by Jenn Black
“Lori,” he called. “Lori!”
Wonderful. Why was he always too late?
The one woman he’d sworn to protect forever lay in a crooked heap where she’d tumbled.
“Lori,” Davis breathed, and fell to his knees by her side. “Please tell me you’re okay. Please, Lord, don’t take her from me.”
He knelt across her body, skating his palms along her hot, feverish skin and searching for wounds. Something had sliced one of her cheeks and blood trickled into her hairline.
His heart hitched in his chest.
Not a bullet—maybe glass?—but if it scarred, she might never model again. Actually, if she didn’t open her eyes soon, he might never wear a badge again. What kind of a cop was he?
“Come on, Lori. Wake up, wake up, wake up.”
Davis bent over her frame and clutched her to him, his ear to her mouth.
She was breathing. Good.
He checked her again for wounds and found nothing life threatening. Could he be so lucky that she hadn’t been hit by a bullet? Might she have just passed out from shock? Man, he hoped so.
Davis glanced toward his car. Gone.
Carver must’ve slid into the driver seat and chased after the perp.
Wait. Carver’s belly was too big for her to slide anywhere. She would’ve had to get out, cross to the other side, get back in, merge into traffic… catching up with the perp’s vehicle would be nothing short of a miracle.
A hitching breath hiccupped from Lori’s chest.
She opened her eyes and blinked at him. “Davy?”
“You’re all right,” he whispered, unsure whether he was trying to convince her or himself. “You’re going to be all right.”
Her eyes widened and her lips quivered. “I thought he killed you.”
“Who?”
“The killer, whoever he is. I saw you, I heard the gun shots, everybody was screaming, my clothes smelled like apple—I thought it was going to be like my dad all over again.”
“I didn’t think he was killed in the line of duty,” Davis faltered, then mentally chastised himself. What kind of idiot thing to say was that?
“He wasn’t,” Lori agreed. “But he was a cop, a good cop, who got shot for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. A place I’d asked him to go, just like I asked you to come here. I should never have told you. It wasn’t safe for either of us.”
“No.” Davis pulled her into his lap, cuddling his arms around her trembling form. “I’ll keep you safe. I will. No matter what it takes.”
Lori sagged against him. “How? The killer is everywhere. He knows everything.”
“She.”
With a sudden intake of breath, Lori jerked upright to stare at him. “You found the killer?”
Davis forced himself to shake his head.
“Not yet. But we will. We have a huge lead, and several potential suspects. By this time tomorrow, she’ll be behind bars.”
Lori frowned. “What about the leak in your department?”
“I can’t explain it, but I don’t think there is a leak. I didn’t even tell Carter where we were going until we pulled up.”
“Then how does she keep finding me?”
Good question. “I don’t know.”
“Then how can you promise to keep me safe? You don’t know that, either.”
Davis tightened his arms around her, hugging her body more closely to his. “I can so. Let me think for a moment.”
He couldn’t believe anyone in his department would leak information, not even on accident or in passing. His gut said his department was blameless. His heart said that where Lori was concerned, he couldn’t take any chances.
“I’ll take you to my house.”
“What?” Lori jerked in his arms. “To your house?”
“I have a little place on the Gulf, beachside, maybe twenty miles south of here.”
Her wary expression broadcasted her doubt. “What will the other officers say?”
“They won’t know. I won’t tell them.”
“Are you allowed to do that?”
Davis shrugged. “No.” But they wouldn’t have believed him, even if he did tell them.
Lori twisted in his arms to face him. “Then… why?”
“I won’t tell anyone at the department you’re there. Not a single soul. Because if there really is a leak, that’s the last place on earth any of them would suspect. Somewhere they’d never guess. Because I am a cop. Cops are naturally suspicious and inherently paranoid. The last thing a sane cop would do is take you home. It’s the safest place I can think of.”
Lori grabbed his hands and a jolt of want and lust and fear and aching memory washed through his body. He wished he could hold her for hours, if only for tonight.
