by Karin Tabke
High beams flashed, spotlighting her. There was nowhere to go, unless she wanted to go over the guardrail and into the steep ravine below. The driver made the choice for her. The car’s engine revved, the tires squealed, and a ton of metal hurled down the incline straight for her.
Stevie jumped over the guardrail and prayed the tumbleweed on the other side was not so dry it couldn’t hold the pull of her weight.
The vehicle scraped against the guardrail, igniting a spray of orange sparks. Hanging on for her life, Stevie didn’t dare move for fear of pulling the bush she clung to from its roots. After several tenuous moments, when it held, she dug the toes of her shoes into the rocky ledge and slowly hoisted herself up to get a look at the vehicle. Despite the lack of lighting, she could tell from her vantage point that the low slung black truck was intentionally blacked out. No lights, no tags, and dark privacy window tint.
When the driver door opened, she quickly lowered herself back down and pressed her body as tightly as possible against the dirt and rock hillside.
With each breath the prickles of the scrub brush dug into her chest and torso. Her bare knees scraped against the dry dirt and embedded rock. The edges of a briar bush rasped against the inside of her arms and legs. Long interminable minutes drew out as the car sat idling feet from where she hung. The driver had not exited, but neither had he closed the door. Sweat rolled down her forehead, stinging her eyes. If he got out and looked over the guardrail, he’d see her hanging there, and with a single kick, could send her tumbling down the hillside.
Unarmed, she wasn’t about to climb up the ravine and take on the driver. Her safety was paramount so she stayed put. She was pissed. For the first time in a long time she felt helpless and she despised the feeling.
The truck door quietly closed as if not to alert anyone of the action. And then slowly, the vehicle rumbled away. Even after she could no longer hear it, she waited, expecting it to return.
Instead, the heavy silence of the night wrapped around her, reassuring her she was alone. When the crickets began to infuse the night again with their song, as if their chorus were a signal that the coast was clear, she dug her running shoes into the loose dirt and in a steady, measured pull, hoisted herself up to the edge of the shoulder. She sat up with her back against the guardrail and drew a long, cleansing breath.
Son of a bitch.
Dusting herself off, she climbed over the guardrail, wincing as the air met her raw knees and elbows.
She needed to get home and clean them up. Peering down the long dark bend of the road she held her breath. Empty. Still vigilant, she began her ascent, moving steadily until she was under the familiar lights of the road leading to her place. She knew she wouldn’t have a cell signal until she was almost home.
As she rounded the corner that would eventually turn into her cul-de-sac, the unmistakable sound of that engine rumbled close behind her.
Every hair on her body spiked. Thankful for the cover of a large cypress, she jumped behind it. Her house was one hundred yards down the street.
She glanced at her cell and was elated for a signal.
Quickly she texted Jack. Where are you?
Your driveway.
The engine slowed to prowl mode. Peeking around the cypress, Stevie watched the low-slung, blacked-out pickup move slowly down the street. She had no doubt the driver was looking for someone.
Was that someone her?
I’m being followed by a black truck with blacked-out windows and no lights that tried running me off the road. He just stopped twenty feet from me. Get in your car and come down to the cross street.
I’m on my way. Don’t move.
She didn’t. She dialed 911. As it rang, Stevie squinted in the darkness trying to make out the driver, but the windows were too dark. There was no front license plate. Was it Spoltori? Had he suspected she wasn’t who she said she was and followed her? Or had he somehow learned who she was and found her address? How could he when her addy was classified info?
That the black pickup was not what Spoltori drove made little difference to her. He was no idiot; he could have easily borrowed or stolen the vehicle.
The truck’s engine came to life as the driver realized he was getting company.
“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
“This is Detective Cavanaugh, Oakland PD; I need units at the bottom of March Ranch Road and Main ASAP. Be on the lookout for a blacked-out, slammed black pickup truck, no plates. The driver just committed a felony assault deadly weapon and is possibly a homicide suspect.”
Jack sped past her.
“There’s also a white Taurus, federal plates, in pursuit; give him his space.”
“Ten-four, Detective.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Stevie turned on the scanner app on her phone, dialing in to Pleasanton PD’s main channel, and listened to the pursuit end almost as soon as it began.
Hawaii Five-0 rang on her cell phone. It was Jack.
“What happened?” she asked, praying they had the bad guy.
“Are you all right?” he demanded furiously.
“I’ll live. Did you get the driver?”
There was a pause before Jack said, “Bastard bailed right before he hit Main St. I had to check on the driver of the car he collided with. But whoever it was, he was limping after he rolled off the asphalt and took off. I’m not ruling out Spoltori.”
“You didn’t have backup? How can it be Spoltori if we have eyes on him?”
“Cavalry arrived just after the crash, they’re in pursuit.”
“What about Spoltori?” She demanded.
“Lost him after he took off from the country club.” Jack sounded disgusted.
Stevie shivered. “How the hell did that happen?”
“He outmaneuvered his tail.”
“It was him,” she whispered. “I know it and he knows where I live.”
“I have eyes on his place in Oakland and his office. Eventually he has to go home, and if he’s banged up, it’ll give us enough for a warrant.”
