The Proposition (The Plus One Chronicles) Page 2

  Plunging her hands into the soapy water, she carefully washed every crevice of her decorating tips. “Thanks, Kel.”

  Kellen picked up a towel and began drying. “I saw the invitation for your brother’s engagement party in your glove compartment. It shows you down with a plus-one.”

  She popped her head up. “What were you doing in my glove box?”

  “Making sure your insurance was up to date.”

  She blinked at his deadpan lie. “And was it?”

  He flashed his get-out-of-jail-free-card grin. “Busted, I was snooping. Checking up on you. So what’s with the plus-one? Do I need to mark my calendar?”

  Anxiety burned up her esophagus, pissing her off. She had automatically checked that plus-one box because she hadn’t wanted to go alone. It wasn’t just her family, although the more Kat had pulled away from them in the last few years, the more they tried to control her. But her real issue was that her ex-fiancé would be there.

  “I have to go,” she reminded herself firmly. There weren’t many acceptable excuses for missing her brother’s engagement party.

  “So am I your plus-one?”

  Stalling, she answered, “Your plus-one status is taken. Remember Diego? The guy you’re buying a house with?”

  He waved that away. “Big D won’t care as long as I score him some of your cookies.” Growing serious, he added, “I’m always free for you, Kat, especially on Dealing with Family and Ex Night.”

  Normally she would have jumped at the offer. She wanted to jump at it. Having Kellen at her side was so easy, and he always made her feel protected. He was a shield that let her keep the room she needed to breathe. But lately, she was trying to break her dependence on him. Had to. Her best friend was moving out of their condo as soon as his and Diego’s house was ready.

  “You know what? I think I’ll pass. Otherwise you’ll find a way to get in the house and search the bedroom I grew up in to satisfy your compulsive need to snoop.” She rinsed the last of her tools, handed it to him to dry and added, “But I appreciate both the offer and your coming to help me tonight.”

  He grinned. “My pleasure. You know I love it when you owe me.”

  “Yes, I do. Just like I know what you were snooping for in the glove box.” She lightly smacked his arm. “But it’s not there, nor any place you’ll find it. I’m not showing you the cake design for your housewarming party.” She’d been working on it since he and Diego had made the offer on the place. When she couldn’t sleep, she sketched it, wanting to pour her love for the two men into that creation. She’d lived with Kellen for five years. Now he was graduating with his doctorate in physical therapy and setting up a home with his lover.

  She worked at keeping the mood light and her fears of being alone and on her own shoved deep down.

  After drying her hands, she took off her Sugar Dancer Bakery apron and shook her head. “You’ll see the cake at the house the day of the party.”

  “You’re just mean,” he griped, closing and securing the tool kit. “Maybe Diego and I have a preference on the cake. It’s our party.”

  She shifted her weight, trying to ease the ache in her right leg while scanning the venue’s massive kitchen for anything she’d missed. All her tools were packed. The waitstaff would take care of leftovers and dishes. She was officially finished.

  Turning to Kellen, she rolled her eyes. “Maybe you’re a nosey control freak. Diego trusts me.” Which was another reason she was determined to stop relying on Kellen so much. The two men were building a life together. Kat was a third wheel.

  “Diego is a full-blown slut puppy for your cookies. That’s totally unfair.” He lifted the traveling kit. “Let’s go home and celebrate your success with a glass of wine.”

  “Talk about shameless.” She grabbed her keys and purse off the counter and kept the wince off her face as she moved up beside him. “You’re trying to get me drunk to look at my sketches.”

  “One glass of wine along with a leg massage and you’d give me anything I want.” He opened the door and smirked at her. “You’re that easy.”

  “Bite me.” Kat walked out toward her light green Hyundai Santa Fe SUV and clicked open the locks. While Kellen stored the case in the back, she pulled open the driver’s-side door and noticed her bare wrist. “Crap. Forgot my watch.” She turned to go back in and grab it off the counter where she’d set it while washing her tools.

  “I’ll get it.” Kellen closed the back of the SUV, strode around to the kitchen door and vanished through it.

