by J. Kenner
The realization jolted him, and he clenched his fist to pound it against the roof. Unfortunately it was the hand that was holding on to the gutter, which meant that he stopped holding on to the gutter. Which meant that he fell. Four stories. All the way to the ground.
Bloody hell.
From behind the hydrangea bushes, he frowned in the general direction of the driveway. If Zoe was there and the detective was there and the blip was moving, that could only mean one thing: someone else had the stone.
But who?
With a little grunt, he stood up, straightening his suit, wiping bits of leaf and grass off the finely tailored London original. He paused, his hand hovering over the seat of his pants, wondering if he’d damned the situation too soon.
After all, the little blip had been centered right above Zoe. Zoe was still there, but the blip had gone bye-bye.
The mortal girl. The stone must be with Zoe’s friend.
He smiled.
That had to be the explanation. And it made things even easier. All he had to do was follow her with the tracking device and then, when the moment was ripe, make his move.
The flame from the gaslight at the end of the Andersons’ driveway flickered and danced, splashing orange light across Zoe’s hair. Taylor sucked in a breath, savoring the moment.
She looked ethereal, unreal. A goddess. His goddess.
When she smiled at him, his heart fluttered. Lord, how this woman made his soul sing.
“You’re staring,” she said.
“Am I?”
She nodded, then leaned up against the lamppost, mischief shining in her eyes. “What are you looking at, sailor?”
“The most beautiful woman in port.”
Her cheeks flushed, and Taylor’s body tightened in response. She was innocent, sweet, yet sexy as hell.
There was never a bed around when he needed one.
He mentally kicked himself. He wanted her in his bed—or her bed, he wasn’t picky—but that wasn’t all he wanted. Oh, yes, he wanted to seduce her, wanted her to want him just as desperately. But he also wanted to understand everything there was to know about her, and to explore those intimate secrets even she didn’t know yet.
Oh, yeah, all that was what he wanted, all right. Where the hell was the damn car?
“You’re still staring,” she said, her delighted grin making it absolutely clear that she didn’t mind at all.
“You’re still beautiful.”
If possible, her flush deepened, and she dropped her gaze. “Thank you.”
He took a step closer. “Alone at last,” he said, moving closer still, not touching her, but near enough that, if he concentrated, he was sure he could feel the desire thrumming through her.
She looked relaxed, but he knew she wasn’t. He knew because he was wound up tight, just waiting for release in her arms, her lips. Her.
When she looked up, there was no mistaking the passion in her eyes. “There are still people waiting for their cars. I don’t think we’re alone.”
Right then and there, he decided he’d waited long enough for the damn car. He took her hand and she moaned slightly, her breath fluttery. “Come with me.”
“Where to?”
“Somewhere where there aren’t people waiting for their cars.” He leaned closer to whisper in her ear. “Somewhere we can be alone.”
“What about the car?”
“Screw the car.” He tugged her toward him.
“Why, Mr. Taylor, are you planning to seduce me?”
“As a matter of fact, I am. Do you mind?”
The burning desire shining in her eyes was real, and the shy honesty in her voice just about did him in. “I’d be disappointed,” she said, “if you weren’t.”
The pathway twisted across the rocky slope, wending its way along the cliff above where the ocean beat against the shore. Zoe peered over the edge, watching froth leap and dance above the wave-polished rocks. But the magnificent force of nature didn’t even compare to the tempest raging within her.
“A beautiful view,” Taylor said.
“Yes, it is.”
She turned to smile at him, then realized he wasn’t looking at the view, but at her.
“I want to kiss you, Zoe.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“Maybe I’m afraid.”
“I don’t believe you’re afraid of anything.” She said it with a grin, but although he smiled back, there was something hidden in his eyes. He blinked, and his eyes cleared, leaving Zoe to wonder if she’d imagined it.
“But I am afraid,” he said, the admission making her a little relieved she wasn’t the only one. “Afraid that if I start to kiss you, I won’t be able to stop.”
