# Terms Of Engagement

Kylie Brant

## Terms of Engagement. Kylie Brant


www.millsandboon.co.uk

## Table of Contents

Cover Page

Title Page

About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Copyright

KYLIE BRANT is an award-winning author of twenty-two novels. When she’s not dreaming up stories of romance and suspense, she works as an elementary teacher for learning-disabled students. Kylie has dealt with her newly empty nest by filling the house with even more books and won’t be satisfied until those five vacant bedrooms are full of them!

Kylie invites readers to check out her website at www. kyliebrant.com. You can contact her by writing to PO Box 231, Charles City, IA 50616, USA or e-mailing her at kyliebrant@hotmail.com.

In loving memory of my cousin Cheryl, who touched my life and will always live on in my heart.

Acknowledgements:

A special thanks to the amazing Kyle Hiller, Captain, Special Response Team, for taking the time to share your knowledge through your invaluable responses. Your generosity is so greatly appreciated.

## Chapter One

She wasn’t a stickler for holiday traditions, but this was just wrong.

Lindsay Bradford pushed aside the sagging string of plastic mistletoe that hung just inside the Blue Lagoon’s doorway, only to see a half-naked, drunken Santa seated next to the jukebox. She gave serious consideration to heading back to her apartment. The bar was packed. No one had noticed her yet. If she ducked out now, Dace and Jolie would just give her a hard time tomorrow and that would be the end of it. There was nothing worse than being the last to arrive at a Christmas party, anyway.

Especially a party comprised mostly of cops.

Not for the first time, she questioned the wisdom of coming here tonight. Just the thought of being surrounded by a bunch of off-duty policemen had her palms dampening. The fact that the only two friends she’d made in Metro City had turned out to be detectives was the height of irony. But there was a limit to her appreciation for the ironic.

Some fool saw fit to provide drunk Santa with a mike. If that wasn’t a sign, nothing was. She backed slowly toward the door.

“All you lovely ladies out there,” he boomed in a surprisingly sexy baritone, “c’mon up here and see me. Don’t be shy. If you’ve been nice girls all year, I’ve got something for you. And if you’re on my naughty list…” He gave an exaggerated wink, eliciting hoots from the audience. “C’mon up here and sit on Santa’s lap.”

Lindsay rolled her eyes at the feminine squeals of laughter. Several women obviously lacking in discrimination and good taste accepted the invitation and made their way to the dance floor. She took this as her cue to leave.

She wasn’t feeling particularly festive, anyway. The palm trees wrapped in rope lighting that lined the California streets didn’t evoke the same holiday sentiment as did a decorated, freshly cut pine.

And how incongruous that her longing for home was never so strong as during the holidays. The same time of year she’d chosen to leave Wisconsin and her family behind.

Turning, she headed for the door. But her exit didn’t go unnoticed.

“Lindsay! Hey, Lindsay!”

Uh-oh. Busted.

“Lindsay! Over here!”

As she recognized the voice, her stomach dropped. Pasting a plastic smile on her face, she turned to see a disjointed arm waving from a corner booth nearby. It was attached to Mitch Engels, a coworker from the restaurant. Great. She could do drunk or she could do crazy. She wasn’t sure she was up to dealing with both.

Resigned, she walked over to his booth, where, unsurprisingly, he was sitting alone.

“So d’ya hear what happened?” He slurred the words as he attempted to smooth his thinning brown hair. “Can’t believe it. Neldstrom’s such a bastard. Hate that bastard so much.”

“Haven’t heard anything,” she answered truthfully. She’d worked her shift and headed home for a quick shower and change to avoid arriving here awash in eau de fry grease. But she wasn’t especially eager to get deluged with the latest in the ongoing battle between Mitch and the restaurant owner.

“He fired me! Said I’d missed too many shifts.” Mitch hiccuped wetly. “Didn’t even care I’d been sick. That I need the job. He just took me off the schedule and said I was done. At the holidays, too. The bastard.”

Drunken Santa began an off-tune rendition of “Blue Christmas.” And Lindsay was definitely feeling bluer than she had when she arrived.

“I’m sorry about that, Mitch. Really.” If anyone epitomized victim, it was Mitch Engels. He was short, plump and prematurely balding, with pale blue eyes magnified by thick, horn-rimmed glasses. He was a nice enough guy, if something of an odd duck. Many at work gave him a wide berth, but Lindsay had always felt sorry for him. She was intimately aware of how it felt to not fit in. “If you need help looking for another job…”

Mitch flung out one hand, knocking his bottle off balance. Only quick reflexes saved Lindsay from a beer bath. “Don’t want another job! Want my job. You’re just like the others at Piper’s. You just want me gone.”

Lindsay gave a sigh and sat down across from the man, who looked like he was working himself up to full hissyfit status. “Mitch.” She took his hand in hers, squeezing hard enough to get his attention. “You know that’s not true. I want to help you. Why don’t you go home and go to bed. You can call me tomorrow and we’ll talk about your options, okay?”

He looked pathetically hopeful. “I can call you?”

She wondered if he’d ever heard a female issue that invitation before. Judging from his reaction, probably not. “We’ll talk about the job,” she emphasized. The last thing she wanted was to shift his bubbling emotions from his unemployment woes to her. “Here’s my number.” She found a pen and scrap of paper in her purse, and scribbled the cell number she’d given out to few others.

She pushed it across the table toward him. “But you really need to go home now and sleep it off. This place is full of policemen.” She doubted that could make him as nervous as it did her. The Blue Lagoon was primarily a cop bar, although its location near Piper’s meant some of the restaurant workers were regulars, as well. “You don’t need any trouble.”

Given the fact that most of the occupants in the bar were probably as loaded as Mitch, she might be overplaying that card, but he accepted the number and her words with alacrity.

“You’re right. I’ll go.” He lurched upward before he’d slid to the end of the booth and nearly toppled face-first onto the tabletop. Lindsay got out and helped him to his feet, gently guiding him toward the door.

“You comin’, too?” He swayed, nearly knocking both of them into a harried-looking waitress.

“No, we’ll talk tomorrow, remember?” She opened the door for him, ushered him through it. “I’m supposed to be meeting friends here.” On the spot she made a commitment to stay; it was better than the alternative. “Grab a cab and get home safely. Talk to you soon.”

Before he could muster an answer she withdrew into the noisy bar and shut the door after her. The string of mistletoe hung limply above her, a possible omen of her evening ahead. Certainly it hadn’t begun too auspiciously.

Lindsay began to thread her way between tables, looking for Jolie and Dace. The shock of having a pair of cops as friends was secondary to having made friends in Metro City at all. She was usually careful to avoid relationships. It was easier to move on when she wasn’t leaving behind anyone she cared about.

And she’d been getting that itchy feeling lately. The one that told her it would soon be time to choose another city. Another job. Another life.

Jolie caught sight of her first and stood, waving her over to a table near the back of the bar. Lindsay felt something inside her lighten. Maybe for tonight she would forget that itchy feeling, and the reason for it. Forget her nonexistent love life, violent past and hopeless future. Spending time with her two favorite people would be the high point of her week.

But when she drew closer to the table and saw a third person seated there, she mentally readjusted her expectations downward. What was drunk Santa doing at their table, and how long before they could get rid of him?

“About time you got here,” Jolie scolded cheerfully. “I was about to send Dace to your place to get you.”

“I got hung up at work.” She exchanged hugs with her two friends.

Dace gave her a quick once-over and grinned as he reseated himself. “You clean up good. Not that the filthy apron and Piper’s chef’s hat aren’t attractive.”

Jolie gave him a quick elbow jab. “You look great.”

What she looked like in the buttoned-up white shirt and black gauchos, Lindsay knew, was a constipated librarian. She didn’t care. Her thrill-seeking days were behind her. And she realized the importance of dressing the part of whatever identity she’d donned for the moment.

With an innocent expression that Lindsay immediately distrusted, Jolie gestured to the stranger and said, “And this shirtless wretch is Jack Langley. I’ve mentioned him to you, remember?”

Lindsay narrowed a look at her friend. Make that exfriend. This was Jack Langley? The buddy of Dace’s that Jolie had mentioned several times wanting her to meet?

