Taking Care of the Target

by Cindi Madsen

  “I…” She patted herself down, starting with the spot over her heart and moving slowly down to her stomach. Then she lifted her arms, turning them over several times as she ran her gaze across them. “I’m okay. I think.”

  Vince sat back on his heels and stared at the intersection where the car had turned. Even though he knew he couldn’t catch them on foot, he wanted to run after them, pull his gun—which he didn’t fucking have—and make sure they didn’t come back for round two. The important thing now was to get going—he didn’t want to be here, unarmed and helpless, if they circled back around.

  But someone was going to die for this.

  He glanced back down at Cassie. “We need to move.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Cassie sat up, her limbs protesting the movement. Her stinging knees sported ugly scrapes, the blood pooling into large droplets and then running in crimson streams down her shins.

  “I tried to talk my boss into slacks.” It was such a stupid thing to think of right now, but her brain could hardly process the fact that they’d just been shot at.

  But then she looked at the car that’d protected them. So, so many holes—like metal Swiss cheese. Pock marks marred the side of the building on her other side, and…

  Oxygen stopped going to her lungs, her hands trembled, and her nerves launched into riot mode.

  Oh my gosh, we almost died. I can’t believe we’re not dead. If it wasn’t for Vince… She placed her hands on his chest. “Are you okay? Did any hit you?”

  He shook his head. “I’m okay. We need to go before they come back.”

  Dread seized her. “You think they’ll come back?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t want to stick around and find out.” He pushed to his feet, extended a hand, and helped pull her up. Glass slid off her, falling to the ground in an oddly happy tinkling noise. Her knees wobbled, and Vince wrapped an arm around her, steadying her against his firm chest.

  She wanted to sink into his embrace and have a breakdown, but it’d have to wait. “I’m okay,” she said, despite the fact that nothing could be farther from the truth. The outline of her apartment complex stood dark against the skyline, a couple checkerboard squares of light glowing from the lit-up apartments. “That’s my building up ahead.”

  “Can you walk?” Vince asked as he took in her bloody knees.

  She nodded, and he took hold of her hand. They rushed toward her building, not running, but with his longer strides, she had to half-run to keep up. His hawk-like gaze constantly scanned the area while she glanced around like a paranoid lunatic—it turned out she wasn’t so paranoid after all.

  By the time they made it to the building, the shooting pain in her knees and palms had turned to a demanding throb. Her bad hip and formerly good one didn’t feel so great either. Management locked the lobby doors after ten, so you had to either have a key or be buzzed inside. A quick tug on the handle confirmed it was locked, so she quickly dug out her keys, the metal jingling together when her hands shook. She tried to push them into the keyhole and missed. “Damn it.”

  Vince wrapped his hand over hers. “Here, let me.”

  He unlocked the door and put his hand on the small of her back. Earlier tonight it’d given her butterflies, but right now it gave her the sense of security she needed to force her feet into motion instead of give in to the urge to drop to the ground and cry. As much as she hated to admit it, she obviously wasn’t cool under pressure.

  The lobby was deserted, the way it often was during the later hours. In light of their bloody, frazzled appearance, that was probably for the best. She pushed the up button to the elevator repeatedly, unable to stop until it arrived.

  The creak of the cables and her shaky breaths filled the air as they rode up to her floor. The doors opened with a bing—another too cheerful noise. Her hands continued to tremble, so she gave her keys to Vince and put her palm on her door, wincing at the contact. “This is me.”

  As soon as they were inside, she locked the door and held the deadbolt in place for a couple of seconds, like that’d somehow make her safer. The she turned to Vince, who was eyeing her evenly, like he was waiting for her to fall apart.

  She slid her glasses up her nose and then pulled them off and looked them over. “Wow. They didn’t break.”

  Vince glanced at them. “They’re pink.”

  A tiny ray of sunshine broke through her holy-shit-what-just-happened train of thought. “Yeah. That’s why I got them.” She put them back on, Vince’s features sharpening. “So…Someone shot at us.”

