A Surprise Family

July 2020

Against the Odds

August 2020

Proving Their Love

September 2020

Their Perfect Surprise

January 2021

Written in the Stars

February 2021

The Perfect Family

March 2021

Baby Makes Three

About the Authors

Besides writing, ANN MAJOR enjoys her husband, kids, grandchildren, cats, hobbies, and travels. A Texan, Ann holds a B.A. from UT, and an M.A. from Texas A & M. A former teacher on both the secondary and college levels, Ann is an experienced speaker. She’s written over sixty books for Mills & Boon and frequently makes bestseller lists.

MAUREEN CHILD is the author of more than 130 romance novels and novellas that routinely appear on bestseller lists and have won numerous awards, including the National Reader’s Choice Award. A seven-time nominee for the prestigous RITA® award from Romance Writers of America, one of her books was made into a CBS-TV movie called The Soul Collecter. Maureen recently moved from California to the mountains of Utah and is trying to get used to snow.

USA TODAY bestselling author KAT CANTRELL read her first Mills & Boon novel in third grade and has been scribbling in notebooks since she learned to spell. She’s a former Mills & Boon So You Think You Can Write winner and former RWA Golden Heart finalist. Kat, her husband and their two boys live in north Texas.

A Surprise Family: Against the Odds

Terms of Engagement

Ann Major

A Baby for the Boss

Maureen Child

From Enemies to Expecting

Kat Cantrell

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90788-4

A SURPRISE FAMILY: AGAINST THE ODDS

Terms of Engagement © 2012 Ann Major A Baby for the Boss © 2016 Maureen Child From Enemies to Expecting © 2017 Kat Cantrell

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Table of Contents

Cover

About the Authors

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Terms of Engagement

Back Cover Text

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

A Baby for the Boss

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Epilogue

From Enemies to Expecting

Back Cover Text

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Epilogue

About the Publisher

Terms of Engagement

Ann Major

Revisit a classic tale of romantic suspense by award-winning author Kylie Bryant…

Everything about her was a lie

Her role in defusing a hostage crisis had blown her cover, and “Lindsay Bradford” knew she had to flee again. But there was one obstacle.

Jack Langley.

Except her desire for one man

Whoever she really was, Jack knew that Lindsay couldn’t run forever. And she couldn’t fight a vengeful killer all alone. Wherever she went, the SWAT cop would be there to protect her. Nothing would stop him—not even the desire that blindsided them, making them vulnerable to a bullet that now had both their names on it.

Originally published in 2009

To Ted, with all my love.

And as always I must thank my editor, Stacy Boyd, and Shana Smith, along with the entire Harlequin Desire team for their talented expertise. I thank as well my agent, Karen Solem.

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 ex-friend. 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-forwarding 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 shell-shocked. 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.”

“He didn’t do anything to you, Mitch.” With effort, she kept her gaze off Alex and on the man holding the gun. She didn’t know Gardner well, but he couldn’t be more than twenty. About the same age as her friends were when they’d died. Had Wendy and Rick been forced to their knees just like Alex? Had Nathan been humiliated before the trigger had been pulled? She never would have thought that Mitch had anything in common with Niko Rassi.

But she’d never before considered what constant belittling and humiliation could do to a fragile ego.

“He laughed at me, didn’t he?” Mitch’s tone turned plaintive. “I told you that this morning. He watched Bill dump a breakfast special on me and the whole time he just stood…there…and smirked.” He punctuated his final words by pressed the muzzle of the gun harder and harder into Alex’s skin. “So get me that juice. He has this coming.”

She swallowed hard. “No.”

Mitch’s eyes bugged as he stared at her. “I thought you were my friend! I thought you were on my side!”

“I am your friend.” Lindsay had to force the words through a suddenly dry throat. It felt as though all eyes in the place had turned—accusingly—on her. “And as your friend, I’m saying you aren’t someone who deliberately sets out to hurt others.” She couldn’t look at the body crumpled near the doorway. Not if she was going to appeal to Mitch’s logic. “If you continue this, you’ll be just like them. Is that what you want?”

He stared at her for a long instant, and for a moment she thought she saw the old Mitch in his eyes. Before they turned hard again.

“I’m not like them. I’m fair. And Alex has this coming. You know it, don’t you, Alex?” The young man gave a jerky nod. “So bring me that orange juice.”

Lindsay drew in a deep breath. It did nothing to dislodge the cold hard knot in her chest. Would humiliating Alex defuse Mitch’s rage or escalate it? Taking a gamble, she shook her head. “I won’t do it.”

There seemed to be a collective gasp in the restaurant. From the corner of her eye, Lindsay could see Song gesturing wildly for her to follow Mitch’s orders. But indulging this little power play he was on could only lead to increased violence.

The man’s eyes widened. “Are you forgetting who has the gun, Lindsay?”

“You’re in charge. I get that. But this is wrong and you know it.”

Mitch’s lower lip jutted out petulantly. Turning his focus from her he barked, “You! First booth on the left! Bring up your glass of milk.”

And as Lindsay watched him order one customer after another to file up and pour the contents of their glasses over Alex’s head, she surreptitiously dialed Jack’s number again.

Jack was just finishing the report on the alleged burglary from this morning when his alphanumeric pager went off. In one smooth motion he grabbed it from his suit pocket and read the shorthand on the LED screen.

Shots fired—Gunman w/hostages—SWAT response—1601 Lexington.

Lexington. The same call he’d heard on the patrol radio minutes ago? Rising, he scooped up his jacket, and, catching Lieutenant Coulson’s eye, held up his beeper. Coulson nodded. Jack headed for the door.

Lexington was around the corner and down the block. He strode rapidly out of the precinct house and headed for his department-issued Crown Victoria. Only three other members of the squad came from his precinct. They’d likely be among the first SWAT respondents on scene.

He jogged to the car, mentally mapping Lexington. It was a street of businesses. A flower shop. A coffee place. A couple restaurants. Some of the stores had apartments over them. Could be a domestic call. No way of knowing for sure until he got there. And not much use taking the Vic when he was this close to the incident scene.

Popping the trunk, he swiftly unzipped his bag of gear and donned the LBV vest with the heavy ceramic plates. Securing the ballistic helmet, he reached for the 9 mm submachine gun and double-checked that he had a full magazine. He exchanged his department-issued secondary weapon for the .45 Kimber and zipped up the gear bag again, removing it from the trunk before slamming the lid shut.

Then he hefted the bag and ran to the corner. Turning left, he immediately saw the crowd gathered at the end of the street. Patrolmen had set up an outer perimeter and were pushing the crowd back. As he drew closer he could determine that Piper’s was the incident scene.

There was a quick twist in his gut. He had a moment to be grateful Lindsay wasn’t working today before he spotted the black RV that served as the tactical command post. Hitching the strap of his bag higher on his shoulder, he trotted toward it.

Ducking inside the command center, he saw the SWAT tactical commander, Harv Mendel, and a half dozen entry team members already assembled. The commander was midexplanation. “…differing reports, but there appears to be between twenty and thirty hostages inside. One gunman sighted. Three shots fired fifteen minutes ago.”

“Any identity on the gunman yet?” Theo Basuk called out.

Jack’s cell rang, and he gave a silent curse. He’d forgotten to mute it. Mendel sent him a narrowed glare as he cut it off midring and the man went on.

“Not yet. We’ll station the precision marksmen on the rooftops surrounding the restaurant. The crisis negotiation team is en route. Let’s get a laser monitor system set up right away. I want to hear what’s going on in there. Run det cord under side one opening two to ready for a secondary entry distraction. All right, everybody, move!”

As the commander headed to the back of the RV, entry team leader Tom Nelson faced the rest of the members. “Langley and Basuk. Get us some ears in there. Hanks and Zook, grab the spool of det cord and let’s set this thing up.”

Jack moved to the back of the RV and took out the Pelican briefcase holding the laser monitoring system. Once he and Basuk were outside again, he said, “Rock, paper, scissors?” He already knew that the bayou-born Basuk would want the action part of the assignment for himself.

Basuk stared down his long nose at him. “First day back on the squad, Langley. You’d better take it easy.”

Jack held out his fist. The other man hesitated, then cursed and did the same. A moment later, Jack was grinning. “Scissors cuts paper. Cover me.”

Basuk uttered another oath and they headed toward the inner perimeter. “I’d say welcome back to Alpha Squad. ’Cept I’d be lying.”

“That wounds me, Basuk. Deeply.” Jack squatted beside his duffel and attached his radio and whisper mike. In his three-month absence from SWAT duty his spot had been filled. Which meant he was damn lucky a vacancy had appeared in the unit about the time he’d been cleared for the extra duty. “I was counting the days until I could work with you.” He laughed at Basuk’s retort, which was crude and anatomically impossible.

After discussing their approach, Jack donned elbow and knee pads before dropping to his belly, preparing to crawl up to the building to mount the laser transmitter on its tripod aimed at the front windows. The cell he’d jammed in his pants pocket dug into his leg. He pulled it out to shift it to his gear pouch, noting that the last caller had been Lindsay again. Dropping it into his gear pouch, he fastened the strap around his waist.

She must be real impatient to break their date. With the possibility of this incident stretching out for hours, she was probably going to get her wish.

Lindsay watched the clock on the wall. Time had slowed to a crawl. Mitch was still delighting in his torment of Alex. And her bright idea of calling Jack had gone nowhere. He wasn’t picking up.

Which brought up the question of why the man had been the first person she’d thought of to call. The answer was troubling but it was the least of her worries at the moment. She’d gotten a free moment to place calls to Jolie and Dace, and she’d gotten the same lack of response.

A baby in the back booth began wailing, and nervously she watched Mitch glare in that direction. She contemplated dialing 911. Just like calling Jack or her friends, she could keep the line open for the dispatcher to hear what was going on. But she didn’t trust the dispatcher to catch on as quickly as she thought the others would. And she couldn’t risk Mitch hearing a voice speaking at the other end of her cell.

Which left text messaging. If the police were outside, a SWAT squad would be called in, wouldn’t it? And she recalled from the conversation last night it would be the one her friends and Jack served on. She knew Jolie and Dace didn’t have the text messaging option on their phones. Did Jack? She’d never gotten particularly adept at the process but it was a way to send a silent message to him, and through him, to the police. And it would remain in his inbox until he was able to get to his phone.

Glancing at Mitch, she saw his attention had returned to Alex. But the ladies in the back corner booth, the ones with three small children with them, had their heads together, whispering.

Slowly Lindsay slipped her hand into her apron pocket, flipping the cell phone open. She couldn’t do this blindly; she needed to sneak furtive peeks at the keypad. Her fingers felt thick, clumsy as she scrolled down to Jack’s number before checking on Mitch again. She pressed in the commands for a new message and the blank screen blinked up at her.

“This is Dace Recker, with the Metro City police!” boomed a disembodied voice outside. “I’d like to talk to the person in charge in there.”

“Oh, thank God,” one woman sobbed. “Thank God.”

“About damn time,” Lindsay heard a man say.

“Shut up! Shut up!” Mitch screamed. His eyes wild, he looked around, fixing his stare on Lindsay. She stilled, certain for a moment that he could X-ray through the lectern to see her hand in her apron pocket. “It’s the police. What do I do?”

The phone on the wall began to jangle. The baby wailed louder. A man began pounding on the window above his booth. “Get us out of here! This guy is crazy!”

Alex took advantage of Mitch’s distraction and dove past him toward the kitchen.

As if in slow motion, Lindsay saw Mitch swing around, level his gun at the fleeing man and she grabbed the closest thing she could, a large, heavy, plastic-encased restaurant menu.

She heaved it at Mitch’s gun hand, shouting “No, Mitch, don’t!” just as the deafening sound of a shot split the air.

CHAPTER FOUR

Tactical Liaison Kurt Welter’s voice sounded on Jack’s radio. “From situation intel we know we’ve likely got one gunman. The owner is also verified inside. Running down the owners of the vehicles in the lot gives us at least thirty hostages. No identity of the gunman yet, although people are referring to him as Mitch. Doesn’t appear to be a robbery gone wrong. Likely a customer or maybe a worker. The crisis negotiation team has been unable to establish contact. They’re trying a throw phone.”

Jack slanted a glance at Basuk, who stood silently next to him. “What about that last shot?” he muttered to the man. If they had reason to believe the HT was killing people inside, an assault would be unavoidable.

