by Naima Simone
“I don’t want to be ‘taken care of,’” she snapped, seconds away from slamming her fist on the tabletop. But that action would reinforce his spoiled brat image of her, and she refused to hand him the ammo. “If I agree to this—and I’m stressing if—I need to talk with the police first. Then I insist on reimbursing you and your company after the trial is over. That’s a condition I’m not budging on.” She was no longer that girl dependent on her parents’ wealth, and she refused to allow anyone—even a sociopath murderer—to reduce her to that again.
Surprise that he wasn’t fast enough to hide flickered in Shane’s eyes. He studied her for several long moments almost as if trying to figure out her angle. Well, gee, color her offended.
“Fine.” The quiet statement stole the righteous wind out of her sails. Well, damn. She was spoiling for a fight. With the rage, fear, and uncertainty twisting inside her like Dorothy’s cyclone, she needed an outlet. Needed a release to calm the storm inside her. “I need to go let my supervisor know I’m leaving, and then we can head for the police station.”
“Dammit, Fallon, we don’t have time—”
“One,” she growled, slipping out of the booth. “My name is not Dammit Fallon or Goddammit Fallon. Two, I’m going to the police. I want to speak with them about Michaels, his escape, and hear their advice on where I should go from here. You can come with me or meet me there.”
A beat of silence. “I’m coming with you. No way am I letting you out of my sight,” he stated, voice flat. But a tic along his jaw betrayed the emotion hidden under the ice in his tone.
She widened her eyes and batted her lashes until she probably resembled a deranged Betty Boop. “Well now, that’s a switch isn’t it? Used to be you couldn’t wait to get away from me. Now we’re bosom buddies.”
Not waiting on his response—which would undoubtedly be more stoic, self-suffering silence—she spun around and headed for the kitchen. Ten minutes later, she returned to the dining area sans apron, pen, and order pad, leaving a pissed-off supervisor behind. She sighed. Join the club of people who weren’t happy with her at the moment. And the man glaring at her near the front door with a phone pressed to his ear was the lifelong charter member.
“Yeah,” he said to the person on the other end. “We’re coming out.” Pause. “Police station first, then we’ll decide from there.” Another pause. “Copy that.” He ended his call, but the scowl remained firmly in place. “You ready?” he growled.
“Yes.”
Silently, he held the door open, allowing her to step out of the restaurant. She sucked in a breath and held it as he pressed in close behind her. Damn. Too late. His scent—that unique combination of fresh wind, and skin—teased her nose, setting off a chain reaction of heat, heart palpitations, and flocks of birds in her stomach. She gritted her teeth against the Pavlovian response.
He shifted beside her, his strong, firm upper arm nudging her shoulder. His unblinking, sharp gaze scanned the street and sidewalks as he settled a hand on the small of her back and guided her to the blue BMW convertible parked around the corner. Relief poured through her like a cold drink of water on a hot day. As silly as it seemed, FiFi represented the only stability in her world. The only thing that hadn’t metamorphosed into something unrecognizable or scary.
“You have your key?” Shane didn’t glance down at her, his restless survey of their surroundings continuing.
“Yes.” She pointed her key fob at the car. The fob had been a gift from her father months ago after he discovered what happened. He’d sent the dealer to her home with the new electronic device, not wanting her to waste seconds opening the car with a key if someone was after her. The gesture had brought tears to her eyes. Though her father had been an absent parent, a preoccupied, distracted one, she’d never doubted he’d loved her. She just wasn’t a priority.
Several feet away, she pressed the open button, and the headlights blinked once, the horn beeping twice.
“I’ll follow you—”
Shane’s words were swallowed by the huge, deafening boom from the end of the street. A fiery blast knocked both of them off their feet. Twisting midair, he wrapped his arms and body around her. His back slammed to the concrete hard enough for him to groan in pain. But immediately, he rolled, covering her from head to toe from the heat searing the air around them.
Oh Jesus. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
FiFi.
Gone. Someone had bombed her beloved FiFi to hell and back.
She blinked, tears burning her eyes as hot as the flames licking at her car.
“—okay?”
