by Sandra Cox
“I’ll hog-tie you and toss you in the back of the truck like a calf at a rodeo.”
There was just something about his implacable expression that made her uneasy. She had always been able to get around men. Well, with the exception of cold-blooded killers like Johnny Morelly and psychopaths like Victor Price, she amended silently but something told her Hank McHenry was the exception to the rule. A maverick who’d never run with the herd.
She sighed in defeat. It was going to be a damn long three days.
* * * * *
Victor grabbed the bars of his cell and shoved against them. He threw back his head and howled out his fury, spittle forming at the corner of his mouth and dripping down his chin. Morelly had failed and he, Victor, was still in this dank, lightless gray cubicle.
He paused, arrested. His eyes lit with madness. Of course, Victoria!
Chapter Five
A string quartet, dressed in black, plucked their instruments in the corner of a large well-lit room. White-shirted waiters zigzagged between men in tuxedos and women dressed in long sleek dresses and wearing sparkling diamonds. They stood in groups studying Bella’s paintings. A mix of perfumes hung in the still air, some light and fruity, some heavy and overpowering.
It was the first night of her showing and the premier event of the season, held at the most prestigious gallery in Atlanta. In the beginning of her career, she had found the excitement overwhelming. Now all she could think about was getting home and out of her three-inch spike heels.
Bella glanced at Hank from under her lashes and bit down on her lips to keep from smiling. The man standing next to her looked as handsome as sin. Feet splayed, arms rigid and hands locked in front of him, he looked more like Secret Service than an art lover. He even wore dark glasses to hide his magnificent shiners. A close-clipped, partial beard camouflaged the bruises on his face.
A young woman in a fitted burgundy dress stepped out of the crowd and walked up to Bella. She pointed at the picture of Hank—now minus the green mustache—that hung in solitary splendor on the west wall. “I’d love to have that painting and the man in it.”
Bella narrowed her eyes, trying to place the young woman. Enlightenment dawned. “You’re the attendant on the Rome to Atlanta flight.”
“You remembered.” The woman smiled, pleased.
“And you are?” Bella tipped her head toward the airline employee.
“Ann Sullivan.”
“Ann Sullivan, meet Hank McHenry, the man in the portrait.”
Ann put her hand over her mouth then removed it. “Oops. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
“How can any man be embarrassed about getting complimented by a lovely woman?” he said gallantly.
Bella blinked. The man was full of surprises. And she was pretty sure he hadn’t touched the champagne.
Ann eyed him speculatively, the look of an interested woman.
Bella nearly jumped out of her skin as Hank draped a casual arm around her shoulder. “Can I get either of you lovely ladies anything?”
“I’d like some champagne,” Ann said.
Hank looked at Bella.
“I’ll have a glass too.”
Ann watched him walk away. “He’s taken?”
Bella ground her teeth, fighting back the urge to say, “Don’t you think he’s a little old for you, dear?” Just as she opened her mouth a very handsome man with a charming smile bumped against her. “Forgive me,” he said as he steadied her.
Before she could respond he had moved on, weaving smoothly through the crowd.
“Wow, what a looker,” Ann said, her eyes glazing.
“Don’t drool, sugar,” Bella responded, her eyes on the handsome stranger as he headed toward the door. Automatically, she touched her left forearm and encountered bare flesh, her amulet gone.
Before she could yell for security he reached the door. As if attuned to her very thoughts, Hank turned his head. She motioned toward the door then began running through the crowd.
Hank glanced at her arm and his jaw tightened. He shoved the people in front of him out of the way and ran for the door.
Raising his hand above his head, he pointed to the man walking quickly out the door. Bella nodded then yelled, “Stop that man.” But the steady murmur of voices from the crowd, now packed like sardines, and the string quartet playing in the background, drowned her out.
Hank was through the crowd like a shot.
A man a head taller and shoulders like a bull stopped in front of her. She shoved hard. He swung around. “Hey.”
“Sorry, sugar, I’ve got to get through.”