As if in answer to the question, Welter’s voice went on. “From the reaction of those inside, however, it sounds like there’s been no further injury. Exact position of the HT has not been determined. Precision marksmen have been unable to find a vantage point for gathering intel. Right now we’re relying on the listening device.”

Which, depending on the location of the gunman, could result in spotty accuracy. Jack turned to scan the area behind him. The outer perimeter was containing the usual crowd of rubberneckers and media. A couple news vans, cameras mounted on the roofs, were pressing as close as allowed. Any police action would be broadcast live to residents over their dinners this evening, increasing the pressure for a peaceful resolution.

He and Basuk stood ready with the majority of the entry team members at side one, the front of the restaurant. He thought of the restaurant blueprints they’d studied. A secondary entrance through the bank of windows could easily result in injuries to hostages, as booths lined the space beneath. At this point they had no way to know where the hostages were being kept. Their best chance would be to go in through side three opening one—the alley entrance—or side four.

The radio fell silent. Jack felt the cell phone in his gear bag vibrate. Surreptitiously, he unzipped the bag to withdraw the phone, intent on turning it off. He couldn’t afford distractions, even though it looked like they’d be hunkered down for hours waiting for CNT to try and bring about a peaceful resolution.

He flipped open the phone, his thumb moving to the Off key when he glanced down and frowned. The LED screen announced that he had one text message from a number that was only vaguely familiar. Who the hell would be sending him a text message? Another press of a button elicited the answer—and had his blood turning to ice.

Insde Mitch Engels 2gun 1 ded advse

Abruptly, he reversed direction and raced back to the command center, ignoring the twinge in his thigh. His heart was jackhammering in his chest, and not just from the confirmation that they already had a fatality.

Lindsay was inside. She was one of the hostages.

“I’m not talking to them. Why should I?”

Mitch stood amidst the jumble of purses, cell phones and other personal belongings he’d had Song collect from the customers. After all, he’d explained to Lindsay earlier with a sort of eerie calmness, he couldn’t chance one of them calling for help. She’d managed a sound of agreement through a throat that had gone abruptly dry.

What would Mitch do to her if he realized she’d done just that?

“You have to think about yourself. Getting out of here unhurt.” Keep him calm. Keep him focused on his own well-being. That just might be their ticket out. Her earlier attempts to contact Jack had been useless, at any rate. He’d said last night that he’d be on the next incident call, but if by some chance there had been more than once incident response today, their friends’ squad might not even be the one outside the restaurant.

Mitch looked unconvinced. “I’ve seen the movies. These guys on the phone…they’re professionals. They just want to mess with my head.”

“I think you can count on them to keep their word.” She knew a little about the process from listening to Dace and Jolie, although she certainly wasn’t going to share that with Mitch. “I’ll bet there’s media outside. There always is in a situation like this. The police can’t afford to have something go wrong when the news will be broadcast all over. You hold the upper hand here, Mitch. But you can’t use it if you don’t talk to them.”

“Oh, I can still use it,” he said meaningfully, bringing the pistol up to aim at Alex again. Blood had soaked through the dish towel the boy had wrapped around his arm. Lindsay had managed to disrupt Mitch’s aim, but her actions hadn’t spared Alex completely.

“Try to focus.” Because her voice was sharp, she made an effort to soften it. “Stop worrying about Alex and start thinking about getting yourself out safely.”

“I’m gonna get screwed either way so it doesn’t much matter what else goes on in here,” Mitch said bitterly, his aim never wavering. “You know they’ll pin Neldstrom’s death on me.”

Since he’d shot the man in cold blood, his logic was difficult to argue, but Lindsay gave it a try. “Not when they find out how he treated you, Mitch. There are laws against bullying. You can make them see that Bill’s treatment of you drove you over the edge.”

Finally his gaze left Alex and fixed on her, his myopic eyes widening behind the glasses. “They’ll see it was his fault? That he had it coming?”

Lindsay could feel the condemnation shimmering off others within earshot, but she couldn’t focus on what they thought. Only on what might get them all out of here alive. “But you have to make them see that. You have to pick up that throw phone they told you about, and—”

“No!” Abruptly his voice went fanatical again. “We aren’t opening any doors.”

“Answer the restaurant phone the next time they call, then,” she went on seamlessly. “It’s your only chance to tell your side.”

“Tell my side,” he muttered, but she could tell he was thinking about it. “I have to think.”

Her phone vibrated inside the apron pocket and her knees suddenly threatened to give out. “Take your time,” she suggested weakly. He wouldn’t be able to see the slight movement of the phone, would he? “Why don’t I get you something to drink?”

“Yeah, get me a root beer.” Mitch kicked aside the jumble of belongings at his feet and dragged a chair from behind the hostess station to sink into.

Lindsay turned to go to the soda dispenser, reached for a cup to set in place. Then she shot another look at Mitch to make sure his attention was elsewhere before she dropped one hand into her apron pocket, flipped up the phone and read Jack’s response.

“And this woman inside…you’re sure you’ve got no relationship other than as witness to last night’s assault?”

Jack answered the commander without a qualm. “Absolutely none.” It wasn’t a lie. Not quite. The kiss he and Lindsay had shared didn’t change the fact that he barely knew the woman. The fact that he wanted to change that, wanted to know her on the most basic of levels, wasn’t relevant here. Not when the admission would get him pulled from this duty.

“I gave her my number so she could contact me about that case.” He lifted a shoulder beneath the heavy vest. “She knows I’m SWAT. She’s a friend of some CNT members.”

He withstood Mendel’s steely gaze for a long moment. “All right.” With an abrupt jerk of his shaved head, the other man seemed to come to a decision. “I want every message brought promptly to command center. You send nothing that hasn’t been expressly okayed by me.”

“Understood.” He hadn’t expected the commander to decide differently. With the snipers unable to gather intel, they had only what they could pick up through the laser. It was hard to ignore the best way they had to gather information about what was going on inside.

“Find out the number of hostages, positions, overall mood of the gunman. This Engels. And tell her not to do anything stupid. I want to see every message before you send it.”

Jack nodded. He wasn’t about to tell Mendel that he knew Lindsay well enough not to use any such phrasing. He concentrated on texting in the message, cursing his slowness. His fingers were too thick to make him quick at the process, which was why he rarely used it. He finished and showed the shorthand message to Mendel, who nodded, then pressed Send.

He turned, but didn’t get back to position before he received a message in return.

37 hstg n wkrs mtch 6 ft insde fr dr tryn get hm answr phn. Call

Mendel grunted as he squinted at the text.

“Sounds like maybe she has him convinced to talk.”

“I’ll alert CNT. Ask her about the fatality. Anything the negotiators can learn before the call will help.”

The commander strode away before Jack could point out the obvious. Which was just as well, because doing so would blow his claim that there was nothing personal between him and the woman inside.

Jack looked down at the cell in his hand, not making a move to obey the commander. Because even if it hadn’t occurred to Mendel, it had occurred to him.

Every time Lindsay answered one of the texts, she was risking her life.

“He was the boss from hell. You nailed it. Bastard was so cheap, he even took a cut of all of our tips. And he picked on me from day one. Anyone will tell you that.”

Lindsay watched Mitch talk on the phone from the corner of her eye, misgivings circling in her stomach. She’d thought letting the man air his grievances to Dace and Jolie, the trained listeners outside, would be helpful. The long phone conversation offered her cover to send messages to Jack, but it seemed only to agitate Mitch further.

The baby in the back corner booth was screeching again. From his frequent glances in that direction, Lindsay could tell Mitch’s nerves were fraying. Swiftly she finished her next message and pressed Send. And then, because she couldn’t help herself, she took a moment to recheck Jack’s last message.

Keep mtch clm hng in thr wel gt u all out. Prmse

His assertion that he’d get them all out safely might be empty, but it still brought Lindsay a momentary glow. And there was no denying that every message she got from Jack made her a little steadier. They weren’t alone. That was something.

She scanned the people huddled at their booths and tables, voices muted. Her gaze lingered on the expressions of Song, Bobby and Alex. The inner glow faded. Because in here, they were alone.

She headed for Mitch. “These people will need to go to the bathroom soon. And the kids probably need to go now,” she said in a low undertone. Maybe she’d wasted her time texting while he was otherwise occupied. She could have slipped into the kitchen, searched for a weapon. She didn’t like her chances with a knife against a gun, but she resolved to grab one if the opportunity presented itself. She’d feel better if she were armed.

“I’ll have to think about it.” Mitch’s voice was distracted, and at first Lindsay couldn’t tell whom the words were meant for. A few minutes later when he hung up, it became clear. His tone was icy when he told Lindsay. “No one moves. Those are my orders.”

“You’re making the decisions.” Her words were as deferential as she could manage. “It’s not going to smell too good in here after a while, though. I’m not sure how much longer these kids can hold it, are you?”

He sent the squalling kid in the corner a jaundiced glance. His voice dropped to an undertone, meant for her ears alone. “There are other ways to shut them up.”

Fear pierced her. “No need to make hasty decisions, Mitch. You told them on the phone you had things to think over. That was the right thing to do.”

“I told them what they wanted to hear. Bought time, that’s all.” He reached up with one camouflaged sleeve to wipe his glistening forehead beneath the orange cap, which was growing slightly wilted. His broad face was flushed. “As long as they think I might go out, they won’t send cops rushing in here.”

As long as they think I might go out…

She tried a smile but wasn’t sure she pulled it off. “It will all be on your terms, Mitch. Take the time you need. You’ll make the right decision. The safest one for you.”

“I’m not stupid, Lindsay.” His voice was so low she had to strain to make out the whispered words. She heard the resignation in his voice. Saw the acceptance in his expression. “Even if I get out of here, then what? I can’t go to prison. You saw the way Bill treated me. Think I’m not going to be a victim inside? I couldn’t take that life. You’re right about one thing, though. It will be on my terms. After today, I’ll be remembered, all right. I’ll make sure of that.”

There was a roaring in her ears. Her heart sped up to triple time, until she was certain everyone around her could hear its mad beating. “There’s always more than one solution. Talk to them again when they call. You’ll see.”

The child’s crying intensified and in the next moment Mitch whirled around and screamed, “Shut that brat up!”

“You don’t need this agitation,” she said, inwardly quaking at what she was about to do. What she had to do. The negotiators had every reason to think that Mitch was going to come around. That with the next contact, or the one after that, they’d be able to convince him to surrender peacefully.

But the man wasn’t as easily manipulated as they thought. And Lindsay knew their time inside was running out.

Dnt b foold mtch nt cmg out hell kil evry1

CNT liaison Herb Simpson, Kurt Welter and Commander Mendel took turns squinting at the text on the cell-phone screen. “Where are your negotiators with this guy?”

Simpson shook his head. “Still in the rapport-building stage. The HT hasn’t escalated, but neither has he taken any positive steps like releasing a hostage.”

“According to this text, he isn’t going to,” Welter put in. “He’s stalling.”

“Have you gotten anything from the laser system that would indicate the HT’s mood?” Jack asked. There was a knot of sick fear lodged deep in his belly, formed by Lindsay’s last message.

“Enough to know he’s volatile,” Mendel said flatly. “And we probably aren’t picking up everything with the background noise inside.”

Seeming to reach a decision, the commander looked at Simpson. “We need time to get into position. Have CNT make contact again. Keep him on the line as long as possible. We’ll want the diversion.”

Jack’s palms had gone curiously damp. When he took the cell phone Mendel handed him, it nearly slipped from his hands. Once the liaisons left, Mendel told him, “Text her back and tell her to sit tight. That we’ve got it covered out here.”

Relief battled trepidation inside him. Because a breach on the restaurant didn’t lessen the danger Lindsay was in. Just the opposite.

He keyed in a text message and held the phone up for the commander to read.

Gve it tme we hve thngs cvrd sit tite

Mendel gestured his okay and strode toward the RV. But Jack didn’t send the message until he added a few more words.

Im gng to get u out of thre

“They’ll stay calmer if they’re comfortable. Calm means easier to manage,” Lindsay argued. The muscles in her neck and shoulders were tense from fatigue and stress. “I can take them to the restroom in small groups. You trust me, Mitch. I’ve always been your friend. Let me help you.”

The other man looked uncertain. “It’s better to keep them in one spot. Where I can see all of them.”

“I’ll be watching them. And you have to answer that next phone call.” He’d already let one go by unanswered. “You want to stay one step ahead of the cops outside, don’t you? You have to make sure they think you’re playing their game.”