She frowned, the ringing in her ears loud and subsiding slowly.
“Are you okay?” Shane repeated, his voice urgent, harsh. The cold reserve had disappeared, melted by the bomb and rage blazing in his eyes. Fury hardened his features, the sculpted cheekbones, angular jaw, and carnal curves of his mouth even more pronounced under his taut skin.
“Y-yes,” she stuttered. Then lifted her head and peered over his shoulder at the flaming heap that used to be her darling FiFi. She lowered her head, stared up at the sky, and let the tears fall.
“So where did you say your safe house was?”
Chapter Seven
“This is so…normal.”
Shane glanced around the living room of his Cambridge home, trying to see it through Fallon’s eyes. Two years ago, he’d taken one look at the three-story, single-family home and had claimed it. White with black shutters and a black iron gate, it’d reminded him of Ebenezer Scrooge’s nephew Fred’s home in Shane’s favorite movie, A Christmas Carol. Most people enjoyed the glimpses into Scrooge’s past, present, and future. But for him, the scene where Scrooge visited his nephew’s home with the Ghost of Christmas Present as well as the end where the former miser came to Fred and his wife and was welcomed into their arms—he’d stayed glued to the television for those moments. Because Fred’s home had meant warmth, love, fun, security…family.
Family.
With its exposed beams, maple hardwood floors, stained cabinetry, open floor plan, big rooms, and large fireplaces, this house meant a wife, children—a future. This house meant a place of safety that no one could rip away from him. He would always have food in the stainless-steel refrigerator. When he flicked the wall switch, light would always flood the rooms.
Shane’s fantasy had been stability. And purchasing this Cambridge home had been the start of obtaining it.
“What were you expecting?” he asked Fallon, setting the alarm. “Barracks?”
When she didn’t reply, he glanced over his shoulder. Fallon perched on the arm of his brown leather sofa, staring straight ahead, her arms wrapped around herself. Alone. He paused. She seemed so alone and a wraith of her usual vibrant self. In that moment, a murderous rage filled him like a seething volcano. For Jonah Michaels. For the coward gang members that followed him like blind disciples. Shane had faced terrorists in battle on the foreign sands of the desert. He’d willingly served his country to protect the liberty and rights of United States citizens. But this—this campaign of terror waged against an innocent woman in the city, the home where she should’ve felt the safest—was more personal.
Yeah, he could easily kill for her.
“Fallon?”
Her head jerked in his direction. “Yes? I’m sorry. Did you say something?” Heaving a sigh, she shot to her feet and restlessly paced to the dark fireplace. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I’m just so—”
“Shell-shocked. Scared. Mad as hell,” he supplied, heading toward the back door to check the lock.
A snort reached him as he strode down the hallway. “D, all of the above.”
After verifying the security system he’d had installed was operational and pulling the shades on all the windows, he returned to the living room to find Fallon still standing in front of the fireplace, staring into its cold depths.
“Fallon.”
“Sometimes I wonder if I’m ever going to be safe again,”
she whispered. “If Michaels doesn’t get to me before the trial, what about after? Will he or his gang leave me alone? Will they want revenge for my testifying?” She emitted an awful sound caught somewhere between a sob and a bark of laughter. “I remember when my biggest worry was whether or not my ass would get pinched at work.”
He frowned. Her ass pinched? What the— Focus. He had to focus on this current situation. Afterward he’d get a name. And break a hand.
Crossing the room, he trained his gaze on the honey-and-cinnamon tangle of curls that begged for a man to stroke, caress…grip. How many times had he envisioned himself tangling his fingers in her hair and jerking her head back to expose that elegant neck as he thrust deep into a pussy that would probably feel like heaven and hell? Pleasure and pain. If he closed his eyes, he could feel the phantom clutch and ripple of her core over his cock. Could groan at the sweet suction that would demand his seed and his soul.
He inhaled, and the hand that reached for her arm trembled slightly. Balling his fingers into a fist, he lowered his arm to his side. But damned himself by moving closer and not stopping until his chest nearly brushed her spine. Her scent drifted up to him, tantalized him as it had the night before when he’d cradled her on his lap.