She stepped closer, anticipating his lips on hers, steadying herself for the shock of his touch. With a little grin, she wrapped her arms around his waist. “Well, Mr. Taylor. What’s wrong with that?”
“Oh, sweetheart.” His words drifted toward her on a wisp of air, caressing her as softly as his hand gently cupped her cheek. She pressed her face against his palm, letting the warmth of his skin seep into her blood, letting her blood and his heat burn through her veins.
Her body lingered on the verge of ignition. Reveling in the torment, she turned her face, relishing the rough feel of his callused hand against her cheek, pressing her lips to his palm. He moaned, the soft sound sweeter to her ears than the purest musical note.
But there was another sound, too.
She twisted her head, trying to hear. “What was that?” Whatever it was, it meant kissus interruptus, and that was bad.
“What?”
“Do you hear that?” she asked, knowing the answer. The sound was too soft, too subtle. Even for her, it was almost inaudible. But it was there, low and threatening. Like a growl, or a low wail.
He hooked a finger under her chin and looked into her eyes. “I don’t hear anything but you.”
She smiled, but shook her head. “No, there’s something out there.”
He pulled back, immediately tense, ready to fight. His determination to protect her warmed Zoe to her very soul, even though she of all people didn’t need a hero. “Something?” he whispered.
“Or someone.” Then she saw it—a rustling in the brush off to the right. “There.” She pointed, automatically stepping in front of him.
Just as automatically, he gripped her shoulders, pushing her aside and stepping in front of her. “What do you see?”
She sidled forward again, trying to get in front of him without being conspicuous, wanting to protect him. She squinted as she looked over the rims of her glasses, her nose wrinkling from a sudden stench, and once again Taylor moved in front of her. She stifled a grin at his persistent chivalry.
How in Hades could she describe what she saw—two creatures crouching among the leaves, one tall and thin, the other short and squatty. A greenish slime seemed to coat them both, and their mouths hung open, drool dripping off their big, pointy overbites.
On the round one, folds of fat fell over more folds of fat. The skinny one had none, its skin seemingly clinging to pure bone, as if the fat one had taken his share. Their noxious odor drifted toward her, like rotten eggs mixed with curdled milk.
She bit back a gag and tried to decide what to do.
If Taylor could see these . . . things, she’d have some serious explaining to do.
“Those guys look strung out.” Taylor stepped sideways, centering himself between Zoe and the two cretins in the bushes.
“Guys?” One eyebrow arched up.
“I realize it’s giving them more credit than they deserve,” he whispered. “But ‘asshole junkies’ seemed a little strong.”
“Oh.” She pushed her glasses firmly up her nose. “Right.”
She sounded so confused, he turned around to look at her. “Don’t worry. Just let me handle it and we’ll be fine.” He squinted. “Are you okay?”
“Fine. I’m fine,” she said brightly.
But of course he k
new she wasn’t. How could she be? Hell, she was an elementary school librarian. Apart from that run-in with that police impersonator, Taylor was certain that the closest Zoe came to the wrong side of the law was chasing down people with overdue library books. And Taylor intended to keep it that way.
Her brow creased. “So you think they’re just two guys hanging out in the bushes?”
“What I think is that we should get out of here.” He took her hand and started heading back toward the Andersons’ house. “If they are junkies, they probably wouldn’t have any qualms about jumping us—not if they thought it might get them enough cash for their next hit.”
His thigh ached, and he idly rubbed it. Whether she’d meant to hire him as a protector or a date, either way, he was there. And he didn’t intend to let her down.
“Well, then,” she said. “Let’s get going.”
He took her hand and hurried her down the path.
After a few seconds, she stopped.
“What?”
“Footsteps. Behind us.” She started moving again, tugging him forward. “Let’s get you—I mean us—out of here.”
He slowed a bit, listening. “I don’t hear anything.”
She stepped behind him and nudged him with her shoulder. “Keep listening. You will.”
