“Peyton? What’s wrong?”
Her gaze met his and she indicated one lone unclaimed certificate and medal. “Jamal didn’t show up. He was so excited to finish his lessons. He’s the only one in his family who knows how to swim.” She picked up the piece of paper. “He has a rough home life. His mom’s bedroom is a revolving door and his older brother runs with one of the violent street gangs. Jamal’s resisted joining so far, but I’m not sure how long that will last. He wouldn’t have missed today unless something happened to him.” She looked up at him with a hopeful expression. “Do you think we could run by his place? He lives in an apartment complex a few streets away from here.”
She could ask him to strip naked and dive into the pool and he’d be powerless to resist. “Sure.”
She sighed with relief and threw her arms around him. “Thank you.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Mark staring at them, his fists on his hips. Noah tightened his grip and held on to her longer than necessary. When he finally eased his hold without letting her go, her breathing had changed. Her Caribbean blue eyes were wide with awareness. There was no way she could miss the desire in his gaze—or his lower body. He forgot about Mark, the kids, the surroundings. He wanted to lean down and taste her pink lips more than he wanted his next breath.
“Ms. Peyton, this is for you.”
The sweet voice broke the spell and he released her. She bent down to accept the scraggly bouquet of wildflowers and thanked a boy she called Sheldon. Sheldon hugged her one last time and then raced for the door leading to the gym.
“Let me gather my things and then we can stop by Jamal’s apartment,” she said.
While she packed up, he toted the medal stand back to the storage closet and then the table. They both folded the chairs and then he carried them to the room and slid them on the racks he’d seen Malcom remove them from earlier.
He held the door for her as they left the community center. She popped the locks on her SUV, and he placed the box inside.
“Leave your vehicle here. We’ll take mine.” He didn’t want to worry her unnecessarily, but his SUV was equipped with every safety feature imaginable, including bullet proof glass and reinforced side panels. He had a feeling they might need it in this neighborhood.
He guided her to his Escalade and opened the passenger door for her. Once she was inside, he closed the door and rounded the hood. A flash of red out of the corner of his eye had him spinning around, but it was just a teenager in a crimson t-shirt bouncing a basketball as he headed to the gym, not the suspicious man from earlier. He slid inside and started the engine.
“Who was that man?”
He peered out the window. “Just some kid playing ball.”
“No, I mean the one you chased outside earlier.”
“You saw that?” He thought she’d been engrossed in her ceremony.
“Yes. Did you catch him?”
“No. He got away.”
“Do you think he’s the one who sent the notes?”
He nodded slowly. “It’s possible. He wore a hat and sunglasses, so I couldn’t get a look at his face. Have you noticed anyone following you?”
“No.”
He backed out of the parking space and followed her direction to Jamal’s apartment. The building was rundown and tagged with colorful graffiti. A menacing group of teenaged boys gathered by a ramshackle picnic table. The standard attire was a backwards baseball cap, underwear sticking out of jeans that were only pulled half-way up, and crude tats. Cigarettes of some sort were being passed around. Their menacing gazes followed the progress of Noah’s SUV as they slowly cruised by.
A dog that looked like a cross between a pit bull, a rottweiler and Cujo himself lunged at the vehicle, only to be brought up short by the thick chain around its neck. He bared his teeth in a fierce growl, drool spilling from both sides of his mouth. Noah shuddered to think of Peyton coming here alone. He glanced over at her. “You come here by yourself?”
She shook her head. “I’ve only been here once. I brought Jamal home when it started to rain one morning. He usually walks. He’s such a sweet kid. That’s his apartment.” She pointed to the end unit.
The buildings were constructed of wood in various stages of rot, all long past needing a new coat of paint. Doors hung off hinges and several windows were boarded up. Many of the ones that had glass were cracked or patched with duct tape.
