by Kara Lennox
“Far from it. What don’t you like about me? Give me a laundry list.”
“Well…” She had to think pretty hard. “You drive too fast. Jason did, too, which was exactly why I couldn’t allow him to drive that night. There was ice on the road—” She swallowed a gasp. God, she’d just remembered something about that night.
“Raleigh?”
“A memory. Something I never knew before just now. I remember feeling the car slip on the ice…” She shivered.
“Maybe it’s best if you didn’t try to remember,” he said gently.
Maybe. But part of her wanted to know. Had she really been at fault? Had she driven too fast, or plunged ahead when she couldn’t see?
“We were talking about my faults,” he reminded her.
And she’d segued—illogically—into the night her husband had died. “I don’t dislike you, Griffin.”
“I’m glad, because I like you. It’s not often I meet a woman who challenges and excites me like you do. But you’ve built this brick wall around yourself. It’s like…like you can’t give yourself permission to enjoy life because you’re a widow.”
“Just stop right there. This has nothing to do with your story.”
Randall glanced back at them in the rearview mirror. He seemed completely unobtrusive, but he was listening.
“I’ve said too much. I’m an ass, and I’ll shut up now.”
But now that he’d started it, she didn’t want to let it go. “Just because you’ve spent a few hours with me doesn’t give you the right to tell me how to live.” Why did he have to care one way or another about her private life? It was none of his business.
She folded her arms and glared at him, daring him to continue the argument. But she knew why she was being so defensive. It was just as he’d pointed out a few minutes ago—her argument was on shaky ground.
He was right. She did hide behind her status as a young widow. She didn’t allow herself to have fun, because it didn’t seem fair that she should laugh or sing or love or soak up the sun or even enjoy a beautiful sunset when Jason was cold in the ground.
It hadn’t seemed to matter. She’d derived a lot of satisfaction from her work, and she got affection from Copper, her one remaining living link to Jason. The thought of starting over with a new man hadn’t appealed to her at all.
Until now.
BY FIVE O’CLOCK, Raleigh had a pounding headache. She didn’t bother packing up any work to take home. She signed out without saying goodbye to anyone but Celeste and headed for the garage.
At the last minute, she remembered her car wasn’t in the garage. Randall had brought her to work. She was supposed to notify him when she was ready to leave and give him a few minutes.
Frustrated by the added delay, she just stood there in the lobby feeling a ridiculous urge to burst into tears.
Of course, that was when Griffin appeared.
“Hey, Celeste, I brought you a cupcake.”
“Griffin Benedict, you are going to make me fat!” But she accepted the cupcake anyway. “Someone’s birthday?”
“I don’t know, I just spotted them in the break room. Oh, hi, Raleigh.”
He’d known perfectly well she was standing there the whole time. Griffin didn’t miss much, which made it hard for Raleigh to be around him, sometimes. He saw so much more than she wanted him to.
They’d parted awkwardly after returning to the office. Now that she’d cooled off, she felt badly for how she’d acted. Maybe her private life wasn’t any of his business, but she sensed he wasn’t merely being nosy. Against all odds, he seemed to care about her.
“Hey, Griffin.”
“Is something wrong?”
“I forgot to call Randall, that’s all, and now I’ll have to wait for him.” She took out her phone and started scrolling through her address book.
“I’ll give you a ride home. My car is parked in the garage. No one will see you leaving with me. I can drive you right to your garage.”
“Let him take you home, honey,” Celeste said in a rare show of concern. “Any girl would be safe with him. He’s a mercenary. Are you sure you’re okay?”
Raleigh realized she must look in bad shape.
“A good night’s sleep, I’ll be fine,” she said, forcing a smile. Then, to Griffin she said, “I’d appreciate the ride.”
“No problem.”
She waited until they were safely in his car before she spoke again. “I overreacted this afternoon. I shouldn’t have gotten so angry.”
“I was deliberately provoking you. You had every right.”
