by Kylie Brant
Jack crouched down and scooped everything up and returned it to her purse, holding up the rolls of quarters with a cocked brow. “Hope you nailed him with these.”
“I did.” Not, she recalled, that it had slowed him down much. When he handed her back her purse, she pulled out her cell phone. “I’m going to call a taxi. Thanks for riding to the rescue.”
“Don’t bother calling for a cab.” He plucked the cell out of her hand, and, placing a palm on the small of her back, guided her down the alley. “You’re in luck. Like I said, I’ve got my sleigh and eight bored reindeer parked right out front.”
Chapter 2
Jack Langley was a hard man to say no to. Impossible, actually.
Within moments he had Lindsay herded into the front seat of a sporty, low-slung car and had elicited directions to her place. He’d turned on the heater, but the blast of warm air wasn’t having much effect on the shivers still skating over her skin.
Her teeth were chattering. She gripped her arms more tightly across her chest, vaguely disquieted that she had so little control over her body’s reaction.
With a clutch in her stomach, she realized her response had less to do with the attack and everything to do with the memory the stranger had unwittingly summoned.
You even think about betraying me and I’ll kill you. Are you hearing me?
She slipped farther down in the seat, battling nausea. Every time she started to believe she’d begun to put the past behind her, something happened to show her just how solid a grip it still wielded. She’d run over two thousand miles but nothing had really changed at all. Lindsay could still hear the menace in Niko Rassi’s voice, still feel the grip of his fingers around her neck.
And she still had no doubt it was only a matter of time before he caught up with her. Until she was resting at the bottom of a riverbed, just like her friends.
Her cheek throbbed and she raised a hand to it, wincing when she touched it.
“What’s wrong?” Jack’s voice was sharp with concern. And his vision must be equally sharp to have seen her expression of pain in the darkened front seat.
“I’m fine. I just need some ice. Guys like him know how to hit a woman just hard enough to avoid serious damage.” Niko had mastered the art of the backhanded slap, too. That was only the beginning of the many unpleasant discoveries she’d made about him.
“If you have that much experience with guys who hit women, you’re hanging around the wrong kind of men.”
“Tell me about it,” she muttered. There was something in his voice she couldn’t identify, but his words struck a chord. They didn’t get any more wrong than Niko Rassi. They didn’t get any deadlier.
A wave of fatalism swamped her, a sensation she usually fended off during long, sleepless nights spent staring at the ceiling. Niko might not have found her yet, but in a manner of speaking he’d already won. He’d robbed her of any sort of real life. Robbed her of any chance of family. Had her constantly watching over her shoulder. She knew him well enough to realize how much he’d enjoy that.
To distract herself from that line of thought, she asked, “What does Ava do on the squad?”
“She’s a marksman. Her nickname’s Cold Shot.” A tinge of humor entered Jack’s voice. “You’re only slightly less dangerous than she is. Fallon had a lucky escape.”
Moments later Jack slowed the car to a stop. “Looks like a nice house.”
“The house is nice. I live over the garage.” Releasing her seat belt, Lindsay opened the door. “I appreciate the ride—” she began.
But Jack was already out of the car. Slowly, Lindsay rounded the hood, mentally rehearsing a way to get rid of him. All she really wanted right now was a hot bath and a cold pack for her face. Given the contents of her apartment, she’d be making due with a tepid shower in the minuscule stall and a package of frozen peas held to her cheek.
“Like I said, thanks for everything…” Her second attempt was no more successful than the first.
“You’re not getting rid of me until I see your injuries in the light and make sure you don’t need to go to the ER. So save your breath and get your key out.” Openmouthed, Lindsay could only stare as Jack strode ahead of her to ascend the narrow exterior stairway leading to her apartment.
