How many times can the perfect moment come and go before it goes completely?
But her mouth had different ideas than her brain, and even as she pressed to her tiptoes and neared Noah’s lips, she spoke without meaning to, breaking the spell.
“How did you change him?” she asked.
Noah blinked like he was coming out of a fog, flicked his attention to her mouth once more, then stepped back. “Change Dez?”
“Yes. With everything he had going on, you must’ve said something that made him become a bounty hunter instead?”
Noah’s mouth twisted into a not-so-amused smile. “I’m hardly a psychiatrist.”
The guarded look was back in his eyes, and Elle found herself wondering if he even knew it was there. His statement was vague. Undoubtedly an avoidance of some kind. But she was half sure that the wary expression was unconscious. How could someone deliberately hide something yet not seem aware that he was giving himself away? Elle’s curiosity over that won out over the battle to kiss and be kissed, and she frowned up at him.
“I’m not suggesting you cured him,” she said. “But you must’ve had some kind of discussion that swayed him away from the life he was living.”
Noah averted his eyes and gave his stubble a scratch. “I dunno. Dez was a damn big hot mess that day. We talked about a lot of stuff.”
Elle opened her mouth to insist that he had to have some clue—and she was certain he did—but her words were abruptly chased away by the crack of a gunshot ringing through the air.
Chapter 7
Noah knew the nearby blast was related to Elle and her missing daughter. It had to be. The small town where he’d taken up residence might not be perfectly crime-free, but a gunshot wasn’t even close to a common occurrence.
For a second, he was torn. He wanted to chase down the noise. Figure out its source. Who it was aimed at. Know for sure whether or not it had hit its mark and demand a few answers. All of that. Except what he wanted more was to ensure Elle’s safety.
“C’mon,” he said. “Let’s get inside before someone aims that our way.”
He started to swing toward the motel. Elle, on the other hand, stayed completely still. The color had drained from her face, and her eyes were fixed in the direction of the gunshot. It was the same blank expression that had plagued her features when Noah let Dez walk away. But this time, he recognized the brief, silent horror for what it was—direct fear on her daughter’s behalf.
“It’s not her,” he said firmly.
Her attention refocused. “How can you be so sure?”
“Think about it. They wouldn’t be going to all this trouble if they were just going to shoot her,” he told her, not adding that they would’ve been smarter about it, too. “And you’re supposed to be giving me a little trust, remember?”
“Right.” She said it like she didn’t quite believe it or mean it, but a moment later, she breathed out, eyed the space where the shot had seemed to come from, then stretched out her arm and pressed her palm to his.
The move surprised Noah. Partly because she was the one to reach for him. Mostly, though, what surprised him was the way her small, slightly cool fingers felt so natural in his grip. Like the moments of separation had been the less normal state.
Which is ridiculous, Noah thought as they started moving toward the motel again.
Except the silent chastisement didn’t make it any less true. Her hand felt good and right in his. Like it was supposed to be there. It reminded him, also, that just a heartbeat before the bang of the gun, he’d been pretty damn sure he was about to blab out his life story. The same life story that had made Dez think there could be a little light in the world. Or at least a place to hide from the shadows. And right before that moment had been another. One where their lips were about to meet. Hell. Noah wished they had met. In fact, he kind of wanted to stop again right then, take her face in his hands, and finish the kiss that he’d never even started. It was probably a good thing that he had a few seconds to regroup as they moved from the street to the gate, then across the patio to his front door.
Clearly I need it.
Noah was also glad to see that Rog appeared to have gone inside and doubly relieved that the older man had left Noah’s phone in easy sight and grabbing distance, too, saving a knock on the door. Because he honestly wasn’t sure he could make up some believable reason for the way his hand refused to loosen its grip on Elle. He somehow doubted that telling his aged neighbor that it just “felt right” would be met with anything but embarrassing hilarity. In spite of that, Noah probably would’ve kept holding on, even as he reached out to twist the doorknob, if Elle hadn’t given a sudden, slight tug back. He swiveled around to see what the issue was, already half dreading what he’d find. But instead of another problem, he saw that Elle was smiling.
“Look at that!” she said, lifting one of the fingers she’d just freed. “Gus-Gus made it home.”
Noah followed the direction she’d pointed in, and he spied the humungous cat lounging in his favorite spot on the inside of the other man’s window. For no good reason, his throat tightened, and he had to clear it a little before answering.
“Fat old thing always does,” he managed to say gruffly, pushing open his door. “Let’s go inside.”
He fought a flash of disappointment as she simply followed him in rather than taking his hand again.
Not where your focus should be, he reminded himself. Plenty to do, and none of it requires you to be holding your client’s hand.
He forced a businesslike tone. “Slide the lock shut. That’ll slow down any other visitors. It’ll help them think we’re still in here, too, even after we’re gone.”
“What do you mean?” She frowned at him. “Won’t we have to unlock it, then relock it from the outside when we go?”
He shook his head. “Nope. We’re not going out the front.”
“I don’t get it.”
“You will.”
