Star Witness

by Mallory Kane

She felt Harte shake his head. “Not yet. But they will be here soon,” he said grimly.

  “Maybe they doubled back to look at the building. We don’t know how many doors there are.” She paused. “Or if they’re all locked.”

  Suddenly, the door they’d come through rattled. The men were trying to force it open. Then a ferocious pounding filled the air. They were kicking the metal door.

  “Keep going,” he said. “We need to get away from there, and fast. I need to see how many other entrances there are.”

  His words were cut off by a sharp, ricocheting sound. “They’re trying to shoot the lock. They gave up on forcing the metal door open.”

  “The lock’s a Schlage,” Dani said. “It’ll take them forever to break it by shooting at it.”

  “It’s a what?”

  “A Schlage. The strongest and most reliable padlock in the world. Granddad had Schlage locks on every door. When you’ve tried to pick one, you develop a healthy respect for them.”

  Several rounds fired within a few seconds. Each one ricocheted just like the first. Then they heard more shouting.

  “Maybe one of them caught a ricochet,” she said hopefully.

  “Maybe it’s the boss, telling them to surround the building,” Harte replied.

  “Surround?” she said in surprise. “How many men do you think are out there? I only saw three.”

  “I think there are four, unless there’s another vehicle. I don’t think so, though. I can’t believe these guys can still maneuver that car out there, with all the wind and rain. Come on. We need to find a place to hide.”

  “Why can’t we just wait here until they give up and then sneak back out this door?”

  “If I were the boss, I’d find the freight door and try to ram it with the car.” He took her hand and started forward, into the blackness.

  As soon as she put out her hand, it bumped a solid, rounded surface in front of her. “Oh, wait. I’ve got a flashlight,” Dani said, fishing in her purse. “I forgot about it.”

  She felt him shrug. Then he said, “You’ve got a lot of stuff in that purse, don’t you?”

  She couldn’t help chuckling. “You have no idea.”

  “What does that mean?” he asked.

  She pulled the flashlight out and turned it on. The narrow beam shone on a massive, gaping red-and-blue mouth lined with dozens of sharp white teeth. It loomed over her, poised to rip her apart. She stared into the gaping maw, a shriek ripping its way past her tight throat.

  After a moment of paralyzing fear, she whirled and grasped at Harte’s shirt as she tried to suck air into lungs that felt collapsed with terror. She held on to him with all her might.

  Harte pulled her close and took the flashlight from her numb fingers. A noise like laughter rumbled up from his chest. Laughter? Carefully, she turned her head enough to peek back at the thing that had nearly attacked her.

  Harte shone the flashlight’s beam over the monster’s dreadful eyes, gleaming white teeth and garish slashes of color. Her knee-jerk reaction was to bury her face in the hollow of his shoulder. But there was something familiar about the garish face. Her cheeks began to warm as she figured out what she was looking at.

  Harte laughed out loud. “I’ve heard about these, but I’ve never seen one,” he said, chuckling. “We’re in a warehouse used to store Mardi Gras floats.”

  She unclenched her fists from his shirt and turned around. Slowly, with Harte shining the flashlight around, the nightmarish bloody beasts morphed into the familiar fiberglass, crepe paper and feather decorations she’d seen in every Mardi Gras parade.

  The awful mouth with its razor-sharp teeth that had threatened to devour her belonged to a colorful Chinese dragon head mounted on the front end of a brightly painted double-decker float dripping with gold, purple and green Mardi Gras beads.

  Next to the dragon was a gigantic leprechaun face topped with a kelly-green hat. She remembered seeing both floats in last year’s parade.

  Similar garish and vaguely disturbing shapes stretched beyond them until they melted into the darkness. Even though she knew what they were now, the back of her throat still fluttered with fading terror and she couldn’t stop shivering. “This can’t be Mardi Gras World?”

  He shook his head, still chuckling. “No. You’ve seen Mardi Gras World, right? It’s a museum. This is just a storage warehouse.”

