They’d been friends for about twenty years, first meeting at the FBI Academy. When Zane left after a few years in the program, he’d gone to fly for a major freight company. Next thing Jonas heard, he’d bought an Internet stock low, sold it high, and left the risky world of rain-snow-sleet deliveries-via-wing-and-prayer to start his own airline business—such as it was.
“Stuff it, Hunter,” Zane grumbled. “I’m supposed to do more at this stage than sit here and grow mold.”
Betty asked Jonas, “Do you think he should go in for X-rays? He fell so hard on his arm.”
“Oh, he’s probably gained enough weight since sitting around on his big butt to have buffered any threat to those bones,” Jonas told her, enjoying the murderous look his friend shot him. “What do you think, old man? Want us to haul you down to the clinic for that? Where does it hurt most?”
“In my ego.”
“Chronic but not terminal,” Betty said to Jonas.
“Then if you don’t mind, I’ll scram,” Jonas said to both of them. “I just meant to poke my head in to ask if I could borrow the car for a while longer?”
“Of course.” Ignoring Zane’s narrow-eyed scrutiny, Betty patted Jonas’s arm. “It’s about time you took some time to enjoy yourself. He sure won’t need it tonight.” To her husband she added, “I’m going to make you some tortilla soup.”
Watching her leave, Zane’s expression went from pained to determined. “Quick,” he whispered when she was gone. “Get me that bottle of tequila on the bar.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“You would if you’d tasted her soup.”
Jonas chuckled. “I’ll pour you a drink, but then you’re on your own.”
Chapter Seven
The house was too quiet. Why weren’t there any squad cars here yet? Alyx would never have thought to venture out of her car, let alone knock at the door, but there was only Cassandra’s white Toyota Camry in the driveway. Maybe it was all over and Cassie’s estranged husband had been hauled off to jail?
“Cass?”
Hearing nothing, Alyx tested the doorknob. It turned easily. That would be like her client to be so shaken by Douglas that she forgot to lock up after he’d been taken away by the police.
Stepping inside, she called again, “Cassandra? It’s Alyx—are you all right?”
The prolonged silence was unnerving, yet she took a second step inside, and from the corner of her left eye saw a dark spot on the floor…a dark spot that was expanding. Just as that spot registered in her mind as blood, Alyx heard sirens.
Sirens only now?
When they’d talked earlier, Douglas was beating on the door, and she’d told Cass to hang up immediately and call 911 to initiate the GPS tracking. Then as she’d run to her car—leaving Dylan’s swearing-in ceremony—she’d called 911, too, to back up that alert.
With the dreaded realization that her client probably hadn’t had time for that call, Alyx rushed around the counter corner only to stop in midstep as the contents of her stomach lurched up into her throat.
“Oh, God! Cassie—”
The door shut behind her with an eerie click.
Spinning around, Alyx saw Douglas Conroe, soaked in his estranged wife’s blood…and the knife he’d used on her was gripped in his right hand.
He was six feet tall and well over two hundred pounds; the idea of fighting Doug was laughable. Alyx knew her best chance was escape, or to keep him from inflicting too much damage before the police reached them.
“Always conniving,” he sneered.
“Put the knife down, Douglas. The police will be easier with you if you surrender willingly.”
“You think I care? I’m here to finish business.”
Alyx wanted to run, but her feet refused to cooperate. She wanted to scream, but no willpower she possessed could force anything past the block of terror shutting her throat.
“No—” she thought as he stepped toward her. Spinning away, she swept up a casserole dish. For a moment Douglas hesitated. She knew he expected her to throw it at him, but an inexplicable inspiration made her throw it with all of her might at the kitchen window. Shards of glass and pottery flew inside and out and the noise startled her as much as it did Cassandra’s husband. Please let that get the police in here faster, she thought.
With his glazed eyes seething hatred, Douglas lunged at her.
