harried-her usually perfect blond hair mussed and her slacks and blouse wrinkled as if she hadn’t changed clothes in several days. An almost wild fervor glittered in her green eyes setting off alarm bells in Ryan’s head.
But the.38 revolver she held aimed at Meghan froze his blood.
A woman on the edge with a gun. A bad combination.
Beside her stood a muscle-bound thug with a nasty-looking scar running down the side of his face.
Anger directed mostly at himself shuddered through Ryan. He’d been so distracted by Meghan and the ridiculous soft emotions she had inspired that he’d let his guard down. He hadn’t heard danger approaching. His instincts had kicked in too late.
His skills were rusty. Too much time spent at a desk and not out in the field.
Where was Jackson? Ryan could only hope the rookie wasn’t lying dead outside.
Time to take control. Rapidly assessing the situation, he decided the best option was to keep everyone calm and his service weapon holstered. The quarters were too tight, the chances of someone getting hurt too great. He’d have a better opportunity of disarming Christina and dealing with her thug outside.
He slowly raised his hands in entreaty as he stepped in Christina’s line of sight. Hopefully, he provided an effective shield for Meghan and the toddler. “Let’s stay calm and talk about this.”
“Give me the kid!” Christina demanded, gesturing the gun with jerky movements.
“No one’s giving anyone anything.”
Ryan’s heart hammered in his chest. Fear that she might accidently shoot one of them squeezed his lungs. He forced himself to remain calm, to sound composed. “Put down the gun, Mrs. Hennessy.”
Her lips drew back, baring sharp white teeth. “You’re a Fitzgerald. What are you doing here?”
“We were worried about Georgina.” Ryan eased forward a step.
Christina stepped to the side. “She’s fine. We’re all fine.”
Ryan mirrored her move. “Mrs. Hennessy, we need you to come in to the station house. We have some questions to ask you about Burke’s death.”
She frowned. “I’ve answered all your questions. I’m the one who found him.”
There was something decidedly off about this woman. Ryan knew he wasn’t dealing with a rational person. Best to appease her and keep this from turning into a deadly situation. “Yes, you did. We have just a few more things to clear up. Then you and Georgina can be reunited.”
Christina jerked slightly. “Move out of the way,” she cried. “I want the baby.”
Odd how she kept referring to Georgina in such a distant manner. Not sure what to make of it, Ryan glanced at Meghan holding the now fussy toddler.
“Fine,” Ryan said, keeping his voice low and composed. “We can all move into the living room, okay? It’s a little cramped in here.”
Instead of retreating, Christina moved fully into the small bedroom. The thug hovered near the door, blocking them in.
“Out,” Christina said, motioning wildly with the gun.
A fresh wave of alarm that she’d discharge a stray shot rammed through him. He had to get Meghan and the toddler out safely. Keeping his arms wide and moving slowly, he reached his hand back. “Meghan, come here.”
Shifting the eighteen-month-old onto her hip, she eased toward him, slipped her hand into his and held on tight. Making sure he stayed consistently between Meghan clutching the baby and the madwoman with the gun, he moved them toward the door.
“Tell Muscles here to get out of the way,” he instructed.
The thug made a threatening growl low in his throat.
Christina snorted. “Go on, Jay. Lead them out.”
With a scowl, Jay led them back down the hall. Ryan positioned Meghan and Georgina in front of him and hustled them toward the living room. Christina filed in behind Ryan, ramming the muzzle of the gun sharply into his kidneys.
For a second he contemplated disarming the woman now, but if she got off a shot and missed him, the bullet could hit Meghan or the baby. A risk he wasn’t willing to take. He had to be patient. There would be a moment to strike.
He leaned in close to Meghan and whispered, “Be ready. Protect the baby.”
Her honey-blond hair tickled his cheek as she nodded.
In the living room, Jay barred the exit with his massive frame.
Helen Yorke lay in an unconscious heap on the floor. Horror shot through him. He sent up a silent plea, praying she wasn’t dead. He didn’t want anyone’s death on his conscience.
Georgina let out an unhappy wail.
Meghan made a distressed sound at the sight of Helen. “What did you do to her?”
Christina cackled, an unhinged sound that raised the fine hairs at the back of Ryan’s neck.
“She’ll be fine. Jay has his uses.” Christina attempted to step around Ryan toward Meghan, and Ryan could see Helen begin to stir. “Give me the child.”
Noting that Christina’s finger wasn’t on the trigger, Ryan seized the opportunity. He grabbed hold of the gun but also Christina’s hand and swung her away from Meghan.
Christina’s hold on the gun slipped. The revolver clattered to the floor and slid across the hardwood out of sight beneath the aged leather couch.
“Owwww,” Christina screamed in fury. “Jay!”
A roar echoed in the small house, arising from Jay’s barreled chest.
Meghan cried out a warning. “Ryan, watch out.”
Ryan pivoted. Too late. Jay jumped on Ryan’s back before he could get to his own holstered weapon.
Jay’s bulk drove Ryan forward. Pain shot up Ryan’s leg as his left ankle buckled. He hit the floor with a smack to his knees and nearly collapsed beneath Jay’s gorilla-size weight.
His injuries making him want to do a little roaring of his own, Ryan instead gritted his teeth and grappled with the thug, trying to gain the advantage. Ryan drove his head back into Jay’s pectoral muscle and thrust his hip up, creating an angle. Jay’s beefy fists cracked across Ryan’s ribs with painful impact. Ignoring the jarring hits, Ryan continued with the move, driving his hips across Jay and flipping him over.
Ryan wrapped his legs around Jay and yanked him down while hooking his forearms around Jay’s neck and squeezing.
Just as he’d thought. Gym muscles. All show, no go. It took a lifetime of grappling with three brothers to make a man a real fighter.
Georgina’s frantic cries bounced off the walls.
From his peripheral vision, Ryan saw Christina scrambling to recover her weapon from beneath the couch.
“Meghan, run!” he yelled.
Disregarding his directive, Meghan handed the screaming toddler to a now conscious Helen. Meghan launched herself at Christina and knocked her aside. The woman went flying on her backside and slid to a stop. Her beige slacks hitched to her knees. A cream-colored sock sagged at her ankles. Her brown loafers had dirt on the bottom.
In her hands, she held the gun. “Not another step!” she screamed at Meghan.
Meghan halted, skidding in her heeled sandals on the hardwood.
Christina jumped to her feet and yanked Georgina from Helen’s arms.
Keeping the revolver aimed at Meghan, Christina said, “Deputy Fitzgerald, let Jay go or your friend here dies.”
“Christina, no,” Helen pleaded. “Don’t do this.”
“Shut up!” Christina swung the gun in Helen’s direction.
Helen cowered away.
Ryan’s gaze locked with Meghan. The panic in her eyes seared him. The situation had gone horribly out of his control. And it was his fault. Frustration clawed like a hungry lion through his veins. For a second he tightened his hold on Jay, wanting nothing more than to finish what he’d started.
But doing so jeopardized everyone in the room.
Abruptly Ryan released him.
The big man scuttled to his feet and then landed a vicious kick to Ryan’s side. Pain zinged through him.