  She climbed in, tossed her purse on the backseat while hanging on to her keys and reached for the door.

  It was yanked out of her hold. The keys slid from her other hand.

  She whipped her head around, expecting Kellen.

  Instead, the flood of the security light revealed two men wearing dark shirts and pure menace. One stood so close he trapped her in the car. The other stood a few feet away, his head swiveling back and forth like an attack dog hunting for a target.

  Her lips and fingers went numb. Cold sweat popped out on her skin. A roar built in her ears, and everything around her grew fuzzy. Gray.

  The man shot his hand out, catching her ponytail and yanking her toward him.

  Her fingers locked around the steering wheel. She couldn’t move them to fight back. Fear froze her muscles in an all-too-familiar fashion.

  Oh God. Will I die this time?

  “Get out, bitch.” He pulled harder, serious about dragging her out of the car by her hair.

  The other guy stepped toward them. Something glinted in his hand.

  Before she could identify the object, the door to the kitchen burst open and all five-feet-ten-inches of Kellen stood there. His face shifted from confusion to fury in an instant.

  The second guy lifted his arm, and Kat saw exactly what was in his hand. Knife. Horror exploded. She struggled to move, to scream. To warn Kellen.

  But a full-blown panic attack iced her muscle control. Grayed out the edges of her vision.

  Kellen lunged toward her.

  The second man spun around and plunged the knife into him. Kellen’s face twisted. His mouth opened. Nothing came out. His legs collapsed and he went down in a loose puddle of limbs.

  A scream filled Kat’s head but stayed trapped in her throat.

  Her attacker grabbed her arms, yanking her numb hands off the steering wheel, and threw her to the ground.

  Kat hit the asphalt on her hands and knees. Head down, she labored to get air into her lungs. Fought the need to drop and curl up in a ball.

  Kellen. She had to get to him.

  “Let’s go!” the one by her car yelled.

  The legs of the knife-wielding man pounded by her and toward the back of the car.

  Forcing more air in and out, she felt the needle pricks of sensation in her fingers. Lifting one hand, she moved it forward and slapped it down in front of her. Then one knee. She determinedly crawled across the asphalt while staring at Kellen sprawled on the ground with blood darkening his upper abdomen/chest area.

  “I’ll get the keys from the bitch.”

  Kat risked a look back toward the voice. The thug shoved out of the driver’s seat.

  Oh shit, she’d dropped the keys. Terror gripped her throat. They’d kill her and Kellen if she didn’t do something.

  The door to the kitchen flew open. Desperate for help, Kat twisted her head around.

  Him. The man who’d made the late entrance to the reception. His harsh stare took in the scene, going from intense to rage in a single blink. His cheekbones stood out, his eyes blazed. He snapped into action, ripping off his coat and tossing it to her. “Pressure on the wound. Call 911.”

  The coat hitting her was like a splash of ice water, clearing her fog. Kat grabbed it and shot forward, getting to Kellen’s side.

  His shirt was soaked with blood.

  Her lips began going numb again. No! She tugged up Kellen’s T-shirt to see how bad it was.

  Her s
tomach heaved at the sucking wound. She swallowed hard and pressed the coat down on the vicious cut. It took all her effort to force out the words, “You’re going to be all right.”

  His expression was tight from pain. Pale. Panic was dilating his pupils. “Can’t.”

  “What?” She leaned forward.

  “Breathe,” he whispered.

  Oh God. She had to do something. Then she remembered the orders from their rescuer. Keeping pressure on the wound, she searched Kel’s pockets, found his cellphone and dialed 911 with one hand.

  She glanced to the man who’d come out and taken over, and the phone nearly slipped from her hand. He was crouched, his body low, facing the guy with the knife.

  The other one, the guy who had attacked her, was on the ground. Not moving.

  “911 what’s your emergency?” a voice stated on the phone.

  Kat forced herself to answer calmly. “We’re being attacked. One man stabbed in upper abdomen/lower chest. He can’t breathe. Another man is trying to get the knife away from an attacker. Hurry!” She dropped the phone. “Help’s coming,” she reassured Kellen. “Breathe with me. Draw air in, slow and easy. One, two…” She worked with him, desperate to keep him breathing.