Alyx screamed and dodged to get out of his reach, then found the strength to run, but misjudged the corner and banged her hip so hard the pain stole her breath as badly as it threw her off balance. That was all Douglas needed to drive the knife into her shoulder.
The pain all but dropped her to her knees. Blindly grabbing at whatever was in reach, she threw it back at him. That was enough to make him back off a moment and she ran again. But he wasn’t thwarted for long.
“No!” she screamed again and again as he slashed repeatedly. She was going to die. Knew she was going to…
“Alyx, stop! It’s me—it’s me!”
Suddenly Jonas was before her, gripping her wrists and gasping for breath—and there was blood, blood on him, too!
“Did you kill him?”
“It’s all right, Alyx. You were dreaming.”
Blinking, she glanced around. At first she didn’t recognize the room, but then she saw the cactus sculpture on the coffee table that Parke had created. She wasn’t in Texas. Yet even as embarrassment set in, she focused on the confusion about why Jonas was here.
She reached for his face. “You’re bleeding…”
“The glass fought back.”
“What?”
“Bad joke.” Grimacing, he sat down beside her on the couch and without asking for permission wrapped his arms around her. “I’d just arrived and heard your screams—I’m sorry. I thought the worst and broke in. Don’t worry, the window will be replaced as soon as I clean up.”
She had no doubt his word was good, she was simply trying to figure out something. Easing away from him, she searched his face again. “But what are you doing here?”
He averted his eyes and busied himself, using his shirt to wipe the blood trickling down his arm and fingers. “It was one of those things.” Rubbing harder, he admitted, “I felt funny.”
“As in, I’m going to find this hilarious?”
“More like having a feeling that you weren’t okay.”
What an odd admission, since they’d both agreed during one of their rare, deeper conversations that didn’t involve foreplay that they didn’t buy into the precognitive, hocuspocus stuff. With a nod toward the hallway she said, “Please, let’s get you cleaned up. You have to be in pain, too. Do you think any of the cuts are going to need stitches?”
“A couple of pressure bandages should do the trick.” Despite his injuries, Jonas offered a hand to help her to her feet. “Alyx, you’re still in shock, but you need to reassure Grace,” he said when they were close enough to exchange breaths. “She ran from the room when I burst in.”
Grace—of course! Alyx gained strength from having something else to focus on. “Poor girl. Everything is upside down for her. We haven’t had enough time to really bond, and I’m not a coddling type to begin with.”
She admired Grace’s record as a racer, but she’d never had the delusions that Parke did—that a dog bred just for running fast would be a good companion, never mind protect its second, third—or was it fourth?—owner in the presence of harm? Thank goodness the question still didn’t need answering.
“Alyx, could we save the introspection for when I’m not ruining your cousin’s furniture on top of her entryway?”
Startled again out of her stupor, Alyx led the way down the hall. In the glistening pine-and-brass-adorned bathroom, she got a roll of paper towels out of a cabinet for Jonas, knowing he would be loathe to use one of her cousin’s honey-and-cream towels. From another cabinet she got out peroxide, antibiotic ointment and bandages. “I’ll be back in a minute to help you with that,” she said bef
ore dashing down the hall again to check on Grace.
“Take your time,” Jonas called behind her.
Alyx found Grace on Parke’s bed with her nose tucked under the pillows.
“Oh. Gracious, Grace, I am sorry.” Alyx sat down beside her and stroked her back. There was no missing the subtle trembling she felt there. “I know I must have scared you witless and then to see the glass break, too…You want your lady back in the worst way. I wish I could bring her home to you sooner. But I promise you that I’ll do my best to do better until she’s here, okay?”
The dog sighed, then after a moment lifted her head and looked at Alyx. Alyx didn’t know when she’d seen a more sincere attempt to convey entreaty.
“I swear if you actually spoke right now, I wouldn’t need a translator,” she told her. “Yes, I meant what I said. Let me go help Jonas and I’ll get you a biscuit. Want a biscuit?”
Grace bounded off the bed and trotted to the kitchen.
