by Cindy Stark
"I'm trying to get us out of here before the cops flood the city." Although the shooting was over, tension still strung along each of Max's words, belying the calm manner in which he drove.
"Pull over."
Apparently, the brute was in command, because the car slowed to a stop. The driver got out, and Allie's head fell back as the door opened behind her.
Max looked down into her eyes and smiled. It wasn't a kind smile, though. In fact, there wasn't any emotion behind it at all. He was a few years older than her and wore a baseball hat backward that partially covered his sandy blond hair. She found him attractive in a powerful kind of way—sort of like a moth might find a light bulb. "Well, you've got yourself into a bind, haven't you?"
Was there a sneer to his tone? "I guess I have," she answered, stiffening as he placed his hands under her armpits. She wanted to remind him she'd been forced into the car and onto the floor, but it might be best to not make enemies at the moment.
"Quit flirting with her, Max."
She shifted her gaze to the muscled man who knelt over her, and she wondered where that remark had come from. She didn't think Max had been flirting. In fact, if anything, he seemed annoyed he had to stop the car to help her.
Her rescuer's hands slipped to the underside of her bare legs. He was a few years older, too, and even better looking than Max. His rough fingers grazed the backs of her thighs and, once again, she found she couldn't look away from him. This time, the dome light in the car gave her a better look at his features. Dark hair, military short. Stubble shadowed his jaw. His lips were set in a thin line, and a hard look hovered in his midnight, mesmerizing eyes.
She focused there as Max tightened his grip under her arms. She needed the comfort she'd found moments before when the shots had been whizzing past their heads.
"You got her?" Her brute's gaze didn't waver from hers.
"Got her," Max answered.
"Okay, lift."
Allie bit back a cry as the two men pulled her from between the seats. "Oh, God," she said as she finally sat upright on the backseat, grasping her injured arm with her now free hand. "It's—"
She pulled her hand away and gasped again. The too-familiar sticky feeling threatened to send her over the edge. It was like Joey. Just like Joey. She held her shaking, red-stained hand out in front of her as her eyes began to blur. Was it her blood or Joey's? She suddenly remembered she needed to get help for him. "Joey's going to die." She looked at the brute, feeling more and more helpless. "Am I going to die?"
"Shit." The man next to her pulled her favorite black jacket down her arm as he cursed. "She's been hit."
Why had she worn that jacket anyway? It had been so warm out. She really hadn't needed it. And now it had a big gaping hole in the fabric. Just like her life.
The inside of the car tilted, and she reached out, trying to grab something to steady her.
Max caught her hands, holding them. "There's glass stuck in her," he said, sounding as though he was talking through a tunnel.
"Get us out of here, Max. She's going into shock."
She slipped toward the voice next to her as a car door slammed shut.
"I'm on it, Jase."
Jase? She mumbled and winced as someone prodded her injured arm. "Where's Joey?" She leaned against the body next to her, finding the comfort she'd been searching for. Warm arms circled around her, pulling her close.
It was Joey. He was here. He'd keep her safe. She let herself fade into oblivion.
CHAPTER TWO
Jase Tyler looked down at the dark-haired woman lying limp in his arms. An unwelcome feeling of helplessness gripped him. It was something he hadn't felt since he'd watched his family struggle for their lives. Something that had no place in his world now.
Strength. Power. Cunning. Those were the key words he lived by. Not weak and vulnerable. They would get him dead.
If he were smarter, he would have left the woman on the street, an unfortunate casualty of being involved with known mobsters. Things like that happened in their city. He'd been able to keep his edge the last couple of years by remaining detached. The last thing he needed was to claim responsibility for a woman who reminded him he had a soul. But he'd be damned if he'd let the Trasatti family claim another life.
He ignored the blood running down his arm and steeled his emotions as he listened to Max call ahead to arrange medical care. If they hurried, she'd be fine. He wasn't nearly as worried about his own gunshot wound as he was about hers. Both of them needed attention, but the woman he held had definitely gone into shock.
