Into the Crossfire

by Lisa Marie Rice

  “Sam?” Her voice came out a raw whisper. It hurt to talk. Hurt to swallow, she discovered.

  “Yeah.” Sam’s own voice was harsh, hoarse. “Yeah, it’s Sam.”

  “What—” Nicole brought a hand to her throat. God, it hurt. “What happened?”

  Sam’s face above her was grim, nostrils pinched with stress. He looked pale, stressed. Ten years older.

  “Someone was waiting for you in your office, honey. He was hurting you. When I came in he was holding a gun to your head. He tossed you across the room.” His jaw muscles worked. “You nearly went out the window. Of the ninth floor.” His eyes closed. “Just about gave me a fucking heart attack.”

  Flashes of memory blossomed in her mind, like scenes under strobe lights. A gun muzzle, tightly held against her temple. A strong, unyielding arm around her throat, cruelly tight, cutting off air. Sam, still and dangerous-looking, ignoring her, carefully watching the man holding her like a cat watches a mouse.

  Being picked up, flying through the air, limbs flailing, caught at the last minute by Sam…

  “Where—” Nicole raised a hand to her head. The blood at her temple had dried. “Where did the man go? Did you catch him?”

  “No.” Sam ground his teeth, hard. She could actually hear the enamel grating. “I was too busy catching you. Your windows aren’t bulletproof. They’re just simple glass. Nine stories is a hell of a long way to fall. Luckily, we didn’t find out what a nine-story fall looks like.”

  Nicole stirred in his arms, groaning. She seemed to be one big sore muscle. She might not have fallen out of the window, but she’d definitely banged against some furniture.

  “Shhh.” Sam held her more tightly. “Don’t move. The EMTs are on their way and so are the police. They should be here any minute.”

  Nicole’s hand sought, and found, Sam’s. “That’s nice,” she said drowsily, eyelids drooping. She ached all over and was so tired. “I think I’ll just rest my eyes for a moment.”

  The next time Nicole felt that annoying tapping against her cheek, her office was filled with light and people and noise. She sat up, Sam’s hand to her back helping her up. It took her a second to realize her head wasn’t swimming.

  “Ma’am?” A young face thrust itself in front of hers. Thin, short hair, clever eyes. He shot a glance at Sam. “Sir, you’re going to have to give me some space here or I can’t do my job.”

  With visible reluctance, Sam let her go.

  The medic shined a light in her eyes, took her pulse.

  “Shouldn’t she be strapped to a stretcher?” Sam asked. He hadn’t gone far, crouched on his haunches next to her.

  The medic shot him an ironical glance. “She was sitting upright when I got to her. If she has a spinal injury, it’s too late.”

  Sam closed his eyes and winced. “Jesus, I didn’t think of that.”

  Nicole reached out and closed her hand around his. “That’s okay, Sam. I don’t have any serious injuries, I promise.”

  Sam’s eyes met the medic’s. “She was tossed across a room. Didn’t go out the window by a miracle, but she hit the bookcase. God knows what kind of internal injuries she has.”

  The miracle was Sam. He’d caught her just before she’d have gone crashing through the window to her death nine stories below. She shuddered at the thought.

  Nicole took a quick internal check, as the medic took her pulse and shined a light in her eyes. Did she have internal injuries?

  Most of the momentum of her flight toward the windows had been blocked by Sam’s body. Her shoulder and back had slammed into the bookcase and she’d had the wind knocked out of her, like the time she’d fallen out of the swings when she was ten. She still remembered that horrible feeling as she lay on her back, staring at the bright blue Greek sky, unable to move and unable to draw a breath.

  It had been terrifying, but a minute later, she was on her feet again, and ten minutes later, she was back with her friends on the swings, the incident totally forgotten, until now.

  She’d had the wind knocked out of her, badly. Her shoulder hurt and, knowing how delicate her skin was, she’d be badly bruised. In the next couple of days, there would be a rainbow of colors on her shoulder, the palette dominated by black and green.