He smoothed her flyaway hair with the palm of his hand and wished like hell they were somewhere else. That she was in his arms because she wanted him to kiss her, because she wanted him, not because some maniac had taken potshots at her from a speeding car.
Davis pressed his lips to her forehead.
“What do you say?” he murmured, his lips tracing the question on her skin.
Her arms suddenly convulsed around his neck and she dipped her head against his shirt.
“Okay,” she whispered. “You can take me home.”
A strange feeling settled over him as listened to her uneven breathing.
She’d actually said yes. Part of him had thought she’d either laugh in his face or run away screaming.
Davis wasn’t sure if he’d made the best decision of his life… or the biggest mistake.
* * *
Lori found herself agreeing to go home with Davis.
Not that the thought hadn’t occurred to her before. If she were honest with herself, she’d daydreamed about that very thing for months—okay, years—after they broke up before she’d finally gotten over him.
However, her dreams had made the notion seem a bit more romantic, and had somehow failed to spotlight a certain psychotic killer intruding on the scene.
Before Lori had a chance to think about much of anything with any kind of slow, rational thought process, a four-door sedan squealed to the curb in front of Tiki Nation.
“Isn’t that your car?” asked Lori.
“Yeah,” Davis answered. “Damn.”
Lori sat forward and Davis’s arms fell away from her shoulders. She missed his warmth immediately. “Didn’t you want your car back?”
Davis unfolded his body until he stood upright and reached out one arm for her hand. “I did,” he explained, “I just hoped the backseat wouldn’t be empty. Long shot, I know.”
Oh. His partner had gone after the killer. Lori hadn’t even noticed the car was gone until its noisy return. She’d been too busy dodging bullets and flying glass, people screaming and sudden chaos followed by a brief fainting spell and the achingly familiar feel of waking in Davis’s arms.
She placed her hand in his and let him guide her to her feet.
Even the appletini stench emanating from her hair and the sharp sting in her left cheek couldn’t mask the sensation of devastating rightness when their fingers met.
For Pete’s sake. Some nut job vigilante killed her best friend and came within inches of killing her too, and here she was mooning over his strong biceps and impossibly long lashes?
Furrows creased Davis’s brow.
How long had she been staring at him? Settle down, Summers. The last thing she needed was to fall back in love with someone who’d proven his claim long ago that he wasn’t for her.
Lori removed her fingers from his and swiped at the sand coating her shirt and pants.
“Stop. Here,” he said, forcing her hands to her sides. “Be careful. Let me do it. I don’t want you to cut yourself with shards of glass stuck in your clothing.”
With gentle hands, Davis brushed at the thin material covering her skin. Lori froze, unable to move.
She blushed at her uneven breathing and prayed th
at he attributed it to shock. When Detective Carver lumbered up to intercept them, Lori almost hugged her in relief.
“No luck,” she snarled, the rounded pregnant body not matching the venom in her voice. “Or rather, little luck. I got the color and the make, and I think part of the plate. I already called it in. I see the cavalry arrived.”
Lori glanced over her shoulder, surprised to see a cavalcade of squad cars pulling up to the curb, lights flashing blue and red.
Traffic ground to a near halt as gawkers slowed to peer at the ruckus on the beach and wonder what had happened. The screams had long since died down when no one had been critically injured.
Uniformed officers swarmed the sand with notebooks in one hand, radios in the other.
Lori snapped her head back around when Davis spoke.
“What’s the word?” he asked Detective Carver, motioning impatiently with one hand.
“Camry, red. Generic orange plate, like 80% of the drivers in the state, last letters N-T-A, or maybe M-T-A. Didn’t seem like vanity. They’re running it now.”
Davis turned to back toward Lori. “Sound familiar?”
She shook her head and wished it did. She wished she knew anything at all that could help catch this wacko. Who could hate her so much? A fan? A photographer? Someone she’d modeled with? Heaven forbid, someone she’d never even met and would be unable to recognize?