  Hearing a grunt behind her, Kat craned her head around.

  The knife-wielding guy attacked their rescuer.

  The man shifted in a blur, caught the attacker’s arm. Wrenched.

  Kat heard the sound of a bone snapping. Heard. It. Then the guy screaming.

  Bile shot up her throat. She forced herself to turn back to Kellen. His frantic eyes begged her for help. “Let the air out, one, two…” She gripped his hand, willing him to be okay. Prayed silently and kept breathing with him, through the sounds of sirens and chaos and voices talking to her. None of them mattered, only keeping Kellen breathing.

  Alive.

  “Ma’am, we’ll take care of him.”

  She realized that the woman talking to her was a paramedic. Her partner was already working on Kellen. “He can’t breathe.” She couldn’t leave him.

  Someone crouched beside her. “They can help him breathe.”

  Kat lifted her head, and her chest hollowed at the magnitude of him. Their rescuer hunkered next to her, too close. Too big. Exerting calm control.

  While her insides churned like the agitation cycle of a washing machine.

  “Who are you?”

  “Sloane Michaels. What’s your name?”

  “Kat Thayne.”

  Something flashed across his face, then vanished. He held out both hands to her. “Let me help you up, Kat.”

  Ignoring his outstretched hands, she turned to Kellen. The paramedics ripped open plastic packages, setting up an IV line and doing various things with quick efficiency. But Kellen wasn’t moving. Why wasn’t he moving?

  “No, look at me.” Sloane caught her arms, tugging her to her feet.

  Away from Kellen. Anger roared in her head. She pulled against his hold on her arms. “Let go of me.”

  Instantly, he released her but kept his hands up, bracketing her shoulders without actually touching her. “You need to understand that they are working to stabilize him. You can’t get in their way.”

  He was right, but the fear was swamping through her, trying to drown her lungs in heavy, muddy green slime. She could taste the rancid sludge in her mouth. He couldn’t die. Her heart beat frantically in the thick mud.

  “Talk to me,” Sloane said gently. “Tell me his name.”

  Slowly, she realized his face was so close that she could see the scar by his mouth. His light brown eyes burned with authority. “Kellen,” she managed to get out.

  “Good.” He nodded slightly while still holding his hands close to her arms.

  He wasn’t touching her, but if she tried to get in the way, he’d stop her. She couldn’t decide how she felt about that.

  “Is Kellen your husband? Boyfriend?” he asked.

  The word boyfriend spun in her head for a second. Something important. A second later, it hit her. “I have to call Diego. His boyfriend. They are buying a house together. He can’t die.” Why was she telling him this? Didn’t matter. Right now, Kat was the only one here who knew Kellen. She had to get herself under control and help. Using the shortcut of pain, she bit the inside of her mouth to help clear her brain.

  Sloane glanced away from her, then back. “They’ve got him stabilized.” He lowered his hands.

  Kat sucked in a breath and went to where they were loading Kellen on a stretcher, getting ready to transport him.

  The flashing red-and-blue lights cast an eerie glow over his sickly pale skin, but he was breathing. Thank God he was still breathing.

  She stepped closer. “I’m going with him,” she told the paramedics.

  The woman shook her head. “We can’t allow that. You can meet him at the hospital.” Snapping the gurney up, they started rolling Kel to the ambulance.

  Kat didn’t remember her own trip to the hospital, but she remembered waking up beneath the glare of lights, people she didn’t know yelling at her, asking her name, what day it was…

  And the pain.

  Oh Christ, the pain. And the fear because she’d been surrounded by strange faces and she hadn’t known what had happened to her.

  She wouldn’t let Kellen go through that alone.

  Reaching out, she grabbed Kellen’s hand, squeezing it to let him know she was there. She glared at the woman. “I’m riding with him.”

