Flash of Death

by Cindy Dees

  He was irritated enough that his attention lagged. One second she was in front of him, and the next, she was gone. Startled, he darted to the spot she’d been standing in a few seconds before. Where did she go? He was at the mouth of a dark alley full of trash Dumpsters and piles of bulging garbage bags. Several apartment buildings were nearby and she could have ducked into any one of them. Her place was still a half-dozen blocks away...maybe she was rendezvousing with the eager schmuck from Julio’s.

  Trent heard a muffled noise behind him and leaped into the alley. He made out violent movement in the gloom and a female form being dragged deeper into the alley by a much larger male form. A flash of pale hair caught what little light trickled in from the street.

  His muscles coiled and sprang so fast he barely managed to control the motion. He regained his balance and his fist shot past Chloe’s head to smash into her attacker’s face almost too quickly for his eye to see the movement.

  The mugger grunted and shoved her hard into the brick wall beside him. She cried out and her knees crumpled, but Trent had no time for her, yet. He threw punches at lightning speed until the mugger started to draw a weapon in slow motion from the back of his waistband. It was ridiculously easy to knock the weapon out of the guy’s hand with a fast chopping blow. The guy’s mouth opened slowly and his arm cocked back at what seemed to be about one-tenth that of normal speed.

  Trent brought his right knee up as fast and hard as he could and slammed it into the guy’s crotch. The attacker grunted and doubled over right into Trent’s best uppercut. The guy went down like a rock.

  Trent spun toward Chloe. She was slowly sliding down the wall toward the ground. He reached out, grabbed her shoulders and dragged her upright. She let out a squeak of terror.

  “Chloe. It’s me, Trent. You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

  She sagged against him, taking huge, sobbing breaths. He held her for a moment, registering for the first time the stench of the alley.

  “Honey, I need you to stand up on your own for a minute, okay?”

  She nodded against his chest but made no move to step away from him. He pushed her gently back against the wall and knelt down to check on the status of the attacker. The guy was out cold. He looked about thirty and was dark-haired and scruffy. Might be Hispanic, maybe Mediterranean. Hard to tell in the dark.

  Trent reached into the guy’s back pocket and whipped out the attacker’s wallet. He pulled out his own cell phone and took a quick picture of the guy’s driver’s license. Trent put the I.D. back and stuffed the wallet back in the man’s pants. He searched the guy’s pockets for anything else that might be informative and found nothing. He did pick up the attacker’s .38 pistol, which had skidded a half-dozen feet away, and tucked it in his sweatshirt’s front pocket. If they got lucky, the gun might tell the guys at Winston Ops who this yahoo worked for.

  “Is that really you?” Chloe asked tentatively. “You’re not a hallucination?”

  “Yup, I’m me. In the flesh.” She looked like hell warmed over. “C’mon, Chloe. Let’s get you home.”

  “The police...arrest him...report...”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Trent answered smoothly. He pitched his voice to calm and reassure her. The last thing he needed was police snooping around and asking too many questions. Besides, the beating he’d administered to her would-be assailant was a more effective deterrent than anything the cops could do. However, it also opened Trent up to some questions by the police that he’d really rather not answer. Like how he was so fast, and had disarmed the assailant so easily, and why he didn’t have a scratch on him.

  “I didn’t recognize you in those clothes,” Chloe commented randomly.

  He glanced down at his jeans riding low on his hips and his University of Hawaii hoodie sweatshirt. This was what he usually wore. “What’s wrong with my clothes?” he asked.

  “Nothing. I’ve only seen you in a tux or—” She broke off.

  Or naked. He grinned down at her. If she could think about sex after having just been assaulted, she was going to be just fine once she got over the initial shock.

  They walked the rest of the way to her place in silence. He watched without comment as she let herself into her apartment. But when she reached for a light switch, he forestalled her. “Stay here,” he murmured.