As if on cue, the phone on the wall jangled again. Mitch looked indecisively from it to her.

“Go ahead,” Lindsay encouraged him. “I’ll handle this for you.”

“Just a few at a time. But don’t try anything, Lindsay.” She felt a chill skitter down her spine at the threat on Mitch’s face, so incongruous settling on that normally placid expression. “We’re both going to die, I’m not going to lie to you. But I could make it very painful if you screw me over.”

“You can count on me, Mitch.”

As she skirted Song, who was huddled on the floor, the woman whispered, “Why are you helping him?”

Lindsay looked over her shoulder to find Mitch still looking at her as he reached for the phone. Facing forward again, she murmured, “Be ready. And stay down.”

“Lindsay, what are you—”

The rest of the woman’s words were lost as Lindsay clapped her hands sharply and raised her voice over the murmur of the customers. “We’re going to use the restroom. I’ll call up booths one at a time. Those of you with children will be called first.”

She kept her back to Mitch as she directed the customers, some of them openly sobbing, into an orderly line down the narrow hallway leading to the restrooms. Her shoulder blades itched, as if waiting for the bullet Mitch had promised. Luckily, he couldn’t read her mind.

If he could, she’d already be dead.

The front and rear exits were out of the question. Mitch had a clear line of vision to both. But in that long, narrow hallway enclosing the restrooms was also a full swinging door on the opposite wall marked EMPLOYEES ONLY.

That door led to the kitchen.

Nerves tangled in her stomach. Her fingers were clumsy as she texted while the first two used the restroom.

Sndg kids out thru ktchn dr

The minutes stretched interminably without a response. Maybe Jack was right. Maybe they should wait. Would Mitch really have the nerve to shoot himself rather than surrendering to certain prison? Maybe not, she decided grimly, as the first mother and child came out of the restroom. Maybe he was planning on suicide by cop if a breach occurred. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to take out as many of them as he could first.

With a hand on the customer’s arm, she halted the progress of her and her little boy. He looked about four. From the looks of his tear-drenched eyes, he was the one who had been screaming earlier. “You’ll have to go back to your booth,” she said in a whisper to the thirtyish woman. “But I can get him out. Through here. There’s an outside entrance.” She looked at the nearest woman in line who was listening, her arms clutching her little girl protectively to her side.

Lindsay spoke rapidly. “You have to decide now and you have to act normal. Go back to your booths afterward. Pretend you have a child cuddled to your side. Don’t do anything to give us away.”

The second woman acted first. Eyes hard, she gave a grim nod and unwrapped her daughter’s arms from around her knees. She crouched down, hands on her child’s shoulders and gave her a little shake. “Quiet as a mouse. Like hide-and-seek, understand?” The girl nodded, eyes scared but solemn. Lindsay squatted to help the child take off her shoes, then got on all fours behind her. “Not a sound, but scoot as quick as you can, okay?” Then she pushed the door open, drew a deep breath.

She could hear the child’s breathing, abnormally loud to her ears. Could feel her own heart pounding like a herd of stampeding cattle. On all fours, they were hidden by the counters, but there was about a five-foot clearing in front of the door where they’d be exposed. All Mitch had to do was turn to look over those chest-high swinging doors at the right time and he’d spot them. Even if he didn’t look down, the outside door would be in his vision. He’d notice if the bolt was slid back. If the door was open.

And then both she and the girl would be dead.

She could feel her phone vibrate in her apron pocket. The sensation sent a quick quiver through her system. She withdrew the cell and flipped it open to read the message.

Rdy but b dam carefl?

She smiled shakily, dropped the phone back in her pocket. She assumed Jack had meant an exclamation mark, but the question mark embodied her emotions. Was she crazy for even trying this?

They were at the edge of the counter now. She could hear Mitch clearly. “I don’t know. I’m not ready to trust anyone out there. I need more time.”

The words sent a chill over her skin. He’d already told her what more time meant to him.

They were at the door. At their most vulnerable point. She reached up, moved the bolt back. Turned the knob.

The door swung open as if of its own volition. She got a glimpse of black-garbed, helmeted, armed men outside it, and instinctively clapped her hand over the girl’s mouth before she could scream at the sight of the alien-looking creatures. She pushed the child into the waiting arms, felt a hand grasp hers. Her eyes met a familiar dark gaze.

Jack.

He squeezed her hand before backing away, easing the door shut again. But that touch, even through his gloves, was enough to give her the strength to turn again.

Fear a cold tangle in her chest, she risked a glance at Mitch as she dropped to her knees again. Found him still immersed in the conversation.

“It’s been like this all my life, you know? No one respects me. No one listens to me.”

With his backdrop of petty grievances filling her ears, Lindsay made a return trip to the restroom hallway. Took the boy this time, who wasn’t nearly as quiet as the little girl had been, and delivered him safely to the door. This time when she returned to the hallway, she made a point of rounding the corner, making sure Mitch could hear her directing the women back to their seats and calling up the next group. Then she sent one more message before heading across the kitchen with the third one, a toddler she’d need to carry.

5 kid

The pacifier in the child’s mouth would keep it quiet, she hoped. Each trip across the kitchen seemed longer. How long would Mitch talk? She imagined they’d try to keep him on the line but he’d hung up suddenly the other time and could again.

The fourth was an infant, and Lindsay’s stomach clenched at the mother’s tears as she handed him over. Another slow, torturous journey across the kitchen, Mitch’s voice ringing in her ears.

Her phone vibrated. She halted behind the counter to check the message.

Aftr 5th tke covr

A pool of cold fear congealed in her stomach. They’d mount an assault then. Probably through the door she’d opened for them. Which meant she had to hurry, because every moment that bolt was undone she was in danger of being discovered.

“Lindsay!”

She had to clutch the wall for support at the bellow. It took every ounce of effort she could summon to hand the fourth child back to his mother, step around the corner of the restroom hallway.

“Yes, Mitch?”

He had the phone covered, and a glare directed at her. “How much longer is this going to take?”

Nerves tap-danced along her spine. “I’ll speed them up. When I get through here, I’ll bring you another root beer, all right?”

Seeming mollified, he said, “Make it an orange this time,” and resumed speaking into the phone.

Relief had her going boneless. And she was ashamed at the strength of will it took for her to round that corner again. To face that mother holding out her baby. To make yet another journey across the kitchen.

What the hell was taking so long?

Jack was used to the spike of adrenaline, those little bursts that kept instincts charged and quivering at the ready. But he knew his reaction couldn’t be blamed totally on adrenaline.

It was knowing that every time Lindsay crawled across the floor, she was making herself a target.

He waited with the rest of the primary entry team, a little aside from the hostage recovery unit, who were taking charge of the children Lindsay released. Each kid was passed through the door to a member, who wrapped the child in an armored blanket and rushed to a nearby uniform.

Time seemed to have halted. He willed the door to open again. He stood behind Nelson, who’d enter first and head right. Jack would go left, with the rest of the team alternating direction to set up a sector of interlocking fire.

“Status,” he muttered to Nelson.

“Contact still established.”

His lungs eased only slightly. When he’d heard Lindsay’s name bellowed a few minutes earlier, he’d thought for sure she’d been discovered.

Anxiety was still snapping through his veins, never a good reaction when he was on point. And the hell of it was, it wasn’t the situation that elicited the response, it was the woman inside, putting herself in danger. How the hell did a female he’d only met hours ago call this kind of reaction from him? He didn’t do emotion. Other than variations of the “Hey, it was a great time, see you later” variety.

And he damn sure wasn’t used to a woman tying his guts up in knots by risking her life. Whether stupidly brave or just stupid, Lindsay’s actions would ensure that any incidental injuries that might occur upon entry wouldn’t involve kids. Hard to argue with that.

But it didn’t mean he liked the situation any better.

The door inched outward and his muscles tensed as Reagen took a baby from Lindsay’s arms. His throat went dry as the door closed again.

One more. Just one.

He glanced down at his watch. It seemed to have stopped but he knew it was just his own reaction making it seem so.

His radio sounded, the volume purposefully turned down. “Entry team one, ready. Contact terminated.”

A fist squeezing his chest, Jack awaited further orders. Surely Lindsay hadn’t had time to start back with the fifth kid. Surely she’d abort the attempt. She could hear the conversation. She’d know Engels was off the phone—

“You no-good bitch! What’d I tell you about screwing me over?” The words were plainly heard through the door.

“Compromise! Compromise! Compromise!”

Jack didn’t need the radio command. He was already moving. Nelson had the door open. Jack threw in a flashbang grenade, hoping Lindsay had gotten the hell out of the way. Two sounds were heard in quick succession.

The second was the flashbang detonating.

The first was a gunshot.

He followed Nelson through the door, running in a crouched position through the haze from the grenade. He sensed rather than saw Basuk behind him. Knew the rear was brought up by three other members of the entry team.

The team spread out, but Jack and Nelson advanced on the partial doors. “Throw down your weapon. Now!”

His specialized goggles protected his eyes from the haze. They allowed him to see the man in camouflage, wearing a bright orange hunter’s hat, holding a shotgun over the top of those doors, coughing.

“Throw down your weapon!”

When the shotgun barrel swung in his direction, Jack didn’t think twice. He hit the floor, firing in quick succession. He heard other shots coming from Nelson. Saw the gunman jerk, throw his arms wide. Slowly crumple.

Only then did he become aware of the other body on the floor, curled up around a small boy who was screaming for all he was worth.

And the steady stream of blood flowing out of the larger figure.

Lindsay.

CHAPTER FIVE

“Why can’t I change the channel? Oprah’s Christmas special is on.”

The blonde’s grating whine drew a long look from Niko Rassi that had the blood draining from her face. What had he been thinking when he hired her? Every time she spoke he wanted to strangle her.

Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, and a sliver of memory surfaced. Of course. Her appeal had been her mouth. Just not for conversation.

“Because I’m watching the news. Stick around and maybe you’ll learn something. Otherwise get your ass to work. The bar needs polishing before customers start coming in.”

The woman—Chantelle? Chandrelle?—snuggled up to his side, one hand stroking his thigh. “I’d rather stay with you, baby.”

He thrust his heavy crystal tumbler toward her. “Then go pour me another drink.”

She rose to obey, giving an exaggerated sway to her hips as she crossed the room in case he was watching. But she’d already been forgotten. Niko picked up the remote and flicked it to another twenty-four-hour news station.

Didn’t look like Carletti’s body had surfaced yet. Or if it had, the fat bastard had earned less attention dead than he had alive. A satisfied smile crossing his lips, Niko stretched out on the chaise of his Italian leather sofa, remembering the hit with pleasure.

Another flawless job. Another hundred grand wired to his Caymen account. And another little memento for his collection. His world was damn near perfect.

The blonde leaned over him to deliver his drink, her perky plastic breasts spilling out of the skimpy cocktail uniform. Taking the tumbler, he looked past her through the wall of one-way glass that allowed him to survey his kingdom from his second-floor office.

Or at least the front for his kingdom.

The club was nearly empty now, but in a few more hours it would be pulsing with light, music, voices and excitement. Sex, or people in search of it. He’d built Kouples up from a glam bar to the hottest club scene in New York, and it hadn’t been just his connection to the Portino family that had accomplished it. It was his smarts, his guts, his cunning behind its success.

There was satisfaction in knowing that. But it was his other occupation that gave him true pleasure. His lips curved as he tipped the glass of vodka to his lips.

Chandrelle saw the smile and suppressed a shudder. There was nothing warm about Niko Rassi, not even humor. He looked like the prince of darkness, sprawled out in slim black pants and a loose white silk shirt, with his thick dark hair combed straight back from his cruelly handsome face. Some of the other staff whispered that he was Satan himself, but they didn’t whisper it too loud, or too often. It didn’t pay to dis Niko. People who got him angry didn’t last long around here.

But Chandrelle was smarter than most. She’d changed her hair color and her first name when she’d hit New York, hadn’t she? Landed herself a receptionist job at that plastic surgeon’s clinic. Done her best work after hours, on her knees, and earned herself a pair of double Ds that would take her further in life than that college diploma her ma had always preached about.

Niko put that aging, flabby surgeon to shame. He might be ruthless but he was rich and he was good-looking. If she played her cards right he’d spend some of that money on her one of these days. Especially if she became one of his favorites.