He swerved around a pothole the size of the Grand Canyon and pulled into an empty space in the middle of the lot, making sure he could leave quickly if necessary. He had a bad feeling it might be necessary. He reluctantly shut off the engine. Against his better judgement, he opened the door and stepped outside. The air hung heavy with the scents of rotting trash, burnt food and if he wasn’t mistaken, marijuana. He fingered his weapon, feeling slightly better knowing he was heavily armed. He had another gun strapped to one ankle and a K-Bar knife on the other.
He met Peyton as she slid from the SUV and surveyed the area. Shouting could be heard from a nearby apartment followed by glass shattering. Every instinct screamed that this was a mistake, yet here he was, guiding her forward with a hand on her back.
Two men slithered out onto the concrete patio in the unit adjacent to Jamal’s apartment. They left the door open and the heavy beat of rap music poured outside. One man with a bandana tied around his head took a drag from a cigarette as they both watched them approach, one with—if he wasn’t mistaken—malice. What the hell?
“This might not be a great idea,” Peyton muttered.
That was all he needed to hear. He grasped her arm and was just about to head back to the SUV when the heavy reverberations of bass shook the ground. He turned to see a silver Pontiac with a jacked up back end and oversized tires bounce down the aisle. He waited for the car to pass before they crossed the road. The car motored by and then the driver slammed on the brakes. He instinctively shoved Peyton behind him. Tires squealed as the car shot backwards. The windows on the passenger side lowered and guns appeared.
“Get down,” he yelled, wrapping his arms around Peyton and diving for the ground behind a vehicle as gunfire erupted. He twisted so he took the brunt of the hit and then rolled to cover her body. For a moment, the sounds of the gunshots mixed with agonized screams triggered flashbacks from when he was shot a few months ago while on assignment. His vest had caught most of the bullets, but he still flinched, feeling the metal pierce his body again.
Hearing Peyton moan and the feel of her body beneath him snapped him from his memories. He gripped his Sig Sauer in his hand. He wouldn’t hesitate to shoot someone to protect her or take another bullet for her. There was no way he was letting her be harmed on his watch. The car had stopped almost directly in front of them and the occupants were trading shots with the two men from the apartment. More people filed outside firing at the car from surrounding apartments. A searing pain shot along his shoulder blade, but he ignored it.
“Shit, shit, shit,” he muttered. If the gunfire didn’t kill him, Owen would for putting his sister in mortal danger. Shots were pinging into the cars around them. One stray full metal jacket hitting a gas tank and they wouldn’t have to worry about bullets anymore.
“Crawl under the cars and don’t stop until you get to the last one,” he instructed her. He lifted his weight off her but kept her body shielded. She scurried under the car and he followed. Thankfully there was enough room for him to maneuver his bulk beneath the vehicles. Gravel bit into his skin and he inadvertently stuck his hand in a puddle of oil as they half crawled, half rolled beneath the autos until they reached the end. It was disconcerting to see people pouring out from other apartments wielding guns. They were smack in the middle of an all-out turf war. Freaking awesome.
They emerged at the end of the line of cars, away from where the action was happening. Since they were relatively safe from the threat of bullets, he chanced a look. At least six people were down in the grass in front of the apartment. One body draped
over the back window of the Pontiac, blood pouring from what was no doubt a fatal head wound. Still in reverse, the driver gunned the accelerator. He crashed into two cars but kept going. People chased him, firing guns. He crashed into another parked car and then slumped over the wheel, his head pressing against the horn so that it emitted a loud piercing wail, partially drowned out by sirens screaming in the distance.
Gunmen scattered like rats off a sinking ship. Those that were bleeding but mobile limped away and disappeared behind closed doors. The incapacitated and dead were left where they lay. He grabbed Peyton’s hand. “Let’s go.”
She dug in her feet. “Wait, we can’t leave. The police are coming.”
Which is why they were getting the hell out of there. They’d spend hours answering questions when they had nothing to tell. He didn’t want Peyton’s name associated with the bloodbath, and it would be if they stuck around. He practically shoved her into the SUV and then jumped inside and floored it before the first cop car arrived on scene.
