Sweet Revenge

by Rebecca Zanetti

She frowned, her face an inch from his. “You took me by surprise.”

  “Most attackers do,” he said wryly. His broad hand settled at the small of her back. “You’ve had no training. I mean, none.” His eyebrow quirked in shock.

  The muscled angles pressed into her flesh, showcasing their differences. Where she was soft, he was hard… and she softened even more against him. “No training,” she affirmed, her voice husky. While his heart beat slow and steady beneath her, hers ran into a full gallop.

  His eyes darkened. He blinked once. Slowly. That heated gaze dropped to her mouth.

  Panic and anticipation raced up her spine, followed by a tingling need for self-preservation. It would be way too easy to get lost in him… to forget the danger and the fact that he didn’t trust her. He couldn’t trust her, nor could he be blamed for the sad fact. She knew how much he had to lose.

  “Wow. You’re thinking way too hard there,” he murmured lazily.

  “Our previous sexual relationship muddies the water.” Could she sound any more prim and proper? God.

  His cheek creased. “Every once in a while, I can hear the Ivy League education in your voice.” He sounded more thoughtful than irritated, so she chose to accept his statement as fact instead of insult.

  “I lost the doctor-speak within a few months of working with soldiers,” she said softly, gauging his reaction.

  “Good. Doctor-speak scares the hell out of us.” He lost his smile even while making the joke. Yeah, there was the guy who couldn’t forget she’d worked for his nemesis. He tapped her back. “Okay. Let’s get you ready to rumble.”

  She rolled off him and shoved to her feet. “I don’t want to throw a wet blanket on your plan, but if we actually break into the facility, those guards are trained. Really, really trained. The little time we have isn’t going to prepare me.”

  He stretched to his feet, all male grace. “I don’t need you to take out a guard. I just need you to be able to throw any threat off balance until I can get to you.”

  “To take out the guard?”

  “To take out anybody in our way.” He frowned and surveyed her body. “Your strength is in your legs, so we’re going to work on kicks first. Now bend your knees.” He dropped into a fighting stance to demonstrate. “Kick me.”

  She couldn’t help the small smile. “With pleasure.”

  Laney masked a wince as she leaned over to slide a beer across a table. Her legs protested every movement. When Matt had warned her about training, he hadn’t been joking. They’d worked on kicks for nearly two hours before moving on to arm blocks. Her entire body felt like it had been tossed over a waterfall.

  But she could kick.

  The sense of power that came with knowing even a little bit of self-defense surprised her.

  The bar was hopping, and most of the patrons were having a great time. Several groups of bikers milled around and brought a sense of good-natured fun to the evening. Midnight had passed, and she was counting down the minutes until closing so she could go soak in a nice, hot bath. Apparently her morning yoga routine hadn’t been getting her muscles into shape like she’d hoped.

  A whistle caught her attention, and with an inward sigh, she maneuvered around tables and bodies to three men who’d just finished playing darts. They had ridden in earlier on rustic bikes and didn’t seem to know any of the regular bikers.

  “What can I get you?” she asked the guy who had whistled.

  He ran a hand through his beard, his gaze dropping to her chest. “What are you offering, hot lady?”

  “Last call will be coming soon.” She glanced toward the large clock over the bar. Maybe the casual dress she’d worn had been a bad idea. She felt tougher in jeans. “Would you like another round?”

  He sat forward in his chair, his large bulk swaying. “I’d like a round of you.” His two buddies guffawed, one of them swigging back the remnants of beer from a pitcher.

  God. What morons. “Let me know if you’d like to order another drink.” She turned to bus a table.

  A beefy arm grabbed her around the waist and pulled. She windmilled, losing her empty tray as she flew back into the drunk’s lap, her head thunking on his chin. Ouch. She struggled, trying to get free. He tightened his hold, cutting off her air.

  “Release me,” she gasped, her eyes watering.

  A pair of long legs swam into her vision, and a long-boned hand reached for the band around her ribs. The drunk released her, and Matt gently drew her up by the shoulder to place behind him. She gulped in air and tried to keep from falling into a full-blown panic attack, pressing her hand against his back to keep her balance. Muscles vibrated beneath her palm like those of a furious German shepherd.