Mentally congratulating herself for coming in early, she sat down on the couch next to him, one hand slyly placed in his crotch. “You work too hard,” she cooed, leaning toward him to kiss his neck. “I’ll bet I can distract you from the boring old news.”

Niko reared back, studied her narrowly. “I’ll bet you can,” he murmured. He shoved her head to his lap, stretching in anticipation as she unzipped his pants. With his free hand he picked up the remote and flipped to CNN.

Attention only half on the news, he recalled exactly why he’d hired the blonde. Everyone had a talent. She might be brainless, but she could suck the chrome off a trailer.

He wasn’t focused on the story the anchor was reporting. It was the pictures flashing across the screen that had him straightening abruptly, the blonde and those limber lips forgotten.

“Hey! You gotta relax, baby.”

But his attention was honed on the big-screen TV, disbelief raging through him. It couldn’t be her. She’d dropped off the edge of the earth three years ago. He should know. He’d spent nearly that long searching for her.

But damn, it’d looked like Gracie. He grabbed the remote, turned up the volume.

“The incident left two dead and two others wounded. Ms. Bradford is credited with getting four children to safety before Metro City police shot and killed the gunman.”

There! There was that face again, a camera shoved close to it as she was carried by on a stretcher. He stared hard, trying to see through the surface differences to the woman he’d known as Grace Feller.

Yeah, yeah, the yards of red hair were gone. Hair he’d loved wrapping around his hands while he pounded himself into her. She’d had it cut shoulder length and dyed a nondescript dark brown. Couldn’t see the color of her eyes, but contacts could change them from that unbelievable grass-green, anyway. The shape of them was the same, though, wasn’t it? And those kiss-my-ass cheekbones that made her look like a slumming princess instead of a dairymaid fresh off a Wisconsin farm.

The news went on to something else, and he flipped through the channels, trying to find the story featured on another station. No luck.

The blonde was taking his distraction personally, and applying all her considerable skill to coax his attention back to her. But the excitement firing through his blood couldn’t be credited to her.

It wouldn’t do to get his hopes up. He’d call Horatio, get a copy of that telecast first thing and go over it again. Blow up those shots of the woman and then they’d see.

Yeah, then they’d see.

He’d gone rock hard and the blonde gave a pleased little hum. He didn’t bother to tell her that his reaction had nothing to do with her and everything to do with a woman named Grace Feller.

And the bullet he still carried with her name on it.

“Hospitals creep me out.”

Lindsay cocked an ironic brow at Jolie, although the other woman wouldn’t see it as she prowled around the room. “Really? I, on the other hand, love them.”

Jolie stopped long enough to toss a quick grin over her shoulder. “Yeah, I know it’s worse from where you’re sitting. Or lying, as the case may be. It hasn’t been so long since I was in your spot. I didn’t much like it, either.”

“Hopefully I won’t be here much longer. Sorry you had to wait.”

Jolie gave a shake of her bright blond head. “No big deal. I promised to give you a ride home and I still remember how long it took them to deliver my dismissal papers when I was here. I was chewing nails.”

“I passed that stage hours ago.” Lindsay was fully dressed in the fresh clothes Jolie had brought her. Her others were bloodstained and she’d be leaving them behind. She didn’t want any reminders of those hours at the restaurant.

She wished she could leave the memories behind as easily.

That was what she got for ignoring the itchy feeling she’d had recently. The one that said it was time to move on, time to start over.

That was what she got for letting a broad chest and a crooked smile distract her from instinct. Maybe hormones grew more powerful with disuse, because hers sure had hazed her better judgment.

At that moment, the owner of said chest and smile stepped through the open doorway, a stethoscope draped around his neck. “Wanna play doctor, little girl?”

While Lindsay rolled her eyes, Jolie let out a disgusted snort. “Geez, Langley, could you get any sleazier?”

“I think we both know the answer to that.”

Eyeing the stethoscope, Lindsay commented, “I hope the doctor you mugged to get that isn’t the one I’m waiting for.”

He skirted the question hidden in her words and studied her with an intent dark gaze. “You look pale. Are you sure you shouldn’t stay a few more days?”

“Positive.” If she’d had her way, she would have left after the first day. Two nights in the hospital were going to deplete most of her savings. And with Bill’s death, she obviously wouldn’t be getting her last paycheck. She didn’t know what he had for family, but she couldn’t bring herself to intrude on their grief to ask for money.

Which meant she’d be leaving town riding her thumb instead of a bus.

Trepidation pooled in her stomach. She had the hospital bill to settle. Then she’d have to spend her leftover money to change her appearance again, to get her hair professionally stripped and recolored. To find a place to stay until she had a new job in whatever state she ended up in.

There wouldn’t be enough left over to buy new identification, at least not right away. She’d have to revert to one of her previous identities. That would be best, she decided, a slight frown on her brow. The Lindsay Bradford ID hadn’t exactly been fraught with good fortune, and it wouldn’t be smart anyway to use the same ID in two consecutive places. But still, she’d never resorted to using the same ID twice, and the thought of having to now filled her with unease.

“What’s the matter?”

The concern in Jack’s voice had her deliberately smoothing her brow. “Nothing. Just a headache.” That was true enough. Even with the pain relievers there was a constant dull throb in her temples. She knew she was lucky it wasn’t far worse. A couple inches to the left and Mitch’s bullet would have been embedded in her skull instead of just grazing it.

She gave a quick shudder. And all these years she’d been on the run from Niko’s gun. The irony was inescapable.

“Have you told the nurse?” Jack dropped the stethoscope on the bedside table and strode to the door, still speaking. “When’s the last time someone checked on you, anyway? That’s the way these places are. Won’t leave you alone when you’re trying to sleep, but come daylight you can throw a fastball down the hallway without hitting anyone.”

“Settle,” Jolie advised, shooting him an odd look. “Lindsay’s fine. And the only nurse she needs is the one who’s bringing the papers to spring her. What are you doing here, anyway? Seems like every time I visit her I’m tripping over you.”

The words shocked Lindsay enough to have her attention arrowing on Jack, too. She’d thought she’d dreamed of him, his face floating above hers, tight with concern. His voice, filled with an unfamiliar softness. But she’d convinced herself it was just the product of a drug-induced haze, an embarrassing one at that. With everything she’d been through, why would this man be at the center of her subconscious?

Jack hunched his shoulders uncomfortably. “Just dropped by a few times on my way to or from work. To get an update.”

His obvious embarrassment ignited her own. Or maybe it was the speculation in Jolie’s gaze. Whatever, Lindsay was grateful when her friend was distracted by the short bursts of sound coming from her cell.

Jolie took out her phone, looked at the screen and frowned. “It’s Trixie. I have to take this.”

“Of course.” Although Jolie was closemouthed about her biological mother, Lindsay knew the woman was dying of cancer. Despite the strain between them, Jolie was taking care of her in the last months of her life.

The other woman stepped out into the hall, her cell already pressed to her ear, braving the wrath of any medical personnel who might happen to see her. Cell phones weren’t allowed on the floor.

Lindsay caught Jack’s eye, and her throat abruptly dried. The intensity in his gaze was searing. “You did good in there.” She had no difficulty following his train of thought back to the events in the restaurant. “Most people would have panicked, but you kept your head.” His mouth crooked. “Even threw in some heroics for good measure. Pretty damn impressive.”

There was that glow again, spreading through her chest at his words, even as the accompanying memory brought a shiver. “You obviously couldn’t hear my knees knocking from outside. I was petrified the entire time.”

He leaned against the doorjamb, arms folded and one booted foot crossed over the other. “All the hostages have been interviewed and the mothers of those kids are pretty grateful. You provided us our best intel with those texts of yours.”

Lindsay rubbed her arms, suddenly chilled. “I understood what set Mitch off, but I couldn’t change his mind about what he was going to do. No one could have. And that was the scariest part of the whole thing.” Mitch Engels seemingly had nothing in common with Niko Rassi. Until she’d seen his implacable will, heard the unswerving determination in his voice. In the end, he’d been as intent on death as Rassi. And she was still trying to come to terms with that.

Jack’s look grew quizzical. “You took a helluva risk. Kinda surprising for someone who claims to like playing things safe.”

She could almost hear the sound of a trap clanging shut at his words. Because he was right. For all the care she’d taken with her current identity, that had been Grace Feller in the restaurant, not Lindsay Bradford. It was Grace who reacted without completely thinking through the consequences, to herself or to others. The recognition brought a quick little knife twist of pain. She’d become masterful at disguise. But she was beginning to doubt her ability to ever change her nature.

A nature that had brought her to Niko Rassi’s attention all those years ago.

Because she was still the focus of that searing regard, she forced a light tone. “I surprise myself sometimes.” That, at least, had never been untrue.

Jolie stepped back inside, her expression troubled. “No sign of those release papers yet?”

“What’s the matter?” Because it was clear something was.

She ran a hand through her short tousled hair. “It’s Trixie. She’s being admitted. I’m sorry, Lindsay, I know I promised to give you a lift home, but I really have to get downstairs.” Her smile seemed forced. “She can be a handful.” Her words were rife with understatement.

“Of course you have to go.” Lindsay waved her away. “Don’t worry about me. I can grab a bus.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Jolie was slipping her phone in her purse before she hitched the strap over her shoulder. “Jack may as well make himself useful. You’ll get her home safely, won’t you, Jack?”

Lindsay’s stomach muscles jumped, then tightened at the expression in his dark eyes.

“Absolutely.”

“This really isn’t necessary.”

“Hold still.” Jack applied the ointment from the hospital with all the care of an artist applying finishing touches to his masterpiece. “You had to know that the dressing wasn’t going to stay on in the shower. Are you sure you were supposed to get it wet?”

“I had to wash my hair,” Lindsay said with a note of finality. The nurses had seemed curiously deaf to that logic, but there was no way she was going to spend another couple days with dried blood clumped in it.

She tried to peer past him into the small sack the nurse had sent along. “What else is in there for supplies?” Since she didn’t intend to stick around long enough for the scheduled follow-up visit, she’d need to change the dressing herself, at least until the wound was healed enough to go without one.

One of his hands tipped her chin back into position, held it there. “You don’t follow directions well.”

He didn’t know the half of it. But Lindsay sat meekly while he finished, until he withdrew a large gauze dressing from the sack. “Uh-uh, way too big. I just need something big enough to cover the injury.”

“Bossy, too.” His tone was amused, but he obeyed, snipping the dressing in two before applying it and finally getting it secured to his satisfaction.

She cut short his admiration of his handiwork by pulling away and gingerly raking her hand through her hair to cover as much of the bandage as possible. She might have to hold off for a time before changing her hair color. The chemicals would be harsh against a barely healed wound. Maybe she’d invest in a wig instead.

Dropping her hand, she swiveled on her perch on the stool to face him. “Is the bandage showing?”

“A little.” He reached out to bring a strand of her hair forward, his fingers lingering. “You won’t be able to hide it altogether. It makes you look…sort of tragic.”

As if embarrassed by the observation, and his action, he dropped his hand and busied himself putting the supplies neatly back in the bag.

She stared at him, stunned. “I’m not.” The denial was automatic. It couldn’t be termed tragedy, could it, when everything that had befallen her in the last three years was of her own doing? When every blessed consequence could be laid at her door, a dark divine justice for blithely doing just as she pleased six years ago?

Mitch Engels had been the first event in all that time that couldn’t be blamed on her. The regret she’d carry from that incident at least wouldn’t be tinged with guilt.

Jack scooped up the bits of wrapping and the soggy bandage he’d replaced and crossed to toss them in the trash. She watched him, admitting silently that he was going to be one more regret from her stay in Metro City, and how the heck had that happened? Jolie and Dace, yes. The friendship there had bloomed so slowly, formed so solidly, she’d had little defense against it.

But Jack…She’d had defenses raised from the moment she’d first set eyes on him, for all the good they’d done her. For the first time in longer than she could recall she wanted a man. Not because she was lonely, or scared, but because of everything he was.

It was getting harder and harder to squelch that sly inner voice reminding her that she was leaving anyway. It would hurt no one if she indulged her desire just this once. And it was that kind of thinking, Lindsay told herself shakily, that made the man so dangerous.

Jack checked his watch. “Almost time for you to take a pill.” Their trip back to her place had taken longer than it should have because he’d insisted on stopping at the pharmacy first, despite Lindsay’s protests. She was too self-reliant for her own good, but without a car there was no easy way for her to fetch the medication later.

