by Davis, Jo
Her heels slipped on the steps and she lost her balance, tumbling, landing hard on her back. Without hesitating, she rolled to her hands and knees, pushed up, and ran. As fast as she could in the damned dress and high-heeled shoes, wishing they were sneakers and jeans.
Fumbling with the car keys, she hit the automatic unlock button. Prayed she’d make it inside before he got her.
Flinging open the door, she threw herself in, hit the locks. “Oh, God, please . . .”
Heart jackhammering in her throat, she scanned the front yard frantically. The porch.
Nothing.
No man in pursuit. No ominous shadow moving for the car. But she wasn’t taking any risks. “I know what I saw.”
Hands shaking, she jammed the keys in the ignition, slammed the car in reverse. Tore a path across the dirt-and-gravel driveway and through a corner of the lawn, taking out a hedge in her haste to escape.
She was a mile down the road before realizing she’d lost her purse in the yard, and gave a hysterical laugh. Let the bastard have it. The color and style would match his black ninja ensemble.
Where to go? Not to Tony’s, for sure. Playing the hero would give his ego a boost it didn’t need, and she didn’t want to send him the wrong message about where things stood. Especially since she wasn’t going home tonight.
Waking Zack when he was recovering and couldn’t help was out of the question. He’d just lose sleep for nothing.
Joaquin? Good God, she really must be shaken to even consider phoning her brother. He’d go berserk.
That left her best girlfriend, Shea Ford. A fellow nursing student Cori had met at the coffee shop a couple of years ago through her buddies, the self-dubbed Latte Ladies, Shea was solid gold. A true-blue soul who wouldn’t hesitate to welcome a friend after midnight and listen with concern to her insane ramblings of being watched.
Stalked.
An incredible, impossible word, overused in society to the point of being clichéd. Easy to forget the moment a person flipped off the evening news, as long as it was someone else’s problem.
And Cori no longer had any doubts; that was what was happening.
Why?
Fifteen minutes later, she knocked on the door of Shea’s apartment. Stood shivering, teeth chattering, as she waited. After two of the longest minutes on record, her friend opened the door, lustrous, curly brown hair flying wildly around her small, surprised face.
“Cori! What on earth—”
With a sob, she flung herself into Shea’s arms. Locking up, Shea guided Cori to the sofa and sat with an arm around her shoulders as she bawled out the story in fits and starts. Her friend knew about the bridge accident and Zack’s heroic rescue, but not about the bullet in Cori’s tire. Nor the sinister turn this week had taken.
“Oh, sweetie.” Shea hugged Cori’s shoulders. “Why didn’t you tell me what was going on? Have you talked to the police?”
Cori snorted a watery laugh, taking the tissue her friend offered. “For all the good it did. They did a great job of humoring the crazy, paranoid lady.”
Her friend straightened with a humph of annoyance. “Well, they’ll have to listen now, won’t they?” Pushing off the sofa, she marched for the phone.
“Don’t count on it.”
Shea returned, thrusting the handset at her. “You need to have them check out your place. Make the call, or I will.”
Shea was right, but she dreaded facing their condescending, big-he-man-with-badge attitudes again. After making the call and explaining the incident to the dispatcher, she let Shea fuss over her, grateful for the hot chocolate and companionship.
Officer Boley was a vast improvement over her last experience with the cops. He took down the pertinent information while making the appropriate noises of empathy—even if skepticism showed in his eyes. Suited Cori fine. At least he wasn’t a jackass, and he attempted to comfort her by relating that two officers had gone out to her house to look around.
“So you didn’t get a good look at this guy?” he asked again, flipping his small notebook closed.
“No. I only saw a figure. I think he was dressed all in black.” She hated the way police tended to ask the same questions several times, as though the complainant was either lying or stupid. Repeating that she didn’t actually see the intruder’s features certainly made her story sound iffy, and pissed her off.
“And you lost your purse in the front yard after you fell and then ran.” His thoughtful gaze bored into hers.
“Yes, exactly.”