  Chapter Three

  Kat sat in an uncomfortable chair, her left leg bent up and her arms wrapped around her knee. Some sitcom with a laugh track from hell played on the TV mounted high in the corner. She tried to block out the four other people in the hospital emergency waiting room, one dripping blood from a head wound.

  The beige walls and fake plants all leered at her, waiting for her to lose her shit.

  Kat kept her gaze on her foot and worked on the cake design in her head.

  There would be a cake for Kellen and Diego’s housewarming. She would make that damned cake. And everyone would live happily-ever-fucking-after.

  Unless she lost her shit. Right here in the waiting room.

  Releasing her leg, she dropped her foot to the floor and stood. Couldn’t sit. Couldn’t wait. Had to do something. They wouldn’t let her in the treatment room. Diego could get in by playing the doctor card, but he wasn’t there yet. He’d been visiting his folks, and it’d be another forty minutes or so before he arrived. Kat had to know what was happening now.

  Had to know that Kellen was still alive.

  She went to the reception desk. “Checking again on Kellen Reynolds. He has the stab wound to his chest/upper abdomen area.”

  The woman reached for the mug sitting on her desk. “Ma’am, as I said ten minutes ago, I don’t have any information. Someone will be with you as soon as they have something to tell you.”

  This was bullshit. Kat was closer to Kellen than to her own brother.

  “Kat.”

  The voice, deep and vibrating, came from behind her.

  Whipping around, she widened her eyes. “Sloane.” Trying to process it, she asked, “What are you doing here?”

  “I brought your purse. Your car’s part of a crime scene, but I got this…” he lifted her purse, “…out of it for you.”

  She’d forgotten about it. Hadn’t even occurred to her that she didn’t have it.

  “Your cellphone, wallet and everything is in it, except for the car key.”

  “Oh. Thank you. I was using Kellen’s phone to make calls.” She slung her purse over her head and shoulder.

  “Have you seen the doctor yet?”

  “Me?” She’d seen too many doctors over the years. “I don’t need one for myself. But I can’t get any information on Kellen.” She strode away from the desk. From him. Trying to walk off her anxiety.

  But she didn’t want to go back in that box of a waiting room, so she leaned against a wall in the hallway outside of i
t and across from the bathrooms.

  “Show me your hands.”

  Shocked at his demand, she looked up.

  And up.

  Damn, how tall was he? She was five eight, and he towered over her, probably by ten inches or so. His coat was gone. She had no idea what had happened to it after the paramedics had gotten to the scene and taken over. He had his tie off, the top buttons of his black shirt undone, revealing the strong column of his throat. Her gaze dipped, sliding to his Adam’s apple.

  Too intimate.

  She wrenched her stare up, past his strong jaw, and hit his eyes. “What?”

  “Your hands. Your palms were cut and bleeding. Let me see.”

  Surprised, she lifted her hands and flipped them palm up. Huh, he was right, they were scraped and dirty. No doubt from getting thrown to the ground and crawling. “That’s nothing.” She’d wash them. She had burns worse than that in her daily life.

  “You’re limping.”

  She dropped her hands. It was time to end this, whatever this was. “Sloane, thank you for tonight. For the rescue, for bringing my purse. But I can take care of myself now. It’s late, you should go home.”

  “Should,” he muttered, dragging one hand through his dark wavy hair. The strands fell to flirt with his shirt collar.

  She pulled her thoughts from the way his just-too-long hair contrasted with his exquisitely tailored suit. Wariness slid along her spine. Sloane had touched her tonight. Even after he’d released her, he seemed to create a force field around her that somehow kept her anchored when she’d been spinning in panic.

  He’d already seen more of her than she liked.

  She pushed off the wall, needing to get some distance between them.

  He moved, a subtle shift that edged his body in front of hers. Then he lifted one hand, laying it on the wall over her head. “You seem to have a habit of running, Kat Thayne. In the ballroom and now.”

  Her skin tightened. Nerves skittered. What was he doing? He dominated the entire space, his and hers. Holding her purse in front of her body like a shield, she answered, “You seem to have a habit of getting your way.” He put her on edge in a manner she couldn’t begin to grasp.