Phantom in the Night

by Sherrilyn Kenyon

  Footsteps pounding toward her from behind registered.

  She froze. Time blurred and slowed in her mind, but everything happened in milliseconds as she reached for the 9 mm in her tote.

  Hard fingers clasped her arm first and yanked her back from the container.

  A bullet pinged off the door where her head had been before she'd been wrenched backwards.

  Terri stumbled, losing her balance when her foot caught on a rut of clumped grass and roots. The tote fell from her shoulder. On her way to the ground, she saw a black silhouette against the bright white container right before her head hit a hard edge. Sharp heat stung her scalp.

  Stars swam in a black sea behind her eyelids.

  * * *

  Nathan grimaced when he heard the woman hit the ground with a solid whump. A soft groan of pain slipped from her lips. Dammit. He'd barely reached her when she'd pulled the door open. She'd left him with no option except to yank her away before the perp in the container took a shot and her head exploded into tiny pieces of skull bone and brain matter.

  All he could do for her right now was stand between her and the threat that would surely come looking to finish the job.

  The single overhead halogen on a tall pole at one end of the gravel parking lot sent a mere hint of light to this area. Nathan couldn't see her face, but hoped the worst she'd end up with was a bump on her head.

  He plastered his body against the closed door on the right, waiting for the shooter to come out. The tip of a gun peeked into the opening, then a shadow slashed across the open door.

  Nathan latched onto the arm and jerked the body fully outside. The shooter swung around fluidly, hitting Nathan with a bone-jarring kick to his side. Nathan sucked in a sharp breath and returned the favor with a kick of his own and two quick hand jabs to the arm he was pretty sure still held a gun. When metal hit a nearby car, he had a microsecond for a quick assessment of his opponent.

  Fast, skilled, and deadly. Professional. This was no thug or goon. This was someone who made a living hurting people.

  The air whooshed with flying hands and feet. Nathan blocked one blow, catching others against his face, chest, and arms every time he made a wrong move.

  With so little light, he fought blind, but didn't think the other guy had any night-vision gear so neither had an advantage.

  Nathan dove forward on the attack, slamming solid hits and kicks with blinding speed whenever the dim light shed a small amount of aid.

  Grunts of exertion and the thud of one blow after another filled the night air. Nathan had endurance, but this guy had speed, which Nathan had lost in prison with the lack of any training beyond weight lifting.

  His best offense was to attack more aggressively and hope for a break. He got in one really solid kick that sent the guy stumbling backwards, but the son of a bitch hit the ground, rolled, and scrambled away in the darkness.

  Nathan waited, trying hard to catch his breath. Where was that bastard? Had he left or was he hunkered down, waiting?

  A moan behind him drew his attention. He backed up, keeping an eye out for any movement. When he reached the Mitchell woman, he knelt down and lifted her upper body into his arms so he could feel the back of her head. A lump, just as he'd thought, hopefully not bad enough to be a concussion.

  Her head lolled against him and her hand came up to his chest. She grumbled incoherently. He stilled with the strange feeling her simple contact stirred within him. He hadn't been touched by a female in a long time. Her hands gripped his shirt as if she needed to anchor herself or reached for comfort.

  Nathan instinctively drew her closer to his chest, an ingrained need to protect her.

  Something scuffed the ground not far away.

  His attention snapped back into gear.

  He scooped her into his arms and slipped inside the container. With only his hands as weapons, he had no way to neutralize a threat with a gun and he'd bet his attacker had located his weapon by now.

  But a professional wouldn't make the mistake of coming inside this container without knowing if Nathan was armed or not. He wouldn't leave, either, if what he'd come for was still inside here. At least, not if there was hope of retrieving it.

  As soon as Nathan determined that the woman was okay, he wanted to survey the contents and see if anything was disturbed.

  He shifted the supple body in his arms, ignoring the desire to feel her hands on him again, but with purpose.

  Don't go there.