“That reminds me.” She stood abruptly, steadied herself with a discreet hand to the counter when she swayed, just a little. “I owe you for the hospital bill. And the medication.”

“You don’t have to worry right now….” He was speaking to her back. She’d gone to the cupboard, where she withdrew one of those false soup cans that any thief worth his salt would recognize, and gave it a twist.

He eyed the bills folded inside it bemusedly. It had come as no surprise that Lindsay didn’t have health insurance. Hell, millions of Americans were without it, and he’d already noted the sparseness of her belongings.

But when he realized she didn’t have a checkbook, a debit or a credit card with which to pay, his interest had been piqued even further.

Because it would do him no good to do otherwise, he accepted the cash she thrust at him. “Don’t trust banks?”

She busied herself connecting the two halves of the false can and replacing it in the cupboard. “They’re never open when you need them, are they?”

He weighed her words. There were people who didn’t like banks. He’d run across a few.

He’d also come across people who needed to travel light and fast. Having to get money from a bank account would slow them down. He couldn’t help wondering if Lindsay was one of them.

Since it would do no good to ask, he took his time placing the bills in his wallet. And wondered at the nerves shimmering off her.

She’d been calm as they’d dealt with the idiot at the Blue Lagoon. Shaky but determined as she risked her life in the kitchen at Piper’s. But now that she was safely home in her apartment, she looked as jumpy as a turkey at Thanksgiving time.

Natural enough, maybe. He jammed his wallet into his back pocket. Anyone who’d recently had a bullet crease their skull was entitled to feel a little tense afterward. Most women he knew would be in hysterics by now.

Trouble was, Lindsay wasn’t most women. It would be easier all around if she were.

She shut the cupboard door, then leaned against the counter, facing him. Other than the bandage he’d changed, which no amount of fussing was ever going to completely hide, she didn’t look much the worse for wear. If she still had a headache, she was hiding it. Jack figured she had plenty of practice hiding all kinds of things. And it must be his occupation that made him want to strip her of all her secrets.

Okay. He jammed his hands in his pockets. Stripped might be a poor choice of words. And an impossible one to shake free of his mind, joined with that brief flash he’d gotten of her changing a few nights back. That memory had proven difficult to dislodge. Although there was nothing remotely sexy in the baggy flannel pants and loose T-shirt she’d donned after her recent shower, it was all too easy to recall what lay beneath them.

“So.” He rocked back on his heels, trying to think of a blessed reason to stay. “You haven’t eaten. I can call out for Chinese. Or grab a bucket of chicken.”

Lindsay was already shaking her head. “I don’t have much appetite. I’ll get something later.”

His gaze went to the cupboard door she’d closed behind her. “Soup?” The contents of the shelf had been bare of much else. He hadn’t checked her refrigerator, but he was betting that would be sparsely stocked, as well.

“Probably. I eat—ate,” she corrected herself, “a lot of my meals at Piper’s. But I’m not really that hungry, anyway.”

Too bad he couldn’t say the same. Hunger, if that was the name for the heat firing through his veins, was about all he could think about right now. His reputation with women might be exaggerated on some counts, but not significantly so. Regardless, even he wasn’t the type to make a move on a woman only hours out of her hospital bed.

“You probably need to rest.” He meant to move toward the door. His legs just weren’t taking orders from his brain yet. “Don’t forget the information the nurse gave you. Keep up with the medication to stay ahead of the pain. Call the hospital if the headaches get worse or if the bleeding starts again and you can’t—”

Her lips quirked. “I was there, too, remember?”

“Yeah, you were.” Because he didn’t trust his hands if he took them out of his pockets, he kept them tucked away. It took a supreme effort, but he finally got his feet to move. Unfortunately, in the wrong direction.

He took two long strides toward her, leaned in the rest of the way to lightly brush his lips across her forehead. “So make sure you follow the doctor’s orders. You’re not as tough as you think. No one is. If you need anything, give me a call.”

It was just the right tone. Casual. Light. No sign of the knots coiling in his belly. Knots that tightened suddenly when her hands went to his waist. Lingered.

She tipped her face up to his, her green gaze steady. “You don’t have to leave.”

For a moment his mind blanked. It must have been his earlier sinful thoughts that had him painting her words with a deeper meaning. Could be it was just his nature to interpret things to suit himself. But a man could be forgiven for thinking that short quick glide of her palms up his waist a few inches, then back down, was more of a stroke. That the feminine fingers were curling, just slightly, into his flesh to convince him to stay.

Most of the time he’d have no difficulty testing just how accurate that impression was—and lingering to persuade even if his interpretation was flat-out wrong. But this wasn’t most times. Lindsay wasn’t most women.

It was a bitch to have to call on whatever better instincts he had, which he usually kept buried conveniently deep, to do the right thing. He should push her hands away. Remember she was hurt, shaken and probably not thinking clearly. Walk away while they both could look each other in the eye and head back to his place, alone.

He got as far as the first step. He covered her hands with his palms, but somehow forgot what he’d meant to do from there. Her next words managed to wipe his mind clean.

“I’m asking you not to go.”

CHAPTER SIX

A little thrill zipped through Lindsay at the shock in his expression. It was more appealing than it should have been to have a man like Jack Langley—who looked like he capably caught every pass life threw at him—fumble a bit when she issued the invitation.

And it was curiously arousing to watch his shock morph to hunger, to have the intense heat of it directed at her.

He didn’t move but he loomed closer somehow. Didn’t touch her, but she was crowded back against the counter just the same. “You’re hours out of a hospital bed.” The bitter regret in his words warmed something inside her. “I’m going to do the best thing for both of us and head home.”

She would have been dismayed by his words if they were accompanied by action. But he remained motionless. Unless you counted the tension that seemed to radiate off him in waves.

She smiled, something easing inside her as she skated a palm up his chest. “You do that and your bad-boy reputation may never recover.”

He caught her hand, held it fast against one firm pec. She could feel the rapid tattoo of his heartbeat beneath. “My reputation is solid. It can withstand the shock.”

Heat transferred from his hand to hers. It surged through her system and had her bones taking on the consistency of warm wax. Or maybe that sensation was caused by the frustration she sensed beneath his words. Who would have thought to find chivalry beneath Jack Langley’s tough, capable exterior?

“If this isn’t what you want, by all means, go.” Her hand curled, fingers entwining with his. “But don’t leave out of some misguided need to ‘protect’ me. I have to admit, I’ve never been big on decisions others made for me. It’s a weakness of mine.” One she’d apparently never outgrown, despite the drastic consequences.

The skin seemed taut over his cheekbones. His mouth looked hard as he stared down at her with eyes as dark as sin. “Maybe I’m afraid you’ll become a weakness of mine,” he muttered. But she was encouraged when his mouth went to her throat, where the pulse was beating madly beneath the skin. “You need to take it easy, the doctor said.”

Little flickers of desire spread through her muscles. She was helpless to stop it. “You’re making this more complicated than it needs to be.” Doubt niggled through her then, even as his mouth cruised up her throat, before getting sidetracked to the sensitive spot beneath her ear. Jack was the last man she ever would have expected complications from. But he had consistently surprised her since they’d met, with contradictory layers beneath that glib surface charm he wore like a mantle.

That alone should have had her inner alarm bells shrilling in warning. But they were muted by the thrill of his hands, sliding around her waist to pull her close. He widened his stance so that she was pressed against the V of his thighs. And the evidence of his interest was unmistakable.

His palm slipped inside her loose top, fingers tracing each individual vertebra of her spine as he smoothed his mouth along her jawline, nipped at her chin. His lips hovered above hers for a moment, long enough for their breath to mingle. Long enough for her to inhale his scent in greedy anticipation. And then his mouth came down on hers and the floor rocked a bit beneath her feet.

He packed a wallop, she thought dimly, senses drowning beneath the sensual onslaught. Need jittered inside her and her mouth returned the pressure of his, opening beneath his demand.

And that wanting didn’t frighten her, not now. Because she wouldn’t be here long enough for regrets to surface. She’d be gone before those complications could take shape.

If that thought brought a pang, it was also accompanied by a feeling of freedom. She could forget reservations and focus only on the hunger that was melting her system like overwarmed chocolate.

His tongue slicked along the surface of hers before flicking the sensitive roof of her mouth and drawing a shudder. The taste of him was simmering heat and dark promise. But she sensed restraint as well and wondered at it. Jack Langley wasn’t a careful man. She knew that intuitively. He was wild and a little reckless, and she was honest enough to admit those qualities appealed. They mirrored her own.

She twined her arms around his neck and went on tiptoe, pressing her body more tightly against his, wondering just what it would take to slip the leash of his control. Her clothes hadn’t been chosen with seduction in mind. The shower had wiped her face clean of the makeup Jolie had brought to the hospital along with her clothes.

If it weren’t for the distinctive hardness prodding her belly, she’d believe he was disinterested. So it must be his misplaced concern that was holding him back. Keeping the demand in check and leaving her feeling slightly bereft.

And knowing he was the type of man who’d step back despite his own raging hormones revealed yet another layer, hinted at a depth she would have doubted the first time she met him.

Taking his bottom lip in her teeth, Lindsay scored it, not quite gently. A man like this could be dangerous, in more than the usual way. A man like this could be difficult to walk away from.

So she would run instead. The way she’d been running for the last thirty-eight months.

She eased back, opened her eyes, nearly lost her nerve. The control Jack was harnessing so tightly was visible in his expression. There was a primitive cast there, a grim resolve in his eyes that spoke of a man battling between nobility and emotion. To tip the scales, Lindsay grasped the bottom of her T-shirt and hauled it up over her head to drop it, forgotten, to the floor.

The leap of desire she saw on his face fanned her excitement and put to rest any lingering doubts she had about how this encounter would end. If Jack Langley was waging an inner war, nobility didn’t appear to be winning.

His hands held an edge of roughness when he pulled her closer, and the evidence of his fraying control brought a jolt of sensual pleasure. “Chaste as a nun on the outside,” he murmured, one long finger tracing the edge of the white lace bra where it skimmed the top of her breasts. “And all sorts of sexy surprises underneath.” With his other hand he stroked the tiny hoop she had in her belly button. “Which is the real you, I wonder?”

His words had caution rearing belatedly, but it was dimmed when he hooked a finger in the elastic waist of her bottoms and tugged them down her hips. And the sudden savage hunger in his expression wiped her mind clean.

Jack leaned his forehead against hers for a moment, fought for control. She was a study in contrasts, the casual, careless attire covering lingerie fashioned to drive men wild. And somewhere in the recesses of his mind he realized the contrast was deliberate. He’d recognized she was a woman of secrets.

But the ones he wanted to bare right now were all too basic.

The scrap of matching lace panties were cut high on her sleek thighs, and he swept his hand up that satiny expanse to cup her bottom, to pull her more tightly against him. To hell with chivalry. It had never worn comfortably on him at any rate.

His mouth lowered to hers, all hint of gentleness gone. His kiss demanded more, and then more still. She wasn’t a woman to give up her secrets readily, but he’d have no pretension between them now. In this area, at least, Lindsay would be totally honest. Emotionally. Physically.

His palm skated upward, fingers lingering on that spot on her shoulder blade where he’d find the tattoo he’d once gotten a glimpse of. He’d explore that, too. Along with every other exquisite inch of her. Places that made her sigh. Those that made her moan. He’d sample every soft and sleek spot of her and drive them both a little mad in the process.

He dispensed with the back latch of her bra with a twist of his fingers and drew a shuddering breath. He released her lips to lean back, as he dragged the straps down her arms.

And when the fabric peeled away to reveal the mounds of her high firm breasts, a hot fist of need clenched in his belly.

Her nipples were taut knots that begged for his lips. And the taste of her, when he bent his head to take one in his mouth, screamed through his system like a rocket.

He feasted on her, his free hand kneading her other breast while he sucked deeply from its twin. The little sounds coming from the back of her throat torched his passion, shredded any thought of going slow. As the sensations washed over him, taste and scent and sound, the world receded to hold only the two of them.

A woman like this could be addictive. One who could work her way into his system and have his blood chugging like a racehorse. She affected him with the speed and strength of a narcotic and was just as intoxicating.

Her fingers were unsteady on the buttons of his shirt, and masculine satisfaction flickered at the sign of her response. He lowered his hand and brushed the mound between her thighs, felt her jerk helplessly against him.