  But that was it. She took in a deep breath and felt no pain at all. She felt shaken, a man had broken into her office and threatened her with a gun to the head. Feeling deeply rattled was only natural. And she was tired, because she was now going on thirty-six hours without sleep. But there was nothing broken inside her.

  Another man entered the room, crouched next to her, a familiar face. Mike the cop.

  Sam frowned at him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Word travels, bro. Cop shop jungle drums. Harry’s here, too.”

  Sam swiveled his head. Behind Mike was a tall man with lines of suffering on his face, on crutches. He was an unhealthy pale color, big-boned but painfully thin, the emaciation of illness or injury. Nicole recognized it immediately.

  The medic stood. “Okay. Vital signs are good, but we’re taking you in for observation, ma’am. It would probably be a good idea to stay overnight, just so we can be sure you’re not concussed.”

  “No,” Nicole said calmly.

  The medic had been beckoning to someone at the door, but he turned around at her tone. “No?” It was as if he’d never heard the word before.

  “No. No question. I’m not going to the hospital.” Nicole had spent two months accompanying her father to the hospital for radiotherapy, every single day. Just walking through hospital doors and inhaling the smell of formalin and alcohol made her nauseous.

  She didn’t need the hospital. She was shaken and scared but not hurt, not seriously. Staying in a hospital was not going to make her feel better. “I know myself. I had the wind knocked out of me, that’s all. I’m a little bruised, but there’s nothing broken inside. I’m just fine.”

  Sam’s jaw muscles jumped. He was literally biting down on words. “You could be concussed.” Each word sounded pulled out of him by red-hot pincers.

  “If I’m concussed, being in the hospital won’t help.” But she wasn’t. She hadn’t bumped her head. Her muscles hurt, not her head.

  “You’re coming home with me, then.” Sam’s deep voice was belligerent, as if spoiling for a fight. “And at the first sign of something I don’t like, you’re going to the hospital. That is non-negotiable.”

  Usually, Nicole was like a cat. You did not order her about. Under normal circumstances, her pride, if nothing else, would have made her refuse Sam’s orders. But actually, going home with Sam sounded wonderful. If she went back to her own home, she’d have to face the night nurse and, maybe, her father. The last thing he needed was to see her bruised and shaken.

  Going home with Sam, maybe sleeping a few hours in his arms, sounded like heaven right now.

  “Okay,” she said softly. “Deal.”

  Sam had assumed a fighting stance, legs apart and braced, clearly ready to put up a fight. He blinked, the wind taken out of his sails. He relaxed a little and nodded, eyes never leaving hers. “Deal.”

  “Ma’am? I’m Lieutenant Kelly. Do you feel up to answering a few questions?” Nicole looked at the man standing next to Mike. Lieutenant Kelly looked tired, as if just coming off a very long shift. He was tall, heavyset but very fit-looking, dressed in a rumpled gray suit that matched the gray at his temples.

  She had to twist her neck painfully to look up at him as he walked around her, pulling up one of her client chairs. A Louis IV, which she’d had covered in Antico Setificio Fiorentino dark green brocade. It was exceedingly pretty and fragile. He sat on it gingerly as if hoping it wouldn’t crack under his weight. She sat on its twin, turning it so they were face to face, almost knee to knee.

  Sam pulled up another chair, placed it as close to hers as it could go, and sat down.

  Lieutenant Kelly leaned forward, elbows on knees, holding a worn notebook. At his soft instig
ation, Nicole gave her name, address and office, home and cell phone numbers.

  “Do you want to tell me what went down, Ms. Pearce?”

  “Yes. Of course.” She took a deep breath, marshaling her thoughts. “I, um, didn’t go into work today. I wasn’t, um, feeling very well, so I worked from home. Or tried to.” Next to her, she could practically feel Sam vibrating. The lieutenant was watching her carefully, bruised-looking gray eyes fixed on her intently. Nicole hoped with all her heart the man didn’t have telepathic powers, because she would die on the spot if he figured out exactly why she didn’t come in to work today. Because she’d been rattled by the most intense night of sex of her life. Whew.

  He simply nodded at her, made an annotation in his notebook, then looked back at her. Go on. He didn’t betray any impatience, but the words hovered in the air.