  This hadn't been his plan when he'd followed the container from the docks to this yard.

  After a short time of hanging upside down and naked, FinMan had given Nathan the scoop on Marseaux's latest drug shipment sitting at the docks, Nathan had reached the container yard in time to see police swarming around one in particular. The NOPD had guarded this container until a tractor trailer showed up, then transported it to this holding facility. He'd cased this place for two hours, waiting on nightfall.

  Just when twilight had faded and the only light to flicker on had been the single pole light in the parking lot, he'd started to clip the fence wires and enter.

  That's when he saw the other intruder scuttle from point to point across the uneven terrain. He'd held back and waited in hope of following the guy;

  A decent plan until Terri Mitchell showed up, Nathan recognized her the minute she'd stepped from her car and started up the hill. She had the sexiest walk he'd seen on a female since he couldn't remember when, one he wouldn't soon forget. Unfortunately;

  He wouldn't forget her scent, either, or her soft skin.

  Or a mouth that begged to be kissed. He could steal one, but that just didn't seem right, even if she was a cop.

  She stirred against him. Her supple body invited thoughts he hadn't entertained in years, literally. Like how much he missed spending the night in a soft bed with a woman he could devote hours to pleasuring. But a woman like her would probably want more than a hot roll between cool sheets.

  More than a man as cold and dead inside as he was.

  The Mitchell woman stirred with a start, panting.

  He considered putting her down, but wasn't sure what she'd do once she came to in the dark. There wasn't much room to move around in this space if she panicked. He knew the minute she was conscious by how fast she stiffened in his arms.

  "Put me down." Her order had a ring of unease to it.

  Nathan lowered her feet first, steadying her until she jerked away out of his grasp. Her shoes scuffed against the wood floor of the container, backing away from him.

  He spoke to her softly. "Stop, before you fall again."

  "Who are you? What do you want in here?"

  "Keep your voice down. And before you go all badass cop on me, I'm the one who saved your life outside."

  "How do I know that?"

  Was she serious? "Let's use some logic. You stuck your head in here. Someone tried to use it for target practice, but I yanked you away before you ended up headless. If I was the shooter, you'd be dead now and we wouldn't be having this conversation."

  "You're that guy,"she whispered, surprised. "The one in the house. Nathan Drake's house."

  * * *

  CHAPTER FIVE

  "Shh." As soon as he spoke, Nathan wondered why he'd bothered. He doubted that would keep this Mitchell woman from talking, not now that she'd realized he was the one she'd met while breaking into his mother's house.

  He wasn't saying another word. Hell, he'd just said more than he had in the past two years.

  "What's your tie to Nathan Drake? Do you know where his body is?"

  "Keep talking and the shooter will catch us with our guard down," Nathan whispered. He shouldn't have to tell her that. Wasn't she in law enforcement?

  The container fell so silent he thought she'd stopped breathing.

  She shuffled back another step until her foot bumped something he guessed was the wall.

  "Be still." He couldn't see her but all noise ceased until he caught the sound of her
short breaths. She was rattled and barking at her wasn't helping. Way to go, Drake. Had he forgotten how to be civil to a woman? To be honest, yes. He hadn't shared a social conversation with anyone in so long he'd obviously forgotten how to converse without making it sound like a threat.

  "I'm not going to hurt you," he said quietly. He'd never harmed a woman in his life and didn't care for feeling like a threat to one now.

  "Okay." She kept her voice just as soft.

  "I'm moving closer to talk. Don't panic."

  "Okay."

  One-word answers. She was still afraid of him, but he didn't have all night to soothe her. She didn't make a sound as he moved forward again, slowly. He lifted the hood of his sweatshirt jacket back over his head, then stretched his hand out high above where her head should be so he would touch the wall before he bumped into her. When his fingertips bumped a hard surface, he stopped and leaned down.

  "What do you want?" she asked.

  "For you to calm down."