Doc Green would fix her up, just like he'd done for Jase a million times over. Then Jase would help her get some place out of the line of fire.
Jase knew her name was Allie and that she lived just off Fremont Street. Men in his business had to know the players and everyone associated with them. Still, he hadn't paid much attention to her, considering the fact her boyfriend was a fairly new pawn in the game.
Her dark hair had fallen over her face and lay in a puddle in his lap. He thought of the bright green eyes that hid behind her silken hair and closed eyelids.
Innocent. That's what her eyes had conveyed to him as they'd stared at each other, hiding from the flying bullets. Innocent about life. Innocent of the drug schemes that were rampant in this part of the city. Young and innocent. She certainly didn't belong in the middle of a drug war. Unfortunately, she was associated with someone who'd jumped head first into that dangerous world.
Her boyfriend, Joey. He was another story. "What's up with the hit tonight?" Jase asked, as Max put away his cell phone. Max was as seasoned as he was. Together, they'd become a festering thorn in the side of the Trasatti family, among others in Chicago. Maybe his sidekick could provide the link. "Why the kid? Why now?"
"That's exactly what I'm wondering." Max glanced at Jase in the rearview mirror before turning on to Harbor Avenue. They'd almost made it to their warehouse that sat along the Chicago River in the north end of the city.
"He wasn't a player and not much of a threat to any of the families around here. Hell, Trasatti, himself, probably didn't even know he existed." He shifted Allie in his arms, trying to keep her from falling completely onto his lap. The soft scent of a musky perfume caught his attention, and he leaned his head closer to hers for a second whiff. Damn. In spite of everything, he had a hard time ignoring the fact that he found her attractive. "He was a punk kid running a few deliveries."
Max paused before answering. "Actually, he was a little more than that."
That surprised Jase. "Really?" The sound of sirens in the distance was not a good sign.
Max must have noticed, too, but he kept driving at an even pace so they wouldn't attract any attention. Good thing the cover of darkness hid the bullet holes in the car and hopefully the shattered back window. "Joey Pagano was the best friend of Trasatti's grandson. I think Trasatti had plans to make them a team." Max glanced in the rearview mirror. "You know what I mean?"
Jase narrowed his eyes, gazing at the back of Max's hat. "Why didn't you say something before?"
"I just heard about it this morning." He slowed and turned into the open bay. As soon as the car was inside, one of their men closed the aluminum door behind them. "I hadn't had time to check my sources, and the next thing I knew, we got the tip on the possible hit tonight. I had no idea it would be Joey Pagano. By the time I realized who it was, bullets were flying."
"Shit, Max." He shook his head. "I need to know this stuff before it happens."
Max continued driving slowly through the long cement building before coming to a stop. The warehouse workers used forklifts to move pallets of wooden crates in the wake they'd left behind them, making it seem as though no car could have made it any farther than the front area. The cops would need a search warrant in order to find anything to connect them to the shooting.
Max came around and opened Jase's door. Before he could remove Allie from the car, he heard Mario Giambetti talking behind hi
m. "They're a block away, boss. You'd better hurry."
Jase met Max's gaze before scooping Allie into his arms. He carried her to a waiting golf cart and held her as he sat on the passenger side. Max, once again, took the driver's seat. Jase held Allie tight against him as Max drove them farther into the warehouse between towers of boxed up products, before stopping in front of a dead-end wall. Two warehouse men pushed a huge rack of boxes out of the way to reveal an entryway just large enough for the golf cart. The rack appeared to be a permanent fixture too heavy to move, but a closer look showed it to be on wheels, filled with empty boxes.
Jase had learned a long time ago that most people never looked too far beyond the surface.
The light dimmed as the workers moved the rack back in place, sealing them in the hidden tunnel that ran inside the rear wall. Only a few lights along the edge lit their way.
It had not been an easy thing, hiding a passageway and an accompanying apartment in an existing warehouse along the waterfront, but it had come in handy on more than one occasion.