Drunk Santa—Jack—picked up her hand and sent a caressing thumb skating across her knuckles. A lock of his black hair had escaped from beneath the fur-trimmed Santa hat and fallen rakishly over his forehead. His devil-dark eyes and lopsided grin were guaranteed to melt the coldest of female hearts. Lindsay’s remained steely.

Jolie continued, “And this is Lindsay Bradford. Jack, behave. I’m going to get Lindsay a drink. C’mon, Dace.”

Dace looked confused. “Why do I have to come?” Jolie grabbed his arm and he stood, long-sufferingly, to trail behind his fiancée.

“I’ll bet you’re a good girl, Lindsay.” Jake raked her with his liquid-coal gaze and a corner of his mouth kicked up. His smile deepened the dimple in his chin. “You look like one. Luckily for you, I still have something in my package for good little girls.”

Her brows rose at the transparent euphemism. But then he reached into a paper bag on the table and withdrew a handful of “gifts,” setting his offerings in front of her.

She surveyed the slightly wilted fruit slices and paper umbrellas with a jaundiced look before transferring her attention back to him. “This reminds me. I have a few Christmas disappointments I want to discuss with you. Let’s start with that lame Barbie you brought me when I’d specifically asked for a G.I. Joe.”

He slapped a hand to his chest, feigning shock. “Those damn elves. They must have mislabeled the package. That’s it. Danny the dyslexic elf is getting the ax.”

She didn’t smile, because it would only encourage him. “Your elves told me working for you is a lot like working in an office. They do all the work and the fat guy in the suit gets all the credit.”

He looked amused. And he still hadn’t relinquished her hand, despite her discreet tugs. “Half a suit. Half the credit. And they’re just smearing my name because they want to unionize.” He lowered his voice, and the sexy timbre sent a quick shiver over her nerve endings. “So how about we compare notes before Dace and Jolie get back? I’ll tell you what they told me about you if you do the same.”

That stopped her short. “They’ve talked about me to you?” She wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that.

“Attractive, even though she plays it down, straitlaced, needs to loosen up a little, good sense of humor, mean at cards,” he recited rapidly. “Your turn.”

“I’m not sure I remember them mentioning you,” she lied. “Are you the one who spent time in prison?”

He gave a loud bark of laughter as Dace and Jolie approached the table again. “Mean, and not only at cards. I like that.”

She finally succeeded in wresting her hand free. And found herself curling her fingers into her palm, trapping the heat that lingered. “I have a feeling, Langley, that your ‘likes’ would fill several dozen little black books.”

Jolie set a bottle of Corona in front of Lindsay and sat down again next to Dace. Jack shot the other man a look. “Don’t know what you told her about me, but she’s got the totally wrong impression.”

Dace tipped his bottle to his lips. “She must have. She hasn’t run out of here screaming yet.”

“Perhaps her impression has something to do with your wardrobe,” Jolie put in dryly. “Not everyone finds half-dressed Santas appealing. Go figure.”

Jack leaned toward Lindsay, his look of contrition as insincere as that of a ten-year-old altar boy caught sampling the sacramental wine. “The stuffing and the beard were hot. I normally wear shirts. Almost always.” He paused, as if to reconsider, then corrected, “At least a lot of the time.”

Because she was feeling a little warm herself, Lindsay picked up her beer and drank. And took the time to remind herself of all the reasons she’d sworn off men just like Jack Langley.

He fairly sizzled sex appeal. Anyone with a pair of X chromosomes was bound to respond to it. And it didn’t hurt that she had an up close and personal view of his rock-solid build, which had no resemblance to the real Santa’s. She’d never given it much thought, but she doubted Jolly Old St. Nick had ever had such broad shoulders, muscled arms, or that washboard belly. Which was a real pity for Mrs. Claus.

But…Lindsay was through looking for thrills. In life, and in men. Safe, solid and secure were the new parameters of her life. And if that equated with dull and dreary…well, at least it kept her alive.

There was nothing remotely safe about Jack Langley.

She set her bottle down and listened politely as the other three talked shop. Despite what she’d said earlier, she remembered everything Jolie and Dace had ever said about the half-naked man sitting next to her. Specifically that he and Dace went way back. That he was a detective like her two friends, assigned to the same SWAT squad. He wasn’t a negotiator like Dace and Jolie but was one of the guys who entered the building when an assault became necessary. An adrenaline junkie, she figured, watching him as he conversed. The kind who thrived on danger and risk. The kind who hadn’t yet found out that excitement carried its own risk and all too easily could turn deadly.

“Doesn’t matter.” Jack lifted a shoulder and reached for his beer. And it was annoying to find herself more focused on that expanse of bare skin than on his words. “I’m cleared for duty, and our squad’s in line for the next incident. Don’t worry about me, I’m ready.”

“What happened?” The words were out of Lindsay’s mouth before she could stop them.

“He was injured in that explosion at the Metrodome a few months ago,” Jolie informed her, her gaze still on Jack. There was a slight furrow between her eyes that indicated Jack hadn’t completely alleviated her concern.

“Hurt my leg, but it’s healed.” Jack picked up one of the sadly wrinkled drink umbrellas from the table in front of him and reached over to tuck it in Lindsay’s hair. “Nothing to worry about. But if you’d like to kiss it better, I could be persuaded to drop my Santa britches and show you the wound on my thigh.”

The dare in his words was reflected by that wicked glint in his eye. The invitation should have sounded sleazy. But somewhere along the line, probably by grade school, he’d mastered the art of delivering a line with enough humor to engage rather than repel.

Lindsay definitely did not want to find him engaging.

“I’m going to say thanks…but no,” she drawled, eliciting laughter from Dace and Jolie. She couldn’t prevent a smile at the crestfallen expression Jack affected. He might be—how had Jolie described him?—something of a player, but at least he didn’t seem to take himself too seriously. Relaxing a bit, she took another sip of beer. There were worse ways to spend an evening than chatting with friends with a half-naked hunk by her side.

Since looking was about all the action she allowed herself these days, what was the harm in treating herself to a little eye candy for the next couple hours?

Two hours and two beers later, Lindsay had the belated answer to that question.

Harm was an abstract concept.

The time spent in his company had only fanned her slumbering hormones to an unwelcome simmer, which was definitely a waste, because there was no way she was going to indulge them. It would have been simpler if she could dismiss Jack as just another good-looking guy with a smooth line and easy banter. But the affection Jolie and Dace had for him was evident. And he was amusing, whether trading good-natured barbs with Dace or directing humorous asides to her.

It was almost enough to lull her well-honed instincts into believing Jack Langley was harmless, and that would have been a mistake. Lindsay was perceptive enough to see the toughness beneath the charm and smart enough to steer clear of both.

To distract herself from the stab of regret that thought brought, she focused on her friends across the table. Jolie was as guarded as Lindsay was herself, which was why it had taken weeks after their initial meeting outside the restaurant for Lindsay to learn the woman’s occupation. By then it had been too late for that inner shrill of alarm. They’d been solidly on the way to becoming friends. Jolie had told Lindsay enough about her and Dace’s past to make Lindsay doubly happy for the plans they were making for their future. The thought of not being around for their wedding this spring brought a pang, but there was always the possibility that she could come back for it.

Panic stabbed through her at the errant thought. Once she moved on, she never went back. Not ever. She didn’t use the same identity twice or even stay in the same state. Doing the unexpected had kept her alive this long. She couldn’t alter her strategy now.

Troubled, she rubbed at the condensation on the bottle with her thumb. This was why it was best to have no lasting relationships. Ties elicited emotion. Emotion fogged logic. Made it difficult to leave and start over.

But starting over had long since lost the appeal it had once held.

“Jolie says you’re a cook at Piper’s.” Jack’s husky baritone sounded in her ear. “Maybe you’d like to go out somewhere you can order a meal you don’t have to prepare.” At her silence, he lifted a lazy black brow. “I’ll wear a shirt, I promise. And I do have clothes that aren’t red and trimmed with fur.”

“For the department’s sake, that’s good to know.” She met his gaze, far more tempted than she should have been. “But I don’t think so.”

He studied her. “Still holding that Barbie–G.I. Joe screwup against me? I can make that up to you this Christmas. I won’t let the elves near the package this time. Promise.”

Her lips curved. He was far too likable for his own good. “I’m not going to sleep with you.” Her hormones sent up a disappointed chorus. But she didn’t make decisions based on her hormones these days, so they were easily ignored. Mostly. “And I’m not your type, anyway.”