  "Why are you angry?"

  "You don't have enough time to hear the list. I'm going to take a look at the contents of this container and see if I can determine if he got what he came for. You could help."

  No response. He hadn't slept in almost two days of being on the move, but his time was limited. Once word got around that the Drake ex-con was on the streets and not checking in with a parole officer, his time would be up.

  He'd have to go to ground. He wouldn't gain any real time by physically checking in with his parole officer and couldn't risk picking up a tail sent by the law or Marseaux's people.

  Which meant he had to move this along faster.

  Nathan checked his anger and worked on sounding patient while he explained, "The guy who tried to kill you will be back if he didn't get what he came for."

  "So look at the contents." She sounded less nervous and maybe even annoyed herself.

  "Not without you. I can't protect you if you're between me and him or out of my reach."

  "I don't need your protection." Annoyed and cocky this time.

  "You got a gun?" He knew the answer. If she'd had one, she'd be pointing it at him right now.

  Silence.

  "Neither do I," he told her. "I'm going to take your arm so I'll know where you are while I'm moving around."

  "No."

  He clenched his fingers. Patience. At least she was talking, even if she still acted like he was going to drag her off by her hair.

  "What if you hold my arm?" he asked, searching for a way to get her to cooperate.

  No reply.

  Her lack of faith in a man who had just saved her life wore on him. After two years of defending his personal space and refusing to be touched, even if it was a simple handshake from another inmate, Nathan felt an odd urge for this woman to give him that one concession.

  To acknowledge that he deserved to be accepted as a decent man and not feared.

  "Please, take my arm," he urged gently and waited, one second, two, three…

  A delicate hand bumped his arm, jerked back, then the fingers returned to slide down his arm to wrap around his wrist and flame his skin everywhere she touched.

  He hadn't realized until that moment how much he'd missed the connection to another person. To a woman.

  If he was still alive when this was all over, he might try to find a woman he could spend a night with. One who would understand that he wasn't worth investing any serious energy in, someone who would expect nothing from an emotionally bankrupt man.

  Add fifty bucks and that would be a hooker, Einstein.

  Nathan jerked his mind back on track and reached into his pants pocket. He removed a tiny LED light and squeezed it on, scanning the interior of the container. The only area disturbed were boxes in the back section to the side of a generator framed inside four-inch steel tubing. One section had been cut open, leaving jagged edges. They'd used an acetylene torch. A cardboard box had been ripped open.

  He moved around cautiously so he didn't break the fragile contact she allowed. Shining the beam of light ahead of them, he lead her down the middle and kept an eye on the door. When they reached the area where the package had been opened, he looked closer.

  Two teak carpenter tools—a hand plane and an L square—were lying beside a crate. Fancy carved stuff that no real carpenter would use.

  She released his arm and leaned past him to look, but said nothing.

  "Does this make any sense to you?" he asked.

  She glanced up and squinted at him, but he kept his face shielded. The tiny light caught the soft curve of her lips. Pretty mouth.

  "Uh, no, I have no idea why he was searching here," she mumbled.

  Liar, but Nathan wouldn't risk losing what ground he'd gained with her by saying so. The guy outside probably hadn't gotten what he came in for because that was the only box open. If he'd been finished, he wouldn't have missed that shot.

  He'd have been heading out, weapon ready.

  The Mitchell woman stood upright without speaking a word.

  "Do you have a radio?" Nathan asked her.

  "No."

  "Aren't you with the NOPD?" He shined the light up to illuminate her face, but not straight into her eyes.

  "Not directly."

  "Where's your purse? Didn't you bring any mode of communication?"

  "My purse is in the car. I didn't think I'd need it to inspect a metal box," she snapped and brushed hair from her eyes, though the mass of blonde curls teasing her shoulders seemed oblivious to any kind of coaching.

