by Amy Olle
She lifted her small shoulders. “A little.”
Seeing her up close for the first time, without alcohol or panic clouding his perception, she was prettier than he recalled. A lot prettier, with attractive coloring and small, delicate features.
“What happened to your car?”
She squirmed beneath his gaze.
“Just say it,” he said. “It’s the quickest way to make me leave.”
Sucking her plump bottom lip between her teeth, she glanced through the glass. His gaze followed hers.
“Someone broke into it.”
His head snapped around. “When?”
“Friday.”
“Where?”
“Here.”
“Here?” His arms fell to his sides and he cut quick glances over his shoulders. “While you were at work? In the middle of the day?”
“I guess so. I don’t know exactly what time they did it. I worked late that night and didn’t see the damage until I was leaving.”
“How late did you work?”
“I don’t know. Seven, I think.”
Pop! Bang!
The sound exploded behind him and he lunged, wrapping her in his arms even as he took her to the ground with a leg sweep. They hit the asphalt hard, though his hand cradling her head protected her from the worst of the impact.
He covered her with his body and braced for the madness. For the screams that would rain down on them. For the chaos and darkness. He held her in his arms and waited. He wouldn’t let go of her. Not this time. No matter what they did to him.
“Leo!”
Her cry punctured the haze of fear ensnaring him.
He blinked several times until her face came into focus. Big blue eyes, full of shock and sorrow, stared up at him.
“It was a car backfiring.” Her fingers trailed across his forehead. “It was only a car.”
He dropped his head to her shoulder and sucked large, searing gulps of air into his lungs.
Her arms circled around his neck and she whispered soft, soothing nonsense in his ear. Like he was a scared child.
He needed to get up. Instead, he buried his face in the hollow between her neck and shoulder and tightened his arms around her.
“We’re okay.” Her lips brushed his earlobe. “It’s okay now.”
When he lifted his head, his mouth touched hers. The life flowing through her tasted sweet on his tongue. Refreshing, renewing. Holding his mouth against hers, he squeezed his eyes shut and willed the panic away. He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t dead.
But she was.
With a wrench of agony, he rolled off Prue. While his heart tried to pound its way out of his chest, he shoved to his feet, then hauled her up off the pavement.
She rubbed her elbow as she eyed him, a concerned frown touching her small features. “Are you okay?”
His hands shaking, he fumbled for the phone in his hip pocket and scrolled through his contact list.
“Wh-what are you doing?”
He hardened himself against the soft catch of vulnerability in her voice and speared her with a hard glare. “I’m calling your brother.”
Chapter Six
She gasped. “What? Why?”
“Because he needs to get his ass back here and deal with whatever it is that’s going on with you.”
“But—” She bit off her protest when he pressed the phone to his ear. Folding her arms over her abdomen, she arched an eyebrow at him. “What are you going to tell him? That you don’t remember sleeping with me?”
Light glinted in his eyes and a muscle ticked along his jawline while he stared her down.
The seconds ticked away until finally he spoke. “Owen, call me. It’s about your sister.”
He disconnected and Prue threw her hands in the air. “Why did you do that? That’s going to freak him out.”
“I’m okay with that.”
“He can’t do anything to help me from the other side of the world.”
“Which is why he needs to come home.”
“No, he does not.” She shook her head, adamant. “I can handle this on my own.”
“You can handle what?”
Doubt constricted her throat and her protests jammed in the narrowing passageway. At dinner the previous night, Faith had tried again to convince Prue to stop investigating Aron King’s activities. In stating her case, Faith had utilized a range of biting remarks that left Prue feeling bashed and bruised.
Still a little raw, she wasn’t sure how well she’d endure another tongue-lashing. Especially one delivered by a former Marine.
She scratched a spot on the tip of her nose. “Uh, it’s complicated.”
His glittering green eyes held her captive. “Try me.”
“I was being targeted by some online trolls, but it’s over now. I’ve taken care of it.”
“How?”
“What is this, an interrogation?”
“I’m just getting started,” he said coolly.
“I deleted my accounts.” A sour taste flooded her mouth with the words. “No account, no trolls. Simple.”
“What about the person, or people, who broke into your car?”
She clenched her teeth against the upheaval his questioning stirred inside her.
“You know who did it, don’t you?” His unwavering gaze remained fixed on her face. “Do you also know who’s been threatening you online?”
“No. Well, not exactly,” she admitted. “But it doesn’t matter. They were just trying to scare me.”
“Oh, is that all?” The bite in his tone stung. “Intimidation, harassment. Shit, what’s a little aggravated felony when you need to make a point?”
Misery pressed down on her. Everyone was either against her or racked with worry. Or suspicious of her mental state. Her brother on the other side of the world was so concerned he’d sent a bodyguard from God knew where to deal with her. A bodyguard who was either neurotically jumpy or suffering some serious post-traumatic stress.
Her quest doomed, defeat clamped like a vise around her heart.
“Look, it worked, okay?” Her vision blurred with tears of frustration. “I’m done. I’m out. They win.”
Suspicion touched his features. “Are you just saying that to get rid of me?”