“What type do you think that is?”

“The type that will sleep with you.”

He grinned, a quick flash of white teeth. “And if I reserve the right to try and change your mind about that?”

“Then you’ll be wasting both our time.” With more regret than she cared to show, she stood. “Will you excuse me for a few minutes?” Without waiting for a response, she picked up her purse and wound her way through the full tables to the restroom at the back of the bar. She fully expected Jack to be gone when she returned to the table. He didn’t strike her as the type of guy to hang around after a rejection.

And she’d been issuing rejections for far too long for this one to be causing her so much regret.

But even though she lingered in the restroom far longer than necessary, Jack was still seated at their table when Lindsay came out. Seeing him, she stopped, indecisive. Maybe he needed a little more time to grow bored and move on. As if in response to her thoughts, a woman wearing what looked to be the top of Jack’s Santa outfit sauntered over to him and draped an arm around his neck, planting an enthusiastic kiss on his mouth.

Saved by the Santa slut. Turning, she made her way for the back door, intent on delaying her return to the table a bit longer. Give him the amount of time it took to get a breath of fresh air, and he’d be gone. She’d lay odds on it.

And she was suddenly desperately in need of fresh air.

Moments later she was standing outside in the shadows. After the press of bodies in the bar the solitude was a welcome reprieve.

Resting her shoulders against the back of the building, she tipped her head back and studied the star-studded sky. She’d always liked looking at the stars. Maybe when she left she’d head to Wyoming. With the wide-open spaces there, the expanse of sky would be magnificent.

But wait. Wyoming didn’t have many big cities. She always felt safer in cities. More anonymous. It was easier to blend in and escape notice.

It was imperative that Lindsay escape notice.

The door swung open and she turned her head, instantly wary. A couple stumbled out the door, laughing breathlessly. She opened her mouth to alert them to her presence, but at that moment the man pulled the woman into his arms and they exchanged a long, heated kiss.

Great. She jerked her gaze away. Playing voyeur to an alcohol-fueled couple with loosened inhibitions was definitely not what she’d had in mind when she’d slipped outside. She began to inch away, intent on returning to the bar.

“No.” The woman’s voice was still laughing. Lindsay moved a little faster, still hoping to escape detection. Then a moment later, “No, Rick. Stop it. I said—”

There was the unmistakable sound of a slap and a cry of pain. Lindsay jerked around to peer through the darkness.

“Bitch.” The two were scuffling now, the woman struggling to get away. “Think you can tease me all night and not come through when we’re alone?”

“I wasn’t teasing—”

“Well you aren’t now, because you’re going to…”

“Let her go.” Fury snapped through Lindsay’s veins, fogging good sense. She strode toward the couple, grabbed the man’s shoulder. “She said no.”

With a suddenness that took her off guard, he turned around and gave her a shove that sent her sprawling. “Get lost, bitch. Unless you want to be next. Believe me, I got plenty here to satisfy both of you.”

The other woman screamed as the man hauled her against him, moving her deeper into the shadows. His mouth ground over hers, halting her protests.

Lindsay picked herself up and stumbled to the back door again, intent on getting help. If she didn’t hurry, the couple could be gone by the time she got back. If he had a car or a place nearby, no one would catch him in time.

She rushed inside, the barrage of sound from the bar blasting her anew. The crowd seemed to have gotten thicker. She tried to squeeze through, her actions frantic, but made little headway.

An idea occurred and she pulled out her cell phone. She could call Jolie even faster and alert her to bring help, while she went out again and—

A hand touched her shoulder and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Jack stood next to her, his figure solid and reassuring. He bent his head, pitching his voice loud enough to be heard over the din. “Where have you been? Jolie was getting worried.”

“A woman needs help outside.”

He shook his head, an expression of puzzlement on his face. The jukebox was blaring out the latest Dixie Chicks tune at ear-deafening levels. “What?”

“Come with me!” He may not have understood her words, but he couldn’t misunderstand her hand on his arm, tugging him in her wake.

Bursting outside again, she halted, scanning the area. Her stomach plummeted when she didn’t see anyone in the vicinity. “I don’t see them.”

“What, my reindeer? I have them parked out front.”

Lindsay headed deeper into the alley, calling over her shoulder, “There was a man out here trying to force himself on a woman. When I tried to stop him he shoved me down. I’m afraid he might have taken her somewhere no one will find them.”

“He touched you?” Jack’s tone changed from affable to threatening with a swiftness that might have alarmed her if she weren’t already so distracted. “What’d he look like?”

But Lindsay was running ahead, the pain in her knees from the scrapes she’d gotten barely registering. The alley ended in a T. She rounded the corner to her right. If it hadn’t been for the sound of the woman’s muffled sobs, she would have missed the couple hidden in a doorway.

She hefted her purse as she ran toward them. The two rolls of quarters she always carried in it seemed woefully inadequate. But they were all she had since she’d left her gun back at the apartment.

“You like games, Sheila?” She could barely make out the man’s panted words. He had a forearm across the woman’s throat, his free hand pulling up her skirt. “Let’s play some games.”

His choice of words arrowed deep into her subconscious. Summoned an echo of a voice she’d thought buried for good. You think this is a game? Well, maybe it is. But it isn’t one you’re going to win.

A quick shudder snaked down Lindsay’s spine as she shook off the memory. She closed the distance between them at a run. The man looked over his shoulder, a snarl on his lips when he saw Lindsay. She swung her purse with all her might and nailed him squarely in the face.

There was a sickening crack. He howled, cursing, turning around to make a grab for her. She felt her shirt rip and struggled wildly to free herself, but he maintained his grasp. When he hit the ground, so did she.

He was on her in an instant, flipping her over and rolling atop her. She raised her knee up sharply into his crotch, her fingernails going for his face, heard him yelp.

“Goddammit!” He reared an arm back and struck her across the cheek with enough force to send lights wheeling beneath her eyelids. A moment later, he was gone.

Dazed, she tried to sit, the movement making her nauseous. She became dimly aware of the sounds around her. Grunts and curses. A soft sobbing. The instantly recognizable sound of flesh hitting flesh.

Without grace she stood up, swaying. It was a moment before she could stagger over to the woman—Sheila—who was huddled in the doorway. Lindsay went on her knees next to her, slipping an arm around her shoulder. “It’s all right. It’s over.”

She craned her neck to see what was happening several yards away. Jack had the man against the wall and was hammering him with methodical punishing blows.

A moment later she realized the stranger’s struggles had grown feeble, and she left the woman’s side to lurch across the distance and grab Jack’s arm. “Stop.”

She could feel the ice-cold fury emanating from him. The iron muscles in his arm quivered like a racehorse at the starting gate. “Jack,” she said softly. Something in her voice must have reached him and he looked at her. She watched the sheen of rage slowly dissipate from his eyes, and then he released the man, who crumpled in a heap.

“You’re bleeding,” he observed tersely, his gaze raking her form.

Surprised, she looked down. Her shirt was in tatters, and there was blood soaking it. She gathered the remnants of the garment around her. “It’s not mine.”

He reached out a finger and tipped her chin up so he could study her. Whatever he saw in her face must have reassured him, because something in his expression eased. He looked past her then. “Give Jolie or Dace a call. Get them out here.” He walked by her to go to the aid of the woman who was even now struggling to her feet. “And if that scumbag back there so much as moves, let me know.”

With shaking fingers, Lindsay punched in Jolie’s number, relayed Jack’s message and interrupted her friend’s questions with a terse, “Just get out here. Bring Dace.”

When she glanced his way, Jack looked like he had things under control with Sheila, so Lindsay edged nearer the man, who had risen to a sitting position, both hands clapped over his face.

“You broke my damn nose, you freaking whore.” His voice was muffled. “My lawyer will sue your ass. You’ll pay for butting into something that’s none of your business. Langley, too.”

“You got off easy,” she responded bluntly. “And your lawyer is going to be too busy defending you from attempted rape and assault charges to worry about me.” Hearing the sounds of footsteps running toward them, she turned to see Dace turn the corner into the alley, Jolie and a woman she didn’t recognize on his heels.

Relief coursed through her. “Look, it’s the cavalry.”