“Well, that’s something.”
Before Cori could ask what he meant, the radio on the officer’s belt squawked loudly in the tiny space, causing her to jump.
“Hey, Dennis?”
Boley pressed the button on the microphone attached to the collar of his coat. “Go ahead.”
“We got nothin’ here. Doors and windows are all secure, house is locked up tighter’n my ex-wife’s—”
“Copy that,” Boley interrupted, rolling his eyes at the two women as if to say, See what I have to put up with? “What about Ms. Shannon’s purse?”
“Nope, sorry. There ain’t a purse here anywhere. If her unwelcome visitor grabbed and dumped it, he didn’t dump it on the property.”
Boley glanced at Cori. “Most thieves will rifle through the contents, then dump the purse somewhere else. Yours might still turn up.”
Sure. Minus her money and plastic. Groaning, she rubbed her tired eyes. Now she’d be up the rest of the night calling hotline numbers to cancel her credit cards.
Could’ve been much worse.
I could’ve been canceled instead.
And now she had some sort of tangible proof—however thin—of her claim. Somebody was stalking her, and he’d just gotten across his first real message.
Anytime he chose, the bastard could get to her.
Officer Boley prepared to make his escape. “Don’t blame you if you’d rather stay with your friend tonight, but I’m reasonably sure it’s safe for you to return home when you’re up to it. Surprised a would-be burglar, most likely. He’ll head for easier pickings now; don’t worry.”
If that theory helped the cop sleep like a baby at night, bully for him.
She’d worked so damned hard these past couple of years to finish her aborted schooling, set her life on the right path. Someone wanted to take everything away. Again.
And Cori’s best and only suspect was moldering in his grave.
Cori wasn’t there when he awoke, after all. Didn’t show.
Which made Saturday the longest frigging day of Zack’s life.
He flipped through channels on the wall-mounted TV. Flipped through a sports magazine Eve brought him this morning, unable to read the small print without his damned glasses. Nearly flipping lost his mind watching the slow crawl of the hour hand, the day lengthening to evening.
And watching the door, pulse leaping in excitement each time someone entered, only to see another nurse breezing in to poke and prod him.
Walking the halls provided his only distraction. This morning, the nurses had declared he needed to get vertical, and he could’ve leapt with joy. Figuratively, that was.
The reality was slow and painful. Until Zack had pushed out of bed, he hadn’t gotten the full effect of just how battered his body was from his ordeal. Smiling grimly to himself, he imagined looking like an old man shuffling down the corridor, rolling his IV along, trying to keep his bare ass covered.
The high point of his day? A shower.
Hoo-yaa. Are we havin’ fun yet?
As the sun sank, so did his spirits. Dark, ugly thoughts crept in despite his effort to shake them. Too many hours alone. Thinking. Why had he been spared? What was the point?
He’d lost everything. Drowning, same as in the river, except going under for good was taking too fucking long.
Poison for the soul.
The phone’s loud ring blasted the horrible direction of his musings, and he glanced at the clock. Ju
st past eight.
He snatched the receiver, not daring to hope. “Hello?”
“Zack, it’s Cori. I’m so sorry I didn’t make it to see you today.”
Her breathy voice poured over his skin, sank deep, curling warm fingers around his lonely heart. “Hey, no problem. It’s been so busy here, people in and out, I’ve hardly had a minute to myself, you know?” He forced a chuckle past his tight throat, glancing around the empty, silent room.
“Oh. Well, that’s good, then,” she said, sounding distracted. “Anyway, I had sort of a terrible night and slept until after noon. Then I had some stuff to take care of today—”
“Cori, you don’t have to explain.” Oh, God. The brush-off, already?
“I will, just not over the phone. Believe me, I really wanted to come see you.” A pause. “Did . . . did you miss me?”
Zack closed his eyes, his traitorous cock happily answering her tentative question. Praise Jesus she couldn’t see. “Yes. You don’t know how much.” He heard the smile in her reply.
“Good. I thought about you all day, wondering how you were. Are you feeling better?”
