Emma stopped at the squeal of the tires and glanced toward the oncoming vehicle. Instantly, she turned, leaping for the front of her car and safety. But it was already too late. The van was upon her. It screeched to a stopped beside her, rocking violently. The side cargo door slid open.
“Drop. Drop. Drop,” Lucas shouted, trying to line up a shot as arms emerged from the shadowy interior of the vehicle.
Emma pressed back against her car. Hands latched onto her right wrist and left elbow. As the arms retracted back into the van, Emma was dragged forward, toward the murky interior of the van.
His heart hammering so hard it jiggled his aim, Lucas lined the Shield’s sight on the cargo door, but Emma’s body was blocking his shot. Nor did he have time to vault the car and snatch her back before they hauled her inside and took off.
Son of a bitch.
While he was closer to the rear of the vehicle than the front, there was no back window—just a pair of steel doors. He couldn’t disable the van, or the tangos from that direction. Lowering his weapon, he bolted across the lawn at a left angle.
If he could get in front of the vehicle…
Milking every ounce of strength and speed from his legs, he raced to cut the van off. If he could reposition himself…get a clear bead on the driver…it was his only shot at saving Emma.
A shrill, agonized scream lit the air.
His heart stuttered and then launched into overdrive.
Almost there…almost there…
The van’s engine revved.
Fuck. Out of time.
He threw himself forward and sighted on the burley chest behind the wheel, adjusting his aim to account for the curvature in the windshield. It was a tricky shot damn it, the angle tighter than he liked.
Abruptly ice-cool, he steadied his hands and his breathing and squeezed the trigger three times in quick succession.
Crack. Crack. Crack.
Ringing echoed through his ears. The rounds punched through the windshield, exactly where he’d targeted. The van lurched hard to the right—thank Christ—if it had gone left it would have crushed her. The hands dragging Emma across the threshold of the van lost their grip. With another shrill cry, she jerked back hard, hit the Accord’s driver’s door, and jolted forward.
As she lost her balance and collapsed, Lucas adjusted his aim, lasering in on the shadowy figure in the open cargo door.
Crack. Crack.
Feral satisfaction flooded him as the tango dropped to the floor, twitching violently. The bastard wouldn’t be kidnapping anymore women.
The van accelerated, its backend fishtailing wildly. Oily black smoke and the rancid stench of burning rubber engulfed the street.
Lucas sprinted after it, hitting the pavement so hard the shock reverberated through his ankles, up his shins and into his knees. He lined up another shot, this time on the rear tires. If the round penetrated the rubber it would slow the beast down—eventually. Maybe strand them alongside the road, sitting ducks for a passing cop.
Crack. Crack. Crack.
He took a few seconds to memorize the license plate as the van fishtailed again. It took the corner at full speed, on its right front and rear tire, and teetered for a moment.
Roll…roll.
But then the left two tires hit the pavement with a crash, and the vehicle squealed out of sight.
His ears still ringing, his heart hammering like a motherfucker, he lowered his weapon and spun to face Emma. She huddled next to her car, on her palms and knees, as though she hadn’t budged since she’d fallen.
He didn’t remember moving. One second he was standing there in the middle of the street, the next he was crouched in front of her.
“Emma.” Her name burned its way up his throat.
As the ringing vacated his ears, a wild, howling took its place. Violent scratching against glass sounded above his head. He ignored her dog’s urgency, and focused on her ashen face and terrified eyes.
“Easy babe, easy. They’re gone.” He eased her rigid body into his arms and carefully rose to his feet.
She followed him up, but stiffly, with no coordination.
“Just breathe. Nice, deep, long breaths.” He forced calmness into his voice, and ran his hands up and down her rigid back.
The breath she released stuttered up her throat and out her mouth, ending in a wheeze.
“There you go. That’s it. How about another one?”
Her next breath came easier, deeper, and the tension in her back eased. She stirred against him, the brush of her bare arms against his familiar, and comforting, and savored.