Dace stopped at her side while the two women continued down the alley to help Jack with the injured woman. Hauling the man up by one arm, Dace growled, “What the hell have you been up to now, Fallon?”

“Me?” Fallon’s voice would have sounded indignant if he weren’t speaking through a broken nose. “Sheila and I came out for a few minutes of privacy and the next thing I know that bitch over there is jumping me. And then Langley gets into the act. You tell him I’m pressing assault charges.”

“Tell him yourself.” Dace gave him a little push. “I’m parked in front. Let’s go downtown.”

“I need a doctor!” Fallon protested.

“Ava and I will take Sheila to the hospital.” Jolie strode up, eyes hard. “I’ll get her statement there, then meet you at the precinct.”

Dace nodded then led the man away. Jolie and Lindsay returned to where Jack was waiting with Sheila and Ava. Quickly Jolie introduced Lindsay to Ava, who was another member of their SWAT squad.

“I can’t thank you enough,” Sheila said shakily to Lindsay when the introductions were over. “If you hadn’t been there he would have raped me. I never wanted…I told him no.…”

“And I heard you. This isn’t your fault.”

“Jack, see Lindsay home, will you?” Jolie’s next words halted both their protests. “Sheila will be more comfortable with Ava and me right now than you. And I don’t want Lindsay to be alone.”

Sliding a glance to Lindsay, Jack nodded. “All right. We’ll be downtown as soon as she gets changed.”

The adrenaline had faded, leaving Lindsay feeling sapped and spent. She hugged her arms tight around her body and willed her knees to remain locked to support her increasingly wobbly legs. She was only half-aware that Jolie, Ava and Sheila had gone when Jack approached her again.

She strove to straighten when he surveyed her critically.

“You must have gotten a few good swings in.”

Her entire body began shaking. “I can’t take credit for that. You’re the one who stopped him.”

“You’re in shock.” He hauled her to his chest and wrapped his arms around her.

“I’m not.” She wasn’t weak. She despised weakness. But she couldn’t will away the shudders racing up and down her body.

“Okay, maybe you’re cold.” Knowing that he was merely humoring her didn’t make her feel any better. “And me without a shirt to offer you.”

For a moment, just a moment, Lindsay allowed herself to lean against him. His skin was hot despite the chilly air. She could feel his heart thudding beneath her ear, the steady sound comforting. For the briefest of moments, she felt completely, totally safe.

The sensation was foreign enough to have her stepping out of his arms. If she’d learned anything in the last three years, it was that she couldn’t depend on anyone else to protect her.

She liked her chances better on her own.

Avoiding his gaze, she folded the remains of her shirt around herself and held it in place by crossing her arms over her chest. “Since I’m not feeling particularly festive anymore, I’ll think I’ll head home.”

“Good idea. I know that lowlife’s name. Rick Fallon. He’s a dispatcher from the Eighth Precinct, I think. We’ll get you cleaned up, then we’ll join Dace downtown. Your statement will help support Sheila’s. Fallon will try to claim that what was going on out here was consensual.”

“No!” The strength of her protest surprised them both. Working to keep the panic from her voice, she forced an even tone. “I wouldn’t be much help. I didn’t see a lot.” Making statements would require ID, wouldn’t it? ID that couldn’t stand up to close scrutiny.

He frowned, studying her carefully. But rather than pushing harder, he just said mildly, “Let’s just worry about you right now. Maybe we should have a doctor check you out.”

“I just need to go home.” Bending down, she tried to pick up the contents of her purse, which had spilled out sometime during the altercation. It was slow going, since she couldn’t let go of her shirt.

Jack crouched down and scooped everything up and returned it to her purse, holding up the rolls of quarters with a cocked brow. “Hope you nailed him with these.”

“I did.” Not, she recalled, that it had slowed him down much. When he handed her back her purse, she pulled out her cell phone. “I’m going to call a taxi. Thanks for riding to the rescue.”

“Don’t bother calling for a cab.” He plucked the cell out of her hand, and, placing a palm on the small of her back, guided her down the alley. “You’re in luck. Like I said, I’ve got my sleigh and eight bored reindeer parked right out front.”

## Chapter Two

Jack Langley was a hard man to say no to. Impossible, actually.

Within moments he had Lindsay herded into the front seat of a sporty, low-slung car and had elicited directions to her place. He’d turned on the heater, but the blast of warm air wasn’t having much effect on the shivers still skating over her skin.

Her teeth were chattering. She gripped her arms more tightly across her chest, vaguely disquieted that she had so little control over her body’s reaction.

With a clutch in her stomach, she realized her response had less to do with the attack and everything to do with the memory the stranger had unwittingly summoned.

You even think about betraying me and I’ll kill you. Are you hearing me?

She slipped farther down in the seat, battling nausea. Every time she started to believe she’d begun to put the past behind her, something happened to show her just how solid a grip it still wielded. She’d run over two thousand miles but nothing had really changed at all. Lindsay could still hear the menace in Niko Rassi’s voice, still feel the grip of his fingers around her neck.

And she still had no doubt it was only a matter of time before he caught up with her. Until she was resting at the bottom of a riverbed, just like her friends.

Her cheek throbbed and she raised a hand to it, wincing when she touched it.

“What’s wrong?” Jack’s voice was sharp with concern. And his vision must be equally sharp to have seen her expression of pain in the darkened front seat.

“I’m fine. I just need some ice. Guys like him know how to hit a woman just hard enough to avoid serious damage.” Niko had mastered the art of the backhanded slap, too. That was only the beginning of the many unpleasant discoveries she’d made about him.

“If you have that much experience with guys who hit women, you’re hanging around the wrong kind of men.”

“Tell me about it,” she muttered. There was something in his voice she couldn’t identify, but his words struck a chord. They didn’t get any more wrong than Niko Rassi. They didn’t get any deadlier.

A wave of fatalism swamped her, a sensation she usually fended off during long, sleepless nights spent staring at the ceiling. Niko might not have found her yet, but in a manner of speaking he’d already won. He’d robbed her of any sort of real life. Robbed her of any chance of family. Had her constantly watching over her shoulder. She knew him well enough to realize how much he’d enjoy that.

To distract herself from that line of thought, she asked, “What does Ava do on the squad?”

“She’s a marksman. Her nickname’s Cold Shot.” A tinge of humor entered Jack’s voice. “You’re only slightly less dangerous than she is. Fallon had a lucky escape.”

Moments later Jack slowed the car to a stop. “Looks like a nice house.”

“The house is nice. I live over the garage.” Releasing her seat belt, Lindsay opened the door. “I appreciate the ride—” she began.

But Jack was already out of the car. Slowly, Lindsay rounded the hood, mentally rehearsing a way to get rid of him. All she really wanted right now was a hot bath and a cold pack for her face. Given the contents of her apartment, she’d be making due with a tepid shower in the minuscule stall and a package of frozen peas held to her cheek.

“Like I said, thanks for everything…” Her second attempt was no more successful than the first.

“You’re not getting rid of me until I see your injuries in the light and make sure you don’t need to go to the ER. So save your breath and get your key out.” Openmouthed, Lindsay could only stare as Jack strode ahead of her to ascend the narrow exterior stairway leading to her apartment.

It wasn’t much. Jack threw a quick, all-encompassing look around the small space. The fresh paint on the walls only made the secondhand furniture look rattier. There was a sagging easy chair and a fairly comfortable-looking daybed situated around a small TV in one corner. A midget-size kitchenette was placed opposite, with a small countertop eating area and a couple doors that had to open to closets or a bathroom.

But it wasn’t the meagerness of the space that struck him. It was the total absence of any personal items in it.

There were no pictures on the walls or on the tops of the mismatched end tables. There weren’t any of the useless things women were forever hanging up or setting around for a clumsy guy to knock into. No magazines. No books. No CDs or, for that matter, anything to play them on.

“How long have you lived here?”

“Six months or so.”

So she hadn’t just moved in. Wasn’t in the middle of unpacking her things. Lindsay Bradford didn’t have anything to unpack. His curiosity deepened.

She brushed by him and went to one of the doors and pulled it open. Looking past her, he saw a bathroom barely big enough to turn around in. She stepped inside and swung the door shut behind her. But it didn’t latch and swung open again several inches. He was honorable enough to avert his eyes, male enough to resent needing to.