Funny, Eve had asked him the very same question this morning, but it hadn’t made him feel as though he’d float off the bed. “Yeah. I think they’re springing me tomorrow.”
“Oh, that’s great! Say, do you need a ride home?”
Zack opened his eyes and blinked. How he was going to get home hadn’t even occurred to him—not that he was in a hurry to go back to his run-down apartment. Or for Cori to see the disgusting slum he called home. Christ.
Quickly, he sorted through his options. He didn’t have money for a cab. Eve had mentioned going to her mother’s for Sunday dinner. Six-Pack and Kat were house hunting. Skyler would probably be nursing a hangover. Tanner or Salvatore? Forget it.
“Zack?”
“Um, yes. I think I’ll need a lift. But only if you don’t mind.”
“My pleasure. Do you have clothes?”
“What?”
She laughed. “Clothes. Unless you’d planned to be wheeled out naked?”
Only if I’m naked with you. “Right. I guess being arrested for indecent exposure might be overkill for this week, huh?” This time they laughed together, and damn, it felt good.
“What do you need? Jeans and T-shirt? A jacket?”
“And, um . . .” His face heated.
“Undies, socks, and tennis shoes?”
He blew out a breath, trying to hide the embarrassment in his voice. “That would be great, thanks. All I have are the uniform pants I was wearing, along with my wallet and keys. My shirt was destroyed and my shoes got lost.”
“Since I don’t have the key to your place or know where you live, I’ll run by Wal-Mart in the morning before I pick you up. It’ll be easier.”
“I’ll pay you back.” As soon as I sell a kidney.
“No sweat. You can take me to dinner sometime,” she suggested.
Zack’s mouth went dry and the waving banner at his crotch saluted the plan. Yes! He’d take this woman out, even if he had to rob a bank first. And steal a car. “It’s a date, gorgeous. Cori, thank you.”
“Oh, don’t thank me yet. I’m an evil, scheming siren with an ulterior motive.”
“Which is?”
“Why, to lead you down the path of temptation and into unimaginable sin. What else?” An air kiss smooched in his ear. “Good night, fireboy.”
The soft click barely registered. Zack lay there, a stupid grin spreading across his face, his throbbing dick making a respectable-sized tent in the sheets. God, what sweet agony. If he weren’t afraid a nurse would get an eyeful, he’d take the problem in hand.
One phone call from Cori Shannon, and the world seemed a much brighter place than it had ten minutes ago.
She hadn’t forgotten him, or blown him off. His room was still stark and empty, but he was no longer alone.
A strange sensation unfurled in his chest, overpowering the desolation he’d learned to take for granted. Driving back his fears. Stronger than hope.
Zack couldn’t be certain, but it felt very much like . . . happiness.
It wasn’t until he began to drift off to sleep that he recalled Cori saying she’d had a bad night. Something had upset her and ruined her Saturday. Had she seen the van again? Received a threatening note or phone call?
Worrying over Cori’s safety, his own predicament forgotten, he tossed for the rest of the night.
“You can’t be serious.”
Slack-jawed, Zack lifted the offending item from the Wal-Mart bag as though he held a plastic explosive.
Cori stifled a giggle. “They’re cheerful. If anyone needs cheering up, it’s you.”
“These can be seen from deep space.”
“Real men wear pink.”
And, boy, were those boxers pink. Electric pink—with bright yellow happy faces all over them. One smiley, larger than the rest, graced the front escape hatch, a strategically placed tongue sticking from between its lips.
“I am not wearing these.”
She shrugged, enjoying herself. “Guess you’ll have to go commando.”
Zack curled his lip. “That’s gross. Not to mention unsanitary.”
“Goodness! Are you always so straitlaced? Live dangerously, fireboy. Unless you don’t have what it takes.”
His blue gaze snapped to hers. A slow smile curved his sensual mouth. “All right. Score one for you—this time. Just remember what they say about payback.”
“Ooh!” She gave a little shiver. “Promises, promises.”