“Oh, Ms. Tremaine, allow me.” Swinging his broad shoulders, he pushed through the crowd.
Tension mounted with every step. By the time she reached the doorway, she was almost dancing with impatience. “Thank you,” Bella threw over her shoulder as she bolted outside.
She looked to her right then her left and saw Hank disappearing around the corner. Thrusting forward, she took off after him. Her tight-fitting white silk dress hampered her. Stopping for a moment, she grabbed the hem and ripped, then took off, her stilettos clicking against the sidewalk. Even in three-inch heels her stride was long and firm. She might not diet worth a damn but she could run the mile in five minutes flat. Her arms moved like pistons as her muscled legs ate up the sidewalk. She turned down the block, swerving around two teenage girls and was just in time to see Hank turn another corner.
Her pencil-thin heel caught in a crack and she went down hard on the sidewalk, the shock of rough, textured concrete against her knees and palms bringing tears to her eyes.
“Here, miss, are you all right?” A hand gnarled with arthritis reached out to help her up. Tipping her head, she saw an old gentleman with a shock full of white hair bending over her. Taking his hand, she nearly pulled him down as he hauled her up.
She bent over and scooped off her heels. “Thanks.” Not waiting for his reply, she took off again, reveling in the sense of freedom and the cool feel of concrete against her feet.
The aches and pains in her knees and palms faded and a runner’s high kicked in. She barely noticed the occasional pebble she stepped on. She could just see Hank.
Dammit, he’d turned another corner. Her heart pumped as she pushed herself to catch up. She was a sprinter—not much of a long-distance runner. She focused on her amulet and surged forward.
Where had Hank gone? She looked around as she ran. Fewer and fewer people were on the street. They were heading into the less savory area of town. She tried to ignore the stitch in her side. One step at a time, she gained on Hank and the thief who had her amulet. Then Hank disappeared from view.
“Dammit,” she muttered, panting for breath. As she got closer, she saw a dark alley to her left. That had to be where he’d gone. Her step slowed. Apprehension traveled her spine like a spider crawling over her skin. Why, oh why, a dark alley? She didn’t like dark alleys. She especially didn’t like them in Atlanta, the city that averaged over two thousand violent crimes a year.
Her breasts rose and fell as she took a deep breath. Was she a woman or a mouse? Stepping into the alley, she began to jog, looking from left to right. Her eyes watered and she almost gagged. The scents of refuse, human sweat and excrement layered the warm night air.
“Where are you, Hank?” she whispered under her breath, clutching her shoes. They were the only weapon she had. Bella winced as she stepped on something sharp but kept going.
She reached the center of the alley when a figure stepped out of the shadows. Her blood chilled and the hairs on the back of her neck rose. It wasn’t Hank. She sucked in her breath and smelled her own fear. The man started toward her, a swagger to his step. She spun around into the arms of a stringy-haired, hard-muscled white male.
“Hi, honey, how’s tricks?” His breath reeked of alcohol and spicy food.
She might be quaking like blancmange inside but she wasn’t about to let this juvie know it. “Sugar, I’m going to give you th
ree seconds to get your hands off me.” Her voice was as cold as ice.
He laughed and tightened his grip. “Or what?”
“Or this.” Bringing up her knee hard against his groin, she stabbed him in the neck with one of her stilettos. He crumpled to the ground like a balloon without helium.
Before she had time to savor her victory, she was swung around and a fist connected with her jaw. As she fell, her head hit something sharp and hard. She saw stars then everything went black.
Voices came from a long way off. How long had she lain here—seconds, minutes? She shuddered as a hot, clammy hand squeezed her thigh. “I say we do her here.”
“No, man, we’ll take her back to my place then we can drag this out as long as we want. I’m already getting hot. Even with all that blood on her you can tell she’s a looker. A little old but what the hell.”
“Easy for you to say. The only thing I’ll be able to do is use her for a punching bag. I hope she didn’t permanently injure me. Besides, how do we get her out of here?”
Good point. She didn’t think she was capable of lifting her head, much less walking.
“We drag her out. Where we are going no one’s going to ask no questions.”