  She nodded as he slipped into the darkness and took a quick look around her place. It was as tidy as her hotel room had been. Its spare, modern furnishings left little or no room for someone to hide, and his search was complete in under a minute.

  “Okay, Chloe. It’s safe. You can turn on the lights.”

  A row of recessed halogen lights went on in the snug kitchen that was open to the living room. He watched cautiously as she dumped her coat on a bar stool and unceremoniously started stripping off her outer clothes in front of him.

  “Whoa, there. What are you doing?” he asked in alarm. She wasn’t going to jump his bones here and now, was she?

  “I stink. I can smell him on me,” she muttered.

  And then he noticed her hands were shaking and she was unnaturally pale. In fact, her entire body was trembling. He moved to her swiftly and wrapped her in his arms. She went stiff against him.

  “It’s okay, honey. I’ve got you. You’re safe. I swear. You can let it go, now.”

  She might have been close to tears in the alley, but she didn’t break down like he expected. Instead, she pushed against his chest and he turned her loose, surprised. Where was the funny, relaxed, adventurous woman from two nights ago? Surely she was locked inside Chloe somewhere.

  “Turn your back,” she ordered tightly.

  He did so, frowning. He felt her move past him and head for the single bedroom that opened off the living room. The door closed with a thud and a lock snicked into place. She thought a lock would work against him, huh? He didn’t disabuse her of the notion. All the guys at Code X learned how to pick nastier locks than her little bedroom door’s as part of their extensive military-style training.

  He sat down on her sofa to wait her out. He didn’t buy for a minute that this tense, uptight woman was the real Chloe Jordan. She’d emerge eventually, and then they’d have that conversation about who might want to kill her.

  * * *

  Chloe scrubbed furiously at her skin under a scalding hot shower until it was red and felt raw. Whether she was trying to get rid of the feel of her attacker’s arms or the feel of her rescuer’s she couldn’t say. Where in the heck had Trent Hollings come from, materializing out of nowhere to save her? He must have been following her. But why? Obviously, he was some kind of stalking creep. She couldn’t believe he’d followed her from Denver all the way to San Francisco. Apparently his notion of playing for a living included terrorizing single women. Was he some kind of pervert?

  An insidious thrill that he might have flown halfway across the country to see her again insinuated itself into the back of her brain. She tried to scrub it away, too, but failed.

  After rinsing shampoo out of her hair for the third time, she gave up on getting any cleaner and stepped out of her shower. She felt horribly vulnerable being naked with Trent in the next room, and forewent her usual, meticulous drying and moisturizing ritual to hurry into clothes. She pulled on jeans and a bulky sweater that was the most concealing article of clothing she owned. She even put on socks and shoes. Anything to cover herself from him. The humiliation of waking up stark naked in that hotel room and knowing he’d seen her—all of her—and done all those things to her, and that she had let him, was far too fresh in her mind.

  She dried her hair and pushed it back from her face with a simple headband. In her efforts to delay facing him even further, she even applied a little makeup. Finally, when even her watch was strapped to her wrist and she couldn’t think of a single thing more to do, she gathered the rest of her filthy clothing in her arms.

  Oh, God. The flash drive. The mugger had groped her coat pockets—no doubt looking for her wallet. She did
n’t remember if the guy had reached into her pants pockets, though. She’d been too panicked to register such details.

  Chloe reached frantically into the pocket of her jeans and felt a hard rectangle of plastic. Exhaling in relief, she tucked the drive into her underwear drawer. It wasn’t the most original hiding place ever, but it would do until she could get rid of Trent Hollings and make a bunch of copies of the data files. And she wasn’t giving him permission to go fishing through her lingerie anytime soon.

  Steeling herself to face the devil, she opened her bedroom door and stepped into the living room. As she’d expected, he was still sprawled on her sofa, waiting. In that baggy sweatshirt and tennis shoes with his hair all tousled, he looked like an overgrown kid. She could barely believe he’d been the dark, dangerous lover of two nights ago.

