Billi Jean

by Running Scared

  He looked amused. “You know, if you’re going to pull a knife you’d best know how to use it.” Without any warning, he jumped her, knocking the knife out of her hand without her even knowing how. Her back hit the floor and the air rushed out of her lungs when he landed on top of her. She was choking, crushed, but she still fought to free her hands. The gun landed on the floor and skidded out of reach above their heads. She gasped when one hand broke free from his grip but, before she could do anything, he grabbed both her wrists in one of his fists and squeezed them tightly. The pain made her weak, but she twisted her hands and jerked her body, trying to break free. He shoved her chest down hard and squeezed the bones of her wrists until she was certain he’d break them.

  Suddenly, he pulled up and slapped her across the face. She gasped and jerked back to face him and he hit her again. Her head hit the floor next to them with the force of his blow and she felt blood ooze from her burning mouth. Pissed off, she kicked her legs, trying to tangle hers with his and break free. When she couldn’t, she screamed. He hit her again, this time so hard she felt blood fill her mouth. His other hand grabbed her throat and cut her scream off. Blinking up at his devilish face, she tried to stay alive, awake, as he crushed her.

  She wasn’t going to make it. She could feel her ribs nearly breaking, and she couldn’t catch her breath. She gave one more attempt to get free, driving her head into his face to crush her forehead to his nose. The next instant, he was gone. She gasped for air past the pain in her throat. Her body felt shaky, her face hurt and her ribs dug a sharp pain up her side, but she struggled up, gaining her knees and grabbing the gun that lay not two inches from where he’d held her down. Sharing the space with her, Russell and Lance fought like men possessed, nearly running her over in their battle.

  She hunched over and tried not to breathe too deeply as she watched Russell. He had turned cold and hard. The killer the Navy had trained him to be. She winced as he landed a fist on Lance’s face. Russell pressed forward, landing two more furious jabs, then tried to tackle Lance to the ground.

  God, it looked like Russell was going to kill Lance. Lance was just as determined. He hit Russell in the stomach repeatedly before throwing a punch to Russell’s head and narrowly missing. None of it slowed Russell’s attack. He simply stalked Lance like prey, circling and circling him until he found an opening, then landing blow after blow. Another strike on Lance’s face, and blood glistened down the assassin’s split lip. Lance spat and rubbed a wrist over his mouth with a nