Blow

by Heidi McLaughlin

  Blind Reality

  Twisted Reality

  Standalone

  Stripped Bare (coming soon)

  PHOTO: SARA EIREW

  HEIDI MCLAUGHLIN is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author. Originally from the Pacific Northwest, she now lives in picturesque Vermont with her husband and two daughters. Also renting space in their home is a hyper Beagle/Jack Russell, Buttercup, and a Highland West/Mini Schnauzer, Jill, plus her brother, Racicot. When Heidi isn’t writing, you’ll find her sitting courtside during one of her daughter’s basketball games.

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  Read on for an excerpt from

  Necessary Evil

  A Sentinels of Babylon Novel

  by Jamie K. Schmidt

  Available from Loveswept

  Chapter 1

  Lucy Simmons dozed on the train back to Babylon from a night out in Manhattan. She was happily boozed up, but a trickle of sadness seeped in. She missed her friends. She wished they could get together more than once a month for a night out. But they were scattered all over the New York metro area and their schedules were a nightmare.

  Standing up as the train pulled into the station, she stretched and yawned so hard her jaw popped. She couldn’t wait to get out of the fancy underwear and club outfit; it was so different from what she wore in court, it might as well have been a Halloween costume. Lucy slung her oversized purse over her shoulder and watched the gap as she stepped onto the platform. Shivering in the night air, she wondered why it always seemed frigid after 2:00 a.m., even in the summertime.

  Her heels made a clip-clop noise on the cement. The station was so deserted, it was spooky. A few of the lights were out as well, and she hurried to the back parking lot as fast as her stilettos would carry her. In hindsight, it was probably a dumb idea to come back so late, but she had been having so much fun she couldn’t bring herself to leave. She thumbed through her contacts on her phone to text her friends that she’d gotten home all right.

  A shadow uncoiled from the side of the building, and before she could react, her purse was tugged off her shoulder. Her phone tumbled out of her hands and landed on the concrete with a crack.

  “Shit.” Lucy yanked back reflexively on her purse handle, stumbling on her heels.

  She let go when her attacker moved in with a knife. He was skinny and wore a ski mask with and ratty black gloves. The knife looked like something that would give Crocodile Dundee a hard-on.

  “Take it,” Lucy said, raising her hands in surrender. She backed away, even as the man came closer. She should have had her keys in her hand, or even Mace. Instead she’d gotten caught texting like a teenager.

  “I would have just taken it. But you had to fight me.” His smile was cruel. “That’s going to cost you, bitch.”

  “Help!” she screamed, turning to run for her car. Maybe he’d just take her purse and leave her alone.

  No such luck. He caught her by the arm and pulled her back.

  “Asshole,” she raged, kicking him. The heel of her expensive shoe snapped. Lucy struggled as he tried to twist her arm behind her back. She kicked him with the other foot, but the only damage she did was to the strap on her shoe.

  Just then two headlights flashed to life, one on each side of them. The loud roar of big piped motorcycles started up, sounding like dueling lions.

  “Shit,” her mugger said, and took off running with her purse, hopping over barriers and weaving in and out of parked cars.

  One of the motorcycles followed him. Lucy hobbled to her car as fast as her ruined shoes would carry her. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw that the other bike was slowly rolling toward her. The rider was a big man, his features hidden by his helmet.

  “Help,” she yelled again, but there wasn’t anyone else around. She got to her car and tried the handle. Of course it was locked. The keys were in her purse. And that was fleeing with her mugger, who was being chased down a side street by someone from a motorcycle gang.

  Pressing herself flat against her car door, she faced the biker head-on. Lucy kicked off her shoes. She wouldn’t be able to outrun the motorcycle, but maybe she could put up enough of a fight that it wouldn’t be worth it for him to bother with her. Her heart pounded as adrenaline fired through her system.

  When the bike rolled to a stop alongside her, the light from the lamppost nearby gave her a good look at the bearded thug. He was all denim, leather, and muscles. She let out a frightened gasp. She didn’t have a chance.