Half a dozen scenarios occurred to him. Was she recently divorced? Jolie and Dace hadn’t mentioned an ex, but maybe they didn’t know about one. Or maybe she’d just gotten out of a bad relationship. Yeah, that could be it. Maybe he’d been abusive. That would explain the comment she’d made in the car.

He found he didn’t much like the idea of someone raising a hand to her. Hell, he’d still be beating on Fallon for doing so if Lindsay hadn’t stopped him.

A hard smile crossed his lips when he thought of what the man had in store for him. His bruises were going to be the least of his worries. Jack had heard rumors that the guy had a reputation for roughing up women. There might even be a misdemeanor or two in his past. Once he convinced Lindsay to make a statement backing up the woman’s complaint, Fallon’s career was in the trash heap. It was about damn time.

Second nature had him crossing to the window in the kitchenette, checking its security. Cool air seeped in at the seam where the sash met the sill. Frowning, he jiggled the window. Despite the lock, it rattled easily. A five-year-old armed with a toy screwdriver could jimmy it open in two minutes flat.

“You need to have the landlord spring for a screen. And a new lock for the window,” he called over his shoulder. “Or else I could just…” The words died in his throat.

From this angle, he could see her in profile through the opening of the bathroom door. She’d stripped off the ripped shirt and the wide pants. Once again it occurred to him that Lindsay Bradford was a study of contrasts. She dressed as sedate as a nun, but what nun wore a matching black-and-white-striped bra and panties? What nun had a silver hoop piercing her navel and a tiny tattoo of a butterfly on one smooth shoulder blade?

She turned around to reach for something, saw him watching her and froze. The oxygen abruptly backed up in his lungs.

Because a nun wouldn’t look at him with naked desire in her expression, either. Desire that he fully, achingly reciprocated.

The moment spun out. Neither of them moved. Hell, he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Could only stare like a lovesick teenager. Want like a sex-starved hermit.

An instant later she stepped closer to the door and closed it firmly.

The pent-up air in his lungs released. He turned back to the window, shaken. He needed to get out of here. Lindsay had made it pretty damn clear in the bar that she wasn’t interested in casual entanglements. And while ordinarily he might test her resolve a bit, he sure as hell wasn’t going to do it after what she’d been through tonight.

And if that left his more insistent body parts aching, it was too damn bad.

To distract himself, he crossed to the apartment door, yanked it open and jogged down the steps toward his car. The blast of cool air was welcome against his heated skin. It was time to back the hell up. His response to the woman was all out of whack.

Opening the trunk lid with his remote, he reached in for his toolbox and shut the lid again. He headed back toward the steps to her apartment. Okay. The lady had had a rough night. He’d fix her window, make sure she was steady on her feet and head in to the precinct alone. She could make her statement in the morning. Maybe if it wasn’t too late, he’d even head back to the Blue Lagoon. The bar was filled with females who would be far more interested than Lindsay had been earlier.

And sometime between now and then, he’d work on summoning a little interest in them in return. Because he wasn’t a man who welcomed complications in his life. And if there was one thing Lindsay Bradford had written all over her, it was complication, in big, bold capital letters.

He was hammering the second of two nails into her window sash when he heard her raised voice behind him. “What the heck are you doing?”

Giving the nail a final blow with the hammer, he turned. “Making sure some lowlife doesn’t decide to come in your window.”

She was swathed in a white zip-up terry-cloth robe that covered her from throat to feet. There was nothing remotely sexy about the garment. It was recalling what lay beneath it that was giving him a bad moment. Scowling, he passed her to squat before the toolbox, replacing the hammer and locking the lid.

She eyed the window dubiously. “I don’t think there’s much danger of that. He’d need a pair of stilts at this height.”

“Or a ladder. After tonight you shouldn’t be surprised at how far stupidity and hormones take some guys.” She paled, and he mentally kicked himself. Like she needed a reminder of the altercation earlier.

Deliberately lightening the mood, he added, “Although once bad guys get a look at what you did to Fallon, I’d imagine they’d be steering clear of you.” The small smile those words elicited had heat coiling low in his belly.

“I think you inflicted the worst damage there.”

He surveyed her without trying to be obvious about it. She’d showered, and her dark, wet hair was combed straight back off her face to fall below her shoulders. There was already a mark blooming on one chiseled cheekbone. But her eyes were clear, unclouded by the shadows he’d seen there in the car. They were cat-green, unusual for her coloring.

And he was losing it completely if he was standing here mooning over the color of a woman’s eyes.

“You should get something on your face.” He went to the doll-size refrigerator and opened the freezer. The only ice was in trays, so he grabbed the bag of frozen peas and wrapped it in the kitchen towel that had been draped neatly over the faucet. He walked back and handed it to her. “I’m sure Jolie will come if you need someone to stay with you tonight.”

She was already shaking her head. “I’m fine. She’s got enough to deal with tonight. I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”

Since she seemed steady enough now, he figured it was as good a time as any to broach the subject of her statement. He backed up, propping a hip against the kitchen counter and folding his arms. “Making a statement isn’t difficult. I can walk you through the process if you—”

“I already told you, I’m not interested.”

Lindsay saw Jack’s gaze narrow and knew she was going to get an argument. She’d already learned that he didn’t take no for an answer.

But this time he’d have to. If there was one thing she’d learned, it was that cops required ID for everything. And while hers might get only cursory examination, she couldn’t afford to take that chance. She’d made sure no trace of her name showed up on any public record for the last three years. Her caution had kept her alive. She wasn’t about to start making mistakes now.

Jack crossed one foot in front of the other, and for a moment she found herself distracted by the action. He’d strayed from the Santa uniform with the boots. They were a deep brown rather than black, with richly tooled leather that screamed designer. They probably cost what she paid in six months’ rent.

“I know the guy. He’s got a reputation with women, but so far no one has taken the step to make him pay for his actions. If Sheila Jennings presses charges—and it sure sounded like she planned to—she’s going to need your statement to back hers up. Otherwise he’ll spin it that she was willing, and he’ll walk again. And then he’ll do the same thing to some other woman.”

His words had her nerves congealing in a greasy tangle in her stomach. If Jack hadn’t come outside with her, the outcome of the evening would have been far different. She would have suffered far worse injuries than a bruised cheek, and Sheila…She swallowed hard, thinking what might have happened to the woman. But she couldn’t focus on that now. And she couldn’t allow herself to be manipulated into feeling guilty about a woman she didn’t know and possible future victims.

She was already carrying all the guilt she could live with.

“Save your breath. I’ve made up my mind and you’re not going to change it.”

The frustration on his face was easy to read. “Dammit, Lindsay…”

“Dammit, Jack…” She crossed her arms to mimic his stance. Well, not exactly, since her chest wasn’t bare. And her arms weren’t bulging with all sorts of interesting muscles. But he wasn’t going to intimidate her, regardless.

He gave a curt nod. “I’ll let you sleep on it. Maybe when Jolie talks to you tomorrow you’ll change your mind.”

Although she didn’t relish the upcoming conversation, she shook her head. “I won’t.”

His jaw tightened, and the toughness she’d noted earlier was not so hidden now. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as stubborn as you.”

“Then you haven’t looked in the mirror lately.”

For a moment she thought her reckless tongue had gotten her in trouble again. His face darkened and he looked like a man struggling to leash his temper. Then he pushed away from the counter and grabbed her purse, digging inside it to take out her cell phone.

Her brows rose, but she wisely chose to keep her objections to herself. He took his out, too, and pressed keys in rapid succession on both. Then he flipped them shut and dropped hers back into her purse. “I added my number in case you come to your senses before tomorrow night.”

His number? The thought suffused her with heat. And far more temptation than she was up to battling right now. No doubt he’d coded her number into his directory, as well. “What’s tomorrow night?”

“Our dinner date. I’ll pick you up at eight.”

He bent to pick up his toolbox before heading to the door.

She was speechless for one long moment. And no, that absolutely was not interest stirring inside her. “Wait a minute.” She followed him to the door. “I’m not having dinner with you. I thought I made that clear earlier at the bar.”

He turned to face her. Somewhere he’d lost the Santa hat, which just made that sardonic cock of his brow more noticeable. “You really think you’re going to win two arguments with me tonight?”

“One has absolutely nothing to do with the other. And we both know you’d just spend the entire evening trying to convince me to make that statement.”

