Adrienne Giordano

by Relentless Pursuit

  “I know you are. Maybe it won’t be the case. Who knows? Besides, it’s getting late and I want to play with my blindfold. What do you say, M.H.? How about a no-peep show for Billy before bed? I won’t even bug you for sex. Unless you want me to.”

  Funny man. But all in all, Mr. Good-At-This accomplished his mission. Suddenly the fat Amazon was all about getting undressed and that could only be categorized as a new experience. Such a fool she was. Live with it, Kristen. Enjoy him while you can.

  “Sorry, big boy. I’m having fun just playing with the blindfold.”

  And then she made the mistake of looking into his eyes and found his gaze on her, studying her face with such intensity she nearly coiled into herself. She turned away.

  “I’m not staring at your chest,” he said. “And sometimes I should be allowed to just look at you.”

  She glanced back at him, his gaze still on her face. And yes, she kissed him. A soft, lingering kiss that made her legs liquefy. Dammit if he wouldn’t break her heart when he left. Why couldn’t he have stayed a hit and run driver?

  At least then she’d have a reason to hate him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Billy stood at the edge of Dante’s parking lot, the quiet of the morning relieving his battered mind. Apparently, people on South Beach weren’t early risers because pedestrians were nil and only a lone car cruised by. He propped his foot against a light pole and his hamstrings barked at him through the stretch. Good run. He’d drive the piece-o-crap car along the oceanfront to measure, but his body knew distances and his endorphins indicated five miles.

  He switched legs, breathed in and bent farther into the stretch. Yeah, baby. He could get used to these morning beach runs. Easily.

  Billy heard a vehicle approach from behind. He swung his head right and watched a blue cargo van come to a stop. He set his foot on the ground just as the van’s door slid open. Three guys jumped out. He didn’t recognize them, but had no doubt they worked for the beefhead who’d visited him in the shed.

  Heading straight for him, these guys didn’t look like they wanted to shoot the shit. One was big and brawny, which was saying something since Billy was no small fry. The shorter ones held their stocky frames in a way he knew sometimes hid strength.

  Three of them. Coming right at him. Clearly wanting a piece of whatever he had.

  Fierce, juicy adrenaline streamed and Billy whirled around. Bam! He jammed an elbow into the closest guy’s nose. The vicious crunch made that schnoz toast. The guy reeled back but his buddies pounced before Billy could react. One stuck a cloth bag over his head while the other put him into a bear hug and hauled him backward.

  “I’m a little sick of you assholes cornering me.”

  He snapped his head back and headbutted the guy holding him. Later, that would hurt. Right now, not so much. Not with the adrenaline drowning the pain.

  “Son of a bitch,” the guy said, still hanging on. “Hold still before I pop you.”

  “Good luck with that.” Billy headbutted him again.

  One of the jagweeds grabbed his feet. The other held his torso and they tossed him into the back of the van. Billy kicked out, connected with someone fleshy—one of the shorter, squat looking guys?

  “Ow! Fucker.”

  Something hard and rubbery smacked against his skull. Pain erupted, blurred what vision he had inside the bag.

  His stomach pitched and he closed his eyes.

  Damn.

  Concentrating on the task, he opened his eyes. A spinning sensation forced them closed again.

  * * *

  Billy came awake slowly, his skull pounding like a son of a biscuit. He kept his eyes closed, felt the warm sun on his face and knew that wherever he was, it was deep shit. A small splash from his left sounded. Water. He caught a barely-there whiff of something foul. Swampy. Finally, he opened his eyes and stared at a bright blue sky. Sunlight scalded him and he slammed his eyes closed.

  Something soft, yet prickly tickled his arm. Grass? And his sneakers were wet.

  Not wanting to stare up at the sky again, he turned his head sideways and, once more, pried his eyes open.

  He sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. Three feet in front of him, a gator sat on the edge of a shallow canal. Huge fucking gator. Seven…eight feet at least. And big around. Gargantuan.