  As he reached up to take off his helmet, Lucy flinched and pressed closer against her car.

  “You’re out late, Counselor.”

  The familiar gravelly voice turned her knees to Jell-O in relief. Now that she recognized his face, she sagged against the car.

  “Evan, what are you doing here?”

  He tossed his helmet on the back of the bike. His honey-brown hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, and a few strands hung in his eyes. He smiled at her, and she could swear that her knees wobbled again, but for a much different reason.

  “The night’s just getting started for me.” Evan Villiers was an ex-cop who’d retired young to live the good life. For him, that meant opening a bar that specialized in cheap drinks and hot women. The Blue Line had the best happy hour on the Island.

  “You scared the shit out of me,” she said, wheezing in air. Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes. She would not cry in front of him. That was all she needed, for it to get back to his old precinct that she’d been in tears. The detectives would never let her hear the end of it.

  “Want to go for a ride?” He revved the bike.

  “I want to call the cops,” Lucy said, her hands on her hips. “I can’t believe I got mugged. This used to be a nice neighborhood.”

  “Still is.” He looked her up and down. “Seems a shame to waste that dress. Let me buy you a drink.”

  That wasn’t the first time he’d asked her that question.

  When he had been a cop and they’d faced off in court, her job had been to nail his procedures to the wall. She didn’t like letting assholes get off on technicalities any more than he had, but she hated when cops allowed that to happen due to sloppy casework. Evan would take it personally when one of his perps walked. He had cornered her in the elevator after one trial and banged his fist against the door in frustration.

  “You know that asshole is going right back to selling drugs to kids. You have to know that.” He had whirled on her, his custom-made suit and his freshly shaven face doing nothing to civilize him. Evan was six-five and solid muscle. Looming over her in the small elevator car, he had oozed testosterone.

  But she hadn’t been about to back down from a big guy, especially not in her courthouse. Lucy had jammed her finger into his chest and said, “Then you go out there and do it right next time, so that there won’t be a shadow of a damn doubt.”

  “You know he’s guilty.”

  “I don’t care. What I care about is that he gets a fair trial.”

  Evan’s hands had clenched and unclenched. “I care about those kids that are overdosing from the shit he’s selling.”

  “Then do your fucking job—”

  He jerked back as if she’d slapped him.

  “—and stop expecting me not to do mine.” It would have been a great exit line. But unfortunately, her office was in the basement, and the stupid elevator stopped on every floor. So Lucy had crossed her shaking arms over her chest and glared at the doors instead of looking at him.

  Evan had studied her as if she was some strange insect he’d never seen before. It didn’t unnerve her. She’d sat across from hardened criminals as they took a shit in their jail cells. Let him look, she thought. When it was finally her floor, she allowed herself to relax.

  “Want to go out fo
r a drink sometime?” he’d asked as she got out.

  He had left her gaping at him like a fish; she had half expected to hear him laugh as the elevator doors closed. But he hadn’t.

  They never had gone out for that drink. Shortly after that incident, Evan took an early retirement. But not before he tagged the drug dealer again and this time got his conviction.

  “The dress wasn’t wasted,” Lucy said now as he continued to smile at her with that sexy grin that made her want to make really bad choices. Lucy crossed her arms over her chest, but when his sultry green eyes warmed at how it pushed her cleavage up, she dropped her arms. “My phone!”

  She hurried back to where she’d dropped it. Evan followed slowly, his headlight lighting the way.

  “Stupid, cheap piece of shit.” Lucy bent to pick it up. The battery had sprung out and she couldn’t get it back in. The glass was shattered as well. “Can I use your phone?”

  “No cops,” Evan said. “Sentinel will get your purse back.”

  Sentinel was an army vet who co-owned The Blue Line. When he wasn’t bartending, he was working his way through most of the bar’s female patrons.