He rested a shoulder against the door. She wondered fleetingly if he ever stood up straight. His pose called attention to his lean hips and narrow waist, though the baggy red pants made it impossible to make out the line of his thigh.…Realizing where her gaze had gone, she jerked it upward and saw a fleeting expression of humor in Jack’s eyes.

“That’s not true,” he said mildly. “Because willing or not, you will be interviewed by an officer about the scene at the Blue Lagoon. I’m going to spend dinner trying to persuade you to sleep with me.”

She dropped the makeshift ice pack on the counter and glared at him impotently. “I have no intention of sleeping with you!”

“Then I have my work cut out for me.”

Aggravated, she drew a breath. Her emotions felt like they’d been on an out-of-control carousel tonight. But right now they were settled solidly in annoyance. “This is exactly why I don’t like cops. They’re pushy, and devious and untrustworthy.” And some were corrupt, placing their own greed above others’ lives.

“We’ll discuss your grievances with the department tomorrow night, too.”

She angled her chin, belatedly insulted. “What makes you think I’m free tomorrow night?”

“Piper’s closes at six, and Jolie and Dace claim you have no social life. So tomorrow night, I’m it.”

Jolie and Dace had told him she had no social life? Mortification mingled with irritation. Just because it was true—just because it was her choice—didn’t mean it didn’t sting.

He cut through her momentary silence by commanding, “Come over here.”

Instantly wary, she remained where she was. “Why?”

“So you can lock the door behind me.” He jerked his head toward the ice pack she’d left on the counter. “Then for the rest of the night keep ice on that cheek. Twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off. It’s going to start hurting once you fall asleep and the numbness wears off. You’re going to want to take a pain reliever before you turn in.”

In face of the genuine concern in his voice Lindsay felt her ire fade away. And that was perhaps the most lethal part of Langley’s attractiveness. It would be easier to ignore his sexual magnetism if he wasn’t so darn likable.

She was reminded again of what he’d done for her that night, and she felt something inside her soften further. “I will. Thank you.”

He lifted a shoulder. “Hey, it’s Fallon who should be thanking me. If I hadn’t shown up when I did you probably would have crippled him.”

The suggestion was outrageously untrue and guaranteed to make her smile.

He sobered, studying her intently. “I’d feel better if someone stayed with you tonight. Are you sure you don’t want to call Jolie?”

“I’m really okay,” she assured him. And she was. The events of the night had rattled her, but she’d regained her equilibrium. And there was satisfaction to be had from knowing that for once she hadn’t been too late. That she’d helped save a woman from certain trauma.

On impulse, she closed the distance between them, went up on tiptoe and brushed a kiss across his cheek. “But thank you. For everything.”

She went to step back. Found it impossible. Jack’s hand had slipped behind her nape, his thumb tilting her chin up. There was a hint of a smile in his voice, on his lips, when he said huskily, “You’re welcome.”

But she detected no amusement when his mouth covered hers. What she tasted was heat. It transferred from his lips to hers and sent corresponding spirals spinning through her veins. He wasn’t a man to miss an opportunity, she reminded herself. But she’d invited this one, hadn’t she, the moment she gotten this close to him.

Maybe she hadn’t changed as much as she’d hoped.

Because responding to his latent sexuality meant she hadn’t completely conquered her desire for excitement. Returning the hard pressure of his mouth meant she hadn’t outgrown her taste for a little danger.

That should have dismayed her. Terrified her. But those weren’t the emotions careening through her system right now. He kissed with the same lazy self-assurance that was so much a part of him. With just a hint of wickedness that invited her to be wicked with him.

And Lindsay was tempted. When his tongue swept inside her mouth, she met it with her own, relishing the dark flavor that traced through her system. Desire rose quickly, whipping her blood to churning white caps.

Emboldened, she leaned into him, taking the kiss deeper as she raised her hands to his chest. Her fingers flexed against the hard muscled planes, a purr of feminine satisfaction in the back of her throat. His chest was just as solid as it looked, with all sorts of intriguing angles and hollows where sinew met bone. She had the overpowering urge to tear her mouth from his and test one hard pec with her teeth.

She didn’t recall ever feeling this fever in her blood that stripped away the caution she’d learned to live by. This scorching heat was its own kind of seduction for a woman used to keeping her own wild nature tamed.

Jack Langley made her want to unleash it. And that made him far more dangerous than she had first assumed.

The realization had Lindsay reluctantly tearing her mouth from his, evading his lips when they would have lured her back.

Each of them drew a deep, shuddering breath. If he said anything, did anything, Lindsay couldn’t be certain she’d have the strength of will to resist him.

When he spoke, his voice was an octave lower than usual. “Don’t forget to lock up after me.”

She had to force herself to back up a few steps to allow him space to pull the door open. Clenching her hands at her sides, she managed to let him walk through it without hauling him back inside.

But it was a long moment before she could manage to do as he directed and lock the door behind him.

“You went to see Neldstrom?” Coming fully awake, Lindsay sat up in bed, her cell phone clutched to her ear. “Mitch, I wish you hadn’t done that.”

Early-morning light slanted through the blinds covering the lone window. She didn’t know what time it was when she’d taken Mitch’s call. But Piper’s opened at 6:00 a.m. Mitch hadn’t wasted any time.

“He humiliated me. In front of everyone.” There was an unfamiliar note of rage in the man’s voice, layered under the mortification. “He looked me right in the eye and dumped the plate of food down my shirt. Poured juice on my head. Said I must be slower than he thought if I didn’t get the message.”

Lindsay’s jaw clenched. The owner of Piper’s, Bill Neldstrom, was something of an ass. She’d seem him lose his temper before. The episode with Mitch hadn’t been his first. But he paid in cash and didn’t require references when hiring. That had made him an attractive employer for Lindsay.

“You didn’t deserve that, Mitch. He’s a jerk. You’ll find a better job. With a nicer boss.”

“No one did a thing to stop him. No one said a thing about it.” Mitch’s voice was tinged with bitterness. “Alex just smirked at me. Like maybe I had it coming.”

Bringing a hand up to rub her temple, Lindsay grazed her cheekbone and flinched. “I’m sorry that happened. Bill had no right to treat you that way, and I’ll tell him that.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, “You don’t work today, do you?”

“No.” Thank God, she mentally added. Various aches she’d been unaware of last night were making themselves known now, a regular little chorus of pain. “But when I see him tomorrow…”

“Don’t worry about it. Bill is going to get his one of these days.”

“Guys like him usually do.” She hoped her words sounded more certain than she felt. Her experience was quite the opposite. Innocents were destroyed while evil flourished. And waiting for justice could take a lifetime. “But I’m free this afternoon. How about if I buy some newspapers and you and I can go through the want ads? That would show Bill, if you had a new job lined up in just a few days.”

“Maybe another time.” Mitch sounded preoccupied. “Promise you won’t go talk to him today.”

Stifling a yawn, Lindsay lowered herself gingerly to a prone position again. That was a promise she’d have no trouble keeping. This would be her first day off all week. “I won’t.”

“Good. I’ll talk to you later.”

“All right. And, Mitch? We will find you a better job.”

Once the call had been disconnected, she checked the time on the phone. Past nine. But she was in no hurry to get up. Jack had been right. Her face had throbbed during the night, making it difficult to fall asleep. She was unwilling to admit that there had been any other cause for her sleeplessness. Unless it had been mortification at the struggle it had taken not to jump the man’s bones before he’d walked out the door.

Pulling a pillow over her face, she sought to shut out that particular memory. It was humbling to discover that despite her conviction otherwise, she hadn’t changed much at all over the last three years. She could switch her name and her lifestyle, dress in another manner, act different…but she hadn’t tamed her nature at all. She’d merely subdued it.

All it had taken was the sex appeal and lethal aura of one man to entice that wildness back to the surface. That meant she still was drawn to excitement. She still found herself tempted by risk.

She had to cancel dinner that evening.

She hadn’t completely lost her mind, those few minutes in Jack’s arms to the contrary. She’d learned caution the hard way. She’d learned to listen to her instincts.

And they warned her not to make a mistake with Jack Langley. If she couldn’t trust herself with the man, it made sense to avoid him altogether.