  God, she was tired. A sudden wave of debilitating exhaustion swept over her. She looked down in her lap, horrified to see her hands shaking. She clutched them, hoping the detective hadn’t noticed.

  He’d noticed.

  So had Sam.

  Sam reached over and curled one big hand over her clasped ones, stilling the trembling. But she was trembling all over now and felt cold, chilled to the bone.

  “Oh God.” She clenched her jaw to stop her teeth from chattering. “Sorry. I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

  “Adrenaline dump,” Sam said, tightening his grasp. His hand felt so warm.

  The lieutenant nodded. “It’s perfectly understandable, Ms. Pearce. You’ve had a terrible experience and your body’s reacting. We can take this downtown. Or do this tomorrow, if you want.”

  “No, no, I want to do this now. I want this man caught. I want him caught and punished to the full extent of the law. Not only for breaking and entering but also for assault.” The lieutenant looked over at Sam, a brief electric glance of male understanding.

  “What?” she said, indignant. “You don’t think you’re going to catch him, do you?” The thought chased the chill away. The intruder had violated her space, threatened her. She wanted him caught and put behind bars for scaring the living daylights out of her. Oh, and for trying to toss her out of a ninth-story window.

  “Well, we’ll do our very best, ma’am,” the lieutenant said calmly. He looked down at his notebook. “So…you weren’t able to work from home today. And you decided to come in after hours, is that correct?”

  “Yes, that’s correct.” Nicole got a grip on herself. To catch this awful man, she had to get past her emotional reactions and give the police as much information as possible.

  Grow a backbone, Nicole. She sat straighter in her chair and willed the trembling to stop. Sam’s hand around hers was like a small furnace. She concentrated on that warmth until she could marshal her thoughts.

  “Do you know what time you came in?” The lieutenant bent his head over his notebook. He had a crewcut so severe she could see the scalp beneath the hair.

  “No, I don’t—” she began, then stopped. “Wait. It was exactly 9:05 when I walked out of the elevator. I remember seeing the big wall clock at the end of the corridor. It’s digital so it gives the exact time. That means it probably would have been 9:06 by the time I entered my office.” She snatched a sideways glance at Sam. “This time I made sure I had my keys with me.”

  He nodded, unsmiling.

  “And you opened your door with your key?” Nicole couldn’t imagine what the lieutenant was writing, but he was scribbling away.

  “Yes. I, um, I entered with the key and—oh!” She cried out. The other men in the room, the fingerprint tech, the medic and Sam’s friends Harry and Mike raised their heads. “How stupid of me! I didn’t notice. I always engage the deadbolt when I leave my office. Always. And yet when I opened my door with my key, I didn’t have to turn my key more than once. So—”

  “So someone was in your office and you waltzed right into an ambush. Goddammit, woman. That wasn’t smart. You could have gotten yourself killed.” Sam’s deep voice was harsh, his face stiff with disapproval. His jaw muscles bunched as he clearly bit back further words. Probably a lot of adjectives, like idiot and airhead, were rolling around in his mouth like marbles.

  No, it hadn’t been smart. Nicole wanted to snap back at him, but the truth was, he was right. If she’d been paying any attention at all, she’d have backed away immediately. But this wasn’t the kind of thing she paid attention to. She paid attention to her father and to her work and not much else these days. This was just way, way outside her attention zone.

  Besides, she’d been tired, confused about her feelings for Sam, worried about her father…and she’d walked right into a burglar trying to steal God knows what from her office.

  “Sam, dial it down. This isn’t helping.” The lieutenant shot him one of those looks men used to quell each other. “Now, ma’am.” He turned back to her. “So the deadbolt wasn’t engaged, but you didn’t notice that.”

  “No, not at all.” Oh God, the shame. Single women weren’t supposed to be so clueless when it comes to their personal security. “What can I say? I was thinking about the work I had to do and I simply wasn’t paying attention. So I just turned the key and…and reached for the light switch, but then a man slammed me against the wall, put a gun to my head and said that he’d shoot me if I screamed.”

  She shivered. Sam leaned over, planted a soft kiss in her hair and whispered. “It’s okay. You’re okay now.”