“Why were you doing that?”
“It’s like I said. I want to get to know you better.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m interested in you? Like, the way a man is interested in a woman?”
“I find that hard to believe. You’re one of Houston’s top ten eligible bachelors, after all. You must have women beating down your door.”
Griffin groaned as he expertly navigated downtown five-o’clock traffic. “Stupid article. Can you imagine what kind of woman comes after me because they see my picture in a magazine? Do you think that’s my kind of woman?”
“I don’t know what kind of woman would be ‘your kind.’ You’ve been seen with models and starlets.”
He shrugged. “At one time, that was easy and fun. Models and actresses want to be the center of attention. So I asked them a lot of questions, and they went to bed with me.”
“And now it’s not so easy and fun?” She had a hard time believing he couldn’t get just about any woman to go out with him.
“Going to bed with a pretty girl who wants to see her name in the newspaper—it gets old.”
“So you’re…trying to get me into bed?”
“I’m interested in you. Can’t we leave it at that?”
It would be easier if she could pigeonhole him as a shallow guy interested in another conquest. She could dismiss him from her mind then.
She called Randall to let him know she’d gotten a ride home. Predictably, he wasn’t thrilled. “Daniel won’t like that.”
“I didn’t take any chances, Randall, really.” Daniel would give her grief, but she’d deal with that later.
The crisp fall day had turned overcast and muggy, reflecting Raleigh’s mood. It was starting to rain by the time Griffin’s Mustang pulled up to her garage entrance. She gave him her pass card and they entered the garage.
“I’ll go up with you,” he said, “check out your apartment and make sure everything’s okay.”
“It’s not really necessary. We haven’t heard from this guy in a couple of days. Ford’s investigation hasn’t turned up anything. Maybe he’s given up.”
“Someone who spends twenty-thousand dollars on a plan doesn’t give it up that easily. Humor me.”
Great. Griffin would be in her apartment again, and she knew how hard he was to evict. Especially when she felt a bit lonely and, against all odds, enjoyed his company. He was the first person to challenge her on a personal level in a very long time.
“Are you always so doggedly determined about a story?” she asked.
“It could mean a huge career leap for me. Do you ever watch Currents?”
“On TV? Sometimes.” The truth dawned on her. “You mean that’s the job you’re up for? Criminy, Griffin, you’d be a household name.”
“Yeah, but they’re waiting to see how this story comes out, and it isn’t wrapping up as quickly as I hoped it would. Meanwhile, the other guy they’re considering is Paul Stratton.”
“The same Paul Stratton we ran into yesterday? The one who wrote all those stories about the Michelle Brewster murder?”
“The very same. He’s on the air every night, reading the teleprompter about one big story after another like they were his stories. And you can bet the Currents people are watching.”
This was the first time she’d seen Griffin less than arrogantly confident. He really did want the TV job, she could
see that. And he wasn’t so sure he’d get it.
The elevator opened on her floor. Griffin stepped out, checked the hallway, then led the way to her front door. After she used her key on the dead bolt, Griffin entered first, checking every room and closet as Copper treated them to a frenzy of earsplitting barks, trying to get their attention.
“Place is clean,” Griffin said as he scooped up the little dog and allowed it to lick his face. He laughed, and any lingering irritation Raleigh felt toward him vanished.
“Griffin…why don’t you write the story now? I think Daniel would be okay with it, he seems to trust you. You can follow up as the story progresses…if it does.”
“Are you that anxious to get rid of me? ’Cause if I got the job at Currents, I’d move to New York and I’d be out of your hair for good.”
That thought didn’t exactly cheer her. But she knew what it felt like to be ambitious, to want to be the very best at what she did.
“I think maybe it’s time to air the story, that’s all. Maybe once our guy knows we’re onto him, he’ll make a move. It’s tedious, waiting for him.”
“The moment I break the story, other reporters will be on it. And we might scare our guy into hiding. I’d rather wait until the story has a conclusion.”