“No, it’s true.” Her shoulders sagged. “I can’t stand the thought of Owen worrying. My sister thinks I’m—”
“Your sister thinks you’re what?”
“Nothing. She wants me to back off, so that’s what I’m going to do.”
He studied her, his expression serious, and the urge to confess to crimes she’d never committed nearly overwhelmed her.
“Okay,” he said finally.
She released the breath she’d been holding.
Then, drawing her shoulders back, she gave a firm nod. “Okay.”
Her heart in her throat, she reached for her car door, but his body blocked her from pulling it open. When he refused to yield ground to her, her startled gaze flew to his face.
The breath snagged in her lungs to see the lean restlessness lurking in him, just under the surface. An electrical charge arced between them and for a moment, she wanted to draw back, away from the danger, but the look on his face wouldn’t let her move. It was as if he hadn’t had enough to eat, or enough sleep, and suddenly all she wanted to do was reach out and touch him. Maybe stroke the side of his face or press a kiss to the lines of sorrow bracketing his eyes and mouth.
Of course, she didn’t do any of those ridiculous things.
When she found her voice, she spoke to his shirtfront. “Thanks for trying to help.” Then she risked one last glimpse into his eyes. “Goodbye, Leo.”
Yanking open the door, her legs gave out and she collapsed in the driver seat.
As she drove from the parking lot, she refused to glance in the rearview mirror, certain that if she had to watch Leo Nolan disappear from her life again, she wouldn’t be able to hold back her tears.
Naturally, he followed her home.
But why? Fear he could understand, but why so much hurt?
It didn’t matter, he supposed. At least she’d agreed to walk away from whatever trouble had been drawing near.
She was sensible. Smart. He admired her for that.
From his spot parked under the oak tree, he watched her water and care for her plants before disappearing indoors. Later that evening, she reemerged, a book in hand, and settled in the lone deck chair. He’d never been so entertained watching someone read.
So much so, he frowned when his cell phone vibrated on the console, wrenching his attention from her.
With a tap on the screen, he accepted Owen’s call. “What the hell, man? You said she was fragile.”
Owen’s soft laughter rumbled over the connection. “She’s my kid sister. What can I say?”
Leo bit down on his tongue. There was nothing childlike about her. It probably wouldn’t be wise to inform his friend that his “kid sister” had a hot ass and a mouth more luscious than a succulent peach. Yeah, that’d be weird. And possibly life-ending.
“What did you find out?” Owen asked.
Leo filled him in on the details, minus the one rather significant fact of their hookup. Once Owen was back in the States and safe, Leo would find a way to tell his friend that he’d defiled his baby sister.
“You think the break-in is related?”
“I don’t know, but she seems to think it is.” On the balcony, Prue stretched out her long legs and propped her bare feet atop the railing. An image of those legs wrapped around his naked waist knocked into Leo with enough force that for a moment he struggled to regain his focus. “Any idea what she did that riled up the Twitter crazies?”
“None,” Owen said. “When I saw the threats and asked her about them, her reaction let me know something was up.”
“Well, she’s taken down her accounts now.”
“Good, that’s good. When I’m done here I’ll head straight for Boston.”
“Where are you, anyway?” Leo didn’t know why he asked. He didn’t care.
“Ukraine. We’re guarding a diplomatic envoy that’s here through the end of the month. Hopefully Prue can sit tight for the next two weeks.”
Leo was unable to tear his gaze away from her and the long length of her smooth legs when he said, “I’ll keep an eye on things until then.”
“You’ve done enough already,” Owen said. “I owe you one.”
Leo would be sure to bring that up when Owen found out the truth about the night Leo met Prue in that hotel bar.
“I don’t mind.”
“Honestly, it’s not going to be necessary.” A hint of humor infected Owen’s voice.
“What makes you say that?”
“I got a call from my dad last night. He was upset because my mom is upset, because she talked to my other sister, who told her Prue has a stalker, and what the hell am I going to do about it anyway?” Owen chuckled softly. “Something tells me Prue’s going to be well guarded until I get back.”
As he disconnected the call, a splash of fading sunlight washed her in its golden warmth.
He was off the hook. If he wanted, he could drive back to the hotel, pack his bag, and leave town that night.
Still, he remained parked outside her apartment until she retreated indoors and, a few hours later, her bedroom light winked out. He then completed a neighborhood recon and, back behind the wheel of his car, maneuvered the vehicle through the darkened city streets.
He’d fulfilled his duty to his friend. His conscience was as clear as a cloudless sky.
So why did he feel so damned dark and gloomy?
Chapter Seven
Quitting “Project Aron” turned out to be harder than Prue ever imagined, taking nearly as much willpower as the crash diet she’d attempted in the ninth grade. Back then, she only lasted a day before she caved to the hunger. Now, well into day two with zero work given to her research, the hunger was all-consuming.
Maybe Faith was right. Maybe it was so difficult to walk away because, deep down, a part of her wanted to get back at Aron for what he’d done. The part of her that still felt humiliated by his betrayal. The part that never wanted to get close to another man for fear she’d put her trust in him and have her faith destroyed, once and for all. Or maybe she wanted revenge for the teeny-tiny part of her that would forever doubt herself.