  “Feel better?” he asked neutrally.

  “Yes, thank you,” she answered equally neutrally. Lord, she barely recognized him like this with that tousled hair, sloppy clothes and dark stubble on his jaw. He looked nothing like the wealthy trust-fund playboy he apparently was. He reminded her of some surfer-dude, hippie throwback of her parents’ days. Ugh. She much preferred him in an Italian designer tuxedo.

  She bustled over to the closet by the front door that hid her washing machine and stuffed her smelly clothes into it. She doubted they would ever be wearable again, but getting that awful stench out of them felt therapeutic, at any rate.

  Too nervous to be still, she moved into the kitchen and poured herself a big glass of water. Although it annoyed her to do it, she poured Trent one, as well. Just because he was a possible stalker didn’t mean she could bring herself to be rude, particularly when he was behaving himself so well at the moment. It just wasn’t in her nature. And that darned thrill in the back of her head kept doing backflips that he was here.

  She set his water down on the glass coffee table in front of him. He picked it up and sipped at it without comment. At a loss for anything else to do, she sat down on the matching chair across from him. “Thank you for rescuing me...again,” she started stiffly.

  “My pleasure. But let’s not make this a habit, eh?”

  Her gaze snapped up to his. “Do you have reason to believe there will be more occasions in which I need saving?”

  “Yes, actually. I do. And we need to talk about that.”

  She stared at him. “You think the SUV in Denver and that mugger are related? Wow. And I thought I was paranoid.”

  “You have an enemy, Chloe. And he or she could be rich and powerful. Given the frequency and violence of these attacks, that person is very angry at you.”

  She frowned. “But this is my first real gig as a forensic accountant. And I haven’t found anything that could convict Paradeo’s senior executives, yet.”

  “That doesn’t negate the fact that you’re the person who could uncover the evidence to put them in jail.”

  “If not me, someone else would do it.”

  “Still, you have no business strolling around a big city like this at night, alone, enemies or no enemies.”

  “What business is it of yours how I live my life, anyway? It’s my life.”

  “True. But your sister loves you a great deal. She’d be devastated if anything happened to you.”

  That was a low blow, invoking her sister. “And why do you give a darn about Sunny’s state of mind?” she snapped.

  “Why don’t you?” he shot back.

  She recoiled, offended. “I think you should leave. Now.”

  “Sorry. I’m not done talking, and you really need to hear what I have to say,” he retorted grimly.

  She gauged the distance to the phone on her kitchen counter. She would never make it across the living room and get 911 dialed before he reached her. She’d seen his reflexes firsthand in the alley, and although she was pretty out of it after her head hit the wall, he had moved in a blur of speed.

  He shoved a hand through his hair. A pang of memory, of the lust provoked by that hand on her body, speared through her. Fine. She admitted it. He was still as handsome as ever. And sexy, darn him. And his smile was still as charming when he said, “This conversation got off on the wrong foot. How about we start over?”

  Her eyes narrowed skeptically, but she made no comment. He could talk all he wanted. It was his breath to waste.

  “Sunny married my good friend and colleague, and that makes her family. Which, by extension, makes you family, too. If for no other reason than that, I would be concerned for your safety. Additionally, in spite of what you seem to think, I consider you and I to have a...connection...after Saturday night.”

  “Do not ever speak of that again,” she gritted out from behind abruptly clenched teeth.

  He frowned as if he’d like to argue the point with her, but then continued plowing through whatever twisted logic he was pursuing. “The fact remains that I am worried about your safety. And so is Jeff Winston. He asked me to keep an eye on you until we can figure out who’s trying to—” he paused as if stopping himself from saying something too revealing “—who might be trying to harm you,” he finished lamely.

  “Harm me?” she exclaimed.

  “You said yourself that the SUV in Denver came out of nowhere. I heard its engine gun. And there were no skid marks, Chloe. That vehicle was accelerating toward you.”

  She shrugged. “The driver probably didn’t see me.”

