by Diana Duncan
Another taut pause ticked past. “Come out of there, or I’m coming in after you.”
She wasn’t leaving without the evidence. Which gave her one option. She shoved the CPU behind her and laid the multi-tool on top. Somehow, she’d have to distract him long enough to remove the hard drive. “Welcome to my world, SWAT.”
Big hands gripped the edge of the Dumpster and Aidan’s thick, wavy hair appeared over the top. Exasperated brown eyes stared down at her, half buried in rubble. Then his gorgeous mouth slanted in wry humor. “Now who’d want to throw away a perfectly good reporter?”
“You’d be surprised how many people have a jones for journalists.”
He jumped inside, landing gracefully on the debris beside her. The Dumpster was so large, his head didn’t reach the top. “Can’t imagine why.”
He was wearing his leather jacket, presumably to cover his gun. A large black flashlight shoved handle-first into the front pocket of his jeans made a bulge that caught her attention. Her focus wandered to the bulge slightly to the right of the flashlight.
Hey there.
He cleared his throat, and she started. Cheeks burning, her glance darted to his.
Amusement glimmered in his irises as a dark brow arched. “See anything you’d like to salvage?”
I’d for sure repurpose you. She swallowed the sudden rush of moisture in her mouth. “I’ll bet a month’s rent you were a Boy Scout.”
“Eagle Scout. How’d you know?”
She flicked a hit-and-run glance at the protruding flashlight. “Always prepared.”
Those wide shoulders relaxed in what looked like ... relief? “Oh. Right.”
“What?” She grinned at him. “Did you think I could read your mind?”
He grimaced. “Of course not. Not possible.”
She read him a lot more easily than he’d ever guess. His snarly attitude might keep everyone else at arm’s length, but she wasn’t fooled for a second. “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio—”
He finished the quote from Hamlet in tandem with her. “Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”
Not just another pretty face. But she already knew that. “I like a guy in a bulletproof vest who knows his Shakespeare.”
He snorted and spread his arms. “Exactly how I wanted to spend Saturday afternoon. Doing the backstroke in trash.”
He stood near enough for her to smell his warm, fresh scent over the other less pleasant odors beneath her feet. Funny, she’d never before tingled in interesting places while standing thigh-deep in a Dumpster. “It’s really not bad, as far as trash goes.”
“And you’re the resident expert on garbage?”
“You betcha.” She retrieved an object near his left boot, and gestured like a game show hostess. “For your consideration, one lovely, institutional aluminum napkin holder. Only slightly dented.”
His lips twitched. “I was wondering what to get Mom for her birthday.”
She laughed. “You’re all set. Why don’t you help me?” She’d send him to the opposite end, and scavenge the hard drive. “Then we can both leave, and everybody’s happy.”
“The courts call that ‘aiding and abetting.’”
“It’s garbage.”
“No, it’s the law.”
She laughed again. “I meant this is only junk someone else threw away. Free for the taking. Therefore, I am not breaking any laws.”
“You have the most convoluted sense of logic of anyone I’ve ever met.” He moved closer and she sidestepped him. He frowned. “C’mon, work with me here. I’m a police officer. Legally obligated to settle a valid complaint. If necessary, I will sling you over my shoulder and bodily remove you.”
She raised her chin, silently daring him. She wasn’t going anywhere without the second piece of possibly valuable evidence. “I’m not done yet, and I am morally obligated to make said removal as difficult as possible.”
His eyes narrowed as he echoed her earlier question. “Have you always been this hardheaded, or is it a recent affliction?”
“I prefer tenacious. A trait you see every time you look in the mirror.”
Determined espresso eyes captured hers—and the jolt of heat jellied her legs. What would it be like to have his focused intensity concentrated solely on her in the bedroom? Aidan the cop was a formidable presence. Aidan the lover would be an irresistible force. Her cop never left any job half-finished. He meticulously completed every task. Personally checked each detail.
SWAT ... Seduction With Attentive Thoroughness.
It took several tries before she could speak. “Even cops scour trash for evidence. In the case of the State of North Dakota versus Herrick in 1997, the court ruled that ‘once something is discarded, it no longer affords the previous owner any expectations of privacy.’”