  “Stop laughing,” she snapped. “I was scared.”

  “Sorry,” he responded, but the amused tone was still there. “Shh,” he said. “Listen.”

  She did. The shooting and banging had stopped. “I don’t hear anything.”

  “I think they’ve abandoned that door,” he said.

  “You think they’re looking for the freight door?”

  “It’s what I would do. If I only had four men, I’d leave one at the door we came in and the rest of us would look for the best way to break in...” As he talked, he fished his phone from his pocket and flipped it open. “I’ve still got nothing.” He pressed a couple of buttons. “Can’t call out or send a message.”

  “The storm must have knocked out a bunch of cell towers.”

  Harte nodded. “If we can’t call for help, they can’t either. Let’s go,” he said. “I want to see where the freight door is—and how many other doors there are. Then we can plan how we’re going to get out of here.” Glancing around, he continued. “If we’re careful, we can use the floats like a maze. There must be thirty in here, maybe forty.”

  “That’s thirty or forty too many for me. They’re creepy.”

  “Come on,” he said, leading the way into the darkness lit only by the flashlight’s narrow beam. She followed his winding trail through the dozens of floats, giving the huge fiberglass monster heads as wide a berth as she could while still keeping up with him.

  He stopped abruptly and she almost ran into him.

  “Here’s the freight door. It looks pretty sturdy and it’s on the opposite side of the building from the door we came in.” He glanced around. “They’re going to use their car to break it in, I’ll guarantee you. Come on. Let’s circle around this side of the building.” He gestured. “Stay away from both the freight door and the door you opened.”

  They made their way diagonally away from the freight door. When they reached the wall, Harte slid along it, feeling for a door. Dani stayed behind him.

  “Here,” he said finally. “If I haven’t totally lost my bearings, I think this door is just about halfway between the freight door and the one we came in and on the opposite wall.” He caught her hand and drew it toward him. “Feel the lock. Is it like the one you picked?”

  “It feels like a Schlage. It’s got a turn bolt on the inside, just like that one. All we should have to do is turn the latch and open the door.”

  “Great,” he said.

  “Do you want me to open it now?”

  “Hang on a minute and listen.”

  Dani heard pounding and shouting and an occasional gunshot. “Won’t the police hear the gunshots?”

  “In a storm like this? I’m guessing the only reason we can hear them is something about steel and echoes. That’s not my area of expertise. But outside, in the rain and the thunder? I doubt that noise they’re making will carry for twenty-five feet.”

  “How long is it going to take them to break in?”

  She felt his shoulders move in a shrug, and a small thrill slid through her. Now that she’d kissed him, she was reacting to his every slightest move. He was tall and graceful and rock-hard. His skin was like silk over steel. Everything about him radiated warmth and safety and a sexuality that drew her to him like a moth to a flame.

  She shivered. “Will you hold me for a minute?” she asked.

  For a brief, heart-stopping moment, he hesitated. Then he slid his arm around her shoulders. His wet shirt against her thinly covered breasts caused goose bumps to rise on her skin. She felt a fine trembling in his muscles.

  Was he chilled in his wet clothes
, or was he as affected by their closeness as she was? She hoped he was. At that instant, he bent his head and laid his cheek against hers. With a sigh, she lifted her chin slightly, so that her lips brushed his skin.

  “How’s your ankle?” she whispered, looking up at him. His face was barely visible in the almost pitch-black. Light from the small windows glittered in his deep brown eyes. His breath drifted across her sensitized lips, making them tremble with the need to feel his mouth, his body, pressing against her.

  “Harte?” she said, hearing the question in her voice and wondering if he would hear it and understand it. She felt odd, almost weightless, as if she were floating. She ached with wanting him, and that frightened her. Because he wasn’t interested in her at all, except as his witness. The thoughts flitted through her head in the space of a single breath.

  “What is it?” he answered, his voice unsteady.

