by Lori Foster
Audrey regained her balance and faced her one-time friend. Something was very, very wrong with Millie. Why had she never seen it before? “You’re out of control.”
“Go to hell, Audrey.” As she started away, she said, “And you can take your boyfriend with you!” With her back already to Audrey, she paused, then looked over her shoulder with a smile. “Unless he gets there before you.”
The way Millie said that, how she looked as if she knew a great secret, set off alarm bells in Audrey’s head. But how could Audrey hurt Brett? He was a man more capable than most, and Millie, though filled with hatred, was no match for his strength.
Head pounding, Audrey went to her car and got in. While she sat there, deciding what to do, the others filed out of the meeting room. Some were solemn, some chatting. Millie outright laughed, as if enlivened by her contemptible attack. Audrey watched them all drive away with a sense of finality. She’d spent years building a group that had morphed from community concern into something ugly and malicious, spearheaded by a fanatic.
She’d never wanted that. But because of her, so many had been hurt.
Sick at heart, Audrey pulled back onto the road. She called Brett again with the same result. He didn’t even want to hear her apology.
Maybe she should go see him, face to face. She had no idea where he’d be this time of the evening, but she could start at his apartment. He couldn’t reject her more hate-fully than her group just had.
But she knew, any rejection from Brett was going to feel a million times worse.
Cowardice urged her to wait until the morning to seek him out, but she couldn’t abide that decision. She’d made the mistakes; she had to own up to them. She was within minutes of finding much-needed solitude in her own apartment when she decided to turn around.
If Brett weren’t at his apartment, then she’d give up for the night.
But she would at least try to give him the sincere apology and explanation that he deserved.
At this time of year the sun set early. By the time Audrey reached Brett’s apartment building, thick gray clouds darkened the night even more. It had only been a half hour since she’d left the meeting room, and she still felt frazzled, her hands shaking and her stomach in knots.
The thought of an ugly confrontation with Brett wasn’t helping.
She pulled up to the curb in front of his building, drew several deep breaths, and opened her door. That was when she realized that people were clustered on the street, but she didn’t know why.
Until she saw the smoke.
Her chest tightened and her heart pounded. Brett’s building was on fire! And she didn’t see Brett anywhere.
Audrey ran for the two-story, run-down building, but was stopped by hard hands. After Millie’s manhandling, she was edgy enough to strike out. Luckily her automatic blow was blocked.
“Brett ain’t in there,” a young man told her as he released her and held up his hands. “He left a few hours ago for some bar.”
Her knees nearly gave out with relief. She recognized the youth as one of the residents who had greeted Brett before they’d gone into his apartment. “What happened?”
“Some asshole did a drive-by on us,” he said in disgust. “But instead of gunfire, he lobbed a gasoline-filled bottle right in through the big front window.”
Good God, someone could have been seriously hurt or even killed. “You all got out okay?”
“Yeah.” His expression darkened. “But we didn’t see who did it. We were all inside, playing the new SBC fighting game. By the time we got out here, he was long gone.”
Why would anyone do that? Audrey looked around and remembered what Brett had said about the area being rough and dangerous. This was likely a private dispute that had gone public in a big way.
But . . . she remembered that awful look on Millie’s face, what she’d said about Brett.
“When . . . when did it happen?”
“Few minutes before you pulled up. The gas spread over the porch and the front rooms so fast that it singed my damn eyebrows.”
Relieved that Brett wasn’t inside, Audrey asked, “Someone called the police or the fire department?”
He looked like she was nuts. “Uh . . . probably.”
Audrey started to relax—and then it hit her. “Spice,” she gasped. She looked back at the building. The fire wasn’t that bad yet; it was mostly on the front of the first floor. But choking smoke could kill as easily as flames could. “Oh, my God, Spice!”
The young man gave her another funny look. “My name is Huckman. Friends call me Huck.”
Panicked, she turned on poor Huckman. “Is there a way into Brett’s rooms?”
His brows crunched down. “You serious, lady? You want to break in?”
“No . . . yes. Brett has a cat. Oh, please, Huckman. He loves that cat! We have to do something or she’ll die.”
Eyes widening, Huckman said, “Come on. I know how I can get you in.”
As they ran around to the back of the building, distant sirens shattered the quiet of the night. Thank God, the fire department was on the way. But Audrey wasn’t willing to wait. Would firefighters put the life of one cat above their own safety? How could they?
Huckman took her through a back alley for the building. One street lamp provided enough light for her to see dumped refuse and scattered garbage.
“The fire escape goes up to his kitchen. But you’ll have to break the window yourself. I ain’t getting in no trouble for a cat.”
Audrey peered through the darkness in dismay. “I can’t reach it.” The fire escape ladder was raised and well out of her reach.
But that didn’t slow down the young man.
Huckman dragged over a trash can, upended it without remorse, and, using it for added height, jumped up and snagged the ladder.
It came down in a clatter that, to Audrey, sounded like gunfire, adding to her jumpiness.
Even here in the back alley, the smoke was horrible enough to burn her throat and eyes. Poor Spice. She had to be frantic.