And then his shirt was unfastened and her hands were streaking over his chest, down his sides, on a tactile journey of discovery. Reluctantly, he released her nipple, but his hand never left her femininity, rubbing and circling gently until the fabric separating his fingers from her sleek softness dampened against his hand.

Her voice, when it came, sounded a bit frantic. “Take off your clothes.” It was a demand, made more so by her attempts to tug his shirt from his shoulders, down his arms.

Nuzzling the base of her throat, he inhaled the scent there, and it sped to his pulse like a shot of tequila. “What’s your hurry?” He kissed her then, all the demand coiling in his system impossible to hide, and gathered her closer so her nipples stabbed at his chest. And his hand continued to work her as his lips ate at her mouth in a frenzy of need.

He had a dim thought that a woman like Lindsay would seek to hold something back; she wouldn’t give freely and she wouldn’t give all. Mysteries deeply buried would be protected. But he’d have this. Every tremor, every shudder to her body. Each helpless moan and sigh. And he told himself that could be enough.

When he finally released her to step a few inches away, she used the small distance to rid him of the shirt. And then she seemed to go boneless when he dragged the panties down her legs and pressed his mouth to where she was wet, aching. Inviting.

Lindsay jerked against his mouth, unable to do anything other than feel. Mindlessly, her head lolled back, her fingers reached up to twine in Jack’s hair to press him even closer. Her breath caught on a sob as his tongue tortured that taut bundle of nerves between her legs, and every ounce of strength leached from her limbs. Individual sensation careened and collided within her until all she could do was be and feel. And when he slipped one long finger inside her, she exploded into a thousand jagged shards of light.

She was faintly aware of the breath sawing in and out of his lungs, of being scooped off her feet and floated across the room. But then she felt the bed at her back, felt the mattress of the daybed sag beneath his weight. Excitement streamed through her again, a hard pull of renewed desire.

She rose to a sitting position and pressed herself against that broad expanse of back, the muscles sleekly jumping and working against her lips as he pulled off his boots. Sliding her hands down his arms, she curled her fingers testingly over the taut biceps, felt him quiver beneath her touch. She slid her palms over hot bare masculine skin, exploring hard angles and bone and sinew as pleasure quickened inside her.

When he turned, her hands were impatient, battling with his as she unfastened his pants. But when he dropped his hands, allowing her free rein, her touch slowed, grew teasing.

Hunger was already reigniting inside her, a thousand little pinpricks of pleasure humming to life again. But this time he’d join her in that intimate explosion. She’d demand his total surrender the same way he had demanded hers.

With excruciating slowness she worked the tab over the hard ridge of his arousal behind the zipper. She heard his strangled breath and risked a sly glance up at him. What she saw had the oxygen abruptly seeping from her lungs. His eyes were slitted. Sweat sheened his forehead. And the arousal on his face called a like emotion from her, flame leaping to meet flame until she shuddered with the longing to dive into that fire once more.

His hands took over for hers and shoved his jeans and briefs down, freeing his sex, which sprang forth, huge and hard and rigid. Lindsay took his length in both hands and lowered her mouth to lick the drop of pearly liquid from the tip. And when she took him in her mouth, his ragged groan torched something deep inside her.

His fingers were tight in her hair, her name a ragged groan on his lips. Until finally, with actions tight with tension, he freed himself and joined her on the bed.

A leap of wildness sprang forth at the expression on Jack’s face. Primal savage desire. And in this, she could be completely open. Completely honest. Because the ferocity of his hunger mirrored her own. And the evidence of it called forth every wild and reckless part of her that she had fought so hard and so long to suppress.

But she could indulge it now, with him. And the sensual freedom of that was heady.

With quick, desperate movements he sheathed himself with a condom. Then his mouth covered hers again, hot and urgent. His hands, when they skated over her, were just shy of rough.

The daybed shrank as Jack’s large frame joined her on it. And when they pressed together, flesh to flesh, every nerve in her system flared to sharp, edgy life. Her neck arched beneath his questing mouth as he spread tiny stinging kisses along the sensitive chord there. And she realized, with a mournful tug from deep inside her, that this man was going to be far more difficult to walk away from than she’d led herself to believe.

Jack felt the change in her as her body melted against his, her touch slowing, as if she were a woman determined to sample a banquet destined to disappear. But the need inside him wouldn’t allow him to slow. Wouldn’t let her fade back from the sharp-edged precipice. He turned her over so he could trace that delicate butterfly with his lips as he kneaded the full, round globes of her bottom.

And he tasted. The sweet curve of her breast, the sleek slope of her arm. The narrow shoulders and surprisingly delicate vertebrae punctuating the long sleek back. Hands stroking and teasing, until she rolled to her side and her mouth to his, sealing her body against his.

Her hands as they raced over him were just shy of frantic. She touched him where he was hard and aching with deft, devastating strokes until he drew her hand away and loomed over her.

His blood was raging like a firestorm, embers of desire singeing him from the inside out. But still he lingered, even as his mind fogged and his vision hazed.

Nibbling at her breast, he sent a finger inside her, held it there, to savor the sexy little tremors that raced through her. And when he moved over her, slipped inside her with one smooth stroke, their moans mingled.

She was tight as a fist as she pulsed around him, and desire pounded through him, raging for release. Her legs climbed his waist, locking him to her in a gut-wrenchingly sexy prison. Jack stopped a moment to haul in a breath, struggling for his shredding restraint. But then she bucked beneath him, embedding him deeply inside her, and abruptly his control shattered.

He thrust into her, a wild, savage lunge, and she met the motion, increased the pace. Flesh slapped against flesh, and the frenetic ride to completion became the focus. His hands slipped under her butt to lift her, to seat himself inside her more fully.

Sensation chased sensation as their hips pistoned, bodies straining together. The sting of her nails, her short, harsh pants in his ear beckoned him like a siren’s song.

He tried to drag his eyes open, to focus on her face, but everything was blurred as he lunged into her over and over again. He felt her crest beneath him, felt her inner walls milking him. Her orgasm signaled his own, and with one more wild lunge he followed her over the edge into a free fall of pleasure.

Her heart rate had slowed. Her breathing steadied. But the stillness of her form, still curled up against his side, was all nerves. Jack recognized it and knew better than to comment on it, so he did what he could to calm her. “Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

What the hell? Where had that come from? He frowned, shifting position, uncomfortable. He’d never had much patience for idle chatter after sex. Not when it was much more pleasurable to channel that energy into round two.

“That’s wide open. You don’t know anything about me.”

“Not true.” He settled her head more comfortably into the notch of his shoulder, skated a hand down her back and up again. Lingered on the tattoo on one smooth shoulder. “I know you had a misspent youth.” She seemed to stop breathing for a moment. “Bet you ran off and got this tattoo and pierced your belly button to piss off your parents. Probably hooked school to do it, too.”

He felt her lungs expand again. “You don’t know as much as you think. I was done with school and no longer living at home when I got both.” Her voice turned amused. “And you call yourself a detective.”

Jack could feel the tension ease from her body at the lighthearted exchange. “Let’s see what else my renowned deductive skills can come up with.” His hand wandered over her hip, lingered on her inner thigh. “I know you’re a natural redhead.” She made a rude sound, and something lightened inside him. With the back of his hand, he brushed lightly at the auburn curls between her legs. “And I know you’re traveling fast and light for a reason. Maybe it’s a man. Maybe some other sort of trouble. But I could help. If you’d let me.”

This time there was no mistaking her response. A chill chased over her skin. And noting it, he wasn’t fooled by the light tone she managed. “Struck out again, Langley. But don’t worry. I won’t tell your captain you’re losing your touch.”

She pressed him back and settled herself on top of him, propped up on her forearms. “Since you’re not doing so hot on your own, I’ll tell you something you would never guess.”

Something quickened in his chest. His arms came up to link around her waist. “Shoot.”

“I’m a master whistler. Through my thumbs, both index fingers, thumb and forefinger…I can even whistle with my toes. Although you’ll have to take my word for that one, because my mom convinced me when I was twelve that it wasn’t ladylike.”

“Maybe not, but it’s definitely intriguing.” Ridiculous to feel let down by her revelation. And stupid to admit he’d been waiting for something more. Something she’d give freely that had nothing to do with desire, and everything to do with a modicum of trust.

And that was just humiliating. If he didn’t watch himself he’d be turning into a damn woman with all these notions of sharing, and then where the hell would he be? Well, on his back, actually, because if he were a woman he’d have sex all the time, just because he could, but that wasn’t the point. The point was Lindsay didn’t trust him. Not enough to tell him whatever the hell she was running from. And though everything inside him wanted to push, he held back. He’d conducted enough interviews to know when confidences couldn’t be rushed. You coaxed the secrets out, built up rapport. It’d obviously take more time to do the same with Lindsay.

“How about you? Any hidden talents you want to brag about?”

“If you still have to ask…” He jumped a little when she plucked at his chest hair, a little harder than necessary. He’d forgotten about that mean streak of hers. “All right, hold on.” In the interest of self-preservation, he covered her hands with one of his. “We’d have been a pair at twelve because I believe it was about that time I’d perfected the art of belching the entire chorus of ‘Happy Birthday.’”

A helpless laugh escaped her, and he smiled. “Since I don’t want you to think I was completely without charm, I’d like to add that two years later my claim to fame was being named most valuable player when I competed in the junior hockey league.”

“Hockey?” She eyed him suspiciously. “In California?”

He shifted, settling her more comfortably. Maybe this talking after sex thing wasn’t so bad. He did, after all, have Lindsay stretched out on top of him. Naked. “We have indoor rinks here, too. Got a full ride later to USC. I was good at skating and I liked to knock people down. Seemed like a calling.”

“Hockey.” She sounded bemused and he was oddly pleased that he’d managed to surprise her.

“Speaking of claims to fame.” He leaned forward to nip her bottom lip, not quite gently. “I’m sort of surprised you haven’t had reporters camped out on your doorstep already. I doubt you can count on that luck holding. You might want to hang out at Jolie and Dace’s for a while. Unless I can convince you to stay at my place. My motives, of course, would be completely pure.”

That stillness came over her again. He could feel the tension shooting into her muscles. “Reporters?”

Smoothing her hair back from her face, he studied her without seeming to. “You’re the woman of the hour. Those heroics of yours? Splashed all over the media. Radio, TV, newspapers.” He’d chased more than one reporter away from her hospital room that first night, before having a little talk with the hospital security. Must’ve done some good, because apparently her address hadn’t been leaked yet.

“Well.” Her smile looked forced. “A celebrity doesn’t stay famous long, even in Metro City.”

“Not just in Metro City,” he reminded her. Didn’t the woman ever turn on a TV? “You made CNN. The story ran national.”

Lindsay felt her organs turn to ice, one by one. Glaciers bumped through her veins. A freight train ran through her chest, roared through her ears. Jack’s voice seemed to come from a distance.

“I’m not going to lie. The pictures weren’t the most flattering. But you looked suitably heroic. Wouldn’t be surprised to hear the mayor was planning a ceremony in your honor.”

National news. The words drumrolled in her head. And pictures. Of course there would be pictures. Now she remembered the flash of bulbs as they carried the stretcher to the ambulance. And it would all end up on the Internet. The cold radiated from her insides out. Jack felt it, tugged the sheet up over her. But his efforts were in vain. In that moment, she doubted she’d ever be warm again.

No reason to panic, she told herself a little wildly. What were the chances Niko would see that particular broadcast, even if it were on the national news? And if he had, what was the likelihood that he’d recognize her? She’d been careful. Her hair was shorter, colored. A different style. And though she hadn’t used colored contacts for this identity, he’d never be able to determine eye color from a newscast. Her picture would have flashed on the screen for only a few seconds. He’d have no reason to look further into the story.

Although all true, the thoughts did little to chase the chill away. She’d ignored her instincts when they first began to warn her it was time to move on. But she couldn’t afford to ignore them any longer.

“You know that food you were talking about earlier?” She hoped her voice sounded normal. Because her smile felt forced. “All of a sudden I’m ravenous.”

He was silent a beat too long. “You want me to heat up some soup?”

“I was thinking Thai. Ming’s is over on—”

“I know where Ming’s is.”

She rolled off Jack, avoiding his gaze. And felt far worse than she’d expected to for lying to him. “They don’t deliver, though. Maybe we should call for pizza instead.” She held her breath.