  The snap of a bone fracturing halted her hysteria. Her eyes widened as she glanced around her rescuer.

  The drunk howled as Matt yanked him from the chair with the damaged hand, his face sheeting white. “You broke my wrist!”

  Good Lord. Matt had twisted the man’s arm and broken his radius. The amount of force needed to do that with his bare hands was incredible. Laney latched on to his belt to pull him back.

  Matt pivoted, jerked, and a loud pop filled the air before the drunk gasped and dropped back into his chair. “Your shoulder is out, too.”

  Laney released him and backed up, a roaring filling her ears. “You—you yanked the head of the humerus from the socket in the glenoid fossa.”

  “That’s what I said. Dislocated shoulder.” Matt kept his attention on the man now holding his arm and wheezing. “I suggest you refrain from grabbing women in the future.” Low, controlled, his voice nevertheless held a promise of certain violence.

  Laney shivered.

  Fingers wrapped around her arm and yanked her against a bony chest. A knife slid against her throat. “Matt—” she whispered as the entire bar fell silent.

  He pivoted, his gaze shooting above her head and to the right. “I just broke your buddy’s hand for grabbing her. What do you think I’m going to do to you?” His voice softened with the deadly threat.

  The body behind her trembled and tightened. “One move, and I cut her.”

  Laney’s knees shook, and her vision wavered. God. Not now. Heat rushed up her body followed by chills. No panic. No panic.

  Fire exploded in Matt’s eyes. “One chance. Let her go now, or I will kill you.”

  So much truth lived in his words, Laney stilled. Even her panic was afraid of him.

  The third guy went for Matt. Instantly, Matt dropped an elbow onto the guy’s nose and punched him in the throat, his gaze never leaving Laney’s attacker. The third man went down, his head smacking a chair on the way.

  A loud swallow echoed from the man holding Laney.

  The injured drunk stood, weaving as he regained his balance. He clutched his injured wrist, fear swimming in his eyes. “This is out of hand. Let’s get out of here.”

  She had to concentrate to force out words. “If you let me go right now, I won’t let him hurt you. I promise.”

  The man’s breath hitched. Silence ticked tension-filled seconds. The knife slowly moved away from her throat, and the guy pushed her at Matt. Then he leaned down and hauled up his friend, who was gasping for air.

  Matt caught her, smoothly setting her behind him. “You have five seconds to get out of this bar. If I ever see you again, no matter where, I’m breaking your neck in two. I promise.” Anticipation lifted his consonants.

  The three men quickly fled the bar.

  Matt looked around at the quiet occupants. “Bar’s closed. Go home.”

  People scattered like dropped nickels, heading for every exit. With minutes, the place was empty save for Matt, Laney, and Smitty.

  Smitty rubbed his chin from behind the bar. “Holy shit, you can clear a room.”

  Matt turned and grasped Laney’s elbows. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded, swallowing several times. The panic lingered just out of reach and waited to strike.

  He drew her into
his chest, into safety, and rubbed from her neck to her tailbone and back up. “Deep breaths, baby. Take the air in, hold it for five seconds, and then let it go.” His warm palm continued to soothe her as she followed his orders. Finally, the buzzing in her head abated.

  She stepped back. “I, um, forgot everything you taught me earlier.” Not even a hint of an idea had occurred to her to kick or punch the first guy who’d grabbed her. She had just struggled like a flopping fish.

  Matt brushed a piece of hair back from her cheek. “One day of training doesn’t make you ready. You did fine.”

  Tears pricked the back of her eyes. After seeing what violence he could easily employ, his sweetness toward her was almost too much. “Thank you.”

  “I’m sorry I frightened you.” A twist of his lips showed a vulnerability he probably thought he hid.

  “I wasn’t scared of you.” Something in her wanted to comfort him.