Christ, he’d almost lost her.
He eased her back a bit so he could assess the damage. Based on the splotches of crimson on his t-shirt where her hands had been pressed she was bleeding. Lifting her right wrist and then her left, he inspected her palms, wincing at the scraped and oozing flesh. From the hints of red seeping through the shredded denim, her knees were in the same shape as her palms. A livid red band circled her right wrist and left elbow.
But she’d gotten off remarkably lightly. It could have been worse. So much worse. She could have been taken.
Weak in the knees, his arms contracted around her, drawing her back against his body. As she settled against his chest, heartbeat to heartbeat, his hands started to shake.
Ten years in Special Ops, hundreds of risky missions, and this was the first time he’d gone weak in the knees and shaky in the hands.
Because of her. Because he’d almost lost her.
Suddenly the last three months felt like the most asinine waste of time. He’d been a fool. Sure the reasons for cutting the ties between them remained, they just didn’t seem as important.
* * *
With her stinging, gauze swathed palms resting lightly on her thighs, Emma absently watched the paramedic roll her slit pant legs down over her bandaged knees.
“You should get your knees and arms checked out,” he said as he closed and latched his first aid kit and rose to his feet in front of the porch swing. “There’s only so much I can assess without medical equipment. As a precaution, I’d check in with your doctor as soon as possible.”
“I’m fine,” she told him in a hollow voice.
Because Lucas had been here; if he hadn’t been here, if he hadn’t stopped them…
Emma shuddered, watching the paramedic shrug and vanish down the porch steps. She tried to banish the memories, but they dug in and clung, replaying over and over in her mind.
Vicious fingers digging into her flesh…relentlessly dragged forward, no matter how hard she fought back… eyes as dead as a shark’s watching her struggle…
If Lucas hadn’t stopped him…stopped them…
She took a deep, shaky breath, her chest so tight it hurt to breathe. If she’d been alone, she’d be dead by now. Or if not dead…yet…wishing she were.
A shrill whine drew her attention to the dog pressed against her side on the porch swing. Cuddles seemed almost as unnerved by the attempted kidnapping, as Emma was. For the past ten minutes, since the legion of cops and paramedics had descended on her property, the dog had alternated between snarling at everyone and pressing hard against Emma’s side. Finally, about halfway through the cleaning and bandaging of Emma’s hands and knees, Cuddles had settled back to silently watch, monitoring the treatment with round, suspicious eyes.
“We’re okay,” Emma whispered, wincing at the lack of confidence in her wobbly voice.
When the dog whined again, she gingerly lifted her left arm—which throbbed like an abscessed tooth—and draped it around Cuddles’s fragile shoulders. The dog melted into the loose embrace, her wiry body trembling. Oddly, the trauma of the past fifteen minutes seemed to have bonded the animal to her. Or at least the dog seemed much more affectionate and protective than Emma had expected so early into their partnership.
“We’re fine.” The reassurance was as much for her as the dog quivering against her side. “They won’t come back with a
ll these cops around.”
But what about after the cops left?
If Lucas hadn’t been here…
After practically carrying her up the stairs to the swing and spending a few minutes caressing her back and whispering reassurances, he’d vanished back down the porch steps. He’d returned maybe a minute later with Cuddles tucked beneath his arm.
The dog hadn’t been growling—for some reason that fact had embedded itself in Emma’s memory.
She didn’t remember him calling the cops or paramedics, so he must have done that when he’d retrieved Cuddles. His police officer buddy had arrived minutes later, and Lucas had headed off to conference with him. The rest of the cops along with the paramedics had arrived soon after. They were still arriving. Good lord, shouldn’t some of the police take to the streets in search of the men who’d attacked her?
With all the bullets Lucas had unleashed on it, the white van should be pretty messed up, which would make it easily identifiable.
She craned her neck and scanned the blue-suited men and women gathered below. She found her savior’s tall, muscled frame next to Officer Addario, out on the street, beside her car. Both men had their heads down, apparently inspecting the asphalt.
