Shock Waves Read Online Free PDF Page A

body toward the limo like nothing more than a sack of sweet potatoes. She cringed at the sight, gasped when she was yanked back from the widow. The door came open, and he was shoved inside. He landed against her, forced her back against the seat.
    “There’s champagne chilling,” the man who’d held the gun to her head said. Like an obscenely civil host, he gestured toward a bucket against the far seat, where a green bottle with foil across the top winked from inside an ice bucket. Two crystal goblets waited nearby. “The boss says you can pass the time any way you like.”
    Before she could respond, he stepped from the limo and closed the door. The window zoomed the rest of the way up, and the two front doors slammed shut. Brenna reached for the door handle, not at all surprised to find it wouldn’t budge. For the window button, not at all surprised to find it did nothing.
    “He’s hurt!” She pounded fists against the dark glass, much as she had when they’d first locked her inside. Her bone and cartilage ached from the abuse, but she didn’t care. “He needs a doctor.”
    The limo’s engine purred to life, and the sleek car slipped into the night, gained speed. Trees rushed past them, slowly at first, quickly faster, and even though she could see beyond, she knew no one could see within.
    “Ethan.” His name came out on a hoarse whisper. Her heart beat harder, scraping the inside of her chest. “Why?” she murmured, easing him into her lap. The sight jarred her, seeing such a big man so still. “Why didn’t you put up a fight?”
    The warmth of his breath feathered across her cool flesh. With her fingertips she found his throat, the knobby protrusion of his jugular. The flutter pulsed, strong, true, bringing with it a ridiculous surge of relief. She slid her palm to his jaw, the newly formed stubble of whiskers, the moist warmth of his slightly parted mouth. Then his strong nose. Cheekbones. Eyes, closed. Then his forehead. His closely cut hair.
    The jolt struck like lightning. She braced herself against the current, but didn’t block. She allowed the images to surge, needing to know as much about this man as she could. She felt no fear in him, no doubt, no mercy, only a cold hard certainty, a determination made of unbendable steel. Then a flash of blinding pain. A blow to the head. A kick to the gut.
    Instinctively she cradled his head close and started to rock. He was bigger than she’d realized watching him downtown. Taller, more broad in the shoulder. The beautifully tailored business suit had contained him somehow. But here, now, like this, in loose-fitting gray workout shorts and a torn old VMI T-shirt, there was nothing contained or restrained about the man. His skin was hot, damp, the muscle beneath hard.
    Muttering something unintelligible, he turned toward her and buried his head against her abdomen. The urge to hold him closer, to kiss away his pain, staggered her. This man was not her friend, not her ally. He’d made that clear. And because of that, he was going to pay the ultimate price.
    Still, she kept one hand on him, lifted the other to the chain around her neck and closed her fingers around her grandmother’s cross.
    Slowly, gradually, a sense of calm whispered through her. She breathed in deeply, pulling oxygen to the floor of her diaphragm and held the breath, let it out slowly. Over and over. All the while she eased a hand along Ethan’s roughened cheek and murmured nonsensical words her grandmother had often used to comfort.
    The future isn’t etched in stone, her grandmother had always promised. Once, the chanted lullaby had soothed. Now, it scraped. It’s fluid, ever changing. Something to be cherished, not feared.
    Once, Brenna had believed. Because she’d wanted to believe. Desperately she’d wanted to believe. But then she’d learned the truth, that wanting only led to devastation. The future was etched in stone, couldn’t be changed.
    At least not by