Star Witness

by Mallory Kane

  “What happened?” Dani asked.

  “It’s the eye of the storm,” he replied, and started walking again, urging her along with him. “We need to take advantage of it. Come on!”

  Without the wind and rain fighting them, it was much easier to walk. Harte blinked and used his drenched shirt cuff again to wipe his face. Looking around, he saw that most of the buildings were old, with fading paint and unreadable signs. Several appeared abandoned. He didn’t recognize anything. He looked up and down the street. He needed to find a corner. If he could just get to a street sign, he’d know where he was, he was sure.

  “Let’s go this way,” he said to Dani, pointing to the left. They’d only gone a few steps when she grabbed his arm.

  “Listen,” she hissed.

  Harte stopped. At first he didn’t hear anything. He held his breath.

  “Is that voices—?” Dani said, her tone rising in a question.

  “Yeah. Hurry!” He’d glanced at the buildings, hoping he’d recognize the street. Now he looked at them again, assessing which one would be best for them to hide in.

  It was impossible to tell what most of the buildings were. Office buildings, probably. Harte grimaced. They’d be dry, but what could they offer other than shelter? He’d passed four seemingly identical facades before, tucked into the corner of one of the buildings, he saw a sign for a diner. That could be a little better. The diner would have food—and knives.

  Then, in the distance, obscured by the damp haze that still hung in the air, he saw an old, distinctively shaped sign, rocking lazily back and forth on the chains that held it suspended above a set of glass doors.

  He blinked, then squinted. It was an Rx sign. A drugstore. His heart skipped a beat. Considering the predicament they were in, hiding out in a drugstore would be like taking shelter in Santa’s workshop. If they could get inside, they might be able to find more flashlights. Maybe even some dry clothes.

  “Drugstore,” he said to Dani, pointing toward it as he picked up his pace.

  Then, as suddenly as the storm had quieted, it started up again. The sky dumped rain as if by giant bucketfuls. The wind blew it into their faces like tiny, stinging darts. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Then a blinding flash of lightning lit everything, and Harte read the faded words on the sign. Delaughter’s Drugs and Sundries.

  He bent his head toward Dani’s ear. “When we step onto the street, the wind’s going to blow us sideways. Walk steadily and deliberately. Be careful. The water looks like it’s about four inches. It’s flowing fast. If the wind doesn’t knock you off your feet, the water will.” He wrapped an arm around her waist. “Ready?”

  She nodded. They stepped into the street. Dani faltered, but caught herself with Harte’s help. When they were about halfway across, a harsh scraping noise rose above the roar of the rain and wind. Harte turned. A metal street sign, battered into a twisted mess by the punishing gusts of wind, was tumbling down the street, directly at them.

  Harte threw himself to the pavement with Dani in his arms. “Hold your breath!” he yelled in her ear as he ducked his head and covered her head with his hands.

  He cringed, praying the sharp-edged runaway sign wouldn’t hit them. A rush of air on the nape of his neck and a discordant twang told him the sign passed way too close over them. A few inches lower and its jagged edges would have sliced right through them. He looked up in time to see one sharp edge of the piece of metal cut a fallen tree branch in half and not even slow down.

  It took him a couple of seconds to calm his labored breathing.

  Dani still lay beneath him, not moving.

  “Dani?” he said, loosening his hold on her.

  She took a gasping breath. He rolled off her and helped her up. Then they ran toward the drugstore.

  Without even checking his stride, Harte used his forward momentum to kick at the glass entry door until it cracked. He half fell against the door when his ankle gave way, but he caught himself. Gritting his teeth, he kicked again and again, until the glass in the lower half of the door shattered. He reached in and unlatched the door from the inside. He pushed it open and pulled her inside, then closed it and latched it, for whatever good it would do, now that the bottom half was gone.

  “Stay down,” he ordered Dani as he quickly assessed the interior layout of the store. Directly in front of them was the cashier’s cage, which was encased in a thick glass that Harte figured was bulletproof. Perfect. He guided Dani around behind the cage and they collapsed onto the floor with their backs against the wall, their shoulders touching. Harte felt Dani shivering.