  A niggling question at the edge of her brain almost brought her up short. What was she doing? Harte Delancey was the last person she should be having sexy fantasies about. Sure, she’d been fascinated by him and his good looks from the first moment she’d faced him across the courtroom, but his superior attitude had been a turnoff. She’d decided back then that she was only interested in him because of his notorious legacy and their grandfathers’ feud. That was still the only reason for her interest, right? That and the fact that he was breathtakingly handsome.

  Enveloped in his arms, with the citrusy scent of his shampoo and the warmth radiating from his body, she knew she was kidding herself. She couldn’t deny how much she desired him. He was so much more than arrogance and a pretty face. He was strength and confidence and compassion. And she needed all three.

  Despite the pounding rain and the men trying to kill her, all she wanted to do was to stay here, wrapped in Harte’s gentle yet sensual caress. Longing sent a shiver through her.

  He pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth. “Are you cold?” he whispered, his breath tickling her skin.

  “No,” she whispered on a sigh. Heat flowed like lava through her entire body. Out to her fingertips and toes and back, swirling through her to her core. She bit her cheek to keep from moaning with pleasure.

  He lifted his head slightly and even in the dim light she could see that his firm, wide mouth had softened. Was he really about to kiss her right here in the middle of running from people who were trying to kill them?

  She should say something. Should stop this. Because all they were doing was seeking comfort in a dangerous situation. The men outside were a danger to her, but so was Harte. And right now she wasn’t sure who frightened her most.

  By the time she’d decided that it would not be in her best interest to kiss him, his lips were trailing across hers.

  She reacted with a tiny gasp and he took the opportunity of her parted lips to kiss her—really kiss her. Then he dipped his head a little more and tasted her mouth. His tongue urged her lips apart and he deepened the kiss.

  Her reaction was so immediate, so intense. It scared her. She had to regain control. Didn’t she? Because if she didn’t, she was going to sink into him, take his kisses and give them back. She was going to beg him to make love to her.

  Harte shifted and her taut, sensitized nipples pressed into his flesh. Electricity sang along her nerve endings, centering in the most sensitive part of her. And that quickly, the desire spread through every inch of her body. The tips of her fingers and toes, the hairs on her neck, the skin on the insides of her wrists—all were now erogenous zones, waiting for his touch to ignite their fire.

  “Harte—?” Her breath caught.

  He froze. “Listen.”

  She held her breath, but couldn’t hear anything except the rain and the quick, excited beating of her heart. After a couple of seconds she heard it. A faraway whining sound, like a car engine revving, came from the far end of the warehouse. “Is that—?” she started.

  “They’re going to ram the freight door with their car.”

  The engine noise grew louder and tires screeched; then the air was split by a deafening crash. Harte was still as a cat waiting for its prey. Another crash, much louder than the first, echoed through the warehouse.

  “It’s working,” he said, setting her away from him. “The car’s ripping a hole in the freight door.”

  Just then a third crash, louder and longer than the other two, echoed through the warehouse. As the squeal of tortured metal faded, the sound of voices became evident, echoing clearly off the metal walls.

  “Son of a— What the hell is all this?”

  “Hey, look! Mardi Gras floats!”

  “Must be fifty of ’em—”

  “It’ll take hours to search all—”

  “Just torch the whole—”

  “Hang on! That ain’t what Mr.—”

  “Smoke ’em out, or let ’em burn up.”

  Dani’s hand tightened on his arm. “They’re going to burn the warehouse down,” she whispered anxiously.

  Harte pressed a finger against her lips. The men were still talking.

  “How’re we—?”

  “Get over here and listen—”

  Then the voices died down.

  “We’ve got to get out of here,” Harte said. “These floats will go up like dry kindling, and fiberglass fumes are toxic.” When he stood, the dim light angled harshly off the rigid line of his jaw.

  “Let’s go. Are you sure all we have to do is turn the bolt on the door?”

  “I think so. It looks just like the other one,” she responded.

  On the other side of the warehouse, the voices rose again and a small orange glow pierced the darkness.

  “Wow! They sure burn fast—”

  “Get outta the way!”