Without warning, he leaned close. Reached out, brushing his knuckles down one cheek. She felt his heat blistering through the thin gown, and not due to fever. His scent, a mixture of soap and earthy male, teased her nose. Brought every female cell to rigid attention, puckering her nipples. Made her long to crawl inside him, learn what would cause him to lose control. Lose himself in her.
But those wondrous new feelings were nothing compared with his kiss.
Just a simple kiss. A brush of his lips against hers. A tentative exploration, silently asking permission. She slid a hand behind his neck in answer, playing with the thick hair at his nape. Loving the cool, silky black strands between her fingers.
Encouraged, Zack groaned, giving her a bit of tongue. The gentlest of touches. A hint of toothpaste and spicy man. The slight contact sizzled a fiery path straight to her womb. Gathered there in a delicious ball of swirling, crackling energy. Blazed to her clenching sex.
Wet. God, he’d dampened her panties with nothing more than a vanilla kiss. Needy for more. For him. Tony’s kiss couldn’t begin to compare with something so honest. Pure.
Zack’s arousal was like a separate, living entity calling to her. Demanding only one response. She wished they were anywhere but here, free to taste and touch at leisure. She wished—
Zack broke the kiss and tipped up her chin, running his thumb over her plump bottom lip. His lids were heavy, eyes dark with a reflection of her own thoughts.
“Be careful,” he murmured huskily. “A gorgeous woman who loves to live dangerously should know I’m a man who’s damned sick of being good. One day you might wish you’d let this sleeping dog lie.”
Momentarily rendered speechless, Cori could only stare as Zack pushed off the bed and walked stiffly into the small bathroom, sack in hand. An invitation and a warning in the same breath. How could any red-blooded female resist?
She couldn’t. A fact that became shockingly clear the instant Zack stepped, fully dressed, from the bathroom.
Sweet leaping Jesus. He’s . . . beautiful.
There was truly not a more perfect word to describe Zack. She’d never seen him in street clothes and—Oh my—he’d just redefined her opinion of exactly how a man should look.
At just over six feet, he was built like a runner: a man who kept in shape, but didn’t bulk up too much. His body was long, lean, and toned, roped with just the perfect amount of muscle, though s
he doubted she’d be able to span his biceps with both hands.
His chest stretched the confines of his dark blue T-shirt, a sculpted work of art. His stomach was so flat and hard, you could probably bounce a quarter off his abs. A trim waist, jeans hanging low on his hips, long thighs. The soft denim cupped a sizable bulge at his crotch, leaving no doubt that her attraction was returned tenfold.
All told, the man was a feast begging to be devoured.
And he’d all but challenged her to grab a fork.
“Let me guess. These radioactive boxers are making me glow like Las Vegas at midnight.”
The amusement in his tone jerked her attention back to his face. His eyes were dancing in mirth. And something else a helluva lot darker. Hungrier.
“You, um, look . . . nice. Really great,” she added, feeling thrown off her groove. His sexy smile hit her like a fist to the gut.
“A definite improvement over hospital haute couture, don’t you think? Damn, I feel almost human.”
Well, she certainly hadn’t been referring to the clothing. He couldn’t possibly be that innocent. Could he?
Any reply hovering on her lips was lost as Dr. Chu bustled in, handing Zack two prescriptions and issuing stern orders to continue the breathing treatments as an outpatient for at least another week. His directive to lay off work for at least two weeks and obtain written clearance to return to the station was met with silence on Zack’s part, his earlier humor evaporating. By the set of his jaw, Cori knew Zack had no intention of complying with that part of the doctor’s rules if he could figure a way around it.
A nurse pushed Zack out to the curb in a wheelchair, per hospital policy, while Cori brought her car around. Zack slid into the passenger’s seat and they were on the road. Glancing at him, Cori thought how surreal it was to have him sitting next to her. Her rescuer, with whom she’d already faced down death and won.
Because of his courage.
“Tell me something about yourself,” she said, turning west like he’d instructed, toward Clarksville.