* * *
Light behind Allie's eyelids brought her slowly awake. She blinked several times, trying to clear the fog from her brain. Everything was fuzzy and scattered, and...where the hell was she?
Not in her bedroom, that was for sure. But her limbs were so heavy, and she couldn't think straight. She gave into the woozy feeling and let her eyes close.
She rested for a moment, enjoying the warm, comfortable bed. It was nice. So nice. Mmm... But not hers—the unwelcome thought popped into her head, jolting her back to consciousness. She forced herself to focus on a wooden dresser several feet away, trying to remember how she'd gotten there. But nothing made sense.
The beige walls were blank slates. All she could see out the half-open blinds was blue sky. And the large potted palm sitting in the corner was a foreigner. Everything was so beige—the bed, the walls, everything. Beige and boring.
She shut her eyes again. Maybe it was a dream. Dreams were like that, weren't they? Weird things that didn't make sense. Strange houses. Strange people. She snuggled deeper into her pillow, ready to let herself fall back to sleep. If she were truly awake anyway.
A growl brought her eyes open wide. A furry, black blob jumped up on the bed next to her as she sucked in a surprised breath. The dog stood with his nose only inches from hers, watching her with liquid brown eyes, an orange ball clenched in its teeth. Before she could react, it growled again, the sound muffled by the ball. This time it didn't seem so fierce. With a low bark, the large pup dropped the rubber ball on her chest.
Her furry visitor watched each movement she made as she picked up the ball and tossed it off the bed. The dog leapt through the air and bounded after it. Before she could settle back in, the cute canine returned with the ball in its mouth. It growled and dropped it on her again.
Allie smiled. Her friend was black with a white chest. Its front paws had been dipped in the same white paint. She reached out and ruffled the dog's chest, enjoying the way its fur felt against her fingertips. He was sweet and soft.
The gauze on her hands stopped her. She turned her palms toward her, trying to remember why they were bandaged.
"He'll never stop if you keep playing with him."
She jerked her head toward the husky voice coming from a chair in the corner of the room near the head of the bed. Her vision swam from her quick movements, but slowly a familiar face came into view. He had the most hauntingly beautiful dark eyes. Allie swallowed her surprise. He'd been in the room with her the whole time. "You."
"Get down, Boo." The man watched her as the dog lowered his ears and jumped to the floor. "Do they hurt?" He nodded at her bandaged hands.
"No." She wondered if she should be alarmed, being alone in the same room with a strange man, but her fear was quickly replaced by a fuzzy, disoriented feeling. She bent her fingers. "Well, maybe a little."
Allie looked back at the man. "I'm sorry. This is all a little unreal to me." Memories of the previous night—crazy memories hovered at the edge of her mind. "You were there..."
She tried to hold them back, but looking into his eyes brought everything to the surface. "Joey?" She whispered the name as tears sprung to her eyes. "He's dead?"
She already knew the answer, but watching the man confirm it with a nod of his head broke her heart.
"Why would someone kill him?" She brought a hand to her face, trying to steady herself and the dizzying room.
"Consider who he was associated with. It happens to drug dealers." The man shrugged. "Occupational hazard, it goes with the job."
"No." She didn't want to hear that. "No, not Joey." But she knew it was true. She'd avoided recognizing the signs, but deep down, she knew he was involved in some bad things. "He was a good guy."
"Not as good as you might think."
"And we were...shot, too, weren't we?" The lump in her throat thickened as she tried to contain her tears. Joey had been murdered last night, and she and the man sitting next to her almost had been, too. "You saved me." God. It was too much to think about.
She flicked a glance at her left arm, remembering the moment when she'd realized she'd been shot. Her arm had been wrapped in gauze as well. The sight of her injury brought a dull thud which began to throb. She sat up farther in bed, the action making her woozy.
"Slow down." The stranger moved over and sat on the bed. "The painkillers Doc Green gave you are going to make you a little off-balance."
Painkillers? Would they hurt her baby? "What did he give me?"
"I'm not sure." He studied her with solemn eyes. "I'd have to check the bottle."