“Evidence?” Suspicion stamped his chiseled features. “Whose garbage is this?”
Crap! Distracted by dazzled hormones, she’d slipped. “Haven’t you been listening? Garbage doesn’t belong to anyone.”
He advanced on her. “Zagretti ...” Her name was a growled warning.
She backpedaled to the farthest corner, under the lidded half of the container. “Shouldn’t you be going? You have a wedding to—”
CLANK. CLANK. RUMBLE. The Dumpster shook beneath her feet.
“What’s—”
BOOM!
The lid slammed down, trapping them in darkness.
Chapter 5
3:00 p.m.
Zoe shrieked. From outside, she heard, GRIND, GRIND. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! Terror screamed along her nerve endings, and a slap of adrenaline spiked her pulse. The Dumpster tilted, throwing her into Aidan.
He lost his footing and lurched backward into the wall. His arms closed around her, hard and strong. “Hang on!”
Didn’t have to tell her twice. She flung her arms around his neck, stuck tighter to him than Velcro. “It’s dark!”
The Dumpster swooped upward, an out-of-control express elevator.
“Least of our problems.” His muscles tensed as he struggled to keep them upright.
“I hate the dark! Get me out of here!”
His embrace tightened further. “Okay, don’t panic.”
Shaking, she clung to him in the dark, whirling chaos and buried her face in his neck. “Too late!”
“Zoe,” his deep, velvet voice brushed her ear. “I’ve got you. You’re all right.”
His calm voice, his unique scent penetrated her fear. The strength of his powerful, solid body pressed to hers quieted her panic. She wasn’t alone. Aidan wouldn’t let something bad reach out of the darkness and snatch her away.
The Dumpster rocked wildly, and she clutched him harder. “What’s happening?”
“We won’t be in the dark for long. The beeping, chugging monster outside is the garbage truck.”
“Oh, no!”
“Could only happen to you, Lois Lane. This is the first time I’ve ever been recycled.”
The Dumpster jerked to a halt and began to tip sideways. The contents slid, banging into them. He turned them around and braced, shielding her between the metal wall and his body. “Keep your head down.”
“You’ll get hurt.”
“Trash doesn’t return fire.” He grunted as the file cabinet slammed into his back. “Maybe.”
“Sorry.”
“No rougher than playing football with my brothers.”
The Dumpster angled sharply, and his weight combined with an avalanche of trash squashed her against the wall. “Can’t ... breathe.”
Rock-hard biceps bunched as he levered up, affording her an inch of space. “Better?”
“Y—” The Dumpster tipped upside down, the lid swung open, and they were freefalling.
She landed flat on her back on lumpy plastic bags. Seconds later, Aidan crashed on top of her, face down. He flung his arms over his head and covered her, taking the brunt of the blows as all the contents bombarded them.
GRIND.
GRIND. WHIR.
THUNK. Outside the metal walls, the Dumpster hit the pavement. The beeping stopped, the truck’s gears screeched and the vehicle lurched into motion.
She’d always loved thrill rides, but this was nuts. She lay buried in debris, sheltered by Aidan’s big body. Her nose pressed into the soft cotton covering his broad chest, which rose and fell rapidly as he struggled to breathe.
She writhed up the length of his torso until her face was free and she could see the truck’s interior. Open panels in the roof gave her a mercifully clear view of cerulean summer sky passing overhead. A not-so-daisy-fresh smell permeated the cramped space, but the breeze helped. Some.
His face resting in her shoulder, Aidan’s breathing finally evened out. For some crazy reason, his heavy weight on top of her felt reassuring. “Aidan, are you hurt?”
He lifted his head and looked at her. “No. You?”
His full, beautifully shaped lips were inches from hers. His warm breath feathered over her mouth. Long thickets of black lashes surrounded enigmatic brown eyes alive with gilded highlights. She could plunge into those golden-shimmered pools and stay forever.
“Zoe.” Large, steady hands cradled her face. “You okay?”