Nodding, he moved on. Most likely she was just nervous, and wanted to get away as fast as possible. He would have been smart not to have said anything at all—to have just headed back to the house without clueing her in to their uninvited companions.
Now the poor girl was imagining footsteps and bogeymen. And no wonder. It wasn’t as if she’d led a life of adventure, and here he was, dropping her into the middle of a situation that was decidedly not Capraesque.
He glanced over his shoulder and saw a shadow waver behind them on the darkened path. Uh-oh. Maybe Zoe was right. Maybe the whacked-out weirdos were following them after all.
He thought of the strange man impersonating an officer earlier and wondered if there was more to these druggie creeps than the need for a fix. Were these guys following them with a more nefarious purpose? And were they following him or Zoe?
Certainly not her. She’d seemed genuinely perplexed in the car. And he couldn’t imagine anything in the life of a librarian that would attract such unpleasant attention. He, on the other hand, had recently been hired to locate a very large, very missing, very expensive gemstone.
Maybe he wasn’t the only one looking for it. . . .
Damn it! He’d jumped so hard and so fast at the possibility of ten grand he hadn’t even considered the consequences, had basically blown off Hoop’s concern that it might be hot. And now he’d gone and embroiled Zoe in the twisted little plot.
Trying to hurry—without looking like he was hurrying—he took her elbow and moved her along.
“Are we hurrying?”
“Nope. Just strolling.”
She sped up. “Let’s hurry.”
“Whatever you want.”
They started walking faster, Zoe taking the lead and Taylor pumping hard, trying to keep up.
She took his hand and sped up. Taylor started trotting.
She sped up again. Taylor started running.
The trees started passing faster than they usually did when he jogged on the beach, and the wind cut into his face the way it did when he rode a roller-coaster. A stitch started in his side. His lungs burned; his thigh screamed.
He glanced over at Zoe, who looked about as winded as someone out for an evening stroll. “You . . . work . . . out, right?” he managed, sucking in air as they chugged along.
“Oh, yeah. Sure. Lots.” She caught his eye. “Too fast?”
“No,” he lied, clutching his side and gasping. He gave up. So much for being macho; this was the new millennium, after all. Coughing, he stopped, bent over, and sucked in gallons of glorious oxygen.
Air, God, how he loved the feel of air in his lungs.
“Sorry.” Zoe stopped and jogged backward to him. “I get a little carried away.”
“Hell, lady. You could qualify for the Olympics.”
She laughed, but it sounded a little forced . . . and then her eyes went wide.
“What? Am I turning red? I do that when I’m winded sometimes.” His hands were still perched just above his knees—his favorite gasping-for-air position—but when he looked up, he saw asshole junkie number one reflected in her glasses. And this was one fellow who definitely looked like there was more on his mind than a walk on the beach. He was lunging forward.
“Aw, hell.” Whipping around, he kicked his leg out, ignoring the screaming of his thigh, his only thought of keeping Zoe safe.
“Taylor, no!”
His leg connected squarely with the fat one’s jaw, but instead of the reassuring crack he’d expected, he heard an anti-climactic slooshing sound, a bit like he’d just karate-kicked a jellyfish. Man, this is one drugged up son of a bitch who really needs to go on a diet.
The slug sank to the ground, a nice imprint of the bottom of Taylor’s shoe tattooed onto the side of his face. Flushed with victory, Taylor looked up at Zoe, whose eyes were still wide.
He had just enough time to say “What?” when it registered—he’d seen the fat one, but there had been a skinny one, too. And before he could do anything, a bony little arm locked around his neck.
In front of him, Zoe bounced up and down, looking like she wanted to jump into the fray.
“Stay back,” he said, except with Skinny’s arm pressing against his windpipe, it came out sounding more like stray cats.
“What?” She squinted, looking from him to Skinny, then back to him again. And she was still bouncing, that “I really wanna help” look plastered on her face.