She twisted in the seat. “Peyton, no—”
It was too late. She gasped at the carnage. “Are those men…” She couldn’t finish the sentence.
Damn, he wanted to shield her from the violence. Instead, he drove her right to it. “Yes.”
She gulped and faced forward. “Shouldn’t we talk with the cops?”
He glanced over at her. “What would we tell them? We don’t know anyone involved or what prompted the shooting.”
“Poor Jamal,” she said quietly. “He lives with this daily.”
#
Peyton was still shaking. They’d almost been shot. What would she have done without Noah? She’d probably be lying on the ground, bleeding from one or several bullet holes, or even dead. She sported some suspicious stains on her clothes and her hands were scraped raw, but she didn’t feel them. Her entire body was wracked with spasms. Suddenly her door whipped open and she was in Noah’s arms.
“Shh, it’s okay. You’re safe,” he crooned over and over.
She couldn’t form words if she had to. His body was so strong and solid and warm. She burrowed against him, absorbing his heat and strength. Finally, the tremors lessened. She leaned her head back and her heart skipped a beat. His face was so close. All she had to do was lean forward and she’d be kissing him. She’d dreamed of it for so long.
Life was short, a point driven home by the shootout. Throwing caution to the wind, she breached the gap and pressed her lips to his. He didn’t respond at first and mortification swamped her. She’d miscalculated. He probably had a girlfriend somewhere and here she was, throwing herself at him. She was just about to move away when his big hand anchored her head in place and then he took over, ravishing her with expert skill. His tongue swept into her mouth and she felt dizzy with want. Her pulse pounded, and her nerve endings sparked with arousal. All too soon it ended, and he eased away.
“I’m sorry.” His voice was gruff, guttural.
Somehow, she’d ended up in his lap and they were sitting on a bench. How did that happen? She scrambled off him, embarrassment heating her cheeks. Why was he apologizing when she was the one to attack him?
He stood and she skittered back a step. He stopped, his brows furrowing.
“Why are you sorry?” she asked, not sure she wanted the answer.
“For taking advantage of you when you’re vulnerable. You were crashing from an adrenaline dump.”
Her hands slammed to her hips. “You didn’t take advantage of me. In case you didn’t notice, I kissed you first.”
With a sexy twist of his lips, he murmured, “I noticed.” He opened her door and helped her inside. He must’ve pulled off the road when her shaking intensified. She wanted to say more but thought it best to just let the subject drop.
He waited until he buckled his belt before he said, “We haven’t had a chance to talk about the medals and notes.”
The last thing she wanted to do was think about the strange packages. She wanted to go home, climb into bed and jerk the covers over her head. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t even two in the afternoon. She felt drained. For the first time in her memory, she didn’t even feel like swimming.
“Any preference for a place to grab a bite to eat?”
“I’m not hungry.” After seeing those dead bodies lying on the ground, she might never be able to eat again.
“You need to fuel your body.” He turned into a fast food restaurant, drove to the speaker and placed an order. After he proceeded to the window and paid, he took the bags and parked at the end of the lot. He dug inside and handed her a box.
She looked from the sandwich in her hand to him. “I’m really not hungry.”
“You need the protein,” he insisted as he unwrapped a paper straw and stuck it in the lid of a cup and handed it to her. She sipped the liquid, feeling the burn of carbonation down her throat. She hadn’t even realized she was thirsty. She proceeded to drink half of the soda.
Settling the drink back in the holder, she tried a bite of the chicken sandwich and when she was able to keep it down, tried another. How did he know chicken was her favorite?
Noah polished off a thick burger and a large order of fries. He balled up the wrapper and tossed it in the paper bag.
She turned to him. “When we approached the apartment, one of the men who came out of the unit next to Jamal’s was his brother Jamarcus.”
“Which one?”