  He nodded.

  She ran a hand through her hair and more shards of glass came lose. “I felt like someone was watching me all week, but I never thought…” She bit her lip, then glanced at Vince. If he hadn’t been with her, she’d be lying on the sidewalk now, riddled with bullet holes. Not just bloody and hurt, but dead, no doubt about it. “How’d you react so fast?”

  “I noticed the car slowing down and saw the gun right before they started shooting.”

  “That was terrifying,” she said as if it weren’t obvious. Talk about understatement of the year. “What do we do now? Call the cops?”

  Vince gently took both of her hands, turned them palm up, and frowned at the raw skin. “Let’s clean up first. Make sure you’re really okay.”

  “I’ll grab my first-aid kit.” Cassie headed into the bathroom. Her reflection greeted her, pale, freaked-out, and blinking like there might be tears coming. She gripped both sides of the sink and squeezed her eyes closed. She clenched her jaw against the sob that wanted to escape and let out one long breath. Two. Three…

  It was the same thing she’d done when Dad had bad days. Having a breakdown in front of him would’ve been bad for morale, so she’d flee to the bathroom to collect herself.

  When she got to ten, she opened her medicine cabinet and grabbed supplies. She also snagged two washrags on her way out of the room.

  Vince seemed so huge standing in her kitchen, his six-foot-plus frame bringing him within inches of the hanging light fixture. The tenderness in his expression as he watched her approach made her want to cry—just when she’d thought she’d gotten control of herself, too. Every emotion going through her was amplified by the extra adrenaline, and jumping from terrified to longing to being grateful she’d somehow survived made her head spin.

  She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Where does it hurt?”

  “You first,” he said, taking the kit and washrags from her and setting them by the sink. He wrapped his hands around her hips and boosted her onto the counter. Then he wet the washrag and cleaned out the cuts on her knees and hands. The warm water stung her raw skin, and she hissed despite her best attempts to downplay her wounds.

  Her heartbeats scattered at every brush of his fingertips, even the ones that sent pricks of pain in their wake. He pressed two giant Band-Aids to her knees and asked if she wanted him to wrap her hands.

  “No, they’ll be okay.” She kicked off the counter. “Let me take care of you now.” She flashed him a smile. “I’m afraid I can’t boost you up.”

  He gave a low laugh that made heat pool in her belly. “I’m fine.”

  “Come on, you don’t have to play tough.”

  “Who says I’m playing?” he asked.

  She stepped closer and looked him over. He watched her with a quirked eyebrow, and she decided hands-on looking was better. She removed his hat, shook the glass into the trash, and set it aside. His dark hair was longer on top and slightly mussed. She wanted to run her fingers through it, but resisted because she knew he had to have some scrapes, too.

  She cupped his chin and turned his head one way and then the other, studying the dark stubble and the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed. A scrape marred his shoulder where he’d landed on the pavement—a very well-defined shoulder, she couldn’t help noticing as she pushed aside the torn fabric. She wet a fresh washrag, cleaned him up—he didn’t hiss like she had—and then
applied a bandage.

  “I assume your hip is sore on that side, too.” Hands-on was fun and all, but she didn’t think they were quite to lifting-each-other’s-shirts level. He pulled his up a few inches and studied his hip. The carved muscles were impossible to look away from, and the heat from her belly rose up and claimed her chest.

  “It’s not bleeding. Just bruised. How’re yours?”

  She tugged her shirt up and studied the two spots of red on her hipbones that’d definitely be black and blue by morning. “Not too bad.”

  Vince skimmed his fingers across the right hip, where the top half of her ugly yellow bruise remained, and her breath lodged in her throat. “From the accident?”

  She licked her lips and swore his eyes tracked the gesture. “Yeah.” She dropped her shirt and busied herself cleaning up. When she finished, she turned to face him. “Thank you. For saving me back there.”

  He stepped close, so close she could feel the heat coming off his body. He brushed her hair off her face and slid his hand behind her neck. For one exquisite moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. Then he tensed and dropped his hand.