Pushing aside the niggle of disappointment, she reached for her cell, intent on getting it over with. It rang in her palm. Recognizing the number, her stomach plummeted. But she knew better than to not answer it.

“Lindsay, cancel any plans you’ve made and get down to the restaurant.” As usual, Bill Neldstrom didn’t give her a chance to speak. “Chang just went home sick, and Sarah’s in San Diego for the weekend. I’ve got my hands full here, and I can’t do the cooking and supervise the waitstaff, too.”

Everything inside her rebelled. “Bill, I haven’t had a day off all week. You promised you wouldn’t call me in. Just yesterday, in fact.”

“Well, I didn’t know that Chang was going to catch a bug, did I?” His tone was testy. “You can have a different day off.”

“When?” She wasn’t feeling particularly charitable, especially after hearing about his run-in with Mitch. “You’ve fired the grill cook and Sarah’s gone for a week. Tell me when I’m going to get some time off, Bill, especially with Chang out sick.”

“You want to be off permanently? I can arrange that pretty damn easily.”

The temptation to shove his job down his throat was almost overwhelming. Lindsay sat up in bed, jamming her free hand through her hair. But rent was due next week. And it wouldn’t hurt to have a little extra put aside for when she moved on. Telling Neldstrom off would have to wait until then.

“I should at least get overtime for this.” But she was already swinging her legs over the side of the daybed.

His laugh sounded genuinely amused. “Sure. You bring in a Social Security number and you can get all those Department of Labor perks. Now move your ass. You’d better be here in thirty minutes.”

She took a small measure of satisfaction in disconnecting the call and hurling the phone down on the pillow. Neldstrom was a miserable worm and a poor excuse for a human being. Unfortunately, he had the upper hand and delighted in wielding it. He was one she’d be all too happy to leave behind when she left Metro City.

Striding to her closet, she pulled open the door and grabbed a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. It would take nearly the entire allotted time just to walk to the nearest bus stop and make it down to Piper’s.

Dressing quickly, she abruptly remembered she’d been about to call Jack. With a mental shrug, she wiggled into her jeans and fastened them. She could call when she had a free minute at work. It would give her a chance to prepare for the conversation.

She had a feeling she was going to need all her wits about her when she talked to him.

## Chapter Three

“Bill talked you into coming in, huh?” Song, a Eurasian woman with the size and build of a twelve-year-old boy, cast a sympathetic if harried glance Lindsay’s way as she entered the kitchen.

“Man’s got a silver tongue,” she acknowledged wryly, stowing her purse beneath one of the stainless-steel counters. She waved hello to Bobby, the teenager manning the dishwashers, and scanned the fluttering tickets in the order window. She gave a mental sigh. Any thoughts of getting out before closing abruptly dissipated.

“Sorry.” Song expertly dumped a fry basket and refilled it. “I know you were looking forward to a day off. But if I had to spend the rest of my shift with him in here screaming at me, I’d have murdered him with a santoku knife.”

“Lindsay!” a familiar bellow sounded.

“Hold that thought,” Lindsay muttered. The chest-high swinging doors that separated the kitchen from the dining area bounced open, and Bill Neldstrom’s beefy frame filled them.

“You took your time getting here.” The man’s florid complexion looked ruddier than usual. Lindsay had long thought he was one tantrum away from a heart attack. “Take over the grill. Song has managed to burn every damn thing she’s put on it waiting for you.” The man’s words had anger flushing Song’s cheeks, although the woman kept her eyes downcast. “Place is full out there. Every mother’s sister musta decided to do some Christmas shopping today.” His words abruptly halted as he stared at Lindsay’s face. “What the hell happened to you?”

It took a moment for Lindsay to follow his transition. Then she remembered her cheek. The cover-up she’d used hadn’t done much to hide the bruise. “Walked into a door,” she lied blandly.

He gave a short laugh. “Good one. Told ya that mouth of yours would get you in trouble someday.” He abruptly shifted back to business. “See that you stay caught up in here. I don’t want people bitching about waiting for their food. I’ll try to come in and help out when I have time.”

“You have enough to do out there,” Lindsay told him, crossing to the order window to snatch a handful of tickets. “Song and I can handle the kitchen.”

“Make sure you do.”

The man was a bundle of charm. Turning, he exited the room again and Lindsay heard Song’s audible sigh of relief.

“You always manage him better than the rest of us.”

“Considering that I’m here on my day off, that isn’t saying much.” And considering that Bill Neldstrom was little more than a workplace bully, he was hardly a challenge. After consulting the tickets she’d grabbed, Lindsay said, “Can you handle the salads and the fryers?”

“Sure.”

Lindsay placed the orders where both of them could see them and crossed to the walk in-freezer. “Heard there was some trouble this morning.”

“Where’d you hear about that?” Song’s voice sounded behind her. Without waiting for an answer, the other woman went on, “It was over-the-top, even for Bill. He dumped a full breakfast special on Mitch Engels and told him to never come back. Chang was furious. He had to fill the order all over again.”

Selecting a couple of chicken breasts and a pound of bacon, Lindsay swiftly made her way back to the grill. Piper’s breakfast menu was available until two, but lunch orders were filled all day. She couldn’t imagine anyone wanting a chicken sandwich before ten in the morning, but her job was filling the orders, not offering nutritional advice. “I don’t imagine Mitch was any too pleased about it, either,” she said dryly, as she dropped the two chicken breasts on the grill.

A shrug sounded in Song’s voice. “Well, he had been fired, after all. And he should have known there was no use coming back and appealing to Bill. It’s not like he’s ever going to change his mind.”

Lindsay had told Mitch much the same thing last night, although the man obviously hadn’t listened. For a moment she entertained the idea of dumping potatoes and gravy on Bill’s slicked-back dark hair the day she turned in her resignation. The visual image was tempting. But timing was everything. She’d have to resign immediately after collecting her pay, or she could kiss her last payment goodbye. As Mitch had already discovered, Bill wasn’t the forgiving sort.

A few hours later the breakfast rush had segued into the lunch crowd with no noticeable lag in between. Lindsay’s cheek was throbbing, but she hadn’t had time to take the pain reliever she’d tucked into her purse. For that matter, she hadn’t had time to use the cell phone she’d slipped into her jeans pocket, either. She flicked a glance at the clock. Five hours until Jack was supposed to pick her up. She needed to make the call to cancel, and soon.

“What the hell?”

There was a crash behind her. Lindsay whirled, saw the broken dishes lying at Bobby’s feet. The question on her lips died as she followed the direction of the boy’s gaze.

“Everyone head into the dining area. Now.”

Her brain seemed frozen. The voice belonged to Mitch Engels. But the man standing before her could have been a stranger. In faded camouflage fatigues and a bright orange hunting cap, he looked like Elmer Fudd ready to wage war on a flock of ducks.

But there was nothing comical about the shotgun strapped across his chest. Or the handgun he was holding.

“Mitch!”

His face, when he saw her, was as dismayed as Lindsay’s voice had been. “I told you not to come here. I told you!”

She couldn’t look away from the gun in his hand. It was still easy to recall the feel of a cold barrel pressed against her temple. Still all too easy to hear that voice in her ear, menacing. Amused.

Does this bullet have your name on it? Should we find out?

“Bill called me in for Chang,” she said inanely. “Mitch…” She swallowed hard, tasted fear. “You don’t want to do this. This isn’t the way.”

“It’s the only way.” With a jerk of his head, he told them, “All of you, into the dining area.”

Lindsay looked at Song and Bobby. They seemed frozen in place, their gazes glued on the gun Mitch was wielding. She hesitated, a thousand scenarios fast-forward-ing through her mind. There were three of them. If they all rushed him at once…or if she distracted him, would Song and Bobby react quickly enough to head for the exit?

But the other two workers were already moving to obey, leaving Lindsay remaining to face him. “You don’t want to mess with me, Lindsay,” Mitch warned. “You really don’t. Out there with them. Now.”

He blocked her path to the exit. She paused infinitesimally. A person knowledgeable about firearms was deadly. An armed person without that knowledge, even more so.

She turned, following closely behind Song and Bobby.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” She heard Neldstrom’s voice. “Are you the one who dropped the dishes in the kitchen? Because I’m taking them out of your pay, you butter-fingered little freak. I’m not made of—” His voice broke off as Song and Lindsay appeared before him. “What’s going on? Lindsay, you better not be staging a…”

Lindsay could tell the exact moment Neldstrom saw Mitch behind her. His eyes bulged and his face went a darker shade of red. “Engels, what do I have to do to keep you out of here?”