“The short one with the shaved head. Do you know if he…?” She couldn’t finish the sentence. As much as Jamal despised what his brother did, she knew it would devastate him if he was killed.
“He was hit, but he wasn’t one of those on the ground. He might’ve escaped back into the apartment.”
She hadn’t seen him either, but then, she’d been in shock. There had been so much blood. “Do you think it was gang related?”
“That would be my guess. Have you met the brother before?”
Met wasn’t quite the word. More like harassed, pressured, coerced. “He approached me after lessons one week and told me to quit filling his brother’s head with stupid fantasies, as he called them. He told me to go back to my castle and leave the peasants alone or else.”
Noah’s head snapped to her. “He threatened you?”
She lifted a shoulder. “I guess.”
Noah’s strong jaw clenched tight. Those lips—she’d kissed them. She’d dreamed of it so often over the years, but her fantasies paled in comparison to the real thing. They were as soft as she imagined, but also firm and agile and so damn talented. He was a master kisser.
“Peyton?”
She jerked her gaze from his lips to his eyes. Good grief, she’d been staring at his mouth. “What?”
“I asked when this happened. When did he approach you?”
“About a week ago.”
“Around the time the first package appeared?”
Now that she thought about it, it was around the same time. “Yes.”
“Do you think he’s the one leaving the threatening notes?” Noah asked.
The fact that medals were left for her and Jamarcus had specifically told her not to fill his brother’s head with unrealistic dreams seemed incriminating. Still, she said, “No, I don’t think it was him. If he wanted to scare me away, he wouldn’t be passive about it. He’d be more direct.” The man ran with one of the deadliest gangs in Chicago. If he wanted to convince her to leave his brother alone, he’d use much more aggressive tactics.
Jamal had been quiet and scared when he’d first attended lessons. Rondell, who volunteered coaching basketball along with Mark, suggested he learn to swim so he wasn’t afraid of the water. He’d been scared to even walk by the pool. His whole body shook when he descended the steps into the water the first time. She’d had to coax him and reassure him. She’d even held onto him so he wouldn’t be afraid. As the water rose higher on his body, his first instinct had been to flee, and he’d struggled in earnest to get out. She’d kept her grip
on him and murmured encouraging words until he finally calmed down. Once he quit fighting her, she steered him to the edge so he could grip the small ledge. As soon as he started kicking his legs, he’d been hooked. He picked up her instructions easily and couldn’t wait for class each week. He’d be the first one at the pool. That’s why his absence today was so glaring. He was proud of his accomplishments. The certificate meant so much to him. She wanted him to keep taking lessons and hoped he’d eventually enter competitions. He had the potential to be good.
But Jamal’s brother wanted him to follow in his footsteps and join his gang, the “Eighty-sixers,” they called themselves, after the street where most of the members resided. Judging from the stories Jamal told her, they were hard core. It hurt her heart that he was exposed to such evil and violence. She was afraid the ideas she put into his head about winning medals and becoming an Olympian weren’t strong enough to fight the pull of gang life, especially when it was his own flesh and blood doing the recruiting.
Noah took the mostly uneaten sandwich from her lap without a word and tossed the trash in a receptacle before climbing back inside and starting the engine. “I’d like to see the medals and notes,” he said as he backed out and then turned onto the street.
“They’re at my place.”
He braked for a red light. “Are you up to driving or do you want me to take you home? We can pick up your SUV later.”
“I’m fine.” Or she would be. Hopefully. Eventually. “I’ll give you the address and you can meet me there in case we get separated.”
“I’ve got it.”
“You know where I live?”
“Owen gave it to me.”
Of course, he did. “Park in the spot to the right of me when we get there.”
He turned into the community center lot and stopped beside her SUV. “Are you sure you’re okay to drive?”
“Yes.” She opened the door and stepped out, hoping he didn’t realize her knees almost buckled when her feet touched the pavement. She was still shaky, but she could manage.
Golden Girl (COBRA Security Book 16) Page 5