  “You want a drink?” she asked. “I think you earned it.”

  “Hell yeah.” A cocky grin spread across his face. “I knew I’d get invited in, by the way.”

  With a laugh, she pulled out a bottle of wine and filled two glasses nearly to the brim.

  “Wow,” he said when they moved to the living room. “That is a really pink couch.”

  “It’s my favorite thing in my whole apartment.” That and the quilt Mom made, but since they’d already talked about their dads and topped that off by being shot at, she didn’t want to add another heavy item to the pile. That’d be a For Later conversation, if there was a later. “On the days I’m off work early enough, I can sit here and watch the sun set.”

  She set her glass of wine on the coffee table. “So, should we call the cops now?”

  Vince let out a long exhale. “Honestly, they’re not going to be able to do anything tonight. The car’s long gone, and they’ll keep us at the station forever asking a ton of questions. I don’t know about you, but I didn’t get the license.”

  Cassie shook her head. “I couldn’t even tell you the color of the car.”

  “I can give the cops that information. It was probably just a random crime. A bunch of idiots trying to prove they were gangsters.”

  That made sense, she supposed. Why would anyone come after her with so much firepower? Then again, it seemed like too big of a coincidence after the unsettling feeling she’d had all week. Unless her mind was spinning it into this.

  Vince cupped her cheek. “I’ll take care of it. Okay?”

  The way he said it, with absolute certainty, made her want to cry all over again. She’d have no idea how to handle it, and honestly, she didn’t want to leave her apartment. She wanted to be tucked safe inside it… with him.

  “Okay,” she said, wrapping her hand around his wrist. Part of her still couldn’t believe she was here with this guy, who didn’t seem even close to a stranger anymore. Funny how near-death experiences gave you a solidarity that weeks of knowing someone couldn’t touch. “I bet this is the weirdest first date you’ve ever been on.”

  He cracked a smile. “Yes, actually. Probably the same goes for you—that you remember anyway.”

  Amazing that she could feel this much happiness after everything. He tucked her next to him, and they drank wine and talked until just after midnight.

  Vince glanced at his phone. “It’s getting late, and I don’t want to impose.”

  “You saved my life,” Cassie said. “You’re not imposing.” It hit her that he was probably trying to politely leave. “But you’re right. It is getting late.” She stood and followed Vince to the door.

  He paused with his hand on the knob and cast her one more glance that made a tight band form around her chest. As soon as he walked out, she had no doubt their near-death experience would hit her. She thought of the hours alone in her apartment, listening to every sound, and how she’d want to hide under her covers. But then she’d worry she wouldn’t hear or see if anyone broke in. Completely irrational, she knew, but there it was anyway.

  “Don’t go,” she blurted out. “I’m used to being alone in theory, but…I don’t want to be alone tonight.” Embarrassment crested and she almost took it back, but she couldn’t force any more words past her tight throat.

  Vince spun around, his dark eyes locking on to hers. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

  Her lower lip trembled, and she told it to stop, but like with the rest of her body, she didn’t seem in control anymore. “Sorry. It’s weird. You barely know me. If you need to go—”

  He took two long strides and hugged her to him. “I’ll stay.”

  Cassie wrapped her arms around his waist and dropped her head to his chest. They stood like that for a long moment, and it seemed like she wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to let go.

  Reluctantly she pulled away. “I’ll grab you a blanket. Or I can sleep on the couch since I’m the one who—”

  He pressed a finger to her lips. “The couch is perfect. It takes a real man to sleep on a couch that pink.”

  “Good thing you’re a real man, then.”

  “Damn straight,” he said, returning her smile. She headed to her bedroom and grabbed a blanket. When she came back out, he’d taken off his shoes and was on the couch. She laughed under her breath, because he did look completely out of place.

  She handed him the blanket, and in her second—or was it now third?—bold move of the night, she leaned down and kissed his cheek.