  “Careful or—”

  The glow steadily got brighter. Just as Harte had thought, the floats were catching fire with incredible speed. Within seconds, the glow had quadrupled in size and he could see smoke and smell the harsh fumes.

  Chapter Ten

  Harte moved toward the door with Dani right behind him. On the other side of the building, a roaring whoosh of air indicated more floats going up in flames. The acrid fumes grew worse. Dani coughed, and the sound echoed off the walls.

  “Listen!”

  Dani clapped her hand over her mouth.

  “You!” a loud, gruff voice said. “Go around. They’ll be smoked out in no time. Find the doors! Don’t let them get away.”

  Harte reached the door and flipped the lock. He stopped, trying to get his bearings. If they were on the opposite side of the warehouse from the door they’d come in, then which way should they go? His best guess was to the right.

  “Harte?” Dani sounded nervous.

  “You stay behind me and follow me. I’m turning right. But keep up. I may have to change direction. If there’s someone outside the door waiting for us, you stay inside until I can take care of him. Understand?”

  She looked as though she wanted to say something, but she didn’t. She nodded and covered her mouth again, coughing as quietly as she could.

  He turned the bolt and pushed on the door, opening it a crack and checking to be sure the coast was clear. The only thing he saw through the silvery haze of rain was the dark, wet alley. Carefully, he pushed the door wider and stuck his head out. Nothing.

  He slipped through the door with Dani right behind him. The alley was somewhat protected from the storm, but he heard the wind. It roared as it whipped around corners and flung rain at awnings, street signs and shutters in all directions. Paper and trash swirled and flapped against curbs and walls.

  “Stay right behind me,” he told her. They hugged the wall of the warehouse until they reached the street. He stopped Dani with a hand, then pressed himself against the building. He peeked out, trying to see both ends of the street without exposing himself.

  So far they were in the clear. “Looks like we beat them here. But they’re going to be right behind us,” he said, pointing to the right.
“This way.”

  Dani started to move, but Harte stopped her. He leaned close to her ear. “The wind is worse than it was,” he said. “Hook your fingers into my belt. If you lose your grip, do not move. I’ll find you.”

  She nodded and he felt her fingers slide beneath the waistband of his pants. He wrapped an arm around her and hooked a finger through one of the belt loops of her jeans. “Okay,” he said. “Ready.”

  When they emerged from the alley and onto the street, the wind nearly knocked Dani’s feet out from under her, but she held on to Harte’s belt. He braced himself, tightened his grip on her belt loop and turned as directly into the wind as he could. He had learned on a winter hike in the Rockies that when his back was to the wind it was more difficult to maintain balance and control.

  Once they were clear of the alley, the wind, rain and thunder quickly drowned out any other sound. Harte was acutely aware that a vehicle could be upon them before they could hear its engine. He trudged on, favoring his strained ankle and trying to ignore the prickling at the back of his neck. He wanted to put as much distance as possible between them and the men who were chasing them.

  He was pretty sure the warehouse was west of the bed-and-breakfast. At least that was the direction he’d started out. He had a good sense of direction, but the combination of the darkness, the wind and the rain were playing havoc with his usual calm assurance.

  He knew he was disoriented by the rain, but his best guess was that the wind was coming from the south, since that had been the projected path of the storm. That meant if they kept facing into it, they’d be moving farther away from the bed-and-breakfast.

  The pelting of the rain on his face and hands stung like blackberry briars, making it hard to keep his eyes open. Dani was having the same problem; plus, with her eyes closed, the wind was pummeling her, causing her to stumble.

  Harte pulled her close to his side. He wiped his face with the soaked cuff of his shirt, not that it did much good. Lowering his head, he continued on.

  Then everything stopped. Harte had been leaning so far into the wind that he almost toppled forward. He stood still, looking around and listening. Amazingly the wind had suddenly calmed, the rain had stopped and the thunder had quieted. The silence was eerie, intense, as if the storm were holding its breath.