“I think we have enough now.”
“It’ll be a hard sell.”
“If we can’t sell it to a judge, we need to sell it to a grand jury and get the warrant.”
“One step at a time, sweetheart.”
“Don’t call me that.” She wasn’t ready for pet names. Even if she warmed like the sun each time he said it.
“We’ve got eyes on Mrs. Welsh.”
“What does her husband have to say about that?”
“Not a damn thing. We’re in contact with the locals, they know to stand back.”
“Did Pleasanton call in the land sharks?”
“They’re on their way in. CHP is canvasing along with County and Pleasanton.”
“I’m coming down.”
“Stay put, I’m on my way.”
“There you go again, bossing me around, Jack.”
As she carefully walked back to her house, the adrenaline had begun to wear off and her legs and arms hurt like hell. By the time she walked through her front door, her limbs had stiffened.
As she was pulling on a pair of sweats, Jack strode into her bedroom. “What are you doing?”
She gave him a duh look. “Getting dressed, what does it look like?”
He crossed the room in three strides, picked her up, and gently set her on the edge of the bed. Pulling down the sweats, he made an angry sound.
“What the hell were you thinking, running at midnight? Why didn’t you call me or at least nine-one-one after he ran you off the road?”
“I tried, no signal.”
Gently Jack touched her left knee.
Hissing in a breath, Stevie stiffened. “Hurts.”
“Jesus, Stevie, you’re cut the hell up.” Gently he probed her arms. “You
need to see a doctor.”
Vehemently she shook her head and instantly regretted it; her neck had tightened up as her left temple began a dull deep throb. “A few bumps and bruises, nothing a little Tylenol and a shot of Patrón won’t fix.” She pushed against his hard chest. “Now, let me get dressed, I want to go downtown and help with the canvassing.”
Jack shook his head. “Come home with me.”
She wasn’t sure what she was more shocked by, him wanting her to go home with him or him asking, not dictating. Regardless, it wasn’t happening. “There is no reason for me to go home with you, Jack.”
“You’re not staying here alone, not with the driver—who is quite possibly a serial killer—running around in the neighborhood.”
“I’m a trained professional, with several firearms within reach, not to mention, I can kick most men’s asses.”
“Fine,” Jack exasperated. “I’ll spend the night.”
“Oh no, you won’t!” she said panicked. She wanted him, yes, she did, but it was too much too soon. She’d just accepted the fact that she was going to let him back into her life. But it had to be on her terms and in her time.
“Get over it. I will and you can’t change my mind.” He stalked off to the bathroom and turned the bathtub faucet on. “Get in here,” he called.
Stevie stood and winced. It took her a minute to get to the bathroom. Hands on her hips, she glared at Jack. “Stop telling me what to do!”
“Stop being stubborn, woman. Now strip and get in this tub.”
“I’m not stripping in front of you.”
He sat back on the edge of the large claw foot tub. It was what sold her on the house. Well, that and the spacious country kitchen, lagoon black-bottom pool out back, and the secluded two acres that came with the house. His eyes danced with laughter.
“I don’t see what’s so funny, Jack. I could have been killed tonight, and you’re sitting there laughing about it.”
He stood, shaking his head. Reaching out, he traced his finger along her collarbone. “I find nothing amusing about almost losing you tonight, Stevie.” He slipped a strong arm around her waist and carefully pulled her to him. He lowered his nose to her head and inhaled her sweaty scent. “I just find it kind of funny that after that workout in your gym earlier tonight, you suddenly find your modesty.”
Resisting the urge to stiffen in his arms because it would hurt and because it felt really nice to be where she was, she said, “If I strip in front of you, next thing you’re going to want is to scrub my back.”
“Mmm, what’s so wrong with that?”
“It’s intimate. I don’t want to be intimate with you right now.”
He slipped his other arm around her, resting his big hand at the top swell of her ass. She really liked the way he just—claimed her. “You’re a liar.”
“It is intimate!”
“I’m not questioning that, I’m calling you out on you wanting to be intimate with me.”
“I don’t. I don’t want you to think you can call the shots, Jack.” She pushed out of his embrace, wishing she hadn’t.
He put his hands up. “Okay, then tell me, Stevie—what can I do to make you more comfortable right now?”
She blinked. “What?”
“I didn’t stutter. What do you want me to do for you right now to make you more comfortable?”
“I—” How silly was it that she could think of a million things, but didn’t have the guts to ask him for any of them. “Just let me take a bath, and bring me my scanner from my office. Please.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but turned on his heels like a good soldier and left her to her privacy.
A few minutes later when he reentered the bathroom, she was up to her chin in bubbles and Epsom salt. He set a bottle of cold water on the little table next to the tub, her scanner, which he had tuned in to the main P town channel, and the bottle of chilled Patrón from her freezer. He had been paying attention.
“What’s the private channel?”
“Four.”
He turned it to four and immediately picked up the chatter regarding their bailed driver. No luck so far, though it sounded like the dogs had picked up a scent that was backtracking up the hill. Toward her. Jack scowled, but didn’t say a word. Instead he handed her two pills and the bottle of water. “I found those next to the Tylenol, I suggest you take them. From the looks of your injuries, you’re going to need them.”