“Whatever you think is best—”
She was cut off as the French doors leading out to her balcony exploded in a hail of gunfire.
CHAPTER NINE
“GET DOWN!” Griffin tackled Raleigh and threw her to the ground as glass shards and wood splinters flew across the living room. Raleigh lost count of the bullets—three, five, ten. The shooting seemed to go on and on. A lamp shattered. Bits of plaster exploded from the wall.
Then, as quickly as it had started, it stopped and a deafening silence filled the room.
Griffin was half on top of her. He already had his cell phone in his hand. “Someone is shooting at us through a window,” he said, his tone urgent but the message clear.
Thank God he was doing it—she would have babbled.
“We’re on the third floor, facing Texas Street.” He gave Raleigh’s address.
Copper whined, and Raleigh realized she was on top of him. She raised her shoulders and allowed the dog to wiggle out, then did some wiggling of her own so she could grab the dog. She didn’t want Copper getting glass in his feet.
Griffin kept a protective arm around her, trying to hold her down as he continued to speak with the 911 operator. Raleigh was pretty sure the shooting was over: whoever was behind it would be making their escape, rather than waiting for the cops to come along and catch them in the act.
But Raleigh was too numb to try to move. Instead, she lay there, feeling safe against Griffin’s warm, hard body. Copper licked her ear and whined again.
“Shh. It’s okay, baby.” Griffin’s chest rumbled as he spoke. His breath ruffled her hair. She didn’t want to move.
Eventually she had to. Sirens sounded in the distance. The shooter would be long gone.
Griffin eased himself off her. “Crawl over toward the fireplace,” he said. “We can wait there. It’s out of the line of fire.”
Raleigh did as she was told. She’d never been shot at before, so she bowed to Griffin’s apparent knowledge. He claimed he’d been shot before, so he knew more than she did.
Her only other life-or-death experience, she’d gone into a fugue state.
The brick hearth of her fireplace did seem the safest place. While much of the rest of her living room was a mess of broken glass and china, splintered wood and bits of stuffing from her sofa, this corner appeared unscathed.
With one exception. Her favorite photo of Jason had been hit. He’d taken a bullet square in the face, the glass broken in a spiderweb pattern.
She reached for the photo and touched the cracked glass while she attempted to soothe Copper, who had jumped into her lap. Poor Jason.
“Yeah, paramedics too,” Griffin was saying.
Paramedics? In an adrenaline daze, Raleigh looked down at herself and with a start realized she had blood on her jacket. Just the sight of the blood made her woozy.
Was she hurt? She didn’t feel any pain. She put her hands to her head, then her face, then her arms…
Griffin. She was almost afraid to look over, and when she did, her head started to spin. Blood. A lot of it—on the rug, some on her sofa—and on him.
He sat on the edge of one of her chairs holding a throw pillow against his arm. His hand and the pillow were smeared with blood, his shirt was bloody. His face, though, was pale and tense with pain.
“Griffin!” Still clutching Copper in one arm, she went to him. “Are you okay? What am I saying, of course you’re not okay. You’re bleeding all over….”
“Sorry about your rug. And the pillow. I’ll have them cleaned.”
His concern was so ludicrous she would have laughed if she hadn’t started to cry. The situation was too familiar. Until this moment, she had never remembered anything about the accident that killed Jason. Now, hideous images flashed through her mind. She sank to the floor next to Griffin, sobbing hysterically.
“Hey, what’s all this?”
She grabbed on to his jean-clad leg and rested her cheek against his knee. “Please don’t die on me, Griffin.”
“I’m nowhere near dying. Everything’s okay. The bullet hit my arm. Lots of blood, but no vital organs.”
“I should do something. I should get you some bandages or…or apply pressure or something—” She tried to get up, but he held her next to him with a surprisingly strong grip on her shoulder, considering the injury to his arm. “I’m applying pressure. Paramedics are coming. Hear the sirens?”
