She winced. “Really?”
“Yup.”
“I didn’t hear the guy coming and I’d looked both ways.”
“Bastard was at least twenty over the speed limit.” His voice held contempt.
“Not exactly unusual on this street for people to speed.” She stepped out of his grip. Something flickered in his eyes—a curiosity and sensual awareness that made her tingle. Now that she was this close she could see he wasn’t as young as she’d first thought. Maybe her age of thirty-five. “I’m Melissa Allan.”
“Roarke O’Bannion.”
“Ida Lakes told me who you are,” she blurted.
He frowned again. It was amazing how his glower could make him seem utterly dangerous in a second. “Ida Lakes?”
“Older woman who lives in my apartment building. She knows everything that goes on here.” She shrugged. “Well, I’d better get to work. Thanks again.”
“Here ...” He took her upper arm gently in his grip as they took the few steps to the crosswalk. “I have to go back across the street myself. Let me walk with you.”
“I’m not an invalid.” She grinned, not wanting her words to sound harsh.
“’Course not.”
Cars stopped for them on both sides at the crosswalk, but Melissa glanced this way and that several times out of sheer paranoia. When they reached the other side, another gust of wind blasted down the street with arctic intensity.
“Thanks again,” she said.
He nodded. “You need someone to drive you to the hospital to get that checked out?”
“I’ll get it looked at later.”
“I advise against waiting.”
She grinned. “You’re persistent.”
His eyes darkened. “Doesn’t pay to ignore an injury.”
She kept walking, only a few steps more to her shop. “This isn’t war.”
“Are you sure?” he asked with a smile.
She reached for the door and caught her breath as pain shot through her wrist. O’Bannion followed her inside. The bell on the door rang, and pleasant-faced Henrietta Pike looked up from her work at the counter.
“Hey, girl.” Henrietta’s rounded face made it hard to tell how old she was—maybe fifty. “Good morning. What is going on out there? Sounds like a war.” She glanced past Melissa.
“I think it is,” Melissa said. “Weird morning.”
“The war was her almost getting run over. She needs to got to the hospital and get an x-ray,” O’Bannion said.
Henrietta came around the counter, her plump, short frame dressed in jeans and a thick fuchsia turtleneck. Her short blonde hair was tossed here and there as if she’d been out in the wind. “What happened? Are you all right?”
Melissa rolled her gaze to the ceiling. “It’s no big deal.”
“Oh.” Henrietta smiled as she saw the books in O’Bannion’s left hand. “Aren’t those books from our shop?”
O’Bannion held the books up and that’s when Melissa saw the titles. One was a book on developing psychic ability and the other was on ghosts. Mr. Hunk’s face turned to granite as he looked around the shop. “Yeah. I need to talk with you about them.”
“Of course.” Henrietta said, always the pleasant sort. She looked at Melissa. “But what happened out there?” Henrietta poked until Melissa explained about the driver almost running her over. Henrietta’s pretty blue eyes rounded with distress. “You could have been killed.”
Melissa didn’t really want to think much about that. Instead she undid her jacket and moved around the counter. “I’ve got too much work to do today to worry about a few bruises.”
O’Bannion put the books on the counter with a thump. “Wait. You work here?”
“I’m the owner,” Melissa said, wary of the sharpness in his tone. “Henrietta works for me.”
He crossed his arms. “Really. Then it’s you I want to talk to.”
The edge in his voice reminded her to keep her cool. She drew a deep breath and erected an inner vision of white light around herself. She didn’t get many irritated customers in this store.
Determined to provide customer service, she asked with a smile, “What can I do for you Mr. O’Bannion?”
He tapped the two hard-covered books with his index finger. “You sold my mother these books.”
Puzzled by the irritation coming off him in waves, she shored up her patience. “Are they defective? We had a shipment of those come in some time back with broken spines. I’m happy to refund her money.”