She surfaced slowly from the glowing depths. Blinked. Falling into the truck was nothing compared to the fall into Aidan’s eyes.
She drew a deep, shuddering breath. “Yes, but ... ouch.” She squirmed. “Your gun is killing my ribs.”
“Sorry.” Propped on his elbows, he raised his upper body a few inches.
“And your flashlight is riding my hipbone. I think it’s very glad to see me.” She worked her hand between them and grabbed it. “Wow, one of those big Evereadys, huh?”
He jumped. “The flashlight got knocked out of my pocket on the way down.”
“Oh! Whoops!” She jerked her hand away so fast, she nearly got whiplash. Was it possible to spontaneously combust from embarrassment? At the same time, happiness bubbled to the surface. She turned him on. A lot.
A helluva lot.
Or maybe being snuggled up this close-and-personal with any woman would turn him on? She wished she had the nerve to ask. “Accidental contact. Ten minutes in the penalty box?”
His unexpected laughter danced up her spine. He didn’t seem embarrassed. Considering his blatant sex appeal, maybe women groped him all the time. “That one’s gotta cost you at least twenty minutes, Zagretti.”
The grumbling and grinding started again, and the trash bags beneath them heaved. She stared at Aidan. “What now?”
“Shit, compactor.” He shoved himself off her, scattering debris, then reached down and helped her up. “Stay on top.”
“Yikes!”
Clutching hands, stumbling in place, they scrambled up the roiling mountain beneath their feet. Stairmaster as envisioned by the Marquis de Sade.
Fighting mass and momentum, Zoe floundered as the riptide tried to force her backward and suck her under.
One slip, and she’d be crushed.
She clung to Aidan’s hand. “Don’t let go of me.”
Fierce determination glinted in his eyes. His hand gripped hers, resolve thrumming in every straining muscle. “Never.”
He wouldn’t. Not even if he went under with her. Reassuring thought.
She gasped for breath. “‘Two local residents compacted.’ There’s a ... unique story, if I’m around ... to report it.”
He wasn’t even breathing hard. He probably jogged. Not to mention he was almost a foot taller, most of it legs. “Hang in there. Shouldn’t be much longer.”
Sure enough, the awful noise finally stopped. The contents lurched and settled, and she stumbled into him. Once again, he caught her. Panting, she looked up at him. “This remind you of anything?”
“Yeah.” His white, wicked grin flashed. “Hell’s fitness center.”
His crack mirrored her own earlier thoughts so closely, she chuckled. “Remember ... the rescue scene in the original Star Wars?” She paused to breathe. “Luke, Leia, Han, and Chewie were in the trash masher, and C3PO thought they were dying.”
“‘A little short for a Storm Trooper, aren’t you?’” he quoted. “Unfortunately, this isn’t the movies.” His grin faded. “Look what your mule-headedness got us into.”
She grimaced. She couldn’t just walk away from the CPUs and shredded files. “Well, if I’m stuck in refuse, at least I’m glad it’s with a capable guy like you. Otherwise, I would’ve been crushed.”
“A guy worth the garbage.” He eased back, but kept his hands around her waist, balancing her as the truck rumbled unsteadily along. Chivalry at its finest. “Maybe I can use that as a toast at Con’s wedding tonight.” His dark brows slammed together. “Shit! I’d headed out to pick up my tux when dispatch called about the wacko in the Dumpster. I was only a block away from the address. Figured it’d take me five minutes, and save sending out a patrol car.”
“You have a police radio in your car, and listen to it off duty? I’ll choose workaholic for five hundred, Alex.”
“I like to know what’s going down in my precinct.” He released her and glanced at his combat watch. Scowled. “The shop closes at five. I’ll never make it in time.”
Mourning the loss of his touch, she clutched a protruding metal bar on the lurching vehicle’s side. “Nothing like waiting till the last minute to pick up your tux.”
He shot her a sardonic glance. “Yeah, too bad an inconvenient hostage crisis screwed my schedule.”
“Point taken. And you can blame me for getting you trapped in a garbage truck afterward.”
“I put the blame directly where it belongs. On myself.”