  Chapter Twelve

  Cassie awoke to the sun streaming through her bedroom window. She’d tossed and turned all night, fighting the urge to go out to her living room and do something crazy, like invite Vince to sleep in her bed.

  Last night she’d been too freaked out to be embarrassed about asking him to stay, but she was definitely feeling it now. Let’s not forget that I kissed him, too. A simple kiss on the cheek, but still. Good thing I resisted asking him to come to bed to keep me safe.

  But then she thought about the way her pulse leapt at every touch, and suddenly she couldn’t wait to see him, embarrassment be damned. She grabbed her glasses off the nightstand. The thought of pulling pants over her stiff knees made them ache more, so she decided to stick with the tank top and shorts pajamas. She ducked into the bathroom and brushed her hair and teeth.

  Her heart sank when she stepped into the living room and spotted the folded blanket on the arm of her couch. The sharp pang in her chest reminded her why she’d always avoided getting too close to people—it hurt too badly when they inevitably left.

  At one point in her life, she’d used fake intimacy to forget her problems. She’d show up at her suddenly-not-so-exed boyfriend’s house, weepy and in need of distraction. They’d have sex, and her problems would fade to the background, if only for a while. He never seemed to mind the arrangement, but just when she thought they should spend time together doing other things, he’d told her he couldn’t “hook up” anymore because he’d found someone who actually had time for him.

  Then she’d had to face what she’d been running from in the first place—that she was totally alone.

  She shook her head, not wanting to relive that awful year after Dad died.

  Getting close to people meant getting hurt sometimes, but not having anyone hurt, too. So she was going to try a new way. Real intimacy and letting people in, even if the thought made her blood pressure kick it up a notch. She’d hoped maybe it’d be with Vince, but even if he never called, she vowed she wouldn’t use it as an excuse to stop trying.

  As she moved to the kitchen, she noticed the unlocked door. Her heart hitched in her chest, and she moved to lock it.

  The deep voice on the other side made her pulse steadily increase, the unlikely scenario of the guys who’d shot at her coming to finish the job running through her head. S
he quickly flicked the deadbolt into place and peeked out the peephole.

  Vince was in the hallway, his phone pressed to his ear.

  Attraction and happiness fought for control. He didn’t leave.

  As quietly as possible, she unlocked the door. Then she pulled items out of her fridge and got to work making breakfast for two.

  ***

  Vince paced the hallway, waiting for Carlo to pick up the phone. He’d waited as long as possible to make this call, partly because Carlo wasn’t a morning person, but mostly because of how much was on the line.

  But after a quick call to his vendors to check if Angelo had placed the food order—miracle of all miracles, he actually had—Vince couldn’t put it off any longer without driving himself completely insane.

  “Is everything taken care of?” Carlo asked instead of bothering with a greeting.

  “There’s been a new development. I need to meet you at the restaurant. And I need Sal to be there, too.”

  The more he’d thought about the way-too-close-to-death-encounter as he’d tossed and turned on Cassie’s blindingly pink couch, the surer he became that the drive-by had been Sal’s doing. He probably thought it’d win him points with Carlo, because the idiot clearly didn’t understand it was the stupidest, most attention grabbing…

  Vince clenched his fists and then slowly forced the one not holding the phone open. Getting through to his uncle was more important, but he wanted to do it in person so he could read his reaction.

  Definitely not with Cassie a few feet away, only a thin door between them. He glanced toward the apartment, wishing he could see through the wood. A moment ago he thought he’d heard movement.

  “Is there a problem?” Carlo asked.

  Vince ran a hand through his hair and resumed his pacing. “Not a problem, but something we probably shouldn’t discuss over the phone.”

  “Why don’t you come by the house?”

  Vince came to an abrupt stop. Not long after Dad died, Mom decided to follow. Carlo had taken in him and Bobby and treated them like his own—said it was the least he could do for his sister’s and best friend’s kids. Two years under his roof were enough to give Vince conflicted feelings about joining the family business; he certainly hadn’t had any trouble bending the law in his teen years.