“They’re defective all right.” His smooth-as-sin voice took on a roughness. “My mother has serious mental issues and doesn’t need someone filling her head with this crap.”
Chapter 2
Before Melissa could reign in her gut reaction, full-blown defensiveness reared its ugly ass. “I beg your pardon?”
Again he crossed his arms, his feet planted apart in a cock-sure presentation of male testosterone. His eyes flashed. “She has bipolar disorder. Stuff like this crap fills her head with strange ideas.”
Melissa was used to naysayers and skeptics. Usually their negativity bounced right off her well-guarded defenses. Something about today and this man reached right through her fence and grabbed her by the neck. “As I said, I’d be happy to refund her money.”
“I don’t want your money.”
Disappointment mixed with regret. Wouldn’t it be her luck that the most interesting hunk she’d seen in a long time was also a jerk? Henrietta cleared her throat, and Melissa glanced over at her friend. The older woman’s expression held pure concern, as if she worried Mr.-Hunk-With-Tude would do something rash. Melissa smiled. After all, smiling had seen her through a lot, and it wouldn’t fail her now. She tried another tactic. “I heard your mother went missing. I’m very sorry to hear it. You must be terribly worried.” She reached for the books. “As I said, I’m happy to take these off your hands and return the money.”
She winced and sucked in a breath as sharp pain lanced through her wrist when she tried to lift the books.
“Oh, your poor wrist.” Henrietta reached for the books. “Here, let me take that. Why don’t I help Mr. O’Bannion here and you go get that x-rayed?”
Melissa gritted her teeth. “I can’t afford an emergency room visit. It’s a huge copay on my insurance.”
“I’ll drive her, and I’ll pay.” Roarke O’Bannion said, his expression nonchalant. “We can talk more about these books. I have some other questions you can answer.”
Henrietta’s grin was, to be completely blunt, shit-eating. “That would be lovely, Colonel. That’s so gallant of you.”
“Chief Warrant Officer.”
“Oh?” Henrietta blushed. “Sorry, my understanding of military ranks is limited. I just heard that you retired from the military.”
Melissa glared at his implacable countenance. “I can’t let you pay my medical bill. I don’t even know you. And you can’t drive me anywhere on that motorcycle.”
One corner of his mouth twitched. “Afraid of motorcycles?”
Yes.
“No.”
Henrietta hustled around the counter and went into the back office. “Take my car. It’s parked out back.” She returned with her keys and handed them to him. “You take good care of her now.”
“But you have your niece’s piano recital this afternoon. Who knows how long I’ll be in the emergency room,” Melissa said.
Henrietta returned to her place behind the counter. She waved one hand in dismissal. “Don’t worry. I’ll get my husband to pick me up. We’ll work it out.”
“Give it up, Allan.” O’Bannion’s voice rumbled close to her, sending a shivery delight straight into her belly. “You’ve been overruled.”
She felt annoyance spike at Henrietta’s good intentioned meddling and this man’s overbearing attitude. Who did he think he was? “I’m the boss here, and I haven’t said yes. We’ll take the books off your hands and refund your mother’s money.”
His
gaze narrowed, but to her surprise, he didn’t argue this time. Henrietta rang up the refund and handed him the cash. “There. All fixed.”
He slipped the money in his wallet. “My mother shouldn’t have been reading that in the first place.”
“If she’s an adult,” Melissa heard herself say, “she has every right to read what she wishes. She doesn’t need your permission.”
His gaze snapped to her, edged with anger and something else—something that grew a fire in her belly. God, he was hot in sort of a rough, pain-in-the-ass kind of way. She drew in a deep breath to control her over-the-top reaction. It didn’t matter if her body thought he was delicious; she didn’t have relationships with jerks. His thickly lashed eyes trapped her gaze and held it. Fine. He could play stare down all he wanted. He wouldn’t win this tug-of-war. When he broke eye contact, she smiled.
“If you’ll excuse me, Mr. O’Bannion.” Melissa started to head for the back of the store. She needed time to gather her ruffled feathers.