It was tricky, but Audrey managed to climb up the rickety metal ladder to the kitchen window. Never in her life had she deliberately broken glass. She tried opening the window first, but Brett had it secured.
She looked down and found Huckman still there, looking up at her, watching with a bemused and awed set to his face. “How do I do this?”
He said, “Use your elbow,” and demonstrated with a quick jerking move of his arm.
Audrey nodded. Aligning her elbow with the window, she closed her eyes and mimicked his move. The glass shattered. Even as the sirens grew closer, she climbed over the jagged sill and into the apartment. She tried a light switch, but the electricity was out. Maybe the wires had burned. She could smell the stench of scorched fabric, wood, and paint. Smoke billowed around the room.
Making her way over to the kitchen doorway, she called out, “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty,” as loudly as she could. “Here, Spice. Come on, kitty.”
Audrey heard meowing seconds before Spice ran to her and twined around her legs. Luckily, the smoke wasn’t as bad low to the floor. Scooping up the cat and hugging her, Audrey said, “Thank God you’re okay.”
It was even trickier going down the ladder while holding a cat, but Spice cooperated. At the very end, she leaped out of Audrey’s arms, but Huckman grabbed her before she could get away. He held the cat in one arm and reached the other up to assist Audrey in getting down.
Once her feet were on solid ground again, Huckman asked, “You know where to find Brett?”
She hoped so. “I’ll take the cat to my apartment first. I think she’s been through enough.”
Spice’s eyes were huge and reflective in the darkness, filled with wariness. When Audrey took her back from Huckman, Spice sank her claws into Audrey’s arm. She just hugged the cat in relief, grateful that she was able to do this one small thing for Brett.
“If Brett shows up here, ask him to call me. Tell him that Spice is at my
apartment and that I’m going to Roger’s to look for him.”
Huckman grinned. “You’re all right, lady. You know that?”
After the night she’d had, his kindness brought tears to her eyes. Of course, he didn’t know that she was a part of WAVS, and Audrey wasn’t about to tell him. She’d had enough hatred spewed at her already. “Thank you.”
“Brett’s a lucky guy.”
Smile sad, Audrey turned away. “Somehow, I don’t think he sees it that way.”
CHAPTER 18
DREW looked at Gillian and saw the dark shadows under her eyes. Tendrils of her sleek black hair had loosened to frame her face. Even the bright blue of her eyes seemed faded.
Exhaustion pulled at her, obliterating her edge of sharp wit, dulling her vitality. Beside him in the car, she was half slumped, lost in thought, all but asleep.
And still, she was the most beautiful, sexy woman he’d ever known.
What she’d said to Fran and Loren . . . did she mean it? Could her opinion of him still be so complimentary?
“Your apartment,” he said, drawing her attention. “Is that your only place?”
His question amused her. “Unlike some people I could name, most of us don’t have multiple residences to choose from.”
“Should I take that bit of sarcasm to mean yes?”
“Yes, it’s the only place I live.” She put her head back against the seat. “I travel a lot with my job, so I’ve been all over the country, and on a few occasions, outside the country. But at the end of each assignment, I like to have one place to call home. The familiarity, the comfort of having everything just as I want it, that’s what home means to me.”
Her answer frustrated Drew. “So . . . you wouldn’t want to live anywhere else?”
She gave him a questioning look. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.”
Trying a roundabout way to get the reply he wanted, Drew asked, “Do you have family here?”
“They’re scattered. I have relatives an hour or so away, some that are out west, a few more to the south.” She shrugged. “We’re all resigned to traveling for visits.”
“So . . . what do you think of Vegas?”
“It’s great for gambling and live shows.” She yawned. “But Drew, we weren’t really there long enough for me to form any new opinions on it.”
“Yeah.” Frustration bit into him. “I’d meant to show you around a little. Dinner, a little nightlife, and then we could have gone to my house there.”
She studied him. “I can see you fitting right in with Los Angeles or Vegas.”
“I always thought so, too, that’s why I have houses in both cities. I like L.A. more, though.” And eventually, he did want to return there. “But it’s not bad here. I came to visit because, well, the fighters seemed to be congregating here.”
She laughed with him. “Once Havoc and Simon set up shop, the others followed?”
“Fighters will always gravitate to the best camps. I like to scope out new talent, so . . .” He shrugged. “Here I am.”
“I’m surprised you bought a house.”
“I like to be comfortable wherever I go.”
“You’re spoiled rotten.” Her grin morphed into another yawn.
He reached for her hand. “I’m damned sorry you got dragged into all this.”
Her smile was a pale imitation of her usual vitality. “I’m a big girl, Drew. I can handle it.”
“But you shouldn’t have to.” Figures that the one time he wanted to impress a woman, he’d instead gotten her fired, brought a lunatic’s revenge down on her, and run her ragged. They stopped at a light, and he turned to look at her. “I’ve been thinking about this mess.”
One brow lifted. “Come to any conclusions?”
“Yeah. We need to do a phone conference.”
The sooner he settled this bullshit, the sooner he could concentrate on getting Gillian enmeshed into his life—on a permanent basis. He didn’t like leaving anything to chance. If he waited too long, she might make plans for moving on without him even knowing it.