She did, but they weren’t here yet. She clamped her eyes closed, but the awful visions wouldn’t leave her alone. Jason with the car compressed around him, his head against the broken windshield. His face covered in blood.
She tried to stop the blood, but it was like a waterfall and he wasn’t talking or moving. She needed help. But she couldn’t lay her hands on a cell phone, so she jumped out of the car and ran—
No one. The road had been deserted. She called for help until her throat was raw, then started running in her heels and her thin wool coat, slipping every few steps on the icy road surface, finally abandoning the shoes altogether and running in her stocking feet. She fell to her hands and knees, scraping the flesh from both.
Then, car lights, and someone wrapping a blanket around her. The warm backseat of a car, a cocoon of blessed forgetfulness…
“Raleigh, you okay?”
Was she okay? She snapped back to the present. Jason was dead, but here was a man alive and vital who needed her help.
“I’m sorry, Griffin.” She pulled away from him, despite his weakening grip on her. “Maybe you should lie down.”
“I don’t want to get any more of your things bloody.”
“For God’s sake, I don’t care about the furniture!”
He didn’t argue further and she helped him to the sofa, where he could at least lean back against the cushions.
“I’ll get some clean towels.” She forced herself to walk on wobbly legs to the bathroom and grab three bath towels from the linen cupboard.
When she returned, Griffin’s eyes were closed and his hold on the pillow had slackened. Copper sat on his lap, looking worried.
“Griffin?” She yanked the blood-soaked pillow away and wrapped one of the towels around his arm, which bore a ragged gash that continued to bleed.
“I’m still here,” he said.
Someone knocked at the door and she rushed to open it. Before she could say a word, police swarmed into her apartment, guns drawn. One of them shoved her against a wall and placed his body between her and any possible threat.
“Hey, hey, it’s over. The shooter is gone. Griffin—” She pointed to the sofa. “He’s been shot. Someone across the street—I’m not sure what happened.”
Cops yelled at each other and yammered into radios.
Then, stretchers and IV bags, men and women in blue uniforms, maybe firefighters? Copper barked at them all and no doubt would have nipped at a few of them if Raleigh hadn’t grabbed the dog and tucked him under her arm.
It was all such a blur. Raleigh was forced to leave her apartment and stand in the hallway with Copper while they made certain there was no further threat from the shooter. One uniformed officer asked her a bunch of questions, but all she could think to answer was, “I don’t know.”
The situation was so confusing Raleigh didn’t know what to do or how to behave. She’d been on the fringes of terrible crimes most of her adult life, but she’d never been in the middle of one like this.
“Is Griffin okay?” she asked every person who came out. Most of them didn’t seem to know, but finally one of the firefighters came out to tell her Griffin would survive.
“He’s lost some blood, but it doesn’t look like the bullet broke any bones or hit a major artery,” the female paramedic told her. “But he won’t consent to go to the hospital. Can you change his mind?”
“What? That idiot.” Here she was all bent out of shape because she thought he might die, and he was refusing help. She wanted to march right back into her apartment and give him a piece of her mind, but the cops wouldn’t allow her back in. Her lovely apartment, her oasis, was now officially a crime scene.
She was shocked a few minutes later when Griffin exited her apartment under his own steam, though he wasn’t moving very fast. He was shirtless, and a very large and thick white bandage decorated his left bicep.
The moment he saw her, he went to her and crushed her against him in a surprisingly strong bear hug.
“Are you okay?” he demanded.
“I’m fine.” His warm, bare skin felt good against her. “It’s you who got shot, in case you hadn’t noticed. I hear you won’t go to the hospital.”
“I told them I can’t leave until I’m sure you’re someplace safe. I promised you, when we left your office, that you would be safe and look what happened.”
She was touched by his attitude. He wasn’t being a macho, bullheaded male. He was trying to keep his word to her. “You saved my life. You took a bullet for me.”