He stepped to the bed, lifted the mattress, and grabbed a flattened backpack from underneath. Next, he removed his gun from his waistband and dropped it onto the unmade bed. He could feel Elle’s curious gaze follow him, but he didn’t take the time to explain. If nothing else, the bit of time they’d spent together had taught him that it was far too easy to get sucked into a conversation with her. And far too hard to keep from saying things he didn’t want to say. Time was slipping by too quickly to risk it.
With speed on his mind, Noah moved to the still-open, now partially damaged closet. There, he bent down and yanked out the few remaining items from the safe. He dropped the first two—some ID and a thick wad of cash—into the backpack. The third was his shoulder holster, and that, he tossed on the bed alongside his weapon. As the sheets settled again, he strode back to the dresser and yanked open a drawer to retrieve a fresh T-shirt. He grabbed one at random and draped it over the corner of the dresser. Thinking he would’ve loved time to wash off the grit of the day, he pulled off his tank top and turned to throw it toward the corner where his dirty laundry tended to pile. Then he froze as he remembered abruptly—belatedly—that he had an audience.
You forgot about her? said an amused voice in his head. Yeah, right.
It was true, though. Despite the fact that his current actions were directly related to Elle, and even though he’d literally just been thinking about her, his urgency had momentarily robbed him of common sense. Now it was robbing him of movement, too. Except for his eyes, of course, which lifted to the blond woman who stood just a few feet away.
Her gaze was on his chest, her lower lip quivering as she drew in a breath. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t look away. Instead, her stare traveled over his body in a way that would’ve made Noah blush if he were the kind of man who was prone to it.
Chest to extended arm, then back.
Along his torso.
Dow
n to his stomach.
Skimming over the spot where his jeans hung on his hips.
Then up, up, painfully slow, pausing to trace the line of his clavicle.
The exploration was as explosive as a touch, but far more of a torment.
When her stare finally reached his face, every part of Noah felt seared. Almost branded. His breathing was practically ragged, and he couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if she actually touched him in that moment. Would he ignite? Melt? Or just drag her to the bed and pour all that extra heat from his own body into hers?
Get a freakin’ grip, Loblaw.
But he wasn’t sure he could comply. Desperate to break the hold of her simple, visual exploration, Noah covered a growl—which might actually have been closer to a moan—with a muttered apology for the display, then forced himself to grab the fresh T-shirt. It took two tries to actually get ahold of the cotton, and the second attempt sent the item to the floor. Growling again, he yanked it up and viciously yanked it on.
Ultra-conscious of Elle’s attention now, he pulled another shirt from the drawer—this one a short-sleeved button-up in charcoal gray. With that in hand, he strode to the bed, pretended he hadn’t pictured her there just a moment earlier and snagged his holster. He slid on the straps and buckled his weapon into the appropriate slot. Then he slipped on the dress shirt so as to cover the gun and spun back to face Elle once more.
“Ready?” he said, glad that his one-word question came out sounding damn close to normal.
“Sure. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be ready for, but if it brings us closer to getting Katie, then...yes. A hundred percent.” She spoke casually—like she hadn’t just given his bare chest a thorough perusal—but as Noah turn away, he caught the way her throat worked in a silent swallow, and he knew she’d felt the heat, too.
He kept his thoughts to himself, though, opting instead for a thumb jerk toward his closet. “C’mon.”
Elle tipped her head to look past him. “C’mon...where?”
In response, he shoved aside the clothes on the hangers and stepped over the safe. He pressed his hands to the rear wall, lifting at the same time as putting pressure on the cool surface. The drywall barely protested as it rose from the floor to reveal a dark, narrow space. He quickly stepped inside, then called to Elle.
“Good to go,” he said. “And shut the closet door behind you.”
“Is that a secret passage?” Her reply had a nervous quake that made Noah pause and stick his head back out.
“More of a structural anomaly.” He studied her face, noting that she sucked in her lower lip, then released it again before answering.
“A structural anomaly that you just happened to know was there?”
“That. Or one I created myself for an eventuality such as this one.”
“And you want me to get inside?”
“Pretty much our best chance of getting out of here in one piece.”
He saw her throat work in a second swallow, only this time, it was pure worry.
“I don’t do all that well with small dark spaces,” she admitted.
“I’ll be right there with you,” he promised.
Her eyes closed. “Trust and Katie, right?”
“Trust, Katie and me,” he corrected without thinking about it.
The comment made her eyes open, and when her blue gaze found him, it was both sharp and unsure at the same time. Like she was trying hard to decipher if he meant it. Or maybe what he meant. Something he wasn’t all that sure of himself. Whatever it was she was searching for, she seemed to find it. She turned away and dragged the closet door shut. Then she took a breath and a few steps at the same time, setting one foot beside him, then another. And Noah was thankful for the move in his direction, because as he reached for the panel that would close them in, the light, almost imperceptible rattle of someone trying the door handle carried to his ears.
* * *
Startled by the sound, Elle went from cautiously entering the space to practically diving in. She smacked into Noah, and he stumbled back. His body thumped the wall behind, and Elle cringed as she saw the concerned way his eyes flicked to the opening in the closet.