She nodded. There was a lot to think about. A lot to process from the previous night, but she couldn't do it right now. She needed to get her feet back under her first.
She caught him watching her. He seemed wary of what she'd say or do. That was understandable, she supposed. They didn't know each other and both had been through a traumatic night.
Feeling uncomfortable under his scrutiny, she dropped her gaze. It fell squarely on well-sculpted muscles that were showcased by his tight T-shirt. He was built like he was made of steel. Power radiated off him even in his relaxed state.
How did a girl ignore muscles like that? She'd noticed his hard body last night, remembered pressing herself against him in the car. And he'd felt good. Safe.
Blowing out a breath, she forced her gaze away, catching sight of the matching gauze wrap on his left arm. The reminder brought her emotions back to the surface. The horrible images wouldn't stay away.
She put her hands to her face, wiping tears with her fingertips. Her emotions were raw, open. She needed to clear away the fuzziness so she could think of what to do. "I need to go home now." She needed to get out of that stupid beige room before her heart broke wide open, and she flooded the bed with her fears and sorrow. She needed a corner to crawl into where she could grieve in private. Plus, she had to find out where they'd taken Joey's body. His mother would be devastated.
"You can't leave." Her rescuer's expression was earnest, concerned, but his words threatened her.
"What do you mean, I can't leave? Am I a hostage or something?" She'd just begun to think she could trust him. She pushed the blanket off and rolled until her feet hit the floor. She was pretty good natured until people tried to force her to do things like Aunt Rita had, and then she fought back.
The room tilted and her knees threatened to buckle under her. She grabbed the bedpost for support. Before she could steady herself enough to move, the man was at her side, putting a strong arm around her, his chest against her back.
"Come on. Sit." He pulled her down next to him. "You're in no condition to go anywhere."
He was right. The spinning room made her nauseous and oh... The helplessness of her situation was the last straw. Her life was a mess. The floodgates opened and tears coursed down her face.
She didn't fight him when he pulled her tighter into his arms. There was no holding back the painful sobs
any longer. Joey was gone. Her life, her plans for the future destroyed. She couldn't go back to her aunt's now and pretend things were okay. Nothing was okay. The police would be looking for her. The mob wanted to kill her. At the moment, it was more than she could handle.
At some point, the stranger managed to hand some tissues to her. Time passed and her crying slowed and then stopped. She sucked in a breath to gather herself.
"You've had a bad shock." He handed her a fresh tissue and then rested his hand on her forearm. He seemed to rethink his action and wrapped his arm around her instead. "I know how you feel." His voice was raspy, raw with emotion. She lifted her face and met his tortured gaze. "I've lost people I loved, too," he said, tucking her head under his chin as though to avoid her scrutiny. "It was a long time ago. Yours—this—it brings it all back."
Without thinking, she slid her arms around his waist, ignoring the tenderness from her wound. She couldn't explain why, but she wanted...no, needed to hold him close. She would never have guessed the strong man who'd tossed her over his shoulder like a ragdoll and had fired back against deadly bullets had a heart. "It's okay." She said it, but she didn't believe it. Nothing would ever be okay again.
He held her for a few moments more and then pulled away as he stood, his expression once again composed. There was no remaining sign of the angst he'd just shared with her.
She'd have to learn to bury her emotions, too.
"It's almost noon," he said, making a point of looking at the bedside clock. "You hungry?"
"Not really." Her raging emotions had stolen her appetite. She wondered if she'd ever feel like eating again. She tucked her long bangs behind her ear. "What I really want is a shower." Cold water on her puffy eyes and lots of hot water coursing down her body. It wouldn't take away the pain, but she needed to do something normal.
Someone had washed the obvious blood—hers and Joey's—from her body, but she still felt the taint from the previous night. More than anything, she wished she could change her clothes and burn the white tank top and skirt that still had smudges of blood on them. She started to wonder where her jacket had ended up and then realized it didn't matter. It was no good with a bullet hole in it.