“What about my parents? Addy? If the Lords of War can’t get to me, will they go after the people I love?”
“We already have security details guarding them. Your mother is out of the country, so she should be fine. But your father and Addy, we have them covered.” Closing his eyes, he bent his head, his lips hovering near her ear. “What did I promise you?” he asked, the control he wielded to refrain from touching her evident in the hoarse tone of his voice. “Tell me, Fallon.”
“That I was safe with you,” she finally replied after a long hesitation. Which grated over his skin like sandpaper. There shouldn’t be any uncertainty. He’d give his life for her as quickly and easily as he would for Addisyn or his mother. Why didn’t she trust in that? Could be because you’ve avoided her like an industrial accident since the night she kissed you, his conscience snidely reminded him. Since arguing with himself smacked too much of bat-shit crazy, he conceded the point. But what was the alternative? Confess the truth? Fallon, you’re my Achilles’ heel. I want to fuck you senseless, until you feel me imprinted on you even when I’m not inside you. But that’s all I want—all I can allow myself.
Not only did that sound like a pretentious douche, but it made him a grade-A dick.
“Turn around,” he ordered, and waited as she obeyed. For once. She must be in shock. Her soft, troubled gaze met his, and he clenched his fingers until they ached in protest. But he welcomed the dull throb. It reminded him that smoothing the shadowed circles under her eyes was lunacy. Touching her in any capacity would be the height of stupidity. Especially with the image of her back arching, her ass high in the air as she took his cock wavering in his mind like a taunting red flag.
“I know you’re frightened, and it seems like everything familiar has disappeared. That nothing will ever be the same again. You feel alone,” he murmured, and surrendered to the clawing need to caress her, even if it was a tawny strand of hair that fell over her shoulder. Her breath caught, whether at his words or his clasp of a curl, he couldn’t decipher. “I won’t leave you.”
The doubt that had been in her voice flickered in her eyes. And a fierce longing to command her belief in him, surged hot and swift. He gritted his teeth against the power of it. Then a thought infiltrated the demanding need. How many people, including her parents, had promised the same thing? Even he had pushed her away. Could he blame her for possessing misgivings about his vow to remain by her side? Damnit, yes. When it came to her life? Goddamn right he could blame her.
“I’m sorry,” she said, the apology a gentle affront to his ears, his pride.
“What do you have to be sorry about?” he asked, softening the hard edge to the question. “Explain.”
She shrugged a shoulder, her gaze shifting to some engrossing object over his shoulder. “That Addy dragged you into this mess. It’s bad enough my life has gone to hell in gasoline drawers, but I wouldn’t have asked you to join in on the ride. It’s—I’m—not your responsibility.”
“That’s just it, Fallon,” he said. “Addy shouldn’t have had to drag me into anything, and you should have asked. I’ve willingly placed my life on the line in Afghanistan for U.S. citizens I don’t even know. I do it now for clients who pay for my services. For you…” For her, who he’d watched grow from a beautiful girl to a stunning woman. Who he’d protected along with his sister. Who he’d secretly hungered for… For her he would raze Boston to the ground to keep safe. “How could you believe I would do anything less for you?”
A small, tight smile quirked a corner of her mouth. “Of course. Duty.” Before he could argue, she backed up, thrusting a hand through her hair and tugging the thick spirals away from her face. “This may be difficult for you to imagine, but I’ve provided for myself these last two years. I haven’t depended on anyone, taken from anyone. I’m not a parasite.” She twisted her fingers in front of her, then as if realizing the telltale agitated gesture, dropped her hands and tilted her chin up. “How long? You didn’t answer before, but this could stretch out for months. How long are you supposed to put your life on hold for me? Maybe you can assign someone else to protect me? Or I can ask Dad to hire another security firm—”
“Hell. No,” he gritted out. “No one takes over. I said I’m not leaving, and I meant it. And as far as how long? Until.”
Again, she released a sigh, heavy with irritation. “You can’t just—”
“Un. Til.” If she believed he would hand her off like a football, he needed to find out what The Grease Spot served in its coffee. Because she’d obviously been drinking too much of it. “Now, are you hungry?”