  An insane snapping fried his brain. Focus. Inching his head sideways, he surveyed the immediate area and with subtle movement, glanced to the right of the gator—and the shit gets deeper—baby gators.

  Sons of bitches dropped him by a nest. This mama would tear him to shreds. Still, he remained in his spot. No quick movements. “Easy now, girlfriend. I’m not interested in those babies of yours. All I want is to find the fuckers that dropped me here and rip 'em apart. Maybe you can help me with that.”

  Yeah, that would be good. If he got out of this colossal shit storm, he’d feed those schmucks to this very gator and watch the festivities.

  Suddenly, gator girl lunged. Billy whipped his arm in front of his face to block the bite and—yow—those prickly teeth sunk into his flesh, tearing through his skin and ripping at him. A howl shredded his throat and he unleashed it while pain nearly split him in half.

  For a moment, he stared into the blackness of hungry gator eyes. Attempting to tug his arm free would be futile. Gator girl chomped harder and Billy grunted against the agonizing pressure of those jaws chowing on him. “Goddammit.”

  His mind tripped back to a memory of gators swinging into a death roll to tear bone and muscle from its prey. If she went into the death roll, she’d drown him.

  No deal, girlfriend.

  And then she did it. In one rapid, mind-numbing move that at any other time he’d be mesmerized by, the gator spun on her central axis and yanked him into the water.

  Fear surged as water and panic devoured him in one large gulp. Holy hell, he did not want to die in this fucking canal. Short on options, he began kicking his feet, connecting with the underside of the gator over and over and over. The force of his efforts only drained his energy while the weight of this bitch dragged him into the canal.

  Gator girl spun and Billy rolled with her. He came out of the water, roaring his agony, the sound puncturing the quiet air. Still clamped onto his arm, the gator, with that unbelievable strength, tried to roll again.

  Don’t let her roll.

  He kicked and punched with his free arm, while primal, animal grunts ravaged him.

  Suddenly, his mind went quiet. The battle calm he thrived on. Relax.

  Stop struggling.

  As strong as he was, he’d never win this fight. Not a chance. More likely, he’d die trying. He drew air through his nose, focused on settling his mind and ignoring the agony of this bitch ripping his arm off and swallowing it.

  She clamped down again and Billy howled, his body moving into that state of numbness when the pain is too much. Think. Find the vulnerable spot.

  The eyes.

  No matter the species, the eyes were always vulnerable. He drove his fingers into Mama’s eye and, suddenly—boom—she let go, hissed and scampered back to her babies.

  Just like that.

  Pain radiated through his arm, blood spurting like an open faucet and his vision blurred. The bank of the canal shifted. He shook his head, willed himself not to pass out. If he passed out, forget it, game over. With all this fresh blood, he’d be gator bait.

  Not wasting time, he leaped up and stumbled as his feet sunk into the soft muck on the edge of the canal. His head spun, but in two giant steps he topped the embankment and started running. Forget the zig-zagging shit he’d heard so many times. He needed to get the hell out of there before mama decided to chase him.

  Running from the canal, his head filled with a fierce clanging, he glanced around. Nothing but trees. Where the hell was he? He kept running. He’d find something. Someplace. For a second, he let go of his wounded arm and patted his shorts pocket. Phone still there, but it’d be useless after th
e swim.

  Dammit.

  And he was soaked. He grasped his chewed up arm again. Blood still spewed from between his fingers. He’d be doctoring himself later. Blistered feet from a wet run would be the least of it. Still he needed to cover this bleeding. The only thing he had on him was his shirt, now saturated with who knew what kind of bacteria.

  He analyzed his surroundings, his gaze darting over grass, the various trees and exotic vegetation surrounding him.

  No palm fronds. Way too sharp. What looked like a bald cypress with Spanish moss growing on it caught his eye.

  Perfect.

  He ripped his shirt off, flipped it onto his shoulder and grabbed hold of the moss, layering it over the bleeding wound as a temporary dressing. After wrapping the nasty shirt around his arm, he bit one end to tie it off and considered the job done. At least until he could get to safety.

