“Let her go,” Ian demanded.
Monte’s hand shifted. Cassie felt him loosen his arm across her throat, readying to either throw the dagger or shoot. When Monte took another step, Cassie pressed into him, pushing off with her other foot and forcing both of them over the railing.
"Cassie." Martin lunged for her. Unable to stop her momentum, he leaped over the rail after her. The dagger landed in the wall just over Ian’s left shoulder. The sound of a gun firing led to a horrific thud, followed by a second shot.
* * *
Ian stood, stunned; the dagger was heading for his heart. Cassie saved him. He stared over the rail to see the large body of the hitman lying beneath Cassie at the bottom of the stairs. Blood flowed onto the cold marble where Martin cradled Cassie against his chest. Shaking off his daze, Ian ran down the stairs as a flurry of activity erupted around him.
“Don’t touch them,” Julian cried out.
Kieran radioed for a medic and ordered his team to secure the six criminals in the ballroom. Jamie, Eric, Tucker, and Pete approached the tangled victims with practiced precision.
Eric slipped his hands around to support Cassie’s head. Martin begged, “Tell me she’s alive.”
Pete ran his hands along Cassie’s unconscious body. “Got a pulse.” Upon further careful examination, he found the blood was from a wound in Monte’s head. He was dead.
Frank vaulted over them, returning with a backboard. When Cassie was secured, a red stain leeching across Martin’s back was visible. “There’s a syringe in the dining room. He drugged her. Don’t worry about me. Get her outta here,” Martin pleaded.
Kieran forced Ian into the front seat of a Navigator as the three medics surrounded the unconscious Cassie in the back. Tucker pulled out his cell phone. “Hey, it’s Tuck Hanlon. I’m bringing in a trauma. Twenty-eight-year-old female, twenty-foot fall. BP 70 over 50, pulse 140, respirations 24, pupils dilated and sluggish. Skin is hot and dry. No obvious injuries. We believe she was drugged with an unknown substance, and the syringe is in our possession. Her pertinent past medical history includes dehydration from hyperemesis. The patient is six weeks antepartum. Page Dr. Montgomery. Another PA is following with a thirty-four-year-old male, gunshot wound to the back.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
Ian sat beside Cassie in the trauma room as Tucker fired off a detailed report. Hunter took over for the ER doctor. The thick door opened, and a small, determined woman entered the room. “Hunter, what do you have for me? What were her last numbers?” He rattled off a bunch of ratios. “Do what you need to do. Get me a new set—and we will see.” She looked Ian up and down. “Is he the dad?”
The woman moved to Ian’s side, extending her hand. “I’m Dr. Woodruff. I’m an obstetrician. I’m sorry to meet you at this precarious time. Once we know she is stable, we’ll evaluate where she is in the pregnancy. It is very early, so there’s not much we can do to prevent a loss.” Without another word, she left the room.
Her electrolytes were off, and she was severely dehydrated. The lab identified the drug as Phenobarbital. Ian refused to leave her. Helpless, all he could do was hold her hand and pray.
* * *
Inside Cassie’s room, Ian continued to hold her hand while Rachel and Lillian chatted in the corner. “Mom, please check on Martin for me. Cassie, you crazy woman, you need to wake up so I can get mad at you. You are too stubborn for your own good, though I know you did it to protect me.”
Cassie squeezed his hand. “I love you. I would do it again,” she murmured and opened her eyes.
“Don’t you ever scare me like this again, Cassie.” Ian peppered her face with tiny kisses.
“I’m sorry. I had to.”
Ian closed his eyes and exhaled. “Mom, Rachel, can I speak with Cassie alone?”
Lillian and Rachel hugged and kissed her. “We’ll let everyone know the good news and also check on Martin.” Lillian patted her son’s cheek.
“What’s wrong with Martin?” Cassie grew teary.
“He’s in the OR. He dove over the rail after you.”
“No, no, no. No more people I care about can get hurt. See, I told you what happens. I won’t give you any trouble. I’m a criminal. The head of a security company can’t be around a felon. Thank you for everything. I’ll get my family to pack my stuff.” Cassie’s hand rested against his chest.
Ian looked exasperated. “Are you finished? What did I tell you would happen if you doubted how I felt about you? If you didn’t just fall twenty feet and weren’t carrying our child, I would spank your beautiful bottom. Instead, I’m putting a ring on your finger.” Ian knelt on the floor beside her. “Cassie Modine, will you become my wife, so we can share a lifetime together?”
Cassie’s eyes widened at the sight of the red and gold box in his hand. “Child?”
Ian opened the Cartier box to reveal an eight-karat Asscher-cut diamond in a 1935 Art Deco setting. He helped her slide the perfect-fitting ring onto her left hand.
“I didn’t say yes.”
Ian’s eyebrow rose to rival his mom’s.