Oh great.
In the distance, she could hear sirens screaming. I hope to hell they are coming for me. They got closer then drew away, the police cars racing down the street.
Holy Mary, Mother of God, help me now in my hour of need.
She bit back a moan as hard arms yanked her to her feet.
“Come on, bitch.”
She forced open her heavy lids, wondering if she had a concussion. Her head felt ready to split in half. The man who’d just put her in the canine category was black with a pitted face and dreadlocks. He grabbed one arm and his friend the other and began to drag her out of the alley.
Rocks and what felt like glass brushed along the tops of her feet. She tried to stand up to avoid being dragged but she couldn’t. She could barely keep her eyes open.
They stopped and her head fell forward. A dimly lit lamp from the street threw a dusky yellow glow into the alley.
“Put her down and back off or I swear you are going to live to regret it.”
Hank! Through the waves of nausea washing over her she could hear the dark, dangerous tenor in his voice.
She lifted her head, her vision blurred. “Did you get it?” she whispered but her voice was no more than a breath on the wind. Two Hanks stood in front of her, both looking like Zeus. A much disheveled Zeus. His shirttail was out of his pants and his jacket was torn.
“And who do you think is going to hurt us, old man?” the black male sneered. “Looks like someone’s already had a go at you.”
Hank’s feet were splayed and even through the haze of her blurred vision she could see the light of battle shining in his eyes. He motioned with his hands. “Come to papa, boys. Or are you afraid of an old man?” he sneered.
Both men released her at the same time. Bella dropped to the ground like a rag doll with just enough presence of mind to cradle her head as she fell. She whimpered as her arms hit the pavement, sending a dull tremor into her throbbing skull.
Through the mist of pain she forced open her eyes. All three men were blurred and had a tendency to double but even with her disability Hank’s persona looked sleeker and more fit which she wouldn’t have thought possible.
The black man pulled out a knife. “Still think you can take me, old man?”
Both Hanks drew back their lips in a predatory smile, showing large, even, white teeth. Bella moved her head to the right and the two Hanks merged into one. Thank the gods.
A streak of silver flashed as the knife sailed through the air. Hank shifted and the knife went flying by him. The two men closed in from different directions. He crouched, waiting.
Bella watched, helpless.
When the two men rushed him, he reached out, grabbed them each by the nape of their necks and knocked their heads together. The sharp crack made Bella wince and cradle her own aching head.
The men went down without a sound.
Hank ran to her side and dropped to one knee. “Bella,” he said, his voice hoarse with anxiety.
“Amulet,” she whispered.
“I’ve got it, honey.”
She gave him a loopy smile. He kept spinning toward her then away from her. “My hero,” she said. She was going to make a joke and tell him she could have taken them but she lost her train of thought. She tried to raise her hand to pat his cheek but it fell limply to her side. The world tipped then turned black.
“Wake up, Bella. Come on, ole girl.” The voice came from a long way off. Closer, an irregular thumping sounded in her ear. The scent of blood and sweat mingled with the musky scent of man and aftershave.
Arms around her tightened, as memory tried to slither in through the black wall of oblivion. “Where’s a cop when you need one?” Hank muttered.
He gave a tiny jiggle of his arms that sent the hammers hitting against her head pounding.
She moaned.
“I’m sorry, Bella, but you need to open your eyes.”
Someone must have stuck a sticky, weighted substance on them because she just couldn’t do it.
“Come on, woman. Show me how tough you Southerners really are. No wonder you lost the war.” The sneer in his voice angered her enough to pry one eyelid halfway up.
“That’s my girl. Come on, Bella.”
“A. I’m not a girl I’m a woman. B. I’m not your girl,” she meant to say but realized the words that had formed in her mind had never passed her lips.
“Bella, honey, we are almost to the truck. Thank god I couldn’t get a parking spot close to the gallery. Come on, honey. Show some grit. Open those big beautiful blue eyes.”
A police car, its sirens blasting, came screaming to a stop. The flashing blue light sent lasers of pain through Bella’s head. She closed her eyes and turned her heavy head into Hank’s shoulder.