Mitch nudged Lindsay aside. “I think you’ve already done plenty, you spineless bastard.”

The color abruptly leached from the owner’s face when he saw the gun the man was holding. “Are you crazy? The place is full of people.”

“I didn’t come for them. I came for you.”

Mitch swung the gun to aim for Neldstrom, who stumbled back several steps. A woman in the nearest booth spotted the weapon and let out a window-rattling shriek. Neldstrom took the opportunity to run for the door, slamming into Bobby and knocking him to the floor.

“You aren’t going anywhere!” As Lindsay watched in horror, Mitch fired a shot, striking Neldstrom in the back. “I’m in charge here now! I’m in charge!”

Neldstrom dropped heavily to the floor, landing almost on top of Bobby. The teenager yelped, scrambling to his feet, his eyes dark pools of shock in his pale face. A baby wailed, women screamed and several patrons got to their feet and rushed for the exits.

Lindsay finally found her voice. “Mitch…”

“Everyone freeze!” Mitch raised the gun and fired two more shots in quick succession. The tableau inside the restaurant stilled, as if a movie had been paused midscene. “Bobby, lock the front door and close the shades on the windows. Now!”

The boy didn’t move. “But…but…Bill…”

“He doesn’t look like he’s up to it,” Mitch said callously. The owner hadn’t moved. Blood was pooling between his shoulder blades. Mitch raised his voice. “Everyone sit back down. Go on. Get back in your booths. No one will get hurt if you do exactly as I say.”

Lindsay studied him closely. The transformation that had come over the man was as fascinating as it was frightening. Gone was the cowed, victimized man from the bar last night. It was as if by donning that ridiculous hunter’s uniform and picking up a weapon, he’d become someone she didn’t know.

And that meant she wasn’t at all sure how to approach him.

“Mitch.” It took effort to keep her voice steady, her manner matter-of-fact. “Someone passing by is sure to report the shots fired in here.” The location of the windows made it doubtful anyone had witnessed Bill’s shooting. “You need to get away before the police come.” She was hyperaware of the body lying motionless on the floor, of the blood seeping too rapidly from it. If she could convince Mitch that he was her primary concern, maybe they could avoid any more bloodshed.

“I’m not going without Alex,” he said grimly, his eyes scanning the crowd as they returned to their seats. “Where is he?”

“I…I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. She hadn’t been outside the kitchen since arriving this morning. “But you have to leave now, Mitch. You don’t have much time.” From the corner of her eye she could see that Bobby had secured the front door and rolled down the blinds to cover the bank of front windows

“Everyone keep your hands on the tables,” Mitch called to the patrons. “And don’t worry. The only ones dying today are the ones who deserve it. And if you don’t do anything stupid…well, then you won’t deserve to die, will you?”

“You could slip out the kitchen entrance the same way you came in,” Lindsay told him, desperation tingeing her tone. Did the man intend a siege here? A sense of impending doom lodged in the pit of her belly. “If you leave now…”

Mitch reached out and grabbed Song, who seemed shellshocked. Wrapping an arm around her throat, he told Lindsay, “Go lock the kitchen door. Then the back exit. I trust you, Lindsay. Don’t screw me over.” He placed the muzzle of the gun against the woman’s temple, and panic filled her expression. “Or the next one that dies will be on your conscience.”

Lindsay’s gaze locked with Song’s. The woman’s eyes were wide with terror and a silent plea that was impossible to ignore. A kaleidoscope of possibilities raced through her mind, but in the end she knew there was only one choice.

Jerkily, she nodded. “All right. Don’t hurt her. Mitch?” She waited for him to look at her. “Promise you won’t hurt anyone else.”

For a moment there was a flicker in his eyes and she saw the man she’d once thought she’d known. “I won’t hurt Song. As long as you do what I say.”

As Lindsay pushed through the swinging doors to the kitchen, it occurred to her that he hadn’t exactly given the promise she’d asked for. Casting a look over her shoulder, she saw Mitch’s attention fixed on her.

So she turned her gaze forward again and kept her movements stealthy as she reached under her apron on the way to the door. Pulled the cell phone from her jeans pocket. Sending a silent prayer to a frequently absent God, she rang Jack Langley’s number.

“This is total bullshit!” Unable to remain silent any longer, Jack surged to his feet, paced Captain Telsom’s office. “Fallon’s threatening to bring charges against me?”

“You broke his nose and a couple of his ribs,” Telsom reminded him from behind his scarred oak desk. “He’s screaming brutality, which is going to bring IA breathing down our necks. You’re sure we’re solid on that attempted rape charge against him?”

“It’s solid.” Sheila Jennings had sworn out a complaint last night while Fallon had spent the night in the hospital. There was definitely something backassed about that turn of events. He hadn’t had time to look at the report this morning, since he and his partner had been called out to check on an alleged burglary. After a couple hours at the scene, the elderly home owner had discovered his coin collection had been moved by his housekeeper. “And I’m not the one who broke his nose. That was the woman who witnessed him trying to rape Sheila Jennings last night.” In short, succinct terms he relayed Lindsay’s part in the incident, ending with, “This is just a preemptive strike on Fallon’s part. He figures a complaint is going to be sworn out against him and he’s trying to keep his ass out of jail.”

Some of the tension eased from Telsom’s craggy face. “Bradford’s statement will back up Jennings’s?”

Jack halted, folding his arms across his chest. “Yes,” he said, with more certainty than he was feeling. His persuasive powers had been singularly ineffective with Lindsay last night. But surely she’d be thinking more clearly today.

“Then bring her in here and get the paperwork done. Let’s clean this up before it gets messy, Langley.” His protruding brow and deep-set eyes were even more noticeable when he was wearing a scowl. “I don’t like messes.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Jack walked out of the office, glancing at his watch. Three-ten. If he was going to get Lindsay in here for a statement today, he didn’t have much time.

When he got back to his desk and reached into his suit jacket for his cell, however, he saw he’d already missed a call from Lindsay. No message. Something inside him lightened. He knew better than to believe that she’d come to her senses and rethought her decision about the statement. More than likely she was calling to cancel their date tonight.

He pressed the redial button and held the cell to his ear, sinking into his desk chair, a sense of anticipation clenching in his gut at the thought of speaking to her again.

But the phone merely rang, and rang, and rang before switching to her voice mail.

Lindsay felt the phone vibrate in her apron pocket and thanked God she’d thought to mute it before locking the door and facing Mitch again. Because he wasn’t the same man she’d felt sorry for last night. Something had snapped inside him and he’d spiraled rapidly out of control.

Like the rest of the people inside the restaurant, her attention was glued on the scene unfolding between Mitch and Alex Gardner, who had been discovered hiding below the order counter.

“I said crawl over here, you piece of crap!”

There was a shrill ring to Mitch’s voice that had Lindsay considering him carefully. The unusual veneer of control he’d worn when he’d entered the kitchen was definitely thinning. She scanned the occupants of the restaurant, counting heads. Thirty-seven people, including the help. The customers were predominantly women, with five children and three men. And everyone wore similar expressions of dazed terror.

“Not laughing anymore, are you, funny guy?” Alex was on his knees in front of Mitch, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. Mitch had the revolver pressed against the center of his forehead. “What’s the matter? This isn’t as funny as watching Bill pour juice over my head? Something’s wrong with your sense of humor, pal. This is funny as hell.”

Alex’s face crumpled. Silent tears ran down his face.

Lindsay sidled away until the hostess’s lectern was between her and the two men. Leaning against the wall, she reached one hand into the wide front pocket of her apron, in search of the still-vibrating phone. If she could just open it, Jack would be able to hear everything going on, wouldn’t he? And then maybe he could understand enough to send the help necessary to…

“Lindsay!”

Her heart stuttered to a stop in her chest, her fingers releasing the phone and slipping out of the pocket again. Mitch was staring at her, frowning. “What?” With a sense of despair she realized the cell had ceased vibrating.

“Bring me a glass of orange juice. No, bring me a whole damn pitcher. Let’s see how funny boy likes it when it’s dumped over his head.”