“No problem. I can go pick it up and be back in forty minutes.”

Jack sat up and swung his legs over the bed, then rose, unabashedly nude. Lindsay wrapped the sheet around herself, too miserable to enjoy the view. The thought of sneaking away like a thief in the night seemed low, but spending even another hour in Metro City under the circumstances was too dangerous even to contemplate.

And that, she thought bitterly, was what she got for lowering her guard, ignoring her better judgment. For reaching out and taking what she wanted, even for a few hours. Experience should have taught her that everything came with a price.

Jack had his jeans on, was buttoning his shirt. “What do you want?” When she looked at him blankly, he elaborated, “From Ming’s. What should I get you?”

There was a vise in her chest, squeezing the breath from her lungs. “I don’t care. Surprise me.”

He nodded. “I’ll do that.”

She watched him move to the door, walk through it. And then stared at the closed portal as if it held solutions for a problem she’d spent three years running from.

Hauling in a shaky breath, she swiped a hand across her burning eyes. There was only one solution to be had, and if she wanted to stay alive, she had to get moving. But it was peculiarly difficult to haul herself out of bed and head toward her closet.

Moving like an automaton, she pulled on clothes and shoved her gun and money into the bottom of her purse. After a moment she also threw in the bags containing the prescriptions and medical supplies. Then she dragged out her duffel bag and tossed the remainder of her meager belongings into it.

It took all of ten minutes to pack everything she owned. And that, in and of itself, was some sort of commentary on her life. But it wasn’t one she wanted to spend time examining at the moment. She looked around the apartment, checking for anything she might have forgotten.

There was a jagged pain in her chest at the thought of leaving without a word to Jolie and Dace. She’d use a pay phone to contact Jolie, she vowed, on her way to wherever she was going. This was the reason she’d always avoided ties. They just made it more difficult—painful—when it was time to go. There was a weight in her heart, slowing her movements. Lining her stomach with lead.

She pulled the key to the apartment off her key ring, laid it on the counter, and forced her mind back to the matter at hand. Her rent was paid up until the end of the month. She’d repaid Jack for the hospital bill and prescriptions.

Jack. Nerves jittered. He’d be back in twenty or thirty minutes. She needed to hurry. If she left now she could catch a bus and get off near the interstate. And then she’d try her luck heading south.

Her feet began moving, ahead of her will. She’d never been to the southwest. Maybe she’d lose herself in Tucson or Phoenix. She pulled open the door, a flare of urgency urging her faster. Hurrying down the steps, it occurred to her that she should have taken another pain reliever. Her headache, miraculously absent while in bed with Jack, had raged back stronger than ever. She rounded the corner of the garage, intent on taking the sidewalk to the bus stop.

And ran full tilt into a rock-solid chest.

Two hard hands came up to steady her, failed to release her. Her mouth opened as she stared up at his face, but no sound came out.

Jack’s smile held grim satisfaction, with an edge of mean. “Surprised yet?”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Lindsay stared at Jack, shock dulling comprehension. “I wasn’t expecting you back so soon,” she blurted.

One black brow winged up in derision. “Obviously.”

Reason filtered in belatedly and she tried to tug free. He still didn’t let go of her arms. “I thought…While you were gone I figured I’d drop off a bag of stuff I promised to Dora Jenkins. My landlord,” she improvised rapidly. “She’s taking a load of Christmas donations to Goodwill.”

He eyed her bag. “Now that’s interesting. Because lousy detective that I am, I figured you were running out on me. I’d also hazard a guess that the bag is full of every blessed thing you had in that apartment.” There was a little smile playing around the corners of his mouth that owed nothing to amusement. “Should we see how far off base I am?” He released her to reach for the bag.

Lindsay tightened her grip on it. And for the first time noticed that his hands were empty. “You never went to Ming’s!” So her outrage was hypocritical. There was an urgency building that made niceties a luxury. He’d obviously been to his car, because he was wearing his gun and shoulder harness. But he’d also obviously not gotten farther than that.

“Because your sudden hunger didn’t appear until after I’d told you about the publicity.” With hard hands he forcibly turned her and gave her a little nudge in the direction of her apartment. She tried to stand her ground, but she was no match for him when he placed an implacable palm at the base of her back and propelled her forward.

“So I thought I’d stick around a few minutes,” he continued, voice terse. “Actually started to think I’d overreacted. Been too suspicious. But here you are, hurrying toward the bus stop like your ass is on fire. So you’ll have to excuse me if I’m not inclined to believe it’s due to a sudden burst of generosity. Although I know from recent experience just how generous you can be.”

That earned him a hard elbow jab to the gut, which, if he hadn’t been crowding her so closely, wouldn’t have hit its mark. As it was, he made a satisfying sound of pain, but it didn’t slow him appreciably.

“Stop pushing me around,” she ordered, seething. When they got to the stairs he grabbed one of her arms and practically hauled her up the steps, which only infuriated her further. “I said—”

“Yeah, I know what you said. It’s what you didn’t say that I’m interested in. So you’re not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell has you so spooked. Who you’re running from.” They were on the landing now, outside her apartment. But when he guided her toward the door, she managed to break free and dodge around him. Only to be caught, when he turned, between the railing and a wall of pulsing angry male.

“It’s none of your business—” she began.

He shoved his face close to hers, his dark eyes shooting enough sparks to singe her with his fury. “The hell with that. I’m not going to stand here and debate it with you. It is my business. We’re connected, you and me, no matter how much you want to deny it.”

She desperately wanted to. But the denial when it came to her lips refused to be uttered. She could only stare at him, a wistful sort of sadness twisting inside her. Because it had been a long time since she’d wanted to be tied to any man. And despite her better judgment, Jack Langley had called out long-dormant feelings in her from the first.

His expression, fixed on hers, softened marginally. “You’re in trouble. Think I can’t see that? But you have to trust someone, sometime. I think that someone should be me.” He reached up to cup her face in his palm. “Now.”

One of her hands rose to cover his as she fought the surge of longing that swept through her. How did he do that? she wondered wildly. How could he so deftly smash through logic and good sense to elicit a response based solely on emotion? Give the man another few minutes and he’d have her spilling everything, and that would put her in all-too-familiar territory.

A cop had been told the story once before. Disaster had followed.

Swallowing, she battled to wall off feeling, fought to summon reason. “I can’t do that. It’s not your—”

She felt the wood splinter near her hand at the same time she heard the muffled shot. Jack shoved her down behind him and drew his gun, crouching in front of her. “Get inside,” he shouted.

The second shot sounded and he didn’t have to tell her again. She’d left the door unlocked, and she practically dove inside, landing on her knees with enough force to snap her head back, increasing the hammering in her temples.

But when Jack didn’t follow her moments later, she crawled to the still-open door. “Get in here!”

He tossed her a quick glance. “Use your cell to call 911. Give them the address and tell them there’s an officer in need of backup. Go!”

“What are you doing?”

Jack continued down the stairs, his back against the wall of the apartment, gun ready. He shouldn’t have been surprised that Lindsay failed to immediately follow his order. But at least she was no longer in the line of fire.

Because given the circumstances, with someone shooting at them, it was almost certain that she was the target.

Jack scanned his surroundings as he moved. The shooter was hidden somewhere in the backyard separating the garage and the main house. From the direction of the bullets, the gunman would have had to be hidden at an angle to the landing of the stairs.

The adjoining yard was heavily landscaped, with a man-made goldfish pond, complete with arched bridge. A multilevel deck covered the back of the house, leading down to a barbecue pit. The mass of green lawn was punctuated with carefully tended clumps of flowering shrubs.

But it was toward the gazebo in the center of the yard that Jack headed now, taking cover where he could along the way. Whoever had fired at them had to be close. That hadn’t been a rifle. It had been a revolver fitted with a suppressor, from the sounds of it. Most likely a .45 semiautomatic. It wouldn’t be particularly accurate from a distance.

He stopped behind a large boulder and studied the partially open building across the yard. He hadn’t seen anyone running from the area, which meant the shooter was likely still around. Jack took an instant to throw a glance over his shoulder. Lindsay had shut the door, he noted with relief. She was safe for the moment.

Considering his options, he decided to try circling around the far side of the gazebo. It was longer, but going the other way would take him across the deck. If the shooter was still out there, a shot fired in his direction could hit the house.

He ran in a crouch toward a nearby thatch of low-lying shrubs, taking a flying dive when the next shots were fired. Hitting the ground heavily with his shoulder, he rolled, rose to his knees. A figure in black was racing across the yard and Jack’s finger began squeezing the trigger.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw movement. Turning, he observed the elderly lady leaning to peer out of the back door of the main house. “Get inside,” he shouted, his finger easing on the trigger. She closed the door, but remained framed in its window.

Jack cursed, rose and started racing after the fleeing figure. The houses in the area were pricey, each surrounded by an acre of yard. The man—and he was fairly certain it was a man—veered toward a ten-foot brick privacy fence and scrambled up a rope ladder dangling on the side. Long before Jack reached it, the ladder had been yanked over the top.

He came to a halt in front of the fence, breath heaving, and took a moment to scan the area. No way to tell if the gunman would cut across the private yard and over the other side of the fence or go out the front. Weighing the odds, Jack raced toward the front of the house, looked up and down the street. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he ran around to the other side, but there was no one in sight.

The old wound in his thigh was screaming, and there was a hitch in his gait when he jogged up to the front door of the huge stone house. He wanted a look in its backyard, but there was a growing certainty in his gut.

The gunman had already gotten away.

“You poor thing,” Dora Jenkins crooned, pushing a large mug of fresh, steaming coffee into Lindsay’s hand. “Drink this. You need your strength.”

Maybe it was adrenaline crash, or it could have been the shot of vodka Dora had laced the last mug with, but Lindsay’s head was swimming. Come to think of it, it might be the alcohol combined with the pain reliever she’d taken earlier. In any case, another mug was going to knock her on her butt.

Then again, the expression on Jack’s face when he and the cop he was talking to glanced her way warned her that she was going to need fortification. She accepted the mug, sent a wan smile to Dora. “Thanks.” Her fingers wrapped around the cup, seeking the heat transference. Her insides were infused with ice.

“I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw those men running across my yard with guns drawn,” prattled Dora. She was a small, plump woman with a head full of gray pin curls, circa the 1940s. They danced and shook with her words, as Dora Jenkins did everything with a flourish, even speaking. Especially speaking. “It was just like something out of the movies. Especially that one…What was the name? Cary Grant was a detective. Or was it Gary Cooper? No, I really think it was Cary Grant, because I saw it with my husband, when we…”

Lindsay tuned out, trying to compose her thoughts, which were chasing around her mind like a cat after a mouse. It could be coincidence. An inner voice jeered at that, but she clung stubbornly to the idea. Maybe Jack had enemies. Or maybe the guy they’d stopped in the Blue Lagoon a few nights ago was angry about the charges filed against him. She’d broken down and written out a statement while she’d waited with Jolie to be dismissed from the hospital.

The thoughts continued to swirl, but there was a cold spear of certainty lodged in her middle. Because there was only one person likely to shoot at her.

Niko Rassi.

Bile filled her throat and she clutched the mug tighter. He would have had to move fast. How long ago had that newscast gone national? Yesterday? The day before? He would have had to act immediately, travel over two thousand miles in less than forty-eight hours. Was that even possible? Paranoia and logic battled. She couldn’t be sure.

Her attention was diverted by something Dora said. “I’m going to go right home and take inventory. Martha Grimes’s home was robbed just last month. And Sid Balkey said just yesterday that he’d seen strange cars driving up and down the street lately. Casing the places, that what I think. Why, how do I know he hadn’t already been in my house? Could have killed me in the middle of my afternoon Pilates.”

“You…There’ve been robberies on the street?” Lindsay’s brain felt sluggish, but she seized on the information like a starving hound on a bone.

“That’s what I’ve been saying.” Dora patted her shoulder again. “You’re overwrought. I don’t blame you for being a little out of it. Why, if you didn’t happen to have that police detective at your place, there’s no telling what shape we’d all be in right now.”

Lindsay huddled closer to the railing of the stairway, where she was seated on the bottom step. “No telling,” she murmured.

Interest sharpening in her voice, the older lady’s expression turned shrewd. “Just what was that police detective doing here, dear?”

Over the woman’s shoulder, Lindsay saw Jack headed her way, and took a quick gulp from her mug for fortification. “He…ah…needed to go over my statement. From before.”