When she returned home from work at the Institute, she settled on the sofa with her laptop. The craving to go to her files nearly overwhelmed until she recalled the panic on Leo’s face when he thought they were in danger. The fear rioting in his eyes. The helpless, hopeless expression contorting his beautiful features. Then her regret was manageable, and her hunger worth the payoff.
Her kitten, Arlo, perched on the sofa back and Prue scratched his head. Then she opened her email and typed a short message to Paul Cook, a journalist she’d met online who had also been digging into the merry band of mobsters surrounding the controversial politician from Eastern Europe.
Over the past few weeks, she and Paul had attacked the research together, sharing notes and documents as they tried to piece together the vast web of connections. As Paul had experienced a rash of hacking attempts, they were extremely careful when sharing files, and they never uploaded anything anywhere online that they didn’t want others to see, which meant she held most of her work locally on her laptop and backed up to an external hard drive. He was a sharp, thorough researcher, an incredible writer, and she’d loved working with him. But, as she explained in her email to him, she needed to step away from the work for a while. Then she offered to send him all her notes and the trove of records she’d gathered.
The moment she hit Send on that email, she had to blink away a sudden upwelling of tears, but a knock on her apartment door cut short any pity party she might’ve thrown.
She dumped her laptop on the coffee table and shuffled to the door. Pulling it open, she recoiled to find her parents standing in the hallway.
Scowls of disapproval marred their faces, and for the next several hours, she defended herself against their twisted logic which centered on the bizarre notion that she had a stalker. Thank you, Faith.
After she finally shooed them away, she collapsed on the sofa, wired and exhausted at the same time. Her laptop beckoned like a piece of moist chocolate cake, so she distracted herself with junk food and mind-numbing television. It was no use.
Frustration spurring her on, she shoved the computer to the back of her closet, beneath a pile of shoes and hand-me-downs from Faith, and slammed the door closed. Then she retreated to her bed and flipped off the lights.
If there were any justice in the world, she’d be rewarded for her strength of will with a few hours’ reprieve from the torment.
But it was not to be.
A sound pulled her from sleep.
Her eyes blinked open, but the room was shrouded in darkness.
Arlo’s silhouette sat primly at the end of the bed, watching the bedroom door with raised ears. He tilted his head and her heart lurched when another muffled noise sounded, this one closer.
She reached for her cell phone on the nightstand, but her fingers brushed over the smooth wood surface. The device wasn’t there. She must’ve left it in the living room when she came to bed.
The figure of a man appeared in the doorway.
Fear arrowed to her heart. He was short, but broad, and he wore a ski mask. Too terrified to move, she froze while desperate prayers began running through her mind. She prayed he didn’t know she was there, and that if she remained still in the darkness, he wouldn’t see her. Arlo slunk to the edge of the mattress and dropped silently to the floor.
Then the man stepped into the bedroom and her breathing stopped. Her heart thundered beneath her breastbone, but she didn’t move. She didn’t twitch or even blink.
From the doorway, he scanned the room,
then strode toward her desk.
But at the foot of the bed, he pulled up abruptly. Slowly, he turned his head in her direction.
She’d been detected.
A force overcame her, whether instinct or adrenaline or simply the will to survive, and she charged. When she crashed into him, his curse shattered the quiet, and he stumbled back. In that split second when she knocked him off-balance, she spotted an opening between him and the bedroom door, and she shot through it.
Behind her, he burst into the hallway. Footsteps hounded her, and she erupted into the living room as his meaty hands clamped onto her shoulders. With a brutal shove, he slammed her into the wall. She twisted around, and his hand crushed her throat in a vicious grip.
Oxygen squeezed through her constricted airway when he leaned close.
“Where is it?” His breath smelled stale.
Pale light from the bathroom filtered across his face, and shock jolted through her when she peered into his eyes. Though she wouldn’t recall the color of his irises, she’d never forget the remarkable absence of emotion in his dead eyes. They held none of the panic she’d expect of a desperate thief, or the mania of a deranged killer.
Indeed, there wasn’t a single shred of fear or insanity in him. This man possessed all his faculties, and nothing desperate or crazed drove him. He was in complete control and knew exactly what he was doing. He knew that he was hurting her and that she was terrified. He knew, and he didn’t care.
When she didn’t supply him with an answer, his hand shot out and cracked into her cheekbone. Pain exploded inside her skull and white noise filled her head with the force of the blow.
Terror fueling her, she mustered all her strength and jammed her knee to his balls. He yelped and his grip loosened.
Then fresh rage contorted his face. “Fucking bitch.”
Before he struck her again, she pressed her palms to his barrel chest and shoved. He rocked back and she stumbled from his grasp on weak legs.
But she only made it a few steps before he tackled her, landing on top of her when they hit the ground with a jarring collision. A piercing agony sliced into her side and tore a cry from her. Her body contorted and her elbow connected with some part of his face. Pain shot up her arm even as the sound of something clattering across the hardwood floor drew him toward it.