“Got. . . under. . . control,” he managed to spit out, then realized with a bit of horror that his feet were no longer on the ground. The fact that he was about to pass out from lack of oxygen did not—repeat, not—mean that he was any less in control. Nope, didn’t mean that at all. Didn’t, didn’t, didn’t.
He realized what an odd-sounding word didn’t was, and decided that maybe control was overstating things, especially considering he was getting a little loopy from lack of air.
Whizzzzzzzzzz
Something zinged over his head, and he heard a thwack as the something connected with Skinny’s head. All of a sudden Taylor’s feet were back on the ground, and his lungs were filling with oxygen.
Things were looking up.
One glance at Zoe confirmed that she was all right. More or less, anyway. She was staring—almost trancelike—at a point just over his head. Taylor whirled around, leading with his fist, and caught Skinny—who was standing there motionless like an idiot—square on the jaw. For a moment the junkie just teetered, almost as if he were drugged. Then he yelped and hightailed it down the path.
What a strange reaction to a punch, but the result was right. He tossed a smile Zoe’s way. “Guess that wraps up the fun for tonight. Join us for another mugging tomorrow. Same bat time, same bat channel.”
Then he sank to the ground.
He was making jokes. Thank goodness. She’d been afraid she hadn’t acted fast enough and one of the nitwits had hurt him. Of course, Taylor’d managed to take care of Nit all on his own, but Wit’s necklock hadn’t exactly looked comfortable.
“Are you okay?” She knelt down beside him, checking his neck for bruising.
“Fine.” His gaze swept over her, the inspection stirring her blood. “How about you?”
Not fine at all. But that had more to do with the way he was looking at her than what had happened with Nit and Wit. She forced herself to lie. “No problems here. You took care of them.”
“I don’t think they were junkies after all,” he admitted. “I think they were after me.”
She remembered the fangs and the drool and the really gross smell, and silently disagreed. Out loud she said, “Oh?”
What she really wanted to ask was, Didn’t you see the fangs? The s
limy drool? The one eye instead of two? Do you really think those cretins were your average, everyday junkies?
“Yeah. I just took on a new job. I’m tracking down an heirloom. Possibly stolen. Maybe they figure I’ve got a lead.”
“Maybe.” If he thought he knew where Nit and Wit came from, she wasn’t going to argue. It guaranteed her secret was still safe.
She stifled a sigh. For Taylor, there was no drool, no fangs, just a couple of muggers out for a Sunday stroll.
“Well,” she said, trying to sound chipper. “The important thing is you’re okay.”
“Okay? I’m great,” he said. “Everyone says so,” he added confidentially and smiled. Then he stood up and helped her to her feet.
“Everyone?” she asked, looking at him pointedly and fighting a laugh.
“Oh, so now you’re a detractor?” He said it with a grin, and she had to admit he looked pretty scrumptious.
“Well,” she said, trying to sound grudging, but not succeeding very well, “I suppose you might be a little great.”
“Great is an all-or-nothing thing.”
She laughed. “Greedy, aren’t you?”
He swung an arm around her and lowered his mouth to her ear. “Insatiable,” he whispered, clearly pleased with himself.
Well, why shouldn’t he be? He’d saved her from the bogeyman. Or at least that was what he thought.
The truth wasn’t quite so straightforward.
He looped his arm through hers and they headed back toward the car in silence, Taylor most likely reliving his victory, Zoe definitely reliving hers.
Taylor had called them men. But they weren’t men. Not at all. And when the skinny one had been dangling Taylor from one slime-covered tentacle thing, she’d been helpless. If she’d fought, if she’d lashed out and beat the bugger to a pulp, Taylor would surely have been suspicious. To say the least.
So she’d ripped a button off Taylor’s coat and flung it at the beast, hitting the noxious creature square on the nose and stunning it. But then Taylor hadn’t gotten away fast enough, and when the enraged beast was about to pummel him, Zoe had reacted on instinct, aiming a burst of concentration right between the dufus’s bugged-out eyes.