  Mike and Harry exchanged glances.

  “It—it was horrible. I was so scared and I had the breath knocked out of me. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think. I didn’t know what to do, I was paralyzed with fear.”

  It was something she’d never forget—the feeling of utter helplessness. Of knowing that he was stronger than she was and his strength gave him permission to do anything he wanted to her. She’d lived twenty-eight years on this earth without feeling like helpless prey and she never, ever wanted to experience it again.

  She turned to Sam. “I want you to teach me self-defense. All the moves possible to break someone’s neck. Or at least an arm.” She thought for a moment. “And maybe how to shoot or something. I never want to feel that helpless again.”

  Sam closed his eyes and nodded. His eyes opened and stared fiercely into hers. “Count on it. An intense course in self-defense, several martial arts, we’ll find the one best suited to you, and also use of firearms…”

  “And knives.” How satisfying it would have been to stick a knife between his ribs. Or cut off the man’s balls. “I want to know how to use a knife. A big one. Big black one. The kind that reaches the heart in a second.” She’d wear it in a thigh sheath, like Lara Croft.

  “Knives, too, then. No question.” For the first time, a ghost of a smile crossed his lips. He bowed his head gravely.

  Nicole nodded her head. She probably wouldn’t train, but right now the thought that she could, that she could turn herself into a mighty she-warrior, comforted her.

  The lieutenant was immersed in his notebook, clearly as riveting as any best seller. “Then what happened?”

  “He—he switched on the light.”

  The lieutenant looked up at that. “Did you recognize him?”

  “No.” Her voice rang with conviction. “I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

  “Can you give me a description?”

  Nicole closed her eyes. It had all happened so fast. “Um, I didn’t see him for very long. He had short light brown hair, light brown eyes. Dressed in this funny black jumpsuit.” She thought, then shrugged. That was about it. “I’d probably recognize him in a lineup.” Maybe. She’d been so terrified, her mind had simply blanked with blind panic.

  The lieutenant switched his gaze to Sam.

  “Five ten, one eighty, brown and brown, Nomex tactical suit, combat boots, K-bar in thigh sheath, Kimber 1911, three mags on the belt, latex gloves, so your guys probably won’t find prints. He left in a real hurry, maybe my security cameras cau
ght his face. You could run it through the FBI’s facial recognition software, maybe come up with a hit.” Sam frowned. “Come to think of it, my security cameras just outside the door fogged up around seven thirty and then a few minutes before nine. I didn’t think anything at the time, but he could have been using a—”

  “Laser light,” Harry and Mike said at the same time.

  The lieutenant grunted. “An operator.”

  “Oh yeah,” Sam answered. “An operator. Got in and out real smooth.”

  The lieutenant rested his elbows on his knees and fixed Nicole with a weary gaze. “So, we’ve got a pro breaking into your office, Ms. Pearce. What was he looking for?”

  Nicole shook her head. The sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. “I have no idea, but he was definitely looking for something. He kept saying, ‘Where is it?’” She cleared her throat delicately. “Actually, he kept saying, ‘Where the fuck is it?’ I have no idea what he was talking about. I tried to say so, but he just ground the gun more tightly against my head.”

  All the men looked at her temple. “It’s okay,” she said to the room. “Just some torn skin, nothing serious.”

  Sam closed his eyes in pain.

  “So, the intruder was looking for something. For what? He didn’t come to steal those pretty knickknacks you’ve got, he was looking for something specific. What?” the lieutenant prodded.

  Nicole shrugged her shoulders, baffled. “I can’t imagine. I don’t think he was after the watercolors or the silver.” It was true that she’d decorated the office very nicely, with two or three good pieces of family furniture, a little collection of solid sterling pen holders and an Art Déco leather desk set, all attractive pieces without, however, any real resale value. The watercolors were lovely, but they were by her mother, who’d been talented but had never exhibited. They had zero value on the open market. Nothing in the room had any real value if fenced, except maybe her desk. But who would enter an office and steal a desk?

  “Has anything been taken?” the lieutenant asked.

  Nicole looked around her office and shook her head.