What did that cryptic remark mean? “Do you have a cell phone on you? Can you call dispatch and have them send a patrol car to rescue us?”
“This isn’t exactly an emergency. Not enough to tie up on-duty officers. Besides, the guys would razz my ass off.” He groaned. “I can see it now. Toy garbage trucks parked on my desk. Dozens of trash bags stuffed in my locker. Specially brewed L’eau de Trash cologne for Christmas. No way. I’d rather perform my best-man duties wearing yellow tights and a tutu.”
“You definitely have the legs for it, but purple is a better color for you.” He snorted, and she sent him a teasing grin. “All righty then. How about one of your brothers?”
“Same results, worse razzing. Till the day I die.” He shuddered. “Mom might be able to do it, though.”
He tugged a cell phone out of his jacket pocket, planted the other hand on the wall for balance, and tapped a thumb on the screen. Zoe smiled. Props for a man who had his mother on speed dial.
“Mom?” He had to nearly shout over the truck’s grumbling progress. “What?” A pause. “Yeah, I’m kinda tied up, could you do me a favor and get my tux?” Another pause. “I know I should’ve picked it up sooner, but I worked double shifts all week.” A third, longer pause. “No, ma’am, I am not on a SWAT call-out hours before my brother’s wedding. The noise? Uh ... I’m helping a ... friend ... relocate.” He grimaced. “Yes, it’s a woman.” He looked at Zoe, his eyes widening in near panic. “Nuh-uh.” He shook his head vehemently. “Gotta go. Thanks, mom, see you later.”
Zoe waited until he pocketed the phone. “What did she want?”
For the first time since they’d met, his eyes evaded hers. “Nothing.”
Hmm. Interesting. She’d sacrifice the grocery money to know what his mom had asked that had him so flustered. “We should attract the driver’s attention.”
“Happen to have an air horn on you?”
“Not today. No harm in trying, though.”
“Nope.”
Together, they banged on the truck and shouted.
Eventually, he stopped pounding. “This is insane. He’ll never hear us over the racket.”
“I don’t suppose we could shoot our way out?” She was only half-kidding.
“Sure, that’d work ... if the ricochet didn’t kill us. We’ll wait until
he stops, then get his attention.”
“Good plan.”
Too bad the truck didn’t stop again.
She stayed in one spot until she picked up the trick to balancing on the bulky mass, then rummaged around for her canvas bag. “Ah, here’s my trusty survival kit.”
He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his swaying body easily surfing the truck’s jerky movements. “What sort of survival kit?”
Crap! A huge rip in the seam clear through the vinyl lining revealed the hard drive hidden inside. She rotated the bag, turning the tear away from him. “Among other things, safety pins, water bottle, acetaminophen, pen, pad, penlight, makeup, Cracker Jack, and a romance novel. All the necessities.”
“If you’re marooned at a pajama party.”
During her search, she’d spotted the second CPU fairly close behind her. Bonus, the fall into the Dumpster had cracked it open. She made a point of looking down at her bag. “The seam is ripped and my stuff is falling out. Gotta fix it.”
Turning her back on him, she used her body to block her movements as she improvised with her nail file to remove the coveted hard drive. She crammed it in her torn bag beside the other one. A few safety pins loosely fastened the ripped edges together, but the hard drives were visible if you looked closely.
Just have to keep him from looking too closely, won’t I?
She zipped the top. “What’s in your survival kit?”
“Butane lighter, flares, flashlight, Swiss Army knife, ammo, first-aid supplies, water, and dehydrated food packets.”
“What about a needle and thread to sew up your own wounds, Rambo?”
He chuckled, the husky timbre sending delicious shivers over her. “Mine will keep you alive longer than lipstick and love stories.”
“Depends on where you’re stranded. And who you’re stranded with.” Her survival kit might now include new, major pieces to the DiMarco puzzle. That topped dehydrated stroganoff any day.
She stepped to one side and spotted his flashlight at her feet. “Here’s your flashlight.” She couldn’t stop the flush that crept up her neck when she passed it to him.
His gorgeous features projected studied innocence. “You seem fond of my Eveready.”