  “How’re you doing?” he asked.

  She nodded as she pushed wet hair out of her eyes. “I’m okay,” she said, flinging water off her hands. “I used to think that walking in the rain was fun.” He took a good look at her face. She was pale, but she seemed to be fine. He breathed a sigh of relief. They’d made it.

  “Stay here. I’m going to check the street.” He got up, wiping water off his face and head. Now that he had Dani in a safe place, he wanted to make sure they hadn’t been followed. He didn’t think so, but in truth, it had been impossible to see well enough to be sure.

  He positioned himself with his back in the corner between the front window and the wall and surveyed the street. Everywhere they’d been, once the storm started, the streets had been deserted. Not even a dog or a cat. New Orleans people and animals knew better than to fight a storm.

  The street was flowing with water, and the rain was still coming down. The sky above the tops of the buildings seemed to be almost constantly lit with flashes of lightning. This was the worst kind of spring storm, and like many of them, it was caught right over the Port of New Orleans. Harte hadn’t seen or heard any tornadoes, but he knew this kind of storm could spawn them—sometimes by the dozen. They’d been lucky so far.

  After he’d done his best to scan every corner and alley and scrutinize every shadow, he headed back behind the cashier’s counter and sat down beside Dani.

  “There doesn’t seem to be even a rat moving out there. We should be okay here for a while,” he told her, brushing water off his face again, then leaned his head back against the wall. When he closed his eyes, he could see the metal sign, tumbling toward them. That had been a close call. Too close. He didn’t have to work hard to conjure up a vision of that piece of twisted steel slicing through them. He shuddered. At least they were finally safe. For now.

  * * *

  DANI COULDN’T REMEMBER ever being so tired or scared in her life. Not even on the night her grandfather was murdered. She’d been scared in the B & B when the lights had gone out. And she’d been afraid when the men had started burning the warehouse floats. But neither of those things had compared with the terror that had overwhelmed her when Harte had suddenly grabbed her and dove to the ground with her in tow. She’d had no idea what was happening. She’d heard the metallic whistling of something passing over their heads. At first she’d thought the sound was bullets, whistling close by her ears, but it droned on for too long. Then she’d heard a harsh screech in front of them. The whole while, she’d scrunched her shoulders, expecting some kind of blow at any second. When Harte rolled off her, and she’d raised her head, she’d caught a fleeting glimpse of a bent, jagged-edged sign as it disappeared into the gray distance.

  She shuddered now, recalling the sight. “That sign. It b-barely missed us,” she muttered, shuddering.

  Harte didn’t answer.

  “You saved my life—again.”

  Drops of water from her hair dripped down the back of her neck. She didn’t want to move, but the chilly drops were tickling her back. She gathered her hair in her hands and squeezed it, shivering as the water ran in rivulets down her neck and between her breasts.

  Her eyes burned and her throat clogged. She felt tears welling. She’d been a hairbreadth away from death three times within a week. Harte shifted, then turned on the flashlight. The beam was weak and pale.

  “Oh no,
the battery’s nearly dead,” Dani said.

  Harte turned his gaze to hers. His eyes twinkled in the pallid light. “But we’re in a drugstore.”

  She got it immediately. “And drugstores sell batteries,” she said, her mouth turning up in a smile.

  “Right.” He stood, shining the flashlight’s beam around.

  “They’re usually close to the register, aren’t they?”

  “Yep. Here we go.” He walked out of her sight and after a moment she heard paper tearing. When he came back and sat down, he handed the mini-flashlight to her. Then he tore more cardboard.

  “What’s that?” she asked, shining the beam on what he held.

  “A bigger flashlight.” He finished inserting the batteries, then turned it on.

  Dani shielded her eyes. “Ow, too much. We’ve been in the dark too long.”

  “Watch this.” He clicked a button and the intense brightness went away and a softer, more diffuse light replaced it. “And this.” Another click and the light turned red and bright again.