  He leaned forward, his intense silver gaze altogether too sexy and distracting. “Then why didn’t he stop or even slow down when he nearly hit you? I guarantee you, had I not knocked you out of the way, he would have hit you, and you would have died.”

  “Are you implying that the driver was trying to kill me?”

  “I’m not implying anything. I’m telling you outright that’s how it is.” He leaned back once more in a casual sprawl across her sofa that left her abruptly short on oxygen. Did he have to be so blessed attractive?

  “That’s crazy,” she declared forcefully.

  He sighed. “I figured you’d feel that way. I was hoping not to have this conversation until I had solid proof. But that guy in the alley forced my hand.”

  “So you were planning to follow me around without my knowledge and spy on me indefinitely while you gathered this hypothetical proof?”

  Chagrin crossed his features, but then a cajoling twinkle in his eyes took over, making him look even more boyish than ever. “I’m not spying on you. Think of it as me providing security. Good thing, too. Who knows what that jerk in the alley would have done to you if I hadn’t been there.”

  “I’d have gotten his hand off my mouth and screamed my head off, and someone would have come to the rescue.”

  Trent snorted. “That guy was a lot bigger and stronger than you. Don’t kid yourself. He’d have done exactly what he wanted to with you long before the police could come to the rescue, no matter how fast they responded.”

  A chill chattered down her spine. Was Trent right? Had she really come that close to disaster? Surely not. She announced, “I don’t buy your conspiracy theory. Muggings are an everyday occurrence in big cities. And as for that car in Denver, the driver had probably been drinking and didn’t want to stick around in case I called the cops on him.”

  “You’re determined not to believe me, aren’t you?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “I’m going to keep digging until I get the proof I need to convince you.”

  Crud! She really didn’t need him following her around and tipping off Herrera and his cronies that something was odd about her. Trent would totally mess up her investigation if he persisted with this little delusion of his.

  The first order of business was to get rid of him and his boyish smile and magnetic charm. The second was to call his boss and have a chat with the man. Jeff Winston struck her as eminently reasonable. He would call off this obsessive lackey. “Fine. Whatever. Please leave and don’t bother me again.”

  “Bother you? I’m trying to save your life!�
��

  “Whatever makes you feel like a hero. Just keep your distance from me or I’ll call the police.”

  He opened his mouth. Shut it. Stood up. Took a single step toward the door, then turned to face her. “For the record, my being here has nothing whatsoever to do with Saturday night. I’ve had hot lays before and I’ve never followed any of them around to save them from their own misguided ignorance.”

  Her jaw dropped in outrage, but before she could gather herself to tell him in no uncertain terms what a giant jackass he was, he was out the door. Dang, that man could move fast.

  So furious she nearly flung his glass of water across the room, she squeezed her fingers into fists until they hurt. How did Trent keep getting under her skin? Call her ignorant, would he? She definitely hated him. Passionately.

  Yup, the man had passion down to a fine science. And as memory of the things he’d done with her flashed through her mind, she groaned with a different kind of passion. The man was as irritating as sand between her toes.

  Not about to waste another minute on him, she picked up her phone and dialed Jeff Winston’s number.

  “Winston Ops. Go ahead.”

  “This is Chloe Jordan. I’d like to speak to Jeff Winston, please.”

  “One moment, please” the smooth female voice said, “while I check to see if he can take your call.”

  While she waited for the secretary or whoever it was to return to the line, she opened up the laptop on her counter and typed in Jeff Winston’s name. She was till absorbing the shock of the long list of companies he and his grandfather owned and the total cash value it represented when the female voice returned. “One moment for Mr. Winston.”

  “Hi, Chloe. This is Jeff. Is everything okay?”

  “Yes. Fine. Except I have a little problem with an employee of yours. This may sound strange, but I think he’s stalking me.”

  “Are we talking about Trent Hollings?”

  “Yes. Does he have a history of this sort of behavior?” she asked in relief.