Alyx followed and at the bathroom door said, “Only one more minute. How’s the bleeding?”
“Haven’t run completely out yet.”
The man intended to go down a comedian. “I’m giving her a treat since she’s willing to forgive me.”
“Sure.”
As she continued down the hallway, Alyx felt heat flood places that had felt dead for months. She’d definitely made herself forget that Jonas Hunter was eye candy in his so-obvious government employee suit and double that in any state of undress. Passing the open door and seeing him naked from the waist up had stirred her temperature to where she was wondering if she’d already begun those menopausal hot flashes.
“Biscuits…focus on doggie treats.” She got two treats for Grace and as an afterthought added ice cubes to the canine’s water bowl. Parke had informed her that Grace liked ice water as much as humans did, plus the colder temperatures reduced the growth of bacteria in this warm environment.
Assured the dog was content for the moment, Alyx forced herself to return to Jonas. But a second glance at the mess in the entryway was keeping her stressed and uneasy.
How could she not have wakened as he’d broken in? She had to have been deep in sleep, which didn’t bode well for her state of mind. It also wouldn’t be easy to replace that custom-cut frosted pane beside the door.
Upon entering the bathroom, she saw he was dressed again, but in the half-soaked shirt. The navy-blue color might have hidden it, but she knew that there’d been a good deal of blood in it. “You don’t have to do that,” she told him. “Take that shirt off and let’s clean it properly. I’m sure that I can find you something else to wear while it dries.”
“It’ll do that quickly enough once I’m outside,” he told her with equal casualness. “But if you could help with the gauze to wrap this arm bandage, I’d appreciate that. I’m clearly short a couple of hands.”
There was an understatement. She could already see signs of bleeding through the pads. Dropping all pretenses that she could take this in stride, she stayed his hand. “Jonas—this doesn’t look good. I’d feel so much better if you let me take you to the clinic.”
“I’ll go have Zane’s wife, Betty, do it.”
Why was he being like this? “All right, all right. It’s your blood. Excuse me for being concerned.”
Jonas settled back against the vanity and cradled his elbow on the arm wrapped around his waist. “I appreciate that, but it’s not bad. More important is that you don’t—”
“Don’t what?”
“Well, regress.”
As soon as he spoke those words, he wished he could take them back. The back stiffening would have been enough to sound internal alarms, but when that was followed by her arching her eyebrows, Jonas considered tearing off the bandages to let himself bleed to death. It might be an easier end.
“I had a bad dream,” she enunciated quietly. “They come less frequently than before, thank you. How is that sabotaging myself?”
Jonas closed his eyes. “I’m male. I never get it right the first time. You’re the gifted orator. What do I say to fix this?”
“You say nothing…and you let Defense hug you to keep you from injuring yourself further.”
Who was he to pass up a directive like that? Relieved that she wasn’t ordering him out, he carefully embraced her, concerned that some bleed-through would stain her buttery-yellow silk shirt.
Then he stopped worrying. Feeling her womanly curves against him reminded him of why he’d spent a small bundle over Thanksgiving and Christmas on airline tickets to be with her, although she’d kept insisting that she wouldn’t be getting into a serious relationship with him or anyone. All she’d offered was sex, which had been terrific, but increasingly not enough to him. He’d never challenged or argued with her. His MO had been discreetly to win more of her time.
“What is that scent you wear?” he finally had to ask. The memory of it had been haunting him for all of the months that they’d been apart; however, when she just stared at him, he was forced to ask, “What?”
“I’m not sure whether you really mean that or you think you need to be nice?”
Since when did a compliment deserve such scrutiny? “That’s no question to ask.”
“Then you’ve been living in a closet. These days when most men mention a woman’s scent it’s to complain that it’s too strong.”
“That can’t be true.”
“Excuse me, it happened to me. The last time I flew somewhere, I had a discreet touch to my wrists and behind my knees that I’d put on almost two hours earlier—”
Jonas felt his body react to the sensual mention of touching a perfume stopper to the backs of her knees. He already knew from experience where she’d put fragrance and suspected he dreamed about it as well.