With a practiced flip of the wrist, Davis flipped open his notebook and paged through the contents.
“I’m looking,” he mumbled, fingers flying through the pages.
“We got thirty-two,” Detective Carver interrupted, popping some sort of cough drop into her mouth. “All blonde.”
“All but three have red or reddish vehicles, but only seven have Toyotas and just a few are Camrys. Bingo.”
He tore out a sheet and scribbled three names on one side before handing the paper to Detective Carver.
“Gotcha,” she said with the kind of grin that sends shivers down spines. “I’m on it.”
“I know,” Davis answered, reaching behind him blindly for Lori’s arm. His fingers closed around her wrist and slid down to skate against her palm before dropping back to his side. “I’m taking Miss Summers to a safe house.”
Detective Carver raised her eyebrows and cocked her weight to one hip. “Where?”
“Somewhere safe,” Davis answered with finality.
Lori held her breath, certain his partner was about to tell him to stay away, that the department wouldn’t cover safe houses, that she was on her own and good luck to her.
Instead, the detective pursed her lips and nodded. “You do that. The fewer that know, the better. I’ll cover you here.”
“Can you ride back with Bock? I’m going to take her in my car.”
“Yeah, no prob.” Detective Carver twiddled her fingers at them and headed off.
“What about my Mustang?” Lori asked. “I parked it valet. It’s here somewhere.”
Davis turned to face her, his expression solemn. “And it’ll stay here. First of all, I don’t drive pink cars. Secondly, that thing is worse than the bat symbol. Mr. Magoo could find you.”
Irksome as it was to admit, he was right.
The first five minutes of the ride to Davis’s house were quiet. He didn’t speak, she didn’t speak, and even the radio was silent.
He’d placed his navy suit jacket around her shoulders before helping her into the passenger seat, and Lori fought against the urge to snuggle deeper into the Davis-scented fabric.
This was a bad idea. Especially if her heart was stupid enough to dredge up old feelings.
“What if the killer comes after you?”
Davis looked at her sharply. “After me? Why would that happen?”
“So far, he’s targeting everyone I know.”
“She.”
“Couldn’t I be putting you in danger?”
He shook his head. “I told you. Nobody knows you’re with me but you and me.”
“And your partner.”
“She thinks I’m dropping you off somewhere. Trust me, she’d never expect this. Besides, didn’t you hear? We’ve got a major lead. Plate partials are excellent, especially when we’ve got a list of potentials to run it against.”
She shivered.
With luck, the madwoman would be found before they even made it to Davis’s house. Lori frowned. What kind of house did a ex-rich-lawyer-turned-cop live in? Neither profession seemed to scream “beach” to her.
“Tell me about your house. You said Gulfside?”
“Yeah.”
“Back door open right on the sand?”
“No.”
Men. Such stunning conversationalists.
Lori shook her head then froze when she was hit by a sudden thought. “It’s not some high-rise condo, is it?”
“Nah.” Davis didn’t take his eyes from the road.
Thank heavens. If she’d had to go up some claustrophobic elevator… Just the thought of being up high turned Lori’s stomach queasy. The killer wouldn’t even have to bother coming after her. Lori could barely climb up a stepladder. She’d just as soon sleep in his car.
Craning her neck, she glanced in the backseat. Not a single piece of fluff out of place. Add a pillow and—voila!—an instant bedroom on the go.
She turned back to Davis and tried to think up a question without a yes or no answer. “What made you decide on a beach house?”
He grunted. “It’s on a secluded stretch of sand. Very few other houses around, so there shouldn’t be any gawkers, if that’s what you’re worried about. Nothing but you and the ocean. Well, and a little sandbar about forty yards out with about a million sand dollars. But they won’t bother you. And seagulls. Those bother everyone, but hey. Welcome to Florida.”
Lori nodded. Isla Concha was very old-world Florida.