“Of course.” But the elderly woman’s look that passed between Lindsay and Jack as he approached remained speculative.

“Ms. Jenkins.” Jack’s tone was professional. “Detective Paulson will take your statement.” He pointed to the man he’d been speaking to earlier, who was standing at the curb.

Dora straightened, beaming, and fluffed her hair, her earlier curiosity forgotten. “My statement. How exciting. Maybe he’ll help me take inventory at my house, too.” She hurried toward the driveway.

Lindsay saw the puzzlement on Jack’s expression and explained, “Dora says there have been some burglaries on this street. She’s convinced this was a casing gone wrong.”

He propped his foot on the step beside her, leaned in. “That’s one idea.”

The proximity, coupled by the frenzy of her thoughts, had her nerves skittering, tumbling one over the other. She took another swallow, although alcohol right now was probably not a good idea. She needed all her wits about her for this conversation.

And to plan how she was going to slip away from all the attention and get out of town, without leaving a trace.

“You okay?”

The husky timbre of his voice, the note that hadn’t been there when he’d addressed Dora, added another degree of weakness to her muscles. “I’m fine.”

He accepted the lie for what it was and lifted his head to look around the area. “I can’t say that I share Ms. Jenkins’s opinion, though. Unusual for a burglar to come armed, in daylight. Especially unusual to fire, other than in self-defense. It’s not like we were a threat. Never even saw the bastard before the shooting began.”

She gripped the mug almost tightly enough to crush the pottery and strove for an even tone. “I’ve been thinking that it might have something to do with the restaurant shooting. Maybe Mitch had a brother, or family members upset about the way it ended.”

“And decided to take it out on you?”

It sounded thin, even to her own ears, but it was the best she could come up with, given the fact her focus was splintered into a thousand fragments. “Some of the witnesses at Piper’s got the idea I was cooperating with Mitch. And he wasn’t exactly singing my praises before you…before he…” He’d spent his last moments, she recalled now, her stomach sinking even further, cursing her fluently and imaginatively. She could have told him he was wasting his breath. She’d been living under a curse for the last several years.

“It’s a thought.” His voice was mild. Which should have warned her. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a clear plastic evidence bag. “Doesn’t explain this, though.”

He held the shell between thumb and forefinger and Lindsay stared dumbly at it. Read the engraving on the side. The engraving she’d known would be there.

“Any idea who ‘Gracie’ is?”

It was like staring into the headlights of an oncoming train. Knowing it was bearing down on her didn’t lessen the impact. She couldn’t respond. The simple act of drawing breath into her lungs was beyond her. Panic careened through her system, sprinted up her spine.

Somehow, she managed to shake her head. But she couldn’t manage words. Not yet.

The last time she’d seen that shell, or its twin, she’d had Niko’s hand wrapped around her throat.

See this? If you don’t tell me where it is, this one has your name on it. Are you listening to me, Gracie?

She’d listened. And she’d managed, somehow, to convince him of her ignorance. Until she had the chance to get away. And kept running so the bullet encased in that shell wouldn’t find its mark.

Caught in the past, her lungs ached for oxygen. She released the pent-up breath in a long rush, one hand going unconsciously to her throat.

“Somehow I thought you’d say that.” He hooked a hand under one of her arms and hauled her to her feet, not ungently. “C’mon.” He picked up her bag with his free hand.

She clung to the railing. “Where?”

“Downtown. You need to give a statement about what happened today, and then you’re going to start answering a few questions. With the truth, preferably.” His arm around her shoulders was much-needed support, but it also served to move her forward. “Although it doesn’t seem as though you and truth are on a first-name basis.”

That shot her spine with steel, for all the good it did her. He was still forcing her rapidly toward his car, and after a quick look around, she admitted that she couldn’t stay here, anyway. Nor could she come back. Niko knew where she lived. That fact pounded in her brain. He could be somewhere around right now. Watching. Waiting.

Her throat went dry at the thought, and she forced herself to focus. To think. Right now, the police station was the safest place she could be. The problems would start when she left there. She just needed time to figure how to get out of town later without Niko following.

It wasn’t until she was seated in the front seat of his unmarked car that the realization hit her, leaving a cold trail of fear in its wake.

Even if she managed to leave Niko behind, Jack would still be here. And if Rassi thought Jack had a clue to her whereabouts, Jack was as good as dead.

Nausea churned in her stomach, and she leaned forward, hauled in some air. Niko would go after Jack only if he discovered they had a relationship, she assured herself. There was no way for him to find that out, was there? But there was still Jolie. And Dace. If Niko stuck around long enough to learn what he could about Lindsay’s life here, he was bound to learn of those relationships. And he’d be ruthless about using the knowledge to discover Lindsay’s whereabouts.

Tears stung her eyes at the thought. Ties always brought complications. Hadn’t she learned that over the years? They drew innocent parties into Niko’s path. People who would still be alive if it weren’t for their connection with her.

Jack opened the door, slid into the car. His voice was gruff. Grudging. “Are you okay?”

“There’s no good end to this. Just drive me to the interstate. I’ll get a lift. And all this will go away.” She lifted her head, looked at him then. Saw her answer in his expression and nearly wept. “Stop thinking like a cop for one minute, that’s all I ask. You can’t fix this. You can’t change it. And I’m sorrier than you could possibly imagine for getting you mixed up in it.”

A stillness had come over Jack. His expression gave nothing away, but the intensity of his focus was unnerving. “Does ‘it’ have a name?”

Niko’s name was on her lips, trembled there. And then in a flash of déjà vu, she was in New York City again, listening to her friends tell her what they’d discovered about Niko. What they’d shared with Detective Vickers. And forty-eight hours later she’d begun identifying her friends as they showed up in the morgue. One by one.

Fear froze her inclination to open up. Instead she swallowed hard and reached for enough to appease him. “I can’t tell you that. Only that he buys and sells people, including police. He must have seen the newscast,” she said bleakly, eyes staring blankly out the window. “He must have recognized me and tracked me down. I didn’t get out soon enough. Now you and Dace and Jolie might be in danger because of me, and I…” Her voice hitched and she stopped, lips flattening as she summoned control. When she’d won the battle for it, she continued. “I promised myself I was never going to let that happen again.”

There was a long silence but she could almost hear Jack mentally piecing together what she’d said. What she didn’t say. Funny how she could predict his thought processes on the basis of their short acquaintance. And the realization that accompanied that knowing filled her with a sense of fatalism.

“Look at me.” When she failed to do so, Jack reached out and tipped her face toward his with one finger beneath her chin. “I recognize the guy’s a threat. And I don’t doubt he’s given you plenty of reason to fear him. But he isn’t invincible. You have to trust me.” When she tried to shake her head, he forestalled her protest. “You have to, Lindsay.” Their gazes did battle for long moments. “Whoever this guy is, he nearly killed you today. Nearly killed both of us. How long have you been running? Six months? A year?”

Something on her face must have alerted him because he stopped, shock flickering in his expression. “Years, then.” His hand dropped away from her face to curl in a ball in his lap. “A guy like that has a pretty powerful motivation. And I’m not underestimating the bastard. But you’re underestimating me if you think for a second I’m going to let you run off to take your chances with him.”

His movements as he started the car, put it in gear, were carefully controlled. Restraint layered over violence. And his implacable tone dashed any forlorn hope she held that he was going to help her make an escape. “There are other ways. There are programs—”

Lindsay gave a bitter laugh, her head leaning on the leather headrest. “You mean like Witness Protection? Where I take my chances that no one inside gets greedy and sells my information to the wrong person? I like my chances better on my own.”

“You’re short on trust. I get that. But sometimes it comes down to the devil you know. So you’d better think about doling out more of that story, Lindsay. Because if you think I’m letting you deal with this guy alone, Mitch’s bullet did more damage to your head than I thought.”

He’d lost control for a moment, and the situation had gone to hell.

Niko kept his binoculars trained on the scene in front of Gracie’s place. From his hiding place under the large pine, he had an excellent vantage point from which to keep track of the cops’ movements. And her location.

It was her fault, of course. Seeing her again, in the flesh, not just those seconds frozen by the camera, had rocked him more than he’d believed possible. Little, innocent Grace Feller. Even knowing what a lying, traitorous bitch she was hadn’t stopped that surge of pure lust when he’d seen her again.

He wasn’t finished with her. That’s all it was. And seeing that guy go inside with her, stay long enough to leave no doubt as to what they were doing in there, okay, maybe that had messed up his thinking.

He’d almost capped the guy when he’d come out. Actually had started to squeeze the trigger, imagining his brains spattered all over the side of that garage. But he’d held back, hadn’t he? Held off knowing that once the guy was gone, he’d have Gracie to himself. And then they’d have a long conversation about her leaving New York without his permission, taking something that belonged to him.

Rage was fogging his vision and he lowered the binoculars for a moment. He needed her alive long enough to tell him where she’d put it. Long enough for him to show her why it didn’t pay to run out on Niko Rassi.

Yeah, and maybe just long enough for him to get another taste of her. All that white skin and those mile-long legs. Just a taste to prove to himself that she was out of his system before he killed her.

But the guy—the cop—hadn’t left. And seeing them together, the way she let the pig put his hands on her…it would have served the whore right to take a bullet in the brain then and there. She was his. Would be until he said otherwise.

And when he did, his Magnum would do the talking.

The fury was still ripe enough to choke him, but he shoved it down. Let it work for him. He’d missed a shell, but it couldn’t be helped. He’d had to get out of there fast when that cop had come for him. And it pleased him that Gracie had seen it—and would know what it meant.

Raising the binoculars again, he trained them on the couple in the unmarked car. What was she telling him? Was she spilling her guts about New York? About him?

No, he decided after a moment. She was too scared for that. The bitch had never been stupid. She’d do what she’d done back then—lie and flutter those cat-green eyes of hers and then run first chance she got.

But he wasn’t going to waste time chasing her up and down the coast. He had a business to run. And it didn’t pay to be absent too long. Paulo Portino was a suspicious and impatient man.

So this ended, here, in this godforsaken city. Niko started to wiggle free of his hiding place beneath the low-hanging fir branches. He had to think through the details, but he knew exactly what would keep Gracie from running again.

He smiled, thinking of how it would play out. He’d get everything he wanted from her, and when he was finished there’d be once last shell with her name on it.

And this one wouldn’t be wasted.

“Because she’s lying, Captain.” Jack paced Telsom’s office, his frustration evident in his long strides. “She’s running from someone and now he’s found her. Those bullets were meant for her and all the denials in the world aren’t going to convince me otherwise.”

Jack might have been pissed, but he stopped short of telling Telsom everything: that Lindsay Bradford’s ID was as shallow as the reflecting pond in Monument Park. He couldn’t even say what was stopping him. He wanted to dig deeper into her secrets himself before he bared them to the world.

“Doesn’t matter what she told you one-on-one,” Telsom said implacably. “If her statement says she has no idea who might have shot at her, we are done with her. Kick her loose.” He frowned, and Jack’s instincts went on full red alert. “Unless…You aren’t involved with her, are you?”

Damn, that question was becoming too familiar. And since it depended on how the captain defined involved, Jack gave him his best blank stare. “I told you, I happened by the hospital, her friend asked me to give her a ride home. End of story.”

Telsom rubbed at the back of his neck. “People lie to us all the time. That’s nothing new.”

“Because she’s scared.” And he made damn sure that none of the emotion he was feeling sounded in his words. “Scared enough to run, and she’s still a material witness in the Engels incident.”

“Engels is dead, so it isn’t as though we need her testimony.” But Telsom was listening now. His black swivel chair creaked as he leaned back in it. “I can’t give you any manpower on this, but if you want to keep an eye on her, that’s on you. Give us time for ballistics to come back on the bullets recovered from today’s scene, and maybe we’ll get a little more information to confront her with. Just watch your step, Langley. The last thing we need is for her to start screaming police harassment, especially with the press ready to hang a medal on her for the restaurant incident.”

Jack gave a curt nod and headed out the door. It wouldn’t do for the captain to start inquiring any more closely about his relationship with Lindsay. Or maybe he should start thinking of her as Gracie.

He headed back to the interview room, his mood grim. Okay, so he’d known she had mysteries tucked away. That had been clear almost from the start. So maybe it shouldn’t feel like such a punch in the gut that she refused to share them—all of them—after her past had made a head-on collision with her present this afternoon.

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