  He liked the rebellious hairstyle, and the spark of backbone she showed him in spite of the situation. She appealed to him in a saucy way. That he was turned on by a woman in law enforcement who didn't like him said a lot about how long he'd been celibate.

  "So what are we going to do?" She had crossed her arms and if he could see her feet he'd bet she was tapping a toe. "My cell phone is in the tote I dropped when you knocked me backwards."

  What? "I did not knock you backwards, I pulled you out of the line of fire."

  "Whatever."

  Did she not understand what he'd done? "I'm going out to get the tote bag—"

  "Like hell you are," she sputtered.

  "Yes I am, unless you want to spend all night in here with me." Had he really said that in a any-chance-you-might tone? Loser.

  Silence.

  Nathan sighed. Yep, loser. He didn't have much ego left at this point, being an ex-con and all the amenities attached to that title, so who cared? And what had he thought? That she'd vote to spend a night with a man she probably rated along the lines of low-life sex offender?

  He shook his head to clear those ideas and to focus on what was important, "From the way this stuff is stacked, doesn't look like anything is missing. Which means the guy outside might try to come back in here and look some more, I don't have a weapon so I have no way to fight back against a nine millimeter. I'm going back to the door," He started forward, slowly, waiting to see if she'd follow.

  She grabbed his arm.

  His heart did an extra thump, Nathan smiled over the gesture, small, but something that made him feel less like an ex-con and more like a man.

  At the door, she tugged on his arm. When he turned to her, he leaned close to listen. She had the most feminine smell, soft and fresh.

  She whispered, "Don't go out there. He might shoot you."

  She's worried about me? Really? "He won't." Nathan took her comment as a positive sign and leaned a little closer to where her lips had whispered, zeroing in on her mouth. He'd like to find out if her lips were as supple as they looked.

  "You don't know that," she countered.

  Her warm breath tickled his nose. He knew exactly where her lips were.

  Tempting, oh so tempting.

  "I do know he won't shoot me," Nathan assured her. "The minute I throw your bag inside, call for backup."

  Her hand touched his shoulder this time, holding him captive. He soaked in her scent, wanting to taste
her more than he'd wanted to taste anything in the last two years.

  "They'll arrest you if I call anyone," she said in a husky tone that sounded sexy, and inviting. Or was he just hoping so?

  "They'll never see me."

  She said nothing, but he felt her lean toward him just a sliver, enough to ramp up his pulse.

  "Who are you?" She licked her lips. "I—I want to know how to find you." Her fingers tightened, gripping his shoulder.

  He hadn't kissed a woman in over two years. He'd likely never get another chance to kiss one this nice anytime soon, maybe not at all once he went on the run. He leaned another millimeter closer and… what the hell?

  Nathan drew her into his arms and kissed her with a mix of tenderness and need. She kissed him back for all of ten seconds then pushed away.

  "What are you doing?" she asked in a terse voice that washed over him as briskly as a cold shower.

  "Nothing." He released her and lifted up, feeling caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

  The brittle silence that followed did nothing to change that sensation.

  Disgusted with himself over the momentary lapse in judgment, better known as gross stupidity, he focused on his next move.

  Get her tote so she can call in backup and run off the guy who had already taken a shot at her once tonight.

  "Wait here." Nathan dropped down on his knees and eased out of the container. He slithered across stubby patches of grass and dirt to the area where she'd fallen. Using one hand to feel for the bag and keeping the other beneath him to shove up if he had to, he searched the ground, listening for any vibration of movement. His fingers touched a stuffed bag. He grabbed the material, found the top, careful not to dump it, then slithered back to the container door and shoved the bag inside.

  That hadn't been the way he'd envisioned his first encounter with a woman when he got out of prison. Stupid to kiss her in the first place. He was lucky she hadn't screamed bloody murder.

  He'd find a spot where he could watch until backup arrived. He shouldn't care. She was a cop, after all, and not the least bit defenseless at the moment, but still a woman. One who probably had her weapon trained on him at this minute.