She turned to stare out her window and watch various kitschy inns and ice cream parlors zip by, brief views of sparkling ocean flashing between.
How long had it been since she’d come to the beach? At least a year. Since Sara.
Almost impossible to believe she’d been within scant miles of the water all this time. When was the last time she’d done something fun? Hunted for starfish? Lay around on the sand?
She couldn’t even remember.
Davis guided the car over a little drawbridge and then onto a small island parallel to the coast. This seemed to be the only stretch of road bisecting the narrow expanse of beach, and very few houses dotted the lonely shore.
Lori blinked and sat up straight.
Stilts? All the houses were up on stilts! Tall, skinny, rickety scraps of wood. No way. No, no way. She couldn’t do it. Impossible.
Davis pulled into the drive and Lori’s lungs shriveled in her chest.
The wooden stilts seemed horrifically tall. The robin’s-egg-blue house loomed on its precarious perch. Lori could practically see it swaying with the breeze.
“You live… here?” she managed to choke out.
He flashed her a quizzical look. “What, is it too small? Two bedrooms, one bath, no foyer, no fireplace, no frills. Bachelor pad. What can I say? Come on, let’s get you inside.”
Lori gripped her door handle and stalled for time. “What about Juliana?”
“What about her? We divorced before our first wedding anniversary.” Davis opened his door, grabbed her bag, and stepped outside. He circled around to her side of the car and pried open the passenger door.
She folded her fingers across her lap. “This place was her idea?”
“She never lived here. Will you get out of the car? I don’t want to talk about Juliana. I want to talk about you, upstairs, out of view from the street, safe from danger. Now.”
He hauled her up by her elbow and led her to the foot of the stairs, if that’s what you wanted to call the shaky collection of slatted plywood clinging to the side of the structure.
“Are you sure this thing is safe?” Lori blurted.
> Davis didn’t dignify the question with a verbal response. He simply ran up the steps two at a time. He paused long enough to shout down, “Wait until hurricane season,” before unlocking the door and disappearing inside.
Fine. One extra story? She could do it.
True, she felt like the world’s biggest wimp, afraid to climb a single flight of stairs. Never mind that said stairs were a wobbly contraption nailgunned to a bungalow perched on stilts protruding from a desolate strip of sand.
Lori counted the steps. Thirteen. Naturally.
She gripped the handrail—at least there was a handrail, however unsteady—and closed her too-dry eyes. She took the steps one at a time, counting as she went, slow, steady, three, two, one.
Sucking in a deep, wheezing breath, Lori practically burst through the door.
“What did you do, run up the whole way?” Davis asked. “Relax.”
Lori smiled through clenched teeth and took in her first glimpse of Davis’s home. Giant windows lined the perimeter, some with curtains, some with blinds, all of them pulled back to better display the view.
Being fair, he did have an excellent view of the ocean.
The entranceway had opened into a small kitchen, shaped like a half-crescent with an island along one side and three padded barstools. No breakfast table, but like he’d said—bachelor pad.
He stood at the other end of the kitchen, the refrigerator door wide open.
“Bottled water? Heineken? Lemonade?”
Lori blinked. “You have lemonade in there?”
“No,” he answered with a rakish grin. “I was hoping you’d choose Heineken.”
Although she rolled her eyes, she couldn’t suppress a smirk. Men.
“Just water.”
“Coming up.” He tossed her a plastic bottle. “Make yourself at home.”
Sipping on the icy water, Lori wandered through the house. The kitchen opened into a living room area, filled with a wide-screen TV and an L-shaped couch.
Through the living room was a hallway with four doors, two on each side. The first door led to a room that was part office, part gym. Filing cabinets and a computer desk lined one wall, while workout equipment cluttered the other.
The second door led to a small but tidy bathroom. On the other side of the hallway, the third door led to a bedroom, presumably Davis’s—Lori shut that door as quickly as she’d opened it—and the fourth was the… linen closet?