  He ran a thumb across her cheekbone in a soft caress. His gaze lingered on her eyes, as if trying to reassure himself she was now all right. “Yes you were scared, and your instincts are good. I was created to be violent even before I learned to fight. Killing is in my DNA.” Sadness and regret darkened his eyes to a mysterious gray.

  “No.” She grabbed his hand and squeezed. He’d taken over and protected his younger brothers in an honorable way he’d learned on his own. She couldn’t allow him to think poorly about himself. “DNA is an acid—heredity material that determines traits like hair color… maybe strength. Killing is a choice, and one you didn’t make tonight. You let those morons go.” Going on instinct, she stepped into his space and cupped his strong jaw. His rough shadow tickled her hand. “You’re more than they made you to be—much more. Don’t let them win. Not now, when you’re so close.”

  He closed his eyes and turned his head to place a soft kiss on her palm. “I wanted to kill them, Laney. The second they put their hands on you, I was all right with ending their lives.”

  The fierce words spiraled down deep into her heart and took hold. He cared about her, and he wanted to protect her. Nobody had ever tried to protect her. “Why didn’t you?” she asked, wondering at the pain riding his words.

  “Because you were behind me, and I didn’t want you to see me kill.” His eyes flashed open, so much pain revealed that she caught her breath. Then he drew down the veil. “I easily could’ve ended them, and I wouldn’t have lost a minute of sleep for it.”

  He would’ve killed for her, and the thought brought a primitive thrill. Being loved by a man like Matt Dean would carry risks and responsibility. She stiffened and dropped her hand. Where in the world had that come from? He didn’t love her, and he never would. A sharp pang slashed into her heart. “Thank you anyway for saving me.” She bent to retrieve her tray from the floor. “Let’s finish and get cleaned up.” Keeping her gaze away from him, she gathered glasses and empty bottles to take to the bar.

  “Laney.” His deep voice stopped her, and she turned around. His gaze was thoughtful, knowing. “We need to talk about this. Whatever it is between us, we need to talk… and I mean tonight.”

  Chapter 20

  Laney’s eyes widened. “We have nothing to discuss.”

  Ah, there was the educated tone Matt was beginning to actually like. “Yes, we do.” He’d almost killed three men for threatening her, and he had to get himself under control before he blew the mission any more than he already had. The feelings coursing through him were real and new. If he didn’t deal with them, somehow figure them out, he might be too distracted when he needed to be focused. So she’d damn well help him figure out what was between them.

  The front door opened. “We’re closed,” he said.

  “Ms. Laney Jacobs?” the newcomer asked.

  Matt turned to view a lean man wearing khakis and a polo shirt. “Who’s asking?”

  The guy smiled perfectly even teeth. “I’m Zeke Frant from ATW News Source, and I’ve been covering the Sleepy Town Serial Killer case for three months now. Rumor has it Miss Jacobs has been receiving notes, and I was hoping I could interview her.” He dug a tattered notepad out of his back pocket and promptly dropped it on the ground. “Sorry.” Snagging the pad, he straightened back up.

  Matt frowned. Those had to be crowns, right? Nobody had teeth so perfect. “Sleepy Town Serial Killer? You come up with the moniker yourself?”

  “Yes.” Frant’s narrow chest puffed out. “Catchy, right?”

  A reporter was all Matt fucking needed. The kid looked to be about twenty. “Is this your first big story?”

  “No. I broke a story about the meatpacking plant in Helena using too much filler.” He reached into his other back pocket to fetch a pair of glasses, which he perched on his nose. “Another story about the mayor of Blankstone growing pot in his basement in southern Idaho.”

  “Ahh. Well, no interviews tonight, pal.” Matt glanced at Laney, who was staring at the reporter like a rabbit caught in a trap. “Right?”

  She slowly nodded.

  Damn it. Where was the woman who lied so easily? The fact that she didn’t want to be interviewed was all but written on her face. He probably had worked her too hard in training, because she looked exhausted.

  Matt strode straight at the reporter. “We’ve had a long night, and we’re tired. Now is not the time for an interview.”

  Frant backed away, shoving his glasses up his nose. “What time tomorrow shall I come back?”