“Wait,” he said and came around the counter. She stopped at the entrance to the back rooms. His stance and gaze softened a little. “Did my mother come in here often?”
Melissa shrugged and looked at Henrietta. “I know most of our customers. What’s her name?”
“I remember her,” Henrietta said. “Ruthie O’Bannion, right?”
“Yes,” he said, taking another step closer to them both.
Henrietta nodded. “She seemed like a very nice woman.”
He drew in a deep breath, and for a moment Melissa thought she saw a softer side in his eyes and a flicker of worry. “She is.”
Ah, so he held on to the hope his mother was alive. Pain flickered through his expression for the tiniest moment. Or had she imagined it? An answering spark of attraction returned. She sensed depth in this man, an intriguing mystery that called to the curious within her.
“I remember Ruthie,” Melissa said. And she did. “She was very soft-spoken.”
“When she wasn’t manic.” Roarke’s voice held a bitterness that didn’t surprise her. “She is bipolar.”
Melissa wanted to say something sympathetic to give him her full understanding. Somehow, though, she didn’t think this man would appreciate too much syrup.
“Look,” he said, “you might be able to answer some questions. I’m searching for her. Trying to find out what might have happened to her. I’ll drive you to the hospital and we’ll talk.”
She didn’t know this guy, and didn’t know what type of trust she could put into him.
“Trust me.” His voice was liquid sin, a husky sound that coaxed but contained sincerity.
Melissa waited for that warning bell, the one inside her that had seen her through some near misses with bad ju-ju before. No warning bell went off.
Melissa’s apprehension eased. “All right. But I’m not sure if I can help you.”
“See you two later,” Henrietta said.
After they exited the back of the shop, Melissa spotted Henrietta’s old yellow two door Tercel.
“Now that’s a car.” Roarke’s voice rasped over her senses.
“Circa 1984.”
He unlocked the car and opened the door for her. Soon they were on the road and Melissa gave him directions. She took in the surroundings, trying to ignore the close proximity with all this yummy masculinity. He smelled like heaven—a combination of male and musk. It was swoon worthy stuff. Too bad his personality didn’t match.
“Didn’t you have somewhere else to be?” she asked.
“Nope.”
“No job? No ....” Ah, hell. She’d almost asked him about a wife or girlfriend. No, no. She wouldn’t go there.
“I’ve got all the time in the world.”
Maybe he rescued damsels in distress, but was one of those taciturn military men who stayed quiet and strong. It didn’t matter because the hospital sat on the far south side of the town, and it took no time at all to reach it.
He dropped her off at the emergency room while he parked the car. She’d barely stepped through the automatic doors when chaos erupted in the ER. Two deputies grabbed opposite arms of a young teenager who was muttering to himself. The kid didn’t struggle, but his glassy eyes and stumbling gait screamed that he was high. His hair flowed around his shoulders like water, a tangled mess of blonde.
“Satan is in Simple!” The boy screamed. “The world will soon come to an end.”
“Yeah, yeah,” One of the young deputies said.
The other deputy said, “Man, this kid is on some good stuff.”
The boy stopped in the middle of the doorway, blocking Melissa’s full entry into the ER. He lurched forward, and she took a few steps back. “We are caught in the vortex between this world and hell. You will see the demon spawn.” He pointed at her. “You will see it and know the meaning of evil. The apocalypse is coming!”
His eyes turned bloodshot, their color an emerald fire. She blinked, unsure she’d really seen what she thought she’d seen. She kept her distance as the deputies led the boy out through the doorway. For a few seconds she hesitated, trying to digest what the kid had said. His words had seemed unusually skilled for a drug-induced rant, and the wording certainly hadn’t come out sounding like a teenager’s rant. Apocalypse. The word rang in her head as a weird coincidence since Roarke O’Bannion had said the same thing.
