the major players in the Los Lobos cartel. As the general told her, she had suffered greatly, but her insight would save many innocent young women from the same fate.

Yancy had turned away, tears in her eyes, and the general had called for Emm. Emm did what she could to comfort her sister, but tears dripped from her own eyes because there was really nothing to say to assuage the horrific loss of a child, especially in such a brutal way. They had at least been able to recover Jennifer’s body, and she’d be traveling home with them.