“Sir, do you need help? What happened?”
“She was attacked. If I follow you, can you take us to the hospital?”
“Sure thing. Just so you know there’s been a bad pileup on I-20. The hospital is going to be packed.”
Bella pried open her eyes. They had reached Hank’s truck.
One of the policemen got out of the patrol car and came running up to help Hank. Balancing Bella against him, Hank unlocked the truck. The policeman yanked open the door. “Better make sure her neck or back’s not broken.”
“Jesus Christ,” Hank said, pure horror in his voice.
“Nothing’s severed, hurts too bad,” she forced through her lips.
Hank slid Bella inside, balancing her with his arm until he slid into the driver’s seat. He arranged her legs on the seat then lay her head in his lap.
“Follow me,” the policeman said in a crisp voice.
Bella winced as she once again heard the whoop-whoop of sirens.
Hank gently touched her hair. “Hang on, honey. Hang on.” He pressed down on the gas and they shot into the street. Bella let herself float beneath the pain. At one point, they swerved sharply to the right then left. Hank cursed under his breath.
“Finally,” he muttered, slamming on the brakes and throwing the gears into park.
The door creaked as he opened it and pulled her out. She forced her heavy lids up a fraction and saw the police car pulling away.
Hank drew her into his arms and carried her up the steps to Emergency. Gurneys lined the hallway. Her stomach rolled at the scent of blood and bile mixed with antiseptic and alcohol. “Get me out of here, Hank,” she whispered.
As a white-coated intern hurried by, Hank stuck out his foot.
The man stumbled. “What the hell are you doing?”
“This woman needs help and she needs it now.”
“I’m sorry but you are going to have to wait. There was a bad pileup on I-20. There’s at least fifteen people ahead of you.”
Hank�
�s grip tightened on Bella and she could feel the rigidity in his arms. He’s afraid for me.
“Is there another hospital in town?”
“Mister, it will be the same thing there. I’m telling you it was bad. You’re just going to have to wait. I suggest you go check in.” The intern hurried away, calling out, “I need a nurse.”
She felt the agitated rise and fall of Hank’s chest beneath her ear. He leaned down close and said in a low voice, his breath warm against her face, “I’m taking you to Maureen.”
“Puss–Puss,” she managed to push out. “Can’t leave him.” It took all of her strength but she managed to reach up and grasp the front of his shirt before her hand dropped limply to her side. “Promise,” she whispered.
“Okay, honey.”
“Thank you.” She closed her eyes, letting her mind drift. She could hear the swish of the doors as he carried her out of the hospital. The sweet night air felt warm on her chilled skin. Once in the truck, he placed her on his lap.
She drifted in and out as they drove to her apartment. She was aware of the knotted tense muscles under the smooth fiber of the tux and the heat of him but most of all the knowledge that she was where she belonged and somehow Hank McHenry would take her weight on his shoulders and get her to a safe harbor. She knew that as surely as she knew the sun would rise in the east. So she let herself drift back down into a blanket of darkness far beneath the excruciating pain hammering in her head and the rest of her body.
“Bella.”
She turned her head and burrowed back in the direction of oblivion. She didn’t want to go back to the pain.
“Bella, can you hear me?”
She sighed. Why wouldn’t he let her be? A calloused hand felt her forehead and stroked her hair back from her face. His voice was both caress and threat. “We are in front of the apartment. I’m going up to get Puss–Puss and let me tell you that name’s an affront to a tomcat of that caliber. You should have named him Tiger. But that’s neither here nor there. I’m going to ask George or whoever’s on duty to watch the truck while I’m upstairs. I’ll lock you in. Bella, can you hear me, honey?”
His hands on her tightened. “You listen to me. You’re a fighter. You fight. Other people might be fooled by that empty-headed blonde act you put on but I know, at your core, you are pure steel. Now you fight, you hear me? Or I swear to god I’ll come after you in the afterlife and never give you a moment’s peace,” he said, his voice raw with emotion.