  He’d need to have the wound irrigated, cleaned and any dead tissue cut away. All in all, a damned fine day so far. Not. To boot, he was pissed. Really pissed.

  Might as well start the trek back to Dante. Burn off some of that mad. He ran through the trees, a damned forest, his mind spinning options of where he could be. Couldn’t be that far from the hotel. Based on the position of the sun, it was still morning so he hadn’t been gone long. He came to a barren, dirt road where the sun shined through the trees on both sides.

  He stopped, bent over and sucked in gulps of air. Which direction?

  For the millionth time, he bowed to the altar of his army training and grabbed a stick from the brush, jamming it vertically into the ground. Then he marked the shadow with a rock, raised his throbbing arm over his head to ease the pressure and paced while he waited for the sun to shift. When the shadow moved, he marked the new position and drew an imaginary line across the tops of both rock markers.

  “There’s your east-west mark, Billy boy.”

  Still squatting, he scanned the access road. North-south. Pick a direction. North. Go.

  A few minutes later, he hit a large parking area with only three cars. He ran through the dirt parking lot to the paved road where a sign welcomed visitors to Oleta River State Park. Beyond the entrance sat a main road with a causeway to his right.

  Head east. He needed to get to the ocean and back to Dante. And then he’d find the fuckers who made him gator bait.

  * * *

  Through her office window, Kristen stared at the glistening ocean and the growing crowd on the beach. She’d called Billy three times in the last hour. Not to mention the two times she’d called him the hour before that.

  A clingy person she was not.

  No matter what, he always returned her calls. Which meant something was wrong.

  Or maybe not. Maybe he’d picked up some gorgeous, skinny girl on the beach and was right now sharing a morning romp.

  Naked.

  Something Kristen couldn’t give him. Still, the idea of him screwing the first willing female sparked her temper.

  Bastard.

  She almost wanted to believe it. At least then he’d be safe. Relatively speaking. If he’d picked someone up, she’d kill him. And she’d make it bloody. Ugly bloody.

  Nagging at her, though, was the idea of him laying hurt somewhere.

  Her desk phone rang and, thankful for the distraction, she leaned over and scooped it up. “Kristen Dante.”

  “I need you to open the service entrance door for me.”

  Billy. A rush of relief bloomed happy and bright inside her. She eased into her desk chair, ran her palm over her forehead. “Where have you been? I’ve called ten times.”

  “My cell is toast. I’m on the loading dock phone. Kris, please, come down and open the door.”

  And something in his voice, that hitch when he said “please,” lacked his normal smart-mouthed confidence. “Why not walk through the lobby?”

  He hesitated. “You don’t want me walking through your lobby right now.”

  Something had happened. “I’ll be right there.”

  She kicked off her sky-high heels, grabbed them and sprinted to the far end of the corridor to the service elevator. The ride to the loading dock entrance didn’t take long, but it felt like a month. Along the way, she brainstormed where Billy could have been and why he needed to come through the back door, but none of the options were at all settling and she gave up.

  When the elevator doors opened, a janitor stood on the other side. Still holding her shoes, Kristen nodded. “Morning, Marcus.”

  Marcus glanced at the shoes, frowned, but chose to remain silent as he waved her by.

  Outside of Marcus, the loading dock lacked other employees and she said a silent thanks. Who knew what she’d find? When she reached the exterior door, she pushed it open and there was Billy, shirtless, his running shorts soaked, his face smeared with mud and something else—blood? Her gaze went to the flash of white where he’d tied his shirt around his forearm. The shirt too was soaked and worse, appeared bloody.

  She gasped and the sound echoed in her head. “What happened?”

  “Gator.”

  “What?”

  He stormed by her into the loading area, stomping around like a man three days late for his fix. “Those freaking, motherplucking fudgepuppies threw me to a dagnabit gator. Almost tore my freaking arm off! I’m going to castrate those fragging richweeds. Son of a biscuit!” He stopped his frantic pacing and lifted his arm over his head. “This mother hurts.”

  Kristen remained still, literally unable to move. Had she heard him right?