  “Thank you,” she said, remembering her manners. “I mean that. If you guys hadn’t been here…” Lucy started to shake. She rubbed her bare arms, hoping he would think it was from the chilly night air.

  “But we were,” he said. “Now, climb on the back of my bike and I’ll take you to my place. You can warm up and relax while we wait for your purse to come back.”

  Lucy bit her lip. “I don’t want to be any trouble.”

  “Sweetheart, in that dress you’re nothing but trouble.”

  She scowled at him and stormed back to her car, where she’d left her shoes. Dumping the ruined mess of her cellphone on the hood, she pulled on her shoes. Evan waited patiently for her as if he just expected she would hop on the back of his bike.

  She didn’t like guys with beards.

  She didn’t like big thugs who solved problems with their fists.

  She sighed. Who was she kidding?

  “Look, I ain’t going anywhere without you,” Evan said, patting the seat behind him. “So you can lean against your cold car, or you can be comfortable on my couch.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. She’d been to his place before. It had been pretty memorable. “How comfortable?”

  “As comfortable as you want.” He held out a hand. “Come on, honey. I’ll take you to your house if you want.”

  Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “Can’t. My spare key is in the car.”

  “Good place for it.” Evan smirked. “Put your foot on the footrest, then put your hands on my shoulder and swing your other leg across.”

  “Are you sure I won’t tip the bike?” Lucy didn’t think she could take any more humiliation.

  He laughed. “I’m sure.”

  She hiked up her cute little dress and did what he said. After she’d settled into the seat, she tugged it down and wriggled to get comfortable.

  “Counselor, are you wearing a garter belt?” He handed her his helmet, and she felt herself blush at the twinkle in his eye. Mortification flooded her, and she pressed her forehead to the center of his back. “Maybe,” she muttered.

  “Hold on to me tight. And be careful your legs don’t touch the chrome. It’s hot and you might get burned. Fact is, you could probably wrap them around my waist—”

  “Not going to happen, Evan,” she said, tugging on the helmet. “Drive slow.”

  “Not going to happen, Lucy,” he replied, mimicking her tone.

  When he took off with an enormous snarl of his engine, she hugged him as though her life depended on it. Lucy wished she could enjoy the ride, but she was freezing and still shaking with reaction. Still, it felt good to hold on to something solid, and clutching Evan’s wide chest was almost like hugging him. Closing her eyes, she squeezed him tighter. He had saved her, and she was pretty sure he didn’t even like her that much.

  Evan pulled into the parking lot of his bar, The Blue Line. Last call had been almost an hour ago, so Lucy didn’t think she’d run into anyone she knew. His apartment was on the second floor. She had been there once, almost two years ago.

  Oh God, don’t think about that night now. Or about kissing him again.

  She winced at the memory, and she was glad he couldn’t see her face.

  He parked the bike and said, “Okay, get off the same way you got on, but in reverse.”

  “Don’t look at my stockings,” she warned.

  “I won’t.”

  He lied. He was completely ogling her legs. “I like the lace tops,” he growled in a husky voice. It unnerved her, and her leg brushed the tailpipe as she climbed off.

  “Shit,” she hissed when she felt the quick flash of pain.

  “You all right?” Evan uncoiled from the bike and stretched, the white T-shirt he wore sliding up to show a tanned and taut stomach. His black leather jacket crinkled as it settled on his wide shoulders. He looked like a hot fudge sin sundae with a cherry on top. Lucy licked her lips before realizing she had done so. He was wearing faded blue jeans with leather chaps. His worn leather boots were adorned with chains—and ankle holsters, she noted with alarm. After leaving the force, he had let his hair grow out and gotten more tattoos. It made him even more dangerous-looking.

  “Yeah. I just burned my leg.”

  “Let me see.”

  She slapped his hands as he went for her skirt. Evan frowned at her, and she realized he wasn’t being fresh. “I’m fine,” she said.

  “Let’s go upstairs. I want to make sure that doesn’t blister.”