  “A triple-duty flashlight. Nice,” she said as he switched it back to the soft light and set it on a shelf just beneath the counter. “Does it do any more tricks?”

  “There’s a button that will make it flash. And I found this.” He held a tiny disc between his first finger and thumb. He pressed it.

  “A laser beam. What are you going to do with that?”

  He shrugged. “Who knows? It’s neat, though, isn’t it?”

  She chuckled. “It is neat.” She flicked her light on and off, then stuck it into the pocket of her jeans.

  “We should be all set,” he said. Then he put his light on the soft setting and pointed it at her face.

  “Hey,” she protested, squinting.

  “You’re kind of cute with your hair all wet and your raccoon eyes.”

  She swiped a finger below her eyes. It came away smudged with black. Great. Her mascara was running and she didn’t have any makeup in her purse. Gun—yes. Makeup—no.

  An odd little hiccup bubbled up from her throat, followed by another one and another. Tears ran down her cheeks, but she wasn’t crying. Not exactly. She was laughing—kind of. She put her knuckles against her teeth. Was she becoming hysterical?

  Harte frowned. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  She shook her head and tried to stop the laughter that was bubbling up from her chest, but she couldn’t. “I—I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I—can’t seem to—help it.”

  “It’s okay,” he said softly, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close to his side.

  She shivered at the warmth of his body.

  “Now, what’s so funny?”

  “When you called me raccoon eyes, my first thought was that I don’t have any makeup in my purse.” She could barely talk for the spasms of laughter.

  Harte smiled. “Hard to believe, given the size of it.”

  She sniffed.

  “You know, people react in different ways. Just let it out.”

  Her throat and chest quivered with the strange half laugh, half sob for a few more seconds. Then suddenly, it stopped. Dani hiccuped one more time. “That was weird,” she said.

  Harte’s arm tightened around her shoulders, urging her to relax. She gave in and let herself sink into his side. She felt him put his lips against her hair, felt them move as he murmured gentle, comforting words. She couldn’t hear everything he said, but that was okay. It was his strength, his warmth, his closeness that mattered.

  Her muscles, cold and tired, twitched shakily. Each time her arm or leg jerked, he laid his palm on the twitching limb and rubbed it.

  In an odd way, it reminded her of when she was a child. Tears choked her throat again. She coughed. “When I was little, my granddad would rub my legs when I woke up crying with the leg-ache,” she said.

  “You always lived with him after your dad died?”

  She nodded. “My dad died when I was seven. So Granddad raised me.”

  “Where was your mom?” Harte asked, his breath stirring her hair.

  “Gone. Since I was three.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  Dani shook her head, but when she opened her mouth to say, It was a long time ago, the words wouldn’t come out. A little sob erupted from her throat, and tears filled her eyes. “Damn it,” she muttered. “This is ridiculous. I never cry.”

  “Hey,” Harte whispered, putting a finger under her chin and lifting her face to his. “Give yourself a break.”

  “A break? It’s so stupid to cry. It doesn’t help anything.” She blotted her cheeks with her palms. “It’s humiliating.”

  “I don’t know a handful of people who could have dealt with everything that’s happened as well as you have.” His mouth quirked upward. “And you pick a mean lock.”

  “I do that,” she said, trying to smile. A sob, like a tiny hiccup, escaped her lips.

  “Shh.” Harte touched the corner of her mouth with a finger, then bent his head and brushed a kiss across her cheek. It was so light it seemed hardly more than a breath.

  But it was enough to reignite the fire he’d stoked inside her earlier, when she’d dared to kiss him. She felt the exquisite longing rise and flare again. She wanted to turn to him, open to him and beg him to wrap her in those strong, warm arms and make love to her. Her rational mind knew that giving in to the urge would be a big mistake, for so many reasons. She and Harte Delancey were at opposite ends of every spectrum she could think of—political, financial, social. He was ambitious, probably hoping to be D.A. one day. She’d become a public defender because she wanted to help people who would otherwise have no one on their side.