It wasn’t much. Jack threw a quick, all-encompassing look around the small space. The fresh paint on the walls only made the secondhand furniture look rattier. There was a sagging easy chair and a fairly comfortable-looking daybed situated around a small TV in one corner. A midget-size kitchenette was placed opposite, with a small countertop eating area and a couple doors that had to open to closets or a bathroom.
But it wasn’t the meagerness of the space that struck him. It was the total absence of any personal items in it.
There were no pictures on the walls or on the tops of the mismatched end tables. There weren’t any of the useless things women were forever hanging up or setting around for a clumsy guy to knock into. No magazines. No books. No CDs or, for that matter, anything to play them on.
“How long have you lived here?”
“Six months or so.”
So she hadn’t just moved in. Wasn’t in the middle of unpacking her things. Lindsay Bradford didn’t have anything to unpack. His curiosity deepened.
She brushed by him and went to one of the doors and pulled it open. Looking past her, he saw a bathroom barely big enough to turn around in. She stepped inside and swung the door shut behind her. But it didn’t latch and swung open again several inches. He was honorable enough to avert his eyes, male enough to resent needing to.
Half a dozen scenarios occurred to him. Was she recently divorced? Jolie and Dace hadn’t mentioned an ex, but maybe they didn’t know about one. Or maybe she’d just gotten out of a bad relationship. Yeah, that could be it. Maybe he’d been abusive. That would explain the comment she’d made in the car.
He found he didn’t much like the idea of someone raising a hand to her. Hell, he’d still be beating on Fallon for doing so if Lindsay hadn’t stopped him.
A hard smile crossed his lips when he thought of what the man had in store for him. His bruises were going to be the least of his worries. Jack had heard rumors that the guy had a reputation for roughing up women. There might even be a misdemeanor or two in his past. Once he convinced Lindsay to make a statement backing up the woman’s complaint, Fallon’s career was in the trash heap. It was about damn time.
Second nature had him crossing to the window in the kitchenette, checking its security. Cool air seeped in at the seam where the sash met the sill. Frowning, he jiggled the window. Despite the lock, it rattled easily. A five-year-old armed with a toy screwdriver could jimmy it open in two minutes flat.
“You need to have the landlord spring for a screen. And a new lock for the window,” he called over his shoulder. “Or else I could just…” The words died in his throat.
From this angle, he could see her in profile through the opening of the bathroom door. She’d stripped off the ripped shirt and the wide pants. Once again it occurred to him that Lindsay Bradford was a study of contrasts. She dressed as sedate as a nun, but what nun wore a matching black-and-white-striped bra and panties? What nun had a silver hoop piercing her navel and a tiny tattoo of a butterfly on one smooth shoulder blade?
She turned around to reach for something, saw him watching her and froze. The oxygen abruptly backed up in his lungs.
Because a nun wouldn’t look at him with naked desire in her expression, either. Desire that he fully, achingly reciprocated.
The moment spun out. Neither of them moved. Hell, he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Could only stare like a lovesick teenager. Want like a sex-starved hermit.
An instant later she stepped closer to the door and closed it firmly.
The pent-up air in his lungs released. He turned back to the window, shaken. He needed to get out of here. Lindsay had made it pretty damn clear in the bar that she wasn’t interested in casual entanglements.
And while ordinarily he might test her resolve a bit, he sure as hell wasn’t going to do it after what she’d been through tonight.
And if that left his more insistent body parts aching, it was too damn bad.
To distract himself, he crossed to the apartment door, yanked it open and jogged down the steps toward his car. The blast of cool air was welcome against his heated skin. It was time to back the hell up. His response to the woman was all out of whack.
Opening the trunk lid with his remote, he reached in for his toolbox and shut the lid again. He headed back toward the steps to her apartment. Okay. The lady had had a rough night. He’d fix her window, make sure she was steady on her feet and head in to the precinct alone. She could make her statement in the morning. Maybe if it wasn’t too late, he’d even head back to the Blue Lagoon. The bar was filled with females who would be far more interested than Lindsay had been earlier.