“—but as I stood in line at the airport, some smart-mouth right behind me trying to impress his buddy started talking about perfumes. Smells he could stand and the clogging of his nostrils that was—and I quote—‘about to kill him.’”
“Not everyone is gifted in verbal expression.”
“Smelled.”
“Did you at least pay for his funeral?”
“No, but I did take a long look at him to make sure he wasn’t a former client’s ex—just in case I needed to worry about a sham restraining order. Then I told him—with admirable restraint—that if his head wasn’t stuck where it was, the equipment he was born with would operate with greater reliability.”
This Jonas believed. Aside from being a she-tiger when it came to defending her clients, Alyx didn’t handle males being fools in public well, either—but she sure seemed to attract her share of them. “Did he grasp what you were telling him?”
“No.” Then she smiled. “But the man who was seeing him off—no doubt having endured his own experiences with him—put a hand over the jerk’s mouth and said, ‘Trust me. Go…and live to speak of this another day.’”
“Not only a wise man, but one with a sense of humor.” Jonas couldn’t always tell whether she was being delightful to put him at ease, or scarily honest. “Well, my vital signs are at your mercy, but regardless, your scent is lovely. I liked it from the first and I’ve missed it.”
Alyx gave him another skeptical look, but offered, “It’s an old faithful. Number five.”
“Chanel? No wonder I keep having visions of Audrey Hepburn and Grace Kelly movies. I’m a sucker for the old romantic classics.”
She leaned closer to whisper into his ear, “Personally, I can’t get enough serial-killer flicks, particularly the night before a court appearance.”
When she also eased out of his arms and put some distance between them, Jonas came to the conclusion that he’d perfected his lady-killer, Cary Grant–persona at the cost of making him poisonous to a certain kind of woman—the woman that he was realizing, with increased certainty, he wanted. Who would have thought that flattery would be a bad thing?
Smart enough to resist trying to resume the hug, he replied, “My hunch is that
you’d prefer Hitchcock, but when do you have time for that? I remember your house having towers of case files piled all over.”
“Ah, well, I have to confess…I would keep some boxes of closed cases in closets to lay out in case a boring or no-holds-barred bad date needed a stronger hint to leave.”
Jonas didn’t want to think of how long the confession list might be. “Stop anytime you want to.”
Taking up the roll of gauze, Alyx replied, “After I add that maybe with you the stacked work was current.”
“Nice save.”
“And you were by far the least annoying dinner date.”
She was wicked and enjoyed every second of it. He could see how her thick eyelashes fluttered as she fought her desire to see what he thought of her every poke at his ego.
Brushing her hair behind her shoulder so he could keep analyzing her, Jonas felt compelled to disclose a little of what he suspected. “You try so hard to be a hard case.”
“I am a bit off my stride. But don’t think I won’t be back in rare form soon enough.”
He wanted to laugh, knowing that was a truth for sure. Yet a sigh came first. “You scared the crap out of me, Alyx. I mean when I heard you scream a few minutes ago.”
“Well, apparently I scared myself, too.”
“Will you let me in on what prompted that dream?”
Frowning, she immediately set to attending to the wound on his forearm. “I would if I knew.”
“Does that mean you’re not ready to tell me yet?”
“This bandage may be too tight.”
“I think the consensus is the tighter the better.”
“Good. But I don’t know if flying is going to be a smart idea for the next day or so. Is there much muscle strain in handling those planes?”
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Jonas, good pilots are in graveyards all over the blessed planet.”
He caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Alyx—keep dodging if you want, but I’ll keep asking the question.”
“Okay, okay.” She drew a deep breath as though preparing for an aria, only to yield with a sigh. “There wasn’t anything negative; in fact, this week I was heartened that I seemed to be doing so much better, not only with rehab, but I haven’t been waking in the middle of the night in a cold sweat.”
The Last Man She'd Marry Page 8