“I want to tie in with my Internet guy, some reporters, maybe even ESPN. I want stuff posted all over the Web, in the papers, and on TV if I can manage it.”
“When?”
“Soon as possible. Tonight sometime.”
Slowly, Gillian straightened and turned to him as much as the seat belt would allow. “You can arrange it that quickly?”
He gave her a look. “Yeah, no problem.”
She drew a tired breath. “Is this where I should remind you that Fran said no press conferences?”
“I know what she said, but she’s wrong. The garbage thrown out there about Brett is wrong. The threats are wrong.” He drew a breath. “I’m going to attack Millie Christian worse than she ever thought possible.”
To his surprise, Gillian didn’t shy away from that ferocious suggestion. She pondered it, nodding slowly, and then—she agreed.
“You want to draw her out, right?”
Damn, she was smart. Not much got by Ms. Gillian Noode. “And deflect the focus. If that crazy bitch thought I was harsh last time, she hasn’t seen anything yet. But I won’t lie, Gillian. Every damn word I say about her will be true. And it’ll be enough to bring her to her knees.”
“Or make her crack?”
“Exactly.”
“With your particular spin on it, I don’t doubt it.” Gillian’s mouth twitched. “You do have a way with four-letter words.”
He gave one hard nod. “Release me from my promise to tone it down in public.”
Gillian snorted. “Like that promise slowed you down anyway.”
Very serious, Drew said, “What you think is important to me, so yeah, it slowed me down.” He half grinned. “I did try, honey. If I wasn’t always successful, well, you have to give me credit for effort.”
Either she didn’t get his sincerity or she chose to ignore it, because when the light changed to green, she went right back to talking about the press conference.
“If you want me to set up the conference call, I’ll need some names and numbers.”
Warmth filtered through Drew, helping to ease his anger at the current situation. Helplessness sucked, and that was how it all made him feel: helpless. He was a control freak and he knew it. He accepted it about himself. And as such, it wasn’t easy for him to be around most people, especially when furious.
But Gillian . . . she not only softened his edge of rage with her mere presence, she sort of took him in stride and assisted where she could.
“Tell you what, we’re still an hour from my house. Why don’t you nap and I’ll make the arrangements?” His phone was practically an extension of his body, but it was programmed to be hands-free in the car. He could easily drive and make calls at the same time.
“I can’t nap while you do all the work.”
He went from holding her hand to smoothing over her thigh. “I need you rested up.”
“Why?”
His muscles tightened with the now familiar mix of burning lust and tender emotion. A potent combo, at least for his libido.
“Several reasons.” But only one that really mattered to him. “Brett’s not answering his cell, so I have to do a face-to-face with him. Just as the Powers That Be don’t want me working for another fight organization, I don’t want Brett fighting for anyone but us.”
“He’s that good?”
“Championship material, yeah. I want you with me when I hunt him down.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want you out of my sight until the danger is over. But also because you’re a good influence.”
She made a very unladylike sound of skepticism.
Drew let that slide. Later, he’d convince her of how she affected him. “It could take a few hours, depending on how pissed Brett is and how determined he is to cut out on the SBC and me. And I can’t go looking for him until after we do the press bit, so it could end up being late.”
Oh, hell, she’d be of use to him, all right. Gillian had the unique ability to distract him from business. He wanted her enough that being with her could easily become a priority.
Drew curved his hand to cup more of her soft inner thigh. So hot and smooth . . .
“Actually, I’m afraid you’ll be too tired to say yes when, after we iron out all this shit, I want to strip you naked and spend an hour or two making you scream.”
“Oh. When you put it like that . . .” Gillian’s blue eyes heated like the center of a flame. She drew a short, shuddering breath. “Perhaps I should nap just a little. After all, I take great pride in my . . . performance. I’ll need some rest to be at my best.”
With that sexual taunt thrown out there, she turned into the passenger door, got cozy, and closed her eyes.
But Drew saw the smile on her lips.
Yeah, Gillian was easy, all right. Easy to talk to, easy to joke with, to work with.
And very easy to love.
GIDDY with recent accomplishments, Millie sat at her desk and opened up the browser. She couldn’t stop chuckling as she remembered the horrified look of shock on Audrey’s face.
How dare that bitch choose Brett over her? Screwing the guy was one thing; she had nothing against that. A stud should never be wasted. Like that photographer loser . . .
He’d been so anxious to please, so titillated at the idea of joining her in her efforts to expose Drew Black for the bastard she knew him to be. But he’d proven too stupid to risk having around.
It was bad enough that he’d botched the bomb threat. But he’d almost let Drew catch him taking photographs, too. That was something she couldn’t allow. Loose lips sank ships, and really, who’d miss that creep anyway?
It sucked that she hadn’t gotten the photographs first, but eventually they’d be released.
For a little while there, Millie had considered Dickey Thompson as a possible conspirator. Even with his cauliflower ears, he was gorgeous, built like steel, and he looked like he could go all night long. After his girlfriend dumped him, he should have been easy pickings.