As though he sensed her eyes on him, Lucas pivoted and glanced up, his gaze tangling with hers. She shivered, even though a flush scorched her cheeks. He turned his head, said something to his friend, and both men walked around her car and up the hill toward her.
Their grim faces brought another shiver, followed by a wave of chills.
“How you holding up, sweetheart?” Lucas asked after climbing the porch steps. His gaze lingered on her bandaged knees and hands, before lifting to her face.
“Fine.”
From the concerned expression that creased his forehead, her quivering reassurance didn’t fool him anymore than it had Cuddles.
Officer Addario shot her one brief look before he focused on the animal nestled against her side. Thick, black eyebrows rose. “Nice dog.”
Emma bristled, temporarily shaken loose from that frozen numbness encasing her, but before she had a chance to blast him for the sarcasm, Lucas sent his buddy a quelling look.
“You feel up to giving Rio a statement,” Lucas asked, taking a seat on the swing beside her.
His hip pressed against her, his bare arm as well. She should slide to the left, open up some space between them. But the heat his big body generated warmed her, thawed the crippling chill.
“About this guy who tried to grab you, did you get a good look at him?” Addario asked, his flat gray eyes studying her face intently, as though she were under interrogation.
“He didn’t try, he did grab me,” Emma whispered, her voice cracking. A spine popping shudder worked its way through her body.
Lucas shifted, slid his arm around her shoulders and gave her a comforting squeeze. “Easy, babe. You’re safe now. They’re not going to get near you again. Ever. You have my word on that.”
She latched onto his promise, let it sink into her and dissolve the cage of vulnerability and fear.
Addario studied her for a moment and then probed with all the finesse of a bulldozer. “Rocky says you were looking right at the perp in the cargo door. You must have gotten a good look at him.”
Dead muddy eyes…
She glanced at Lucas. “Rocky?”
“Nickname.” He shrugged. “On account of the boxing.”
She forced a smile. “I guessed.”
“Great. Now that we’re all up to date on Luc’s nickname, maybe we can focus on what your attacker looked like,” Addario said.
Lucas’s arm tightened round Emma’s shoulder. He shot his friend an irritated look. “Go ahead and give him a description, sweetheart. Before he turns into an ass.”
“Before?” Emma echoed.
Lucas chuckled and gave her shoulders another companionable squeeze. “He might not have the best manners, but Rio’s got the tenacity of a badger. There’s nobody I’d rather have investigating this case. He’ll find those bastards.”
The look Lucas directed at Addario stated clearly, albeit wordlessly, that his buddy better not make a liar out of him.
“A description would help,” Addario said dryly, ignoring Lucas’s silent demand.
Emma took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “He was white, with graying brown hair and brown eyes.”
“How tall? Best estimate.” Addario pulled a notepad and pencil from his breast pocket.
“Maybe 5’10 to 6 feet and built like a brick. Not fat, but thick. Heavy shoulders and neck.”
“What was he wearing?”
Emma thought back. “Black pants and a black t-shirt.”
“Any logos on his clothing? Any tattoos?” Addario asked, looking up.
“No.”
He went back to scribbling on his pad. “Would you be willing to work with a sketch artist?”
“Sure.” She paused and swallowed hard. “Lucas shot him.”
She’d missed seeing the actual shooting, since she’d been so busy staring at the pavement. But the muffled thunk thunk, as the bullets found their mark, had been eerily identifiable. And when she’d looked up, just before the van took off, her attacker had been sprawled limply across the van’s floor. Motionless.
The two men exchanged a quick look. And then Rio focused in on her face again.
“Rocky alerted me to that,” he said blandly. “We’ll distribute the sketch to hospitals, clinics, doctors’ offices—anywhere a gunshot wound might be treated.”
Yeah, right…
“You might try funeral homes and morgues too. I suspect you’re more likely to find him there,” she said dryly.
She might be a bit shaky, but that hadn’t affected her intelligence. She’d known he was dead the moment she’d gotten a look at his crumpled body.