  “We’ll call you.” Matt finished backing the reporter to the door, and he kindly opened it for him. Rain splattered the building, and the wild wind smashed water inside. “Good night.” A hard clap to the shoulder had Frant tripping outside. Matt shut the door and locked up against the storm. “Unbelievable.”

  Laney nodded. “That’s all we need.”

  If one reporter had caught the scent of a serial killer, more would be following. Matt had to get his picture off the sheriff’s computer and then get Laney the hell out of town. Now.

  Smitty whistled a jaunty tune. “More will be coming.”

  “Thanks, Captain Obvious,” Laney muttered, wiping down the bar.

  Smitty’s gray eyebrows rose to his hairline. “Somebody’s having a PMS moment.”

  Matt bit back a laugh at the murderous glint that leaped into Laney’s eyes. “Be careful, Smitty. I taught her how to hurt a man earlier today.”

  “She’d have to catch me, first.” Smitty threw the dishrag at Laney, who promptly threw it right back at his face. “I’m sorry about the PMS crack. I know you don’t like me to point it out.”

  Matt coughed to cover his instant laugh.

  Laney turned her glare on him.

  He coughed harder.

  A sharp rapping echoed on the other side of the door. What the hell? Sighing, he unlocked the door and poked his head outside. “What?”

  Frant wiped rain off his face. “I had to call a cab, and it won’t be here for ten minutes. Can I come back inside? I promise not to ask any questions.” The storm picked up behind him, smashing leaves and pine needles against the building.

  “Ten minutes?” Matt asked.

  Frant shrugged. “The only cabbie in town is named Mario, and I woke him up when I called. He said it’d take him ten minutes to get dressed and drive here.” The reporter hunched his shoulders against the pelting rain. “I’m staying on the other side of town over by the river and didn’t want to walk through this storm.”

  “For Pete’s sake, Matt. Let the guy in,” Laney muttered from behind him.

  He glanced over his shoulder and pinned her with a look. Rather, he tried to.

  She rolled her eyes again and tossed napkins into the garbage. “Smitty? Help me with the garbage, will you?” she asked while tying a garbage bag.

  The grumbling bartender hefted two bags and followed her to the back door.

  Matt glanced down at the reporter. “You can stand inside to avoid the storm, but if I hear one question from you, I’m tossing your ass back outside.”r />
  Frant swallowed, his protruding Adam’s apple wiggling. “Not a problem. Really.” Keeping a wary gaze on Matt, he shuffled inside the door. “I can help clean up, if you wish.”

  Matt shut the door. “We’re good. Thanks.” He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “What do you know about this serial killer?”

  The reporter’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  “Just curious, considering my girlfriend is in his sights.”

  “Oh. Well, he stalks them by leaving notes, gets bored, and kills them after raping them. No prints, no semen… He’s careful.” Frustration wrinkled Frant’s face. “The victims live in sweet-sounding towns, and they never see it coming. He has to be very meticulous and is an organized serial killer.”

  So Frant had done his homework into killer types. “How does he choose the victims?”

  Frant lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. All the women are pretty, young, and professional. They’re either business owners or have good careers.” He sighed. “You know, women you’d like to be with. Good ones.”

  “How did you find out about the local murder already?” Matt asked.

  Frant grinned. “Friend from school works with the FBI. Contacts are what you need as a reporter.” He wiped rain off his forehead. “How long you been in town?”

  “Long enough.” Matt glanced at the back door. Laney needed sleep so they could train the next day. “I’d appreciate it if you left Laney out of the paper. She doesn’t need any more interest from this psycho.”

  “Well, maybe. How about we reach an agreement?”

  Matt turned his full attention back to the reporter. “Excuse me?”

  “I’ll sit on the story, on her name, if she’ll give me an exclusive either the second the guy makes a move, or the second he’s caught.” Frant lifted a bony shoulder, his eyes gleaming. “That’s the best I can do.”

  What a little weasel. Matt had never liked reporters. “I’ll talk to her and see what I can do.” He stepped into Frant’s space and allowed the killer to show in his eyes. “Though I suggest you refrain from printing anything about my woman.”