Crap.
She tried to breath out an apology, but he vehemently shook his head and made a keep-quiet gesture. Then he pushed off the wall and slid past her—the space was just barely wide enough to allow it—so he could grab hold of the panel on the other side. As he lifted it into place, more panic tried to rise in Elle’s chest. She beat it back.
You’ll be okay, she told herself.
But it was a hard thought to believe. Even harder when Noah succeeded in his task, because the darkness closed in completely, cutting off the last of the already minuscule amount of light. Her heart rate surged. She ordered it to slow.
C’mon, Elle. You’ve got this.
But then the wide-shouldered man leaned back, his body brushing hers, and she almost jumped.
“You good?” he murmured.
“I’m fine,” Elle lied in a whisper.
“Good. We’re just going to wait here for a short bit to see if anyone breaks down the door.”
“Breaks down the door? Don’t you think we should keep moving?”
“They won’t find us in here, and their conversation might give us a hint on what direction to take once we’re out of here.”
“Right. Okay.”
“Just a minute or two. I promise.”
“All right.”
I can do this.
She let her eyes sink shut, then breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth in an exercise meant to calm.
It wasn’t that she was claustrophobic. She just had bad memories of a small dark space that she never wanted to revisit. And climbing into a secret passageway—or whatever Noah wanted to call it—was a sure-fire way to stir up the parts of her past that she kept locked firmly away. Add the potential threat on the other side of the wall, and it was a recipe for a full-fledged panic attack.
Think about anything else.
But when her mind slid around in search of a topic, it did the inevitable; it latched onto Katie. The same questions that had plagued Elle since the moment of realization in the park jumped to the forefront again. Where was she? Was she okay? Was she locked in a place that was dark and oppressive like this one? Or somewhere worse?
An image of her little face—framed by her dark locks and full of a fear—slammed forcefully into Elle. It cut away the measured breaths she was trying to maintain. It made her heart want to burst. And she knew that if she didn’t channel her brain elsewhere, the worry would overtake her.
Elle shifted her attention to the physical world. Behind her, the wall was cool and rough, and her right hand had unconsciously clasped around what had to be a wooden beam. Her fingers flexed on it, feeling the myriad of imperfections under her skin. It was a good feeling. A solid one. And it grounded her enough that she was able to gain control of her breathing again.
As she inhaled slowly and deeply, she noted that the air had a slightly musty, slightly chalky scent. It wasn’t exactly awful, but it brought to mind attics full of old clothes, and it was accompanied by a need to pull out some lemon-scented cleaner and wash it away. Elle exhaled, then drew another breath, noticing that on top of the mustiness was another smell.
Noah’s.
There wasn’t more than a hint of cologne emanating from him—and maybe it was just aftershave or even deodorant—but it still begged another breath. Elle sucked one in, enjoying the way the scent intensified, and how it mingled with a trace of sweat. The latter addition to the smell wasn’t at all odorous; it reminded her of long hot summer days on the beach. A place she’d far rather be. Soaking up the rays and building sandcastles with Katie.
Her stomach dropped again, and she had to really work to stop from letting the fear
seep back to the surface.
Shift your focus, Elle. You can do it.
She squeezed the beam again, drew yet another breath and tried to seek out a small amount of good in the situation. It was an old trick she used when things were at their worst. And after just a moment, she realized there was something pleasurable in the midst of the fear and chaos. Her hand snaked out to find it, and even in the dark, she had no trouble seeking what she wanted. In a heartbeat, she had her fingers threaded through Noah’s, and he immediately squeezed back. The contact was exactly what Elle needed. It didn’t completely rid her of the hard pit of worry in her stomach, but it anchored her to the current moment. And that was enough.
Breathing out a perfectly calm breath, she pulled her eyes open and found Noah’s increasingly familiar gaze fixed on her.
“Hi,” he said, his voice low and somehow full of intimacy.
“Hi,” she said back, feeling oddly shy.
“Still doing okay over there?” he asked.
“All things considered,” Elle replied.
“All things considered...” he echoed. “You’re holding it together in a pretty damn impressive way, actually.”
“Am I?” She shook her head. “Because this is the worst day of my life. And I’ve had some doozies. I feel like I’m falling apart at the seams.”
He freed his fingers, palmed the back of her hand, then dragged his thumb up her arm. When he reached her shoulder, he slid the tips of his other four digits over her clavicle, up her throat, then cupped her cheek. For a moment, his hand stayed there. Then it reversed its path. Slowly. So slowly. And the heat in the small space doubled. Tripled, maybe. Electric attraction zapped through Elle, but a little part of her protested the timing yet again. Except a bigger part of her pointed out that they were stuck where they were. They weren’t moving until Noah was sure that the intruders were either coming or going. What was the sense in fighting the heavy air and the need to let him sink his mouth into hers? So when Noah pulled his hand back, his expression unreadable in the dark, there was no part of Elle that wasn’t disappointed.
High-Stakes Bounty Hunter Page 8