  The only thing the two of them had in common was the enemy that was after them. And while joining forces to fight a deadly enemy made good sense, it also made for strange bedfellows. Right here and now, though, she didn’t care. She wanted closeness. She wanted comfort. She wanted assurance that no matter how desperate the situation, the two of them were still alive. And she wanted to feel something besides fear, at least for a little while.

  He was unaware of the argument going on inside her, but he was not unaware of her. She knew it, and she used it. Turning, she settled closer into his arms. Reaching up a hand, she slid her fingers along the line of his jaw and back to caress his earlobe. His mouth was firm yet gentle as she touched her lips to his. Ignoring the voice in her head that was telling her what a bad idea it was to kiss him, she leaned in farther, opening her mouth to taste him better. The feel of his lips and tongue was so sweet and at the same time so titillating that hot new tears sprang to her eyes and her breath caught in a sob.

  Harte froze for an instant, then pulled back. “Dani, I don’t—” He stopped. His chest was heaving.

  “No, I’m sorry. It’s just everything.” She felt tears welling up in her eyes. She willed them to stop, but it didn’t help. They spilled down her wet cheeks, scalding them. “I promise you,” she said with a choked laugh. “I almost never cry.”

  Harte sat back and held out his arm. Instinctively, Dani moved closer. For a brief moment, he didn’t move, just sat there, his arm resting across her back. “I believe you,” he said softly. “Makes my eyes red and gives me a headache.”

  He ran his palm down her bare shoulder to her upper arm. “You’re cold.”

  “Not so much now,” she murmured as she nestled into the shelter of his arm. “How do you stay so warm in nothing but a shirt?”

  He shivered and laughed ruefully. “I don’t.”

  “But your skin—it’s always warm.”

  “Maybe warmer than yours. But that’s because you’re so skinny you can’t hold any heat.”

  Dani chuckled as her tears dried on her cheeks. “Please. Don’t try to butter me up. I am not skinny.”

  “No. You’re not. At least not everywhere,” he acceded. His palm caressed her shoulder and arm, sending shivers not caused by the temperature through her.

  She snuggled a little closer t
o him. “Oh, I’ve never felt so helpless in my life,” she murmured. “Except maybe the night Granddad died.” That thought closed her throat and made her eyes sting. “Here I go again,” she said, blotting the tears from her cheeks.

  “Hey.” He slid his fingers under her chin and urged her head up. “It’s okay. No need to cry,” he said, his thumb brushing across her cheek; then he pulled her closer.

  His lips pressed against her forehead—warm, firm, steady. “No need to cry,” he whispered again, the comforting words penetrating her heart and lighting all the dark, scary places inside her.

  Right now he wasn’t her rival or her attorney. She didn’t want to put a name to what she was feeling right this minute. All she knew was that he was her port in the storm. He was strength and warmth and safety, and she needed that. She lifted her head, seeking more. His mouth moved from her temple to her cheek and then to her lips.

  She moaned quietly.

  He made a sound in his throat, bent his head and covered her mouth with his. This time it was no gentle, comforting kiss that made her question her reaction. His tongue slid along her parted lips and farther, to explore the inside of her mouth. The sensation turned her blood into molten lava that flowed through every part of her, changing her smoldering longing into searing desire.

  He whispered her name as his fingers slipped up the nape of her neck and through her hair to cradle the back of her head. He went further, deepening the kiss, invading her mouth in an erotic mimicry of lovemaking. The sensual stroking of his tongue sent shivers of desire down, down, all the way to her core, feeding a hunger that nearly consumed her. She wanted him—needed him. She kissed him back greedily, amazed that his straight, firm mouth could feel so supple and gentle and at the same time so demanding.

  She breathed in his scent, felt the rough stubble on his cheeks scrape her skin. He was deliciously male, solid and strong in a fascinating way that was so different from her own body. His arms and chest felt like steel wrapped in silk. Just as she reached up to wrap her hands around his neck and pull him closer, greedy for more of the breathtaking desire, he froze.