“These will kick my ass.” They were prescription pain pills she had taken when she had her wisdom teeth pulled six months ago.
“Something needs to. Now take them.”
She popped the pills in her mouth and took a swig of the water. She only did as she was told because she was going to do it anyway.
She pointed to the tequila. “One shot.”
He uncorked the bottle, picked it up, and as he raised it to his lips, he said, “Uh-uh.” And took a swig.
She splashed him with bubbles, then leaned back into the silky warm water and closed her eyes. A low moan of pleasure slipped past her lips. It felt really good on her tired muscles.
“Tell me what happened,” Jack demanded.
He was such a party pooper. She opened one eye.
“Please.”
She told him, and as her story came to the part where the truck ran her off the road and over the guardrail, he growled. “Jesus Christ, you could have been critically injured out there or worse, Stevie. You can’t just go running at midnight and not tell anyone your route.”
Stiffening, she set her jaw. “First of all, I run five times a week, usually at night, sometimes late depending on when I get home. Secondly, there is no one for me to call.”
His green eyes sparked fire. “Now there’s me.”
She swallowed, but nodded. She was too tired to argue. It was one a.m. and she had to be up in five hours. Stevie reached up and pulled at the thick band around her ponytail, wincing as her abused muscles protested.
“Here,” Jack said roughly, “let me do it.”
Carefully he pulled the band down her thick hair, careful not to catch any hair in it. When it was off, he gently dug his fingers into her scalp and massaged the tightness there. She closed her eyes and let him.
Moaning softly, because it felt good as hell, Stevie began to relax. That she was a dirty, sweaty mess, naked, and up to her neck in bubbles being massaged by a hunky fed felt as natural as waking up each morning. When she looked up at Jack, she held her breath. The hard lines of his face had softened. His eyes had darkened. She shivered, not wanting to read too much into the look.
Closing her eyes again, she exhaled, then asked, “What time is our flight out tomorrow?”
“Midnight, we’re taking the red-eye.”
“Please tell me it’s a direct flight.”
“I’m not sure, but it most likely is.”
“Yay,” she softly cheered. There was that.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Twenty minutes later, Jack stood staring down at Stevie’s softly snoring body. She’d fallen asleep. Did the woman have a death wish? He sighed and sat down on the edge of the tub. He couldn’t help it when his fingers traced the swell of her cheek. Her soft breath caressed his skin. Her cheeks were rosy and her skin creamy smooth. She looked so fragile, like a little girl with no one to protect her.
His heart ached a little. He wanted to be the one she turned to when she was afraid. He cracked a smile. Not that much scared her. Except him.
He wanted her trust. To never let her down. One would be hard-earned and the other a lesson in humility. Because he was a selfish man who had never been willing to make the concessions necessary to sustain a relationship that involved the heart. Until now. The realization stunned him. And yet, it settled him.
“I never meant to hurt you, sweetheart,” he softly said, brushing
her damp hair from her face. “I was a coward, because I knew if I stayed, I’d be the one who got hurt.”
Her eyelashes fluttered and her big blue eyes peered innocently up at him. The haze of fatigue burdened them. “I forgive you, Jack.” Then they closed.
Jack stood dragging his fingers through his hair, feeling like a colossal heel. She forgave him? He could never have forgiven her had the tables been turned. What did that say about his character or lack thereof? The sudden urge to bolt grabbed hold of him. He didn’t do relationships. He’d never been with the same woman for more than a month, and that was mostly sex. If he needed arm candy he never had to go farther than his cell phone for a number and a willing partner for the evening.
He looked back at Stevie. She deserved a guy who could give her her heart’s desire. He wanted to be that man, but knew he’d fuck it up. The last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt her again. Or was he taking the cowardly way out again?
Stevie was different. She had been from the first day he set eyes on her at the academy. When it came to her, he experienced feelings he had never experienced with another woman. Jealousy when his partner and friend, a man he trusted, flirted with her. The way his gut knotted when Spoltori put his hands on her. The terror he experienced when he realized how close she had come to dying tonight.
Swiping his hand across his chin, he knew that as much as she fought it, she wanted more from him, too. She trusted him. After all, he’d been the one she called first, not 911.
Sighing, he grabbed a big fluffy towel from the linen closet that smelled coconutty like her, sat down on the edge of the tub, spread the towel across his lap, and gently slid one arm beneath her knees and the other around her shoulders.
“Leave me alone,” she mumbled, though she didn’t fight him off.
“Shhh,” he said, then carefully brought her onto his lap and patted her dry. He smiled as he touched the towel to her. This was a first. No angry spewing to leave her alone. Just contented sighs as she snuggled up to him. He liked it. Like a little kitten all hissed out, she was now ready for cuddling. His smile faded. The protective surge in him was overpowering. He stood, holding her tightly, and strode to her bed, where he gently laid her down. For a long time he stared at her. She was beautiful. Long, toned limbs, flat belly, and full breasts. His groin stirred. Not for fucking, but for making love.