Another look was exchanged between the two men, but this one was tinged with surprise.
The arm across her shoulders tightened. “I’m sorry, Em. I wish like hell you hadn’t seen that.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Emma blurted out. “I’d much rather he was dead, than me.”
Which might not sound particularly empathetic, but she’d known the instant she’d looked into those cold, empty eyes that he’d have no qualms about torturing and killing her. She wasn’t going to feel one instant of regret for the loss of such a life.
Although he didn’t respond, she could sense Lucas’s surprise. Did he find her reaction callous?
“The sketch will come in handy. If we can identify him, we can track down his associates. Odds are if someone knows our dead guy, they’ll know his accomplices too,” Lucas said, lightly brushing her shoulder with his fingertips.
An electrical chill shot through her at the contact. A tide of goosebumps marched down her arms and spine. Now that the shock was wearing off, her libido was stirring and loudly signaling its interest in rekindling the affair with Lucas.
Time to take a step back and repair her walls. This building intimacy between them was going to play hell with her determination to keep her distance. Without trying to be subtle, she shuffled several inches to the left, scooting Cuddles along with her.
Lucas went perfectly still, and then he pulled his arm from her shoulder. The bereft feeling that swept through her at the loss of contact reinforced her decision to withdraw.
“Why don’t you go through everything that happened,” Officer Addario said smoothly, as though he hadn’t noticed the byplay between her and Lucas, even though the sharp look in his eyes told her he had.
Stoically, Emma recited what had happened.
“Did he say anything while trying to drag you inside the van?” Addario asked, with a quick glance at the silent man beside her.
“No. Nothing.”
Which, now that she thought about it, had made the attack even more terrifying. He’d been so silent and determined. He’d kept hauling her in, even with Lucas shooting at the van.
She cast a quic
k glance at the silent man beside her. She needed to thank him for his intervention, but judging by the flat expression on his face and the tension radiating from his lean frame, now wasn’t the time.
“We’ll have you go through the admissions database at the station, see if you recognize any of the photos. With luck our perp will be in there and we can forgo the sketch,” Addario said.
Lucas stirred beside her. “I’ll bring her down after I get her settled at my place.”
His place?
Emma turned to face him, her mouth opening in protest, but he jumped in before she could get a word out.
“There were three men in that Van, Emma. Only one of them is out of play. That leaves two still after you. These guys aren’t playing around. They tried to grab you in broad daylight, in front of a witness. You need protection,” Lucas said, his expression shifting from flat to hard.
She frowned, closing her mouth. He was right. She needed to be smart about this. Pride was all good and well, until it got you killed. She would have died today if Lucas hadn’t showed up. She wasn’t about to turn down his offer and open herself to a second attack.
Apparently he thought she was still resistant, because a harsh, humorless laugh broke from him.
“Relax. I’ll forgo my usual fee of sexual favors. Hell, I’ll even vamoose, if that’s what you want. Tag can play bodyguard. But babe, you’re coming with me, even if I have to kidnap you myself.”
Chapter Five
“How you holding up?” Lucas asked, shooting a quick glance at Emma.
She was sitting stiffly in the passenger seat of his Jeep, her eyes staring straight ahead. The bandaged hands, absently stroking the dog curled up in her lap, shook periodically. With the exception of the directions she’d been feeding him, she hadn’t said much since they’d left her house and the crime scene circling her Accord.
“Okay, I guess.” Emma said in a vague voice, before nodding toward the sprawling motel on the left side of the street. “This is it. Room 35. It’s at the very back.”
Lucas shot the building a quick, unimpressed look before turning his attention to the oncoming traffic. He waited for a line of cars to pass before turning into the motel’s parking lot. On closer inspection, the place didn’t challenge his initial impression of rundown apathy. It needed a good paint job and someone with a green thumb. Or at least a pair of gloves and strong set of shoulders to pull all the weeds choking out the original landscaping.
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