And sometime between now and then, he’d work on summoning a little interest in them in return. Because he wasn’t a man who welcomed complications in his life. And if there was one thing Lindsay Bradford had written all over her, it was complication, in big, bold capital letters.
He was hammering the second of two nails into her window sash when he heard her raised voice behind him. “What the heck are you doing?”
Giving the nail a final blow with the hammer, he turned. “Making sure some lowlife doesn’t decide to come in your window.”
She was swathed in a white zip-up terry-cloth robe that covered her from throat to feet. There was nothing remotely sexy about the garment. It was recalling what lay beneath it that was giving him a bad moment. Scowling, he passed her to squat before the toolbox, replacing the hammer and locking the lid.
She eyed the window dubiously. “I don’t think there’s much danger of that. He’d need a pair of stilts at this height.”
“Or a ladder. After tonight you shouldn’t be surprised at how far stupidity and hormones take some guys.” She paled, and he mentally kicked himself. Like she needed a reminder of the altercation earlier.
Deliberately lightening the mood, he added, “Although once bad guys get a look at what you did to Fallon, I’d imagine they’d be steering clear of you.” The small smile those words elicited had heat coiling low in his belly.
“I think you inflicted the worst damage there.”
He surveyed her without trying to be obvious about it. She’d showered, and her dark, wet hair was combed straight back off her face to fall below her shoulders. There was already a mark blooming on one chiseled cheekbone. But her eyes were clear, unclouded by the shadows he’d seen there in the car. They were cat-green, unusual for her coloring.
And he was losing it completely if he was standing here mooning over the color of a woman’s eyes.
“You should get something on your face.” He went to the doll-size refrigerator and opened the freezer. The only ice was in trays, so he grabbed the bag of frozen peas and wrapped it in the kitchen towel that had been draped neatly over the faucet. He walked back and handed it to her. “I’m sure Jolie will come if you need someone to stay with you tonight.”
She was already shaking her head. “I’m fine. She’s got enough to deal with tonight. I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”
Since she seemed steady enough now, he figured it was as good a time as any to broach the subject of her statement. He backed up, propping a hip against the kitchen counter and folding his arms. “Making a statement isn’t difficult. I can walk you through the process if you—”
“I already told you, I’m not interested.”
Lindsay saw Jack’s gaze narrow and knew she was going to get an argument. She’d already learned that he didn’t take no for an answer.
But this time he’d have to. If there was one thing she’d learned, it was that cops required ID for everything. And while hers might get only cursory examination, she couldn’t afford to take that chance. She’d made sure no trace of her name showed up on any public record for the last three years. Her caution had kept her alive. She wasn’t about to start making mistakes now.
Jack crossed one foot in front of the other, and for a moment she found herself distracted by the action. He’d strayed from the Santa uniform with the boots. They were a deep brown rather than black, with richly tooled leather that screamed designer. They probably cost what she paid in six months’ rent.
“I know the guy. He’s got a reputation with women, but so far no one has taken the step to make him pay for his actions. If Sheila Jennings presses charges—and it sure sounded like she planned to—she’s going to need your statement to back hers up. Otherwise he’ll spin it that she was willing, and he’ll walk again. And then he’ll do the same thing to some other woman.”
His words had her nerves congealing in a greasy tangle in her stomach. If Jack hadn’t come outside with her, the outcome of the evening would have been far different. She would have suffered far worse injuries than a bruised cheek, and Sheila…She swallowed hard, thinking what might have happened to the woman. But she couldn’t focus on that now. And she couldn’t allow herself to be manipulated into feeling guilty about a woman she didn’t know and possible future victims.
She was already carrying all the guilt she could live with.
“Save your breath. I’ve made up my mind and you’re not going to change it.”
The frustration on his face was easy to read. “Dammit, Lindsay…”
“Dammit, Jack…” She crossed her arms to mimic his stance. Well, not exactly, since her chest wasn’t bare. And her arms weren’t bulging with all sorts of interesting muscles. But he wasn’t going to intimidate her, regardless.