A long pause. “Sure. Why not? I just need a moment…” She briefly squeezed her eyes shut. “Where’s your bathroom?”
“Down the hall to your left. Second door on the left,” he instructed. She nodded and whirled around, but not fast enough to conceal the bright sheen in her eyes. The sight of that unexpected moisture grabbed him by the throat and shook. Everything in him demanded he follow her, comfort her, wipe away her tears. But he remained in place, rigid with a screaming tension that hummed in his veins.
His phone vibrated against his hip. Still studying the corridor Fallon had disappeared down, he removed his cell from his pocket. This call had only been a matter of time. “Roarke.”
“You bastard,” Detective Tristan Scott’s deep, furious voice rumbled in Shane’s ear.
“Hello to you, too,” he said wryly.
“I should have you arrested right goddamn now,” his friend snapped. “Obstruction of justice. Tampering with a witness. Being a lying, interfering son of a bitch.”
“They have a charge for that?” Shane drawled.
“Cute. Very cute.” Tristan paused, and Shane could picture his friend pinching the bridge of his nose, a gesture that telegraphed his struggle to wrestle his temper under control. “You sent me on a wild-goose chase this morning on purpose. You damn well knew Fallon wasn’t at her apartment. Then, while that particular gem was dawning on me, I receive a call that a car has been bombed in Allston. And the owner of the car—a witness in a major criminal case—is in the wind. From the statements of bystanders, she left with a tall, dark-haired man. You know what, Shane, I happen to be a detective, and it didn’t require Sherlock-level deductions to realize the ‘tall, dark-haired man’ who lied to me about her location so he could get to her first is probably the same ‘tall, dark-haired man’ who hauled her away from the scene before police could question her.”
With one last scan of the empty hallway, Shane headed toward the kitchen. “Fallon has decided against entering witness protection and has agreed to let GDG protect her. It’s her decision.”
“Because you convinced her,” Tristan barked.
“Because the police
leaked her name and allowed a killer to escape jail. Because two assholes showed up at her home with the intent of blowing her away. Because she was seconds away from being incinerated in the fireball that used to be her car,” Shane shot back, anger rising with every point. He jerked the refrigerator door open and glared into the sparse interior. The cool air puffing against his skin did nothing to chill the fire circulating inside his chest. “You’re damn right I didn’t leave her at the scene. I didn’t know if the person who’d FUBAR-ed her car was still there, waiting around to finish off what the bomb hadn’t accomplished. This is Fallon, Shane. Twice she’s avoided ending up in a morgue with a toe tag. I wasn’t going to risk a possible third time being the fucking charm.”
A thick, heavy silence descended over the phone line.
“Where is she?” Tristan asked quietly.
“Safe,” Shane stated. “With me.”
“I’m on my way over there to take her statement.”
“No,” Shane objected, voice sharp. “You’re the lead detective on this case. With Fallon disappearing, who do you think Michaels will have followed? Right now, he doesn’t know my identity or her connection to me. I’d like to keep it that way. Besides, we won’t be here long anyway. Tomorrow, I’m moving her to one of our safe houses.”
Since GDG Security Solutions was a young company compared to other security firms, they only owned three locations. But the one Shane had in mind granted enough distance between Boston, the Lords of War, and Fallon that he could breathe somewhat easier…somewhat.
“I’m trying to be patient, Shane. I really am. But my captain isn’t going to be nearly as understanding. One of the most notorious gang leaders in the city busted out of jail, and now the star witness is gone. This doesn’t make the department look good.” Tristan’s sigh echoed down the line. “I get it, man. I do. Fallon is special to you. If this was Joy, I would tear down hell itself to keep her safe.” Shane believed him; Tristan was crazy about his fiancée, and would give his life—and take someone else’s—to protect her. “But I have a job to do, too,” Tristan continued. “And a public to keep safe. Michaels and his boys don’t give a rat’s ass who they hurt or kill. My hands are tied if Fallon opts out of witness protection, but I can still work on arrests for the car bombing, for the threats on a witness’s life.”