  Lucy wanted to grumble, but he was being so nice about everything that it made her feel churlish. They went in through the back of the bar and took a rickety set of stairs up to his apartment.

  “What are you drinking?” he asked.

  Her stomach protested at the thought of more alcohol. “Water. I’m a little dehydrated.”

  She collapsed on the couch and winced in pain. That burn really hurt. Evan handed her a large glass of ice water and she drank half of it immediately. “Thanks,” she said as he left the room.

  He came back moments later with some gauze and hydrogen peroxide.

  “It’s not that bad,” she said, standing up.

  Evan pushed her back down. “Don’t be a baby.”

  “I’m not,” she grumbled.

  “Let me see it,” he said, kneeling between her legs.

  Hitching up her skirt, Lucy looked over his head. I will not be embarrassed.

  His fingers were gentle as he spread her thighs apart.

  I will not think naughty thoughts.

  “You got lucky,” he said. “Looks like it’s just a first-degree burn. No blisters.”

  Lucy nodded, unable to speak. She took another sip of water because her throat was suddenly dry.

  “Did I mention I like the lace tops of your stockings?” He tickled a finger over them.

  “Evan,” she warned, but it came out shaky.

  They stared at each other, and the silence was flammable. She could sense the heat of his body and wanted to snuggle against him. But she had a feeling he wasn’t the cuddling kind. He was more the nail-you-against-the-wall kind.

  Lucy was so damned tempted.

  He got back to his feet in a quick, lithe movement that belied his size, and the spell between them was broken. Coming back with a cold compress, he handed it to her. “Cool it down with that and then we’ll put some aloe vera gel on it.”

  “You seem pretty stocked up for this.”

  Evan shrugged. “Burns happen.”

  Lucy awkwardly pressed the cold washcloth to her leg, and she had to admit it did feel better. Evan got himself a beer out of the fridge and leaned against the doorway to the kitchen, looking at her as though she was a puzzle he had to figure out.

  “What were you guys doing out by the train station so late?” she asked.

  “Patrolling.”


  Lucy shook her head. “I thought you’d had enough of that when you were a cop.”

  He shrugged. “It’s necessary.”

  “Do you do that every night?”

  “Off and on,” he said. His phone rang, and he picked it up without taking his gaze from her. “Good. Drive it over here.” He hung up and slid his phone back into his pocket. “Got your purse back. Warden is going to bring your car over.”

  Warden, as his name implied, used to work in the prison system. Lucy didn’t know him well, but she had seen him around the bar a few times.

  “Wow, that was quick.” Lucy wondered if these guys ever slept. “That’s so nice of him. Do you need me to go down to the station house and make a statement?”

  Evan gave a short laugh. “No. I told you. No cops.”

  “What’s going to happen to the mugger?” Lucy couldn’t figure Evan out. He was just going to let the guy go?

  “Don’t worry about it. He won’t be bothering anyone for a long time.”

  “Evan,” she said warningly, “what did you do to him?”

  “Nothing,” he said, and snagged the bottle of aloe vera off a shelf. “I was here with you the whole time.”

  This time when he sank to his knees in front of her, she couldn’t kid herself into thinking there wasn’t any spark between them. He pushed her knees apart, and when she looked down at his hands, she jumped and bit back a scream.

  He frowned. “Did I hurt you?”

  Her heart was galloping in her chest. “I forgot about your tattoo,” she said through gritted teeth.

  The tattoo was a very lifelike black widow spider. She abhorred spiders. They terrified her. Seeing that tattoo was like dunking her entire body in ice water. One frightening—silly, really—experience when she was a kid had, over the years, become an embarrassing but real fear she couldn’t shake.

  “You ever think about getting a tat, Counselor?” He eased between her legs and poured some gel over his fingers.

  She began to speak, but flinched for a second when the gel touched the burned area. On the second try she got out, “What makes you think I don’t have one?”