He gave a curt nod. “I’ll let you sleep on it. Maybe when Jolie talks to you tomorrow you’ll change your mind.”
Although she didn’t relish the upcoming conversation, she shook her head. “I won’t.”
His jaw tightened, and the toughness she’d noted earlier was not so hidden now. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as stubborn as you.”
“Then you haven’t looked in the mirror lately.”
For a moment she thought her reckless tongue had gotten her in trouble again. His face darkened and he looked like a man struggling to leash his temper. Then he pushed away from the counter and grabbed her purse, digging inside it to take out her cell phone.
Her brows rose, but she wisely chose to keep her objections to herself. He took his out, too, and pressed keys in rapid succession on both. Then he flipped them shut and dropped hers back into her purse. “I added my number in case you come to your senses before tomorrow night.”
His number? The thought suffused her with heat. And far more temptation than she was up to battling right now. No doubt he’d coded her number into his directory, as well. “What’s tomorrow night?”
“Our dinner date. I’ll pick you up at eight.”
He bent to pick up his toolbox before heading to the door.
She was speechless for one long moment. And no, that absolutely was not interest stirring inside her. “Wait a minute.” She followed him to the door. “I’m not having dinner with you. I thought I made that clear earlier at the bar.”
He turned to face her. Somewhere he’d lost the Santa hat, which just made that sardonic cock of his brow more noticeable. “You really think you’re going to win two arguments with me tonight?”
“One has absolutely nothing to do with the other. And we both know you’d just spend the entire evening trying to convince me to make that statement.”
He rested a shoulder against the door. She wondered fleetingly if he ever stood up straight. His pose called attention to his lean hips and narrow waist, though the baggy red pants made it impossible to make out the line of his thigh…. Realizing where her gaze had gone, she jerked it upward and saw a fleeting expression of humor in Jack’s eyes.
“That’s not true,” he said mildly. “Because willing or not, you will be interviewed by an officer about the scene at the Blue Lagoon. I’m goin
g to spend dinner trying to persuade you to sleep with me.”
She dropped the makeshift ice pack on the counter and glared at him impotently. “I have no intention of sleeping with you!”
“Then I have my work cut out for me.”
Aggravated, she drew a breath. Her emotions felt like they’d been on an out-of-control carousel tonight. But right now they were settled solidly in annoyance. “This is exactly why I don’t like cops. They’re pushy, and devious and untrustworthy.” And some were corrupt, placing their own greed above others’ lives.
“We’ll discuss your grievances with the department tomorrow night, too.”
She angled her chin, belatedly insulted. “What makes you think I’m free tomorrow night?”
“Piper’s closes at six, and Jolie and Dace claim you have no social life. So tomorrow night, I’m it.”
Jolie and Dace had told him she had no social life? Mortification mingled with irritation. Just because it was true—just because it was her choice—didn’t mean it didn’t sting.
He cut through her momentary silence by commanding, “Come over here.”
Instantly wary, she remained where she was. “Why?”
“So you can lock the door behind me.” He jerked his head toward the ice pack she’d left on the counter. “Then for the rest of the night keep ice on that cheek. Twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off. It’s going to start hurting once you fall asleep and the numbness wears off. You’re going to want to take a pain reliever before you turn in.”
In face of the genuine concern in his voice Lindsay felt her ire fade away. And that was perhaps the most lethal part of Langley’s attractiveness. It would be easier to ignore his sexual magnetism if he wasn’t so darn likable.
She was reminded again of what he’d done for her that night, and she felt something inside her soften further. “I will. Thank you.”
He lifted a shoulder. “Hey, it’s Fallon who should be thanking me. If I hadn’t shown up when I did you probably would have crippled him.”
The suggestion was outrageously untrue and guaranteed to make her smile.