After Melissa explained to the morose and skeptical clerk that the bill would be paid by someone else, the clerk told her to have a seat. Luckily the waiting room was empty on this Monday morning, and she eased into a seat near the back of the room. O’Bannion came in a short time later and settled into the chair next to her. A morning news program ran on the small flat screen TV hanging on the wall directly opposite. She took off her hat, gloves, and coat, and stuffed the hat and gloves in her coat pocket. Each new movement that required her right wrist to do work made the offended joint ache.
“Listen, I appreciate you driving me here. But this is a loan and I’ll pay you back,” she said.
He glanced over at her. “Okay. Deal.”
Glad he hadn’t argued, she hoped this whole thing wouldn’t take too long. After all, she didn’t want to spend much time with this man.
“I think the day needs a reset,” Roarke said. “Out in the parking lot a guy flipped me off for no reason.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No.”
Apocalypse. A chill shot up her spine. Nah.
“Hmm ....” Better to forget the weird and move onto a new topic. “Why were you willing to pay my medical bill?”
His gaze connected with hers. “It felt like the right thing to do at the time.”
“And now?”
“Still feels like the right thing.”
“Hmm ....”
“You say that a lot.”
“You’re a skeptic, aren’t you?”
He snorted. “How did you guess?”
“Okay, so it was a dumb question. You wanted to ask me more about your mother.” Better to just get these questions over with.
He shifted in the chair so his body was angled toward her. Another tingle danced in her belly and she cursed it. Being the focus of this much masculine energy was a little unusual for her.
“When my mother came into the shop, did she ever seem ... distracted? Spacy? Saying strange things?”
“Define strange.”
The slightest hint of a smile touched his mouth, but disappeared like a puff of smoke. “Did she claim that she saw ghosts in her condo? Heard noises?”
“No. Not that I recall anyway. Did she tell you that?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, and weariness crept into his expression. “Yeah. Among other things. She emailed me and I called her while I was deployed. She told me she thought the condo was haunted.”
“I see. And you didn’t believe her?”
“Of course not.”
She smiled. Predictable. “Let me guess. She never mentioned it to you again.”
<
br /> His gaze latched onto hers, filled with accusation. “No.”
“You’re not surprised are you? If you didn’t believe her, maybe she thought it was better to shut up.”
His grim-faced anger returned, sparking those eyes and tightening his lips. Good going, Melissa. You opened your big mouth and let him have it. Well, he deserved it didn’t he? When he stayed quiet, she decided that talking about his skepticism might not be a good idea. “You’re in a military family aren’t you?”
He gazed at her with those incredible eyes, thick-lashed and penetrating. “Who told you that?”
“No one. I get feelings about people. I’m pretty accurate.”
That skeptical look came back, implacable and more than edged with disbelief. “Feelings.”
The teasing half in her came out. “You know. Anger. Love. Amusement.”
He glared. “I know what feelings are.”
She smiled, unwilling to let his hard-ass attitude color her experience. “Good to know. Although angry seems to be your only setting.”
His lips parted, and she saw a hint of surprise in his indignation. His gaze swept over her, but this time there was something more intense than anger. She thought she saw attraction. Sexual awareness. It burned her deep and made that pilot light inside her flicker to life once more. God, she didn’t want to find this guy attractive. Hell, attractive didn’t cut it. The man had sex-on-a-stick written all over him, even when he gave her a poker face.
“You’re a smart ass, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice husky.
She allowed a quick smile to slip out. “Sometimes. I just find your type amusing.”
“My type?”
“Rigid. Adhering to rules until it breaks you in half.”
His mouth clamped shut, but he leaned a little closer to her. “You don’t know anything about me, Miss Allan.”
“Fair enough. But you certainly think you know a lot about me.”
The piss and vinegar in his gaze didn’t disappear, but the heat rising between them seemed to grow a mile deeper. His gaze dropped to her mouth, then up to her eyes. “All right. I’ll give you that one.”
“I didn’t know we were in a competition.”
Shadows Fall Page 2