  “Big gator,” he said. “Her babies were right there. Right there. I had to fight that thing off.”

  Yes, she’d heard him right. Her stomach swirled into a tight little ball. “How?”

  He held two fingers up. “Poked her in the eye. Boop. She shit-canned it and ran.”

  Kristen stepped back, braced herself against the wall, her fingers stretched along the cool expanse of it. Somehow she knew this had happened due to his involvement with her car thefts. It had to be.

  He could have died because he was trying to help her. She’d have to live with that, but she wouldn’t do it frozen to a wall like a helpless child. Straightening up, she reached for the makeshift bandage on his arm. “How bad is it? You need to get to the hospital. I’ll take you.”

  “Pfft. Not a chance. It’s ugly, but I’ll live.”

  “You could get an infection.”

  He glanced down at his arm. “I’ll need IV antibiotics. Got a doctor I can call?”

  “Of course. But who did this to you?”

  “I was stretching after my run this morning. A van pulled up and three guys tossed me in. One guy whapped me on the head and I passed out. I woke up on the side of the canal next to the gator nest.”

  His words flew at her, coming too fast to grasp. All she knew was she’d been worried for good reason. The fact that she’d been so frantic, so utterly paralyzed by his absence told her their dalliance had become more than she’d anticipated. Or wanted. “That gator could have killed you.”

  He pressed two fingers over the makeshift bandage and winced. “I think that was the plan. Someone isn’t happy with old Billy boy.”

  “Where was the canal?”

  “They dumped me in Oleta State Park. I started running east until I hit the ocean and made my way back here.”

  “That’s more than ten miles!”

  In his condition, he’d run all the way back. Unreal.

  “Yeah, well, I needed to get back here.”

  “I would have picked you up.”

  He slid his phone out of his pocket and waved it around. “Waterlogged. My phone is trashed. All my alarms, gone. This thing is my freaking sanity. At least I back it up every night. Fudging redneck shiznets. I should crack their fudging skulls.”

  To think, he’d almost been eaten by a gator and he was still trying to keep his promise to his mother. An admirable feat, but unnecessary at the moment. “Billy, your mother would understand if you swore.
”

  He tilted his head. Considering. “I promised.”

  Kristen could love this man. And not just casually. It would be all consuming, rip-your-guts-out, you’ll-never-recover love. Too late to run now. “I know you did.”

  He plucked at the shirt on his arm. “I need to wash up.”

  “We’ll take the service elevator. You can shower and I’ll help you patch up this wound. The hotel doctor can get you antibiotics. You can’t mess with this. Does it need stitches?”

  “I don’t think they’ll stitch it. Too much chance of infection. The doc will probably have to pack it with a dry dressing. I got some stuff to clean me up in my field kit. Damned arm is stinging pretty good now.”

  Kristen grabbed his good arm and led him to the elevator. “When we get upstairs, I’ll get out first and make sure the hallway is clear.”

  “I’ll try not to bleed anywhere.”

  With what had happened to him, the man was worried about bleeding in her hotel? In a bizarre way, she found it sweet. “Carpets can be cleaned.”

  “Still.”

  They stepped into the elevator and she jabbed at the button for his floor. Hit it again for good measure. Then a third time. “I knew something was wrong when you didn’t call me.”

  Resting against the elevator wall, he leveled his gaze on her and suddenly, flirty, playful Billy returned. “M.H., you were worried about me?”

  Admitting it wasn’t a problem. The grown-up in her could deal with that. The problem was the idea that yes, she had been worried about him and it meant more than she wanted it to. “I was. You always call me back. Plus, I waited for you on the beach this morning. Thought we could walk together. When you didn’t return my calls or texts, I knew something was wrong. You always call me back. I know that about you.”

  He smiled. “I try to anyway.”

  The elevator dinged, she checked the hallway and hustled toward his room. Once inside, he shut the door behind her and she spun to him, ready to tell him she’d clean the wound, but found him already kicking out of his shorts and underwear. He left them in a pile on the floor and made his way to the bathroom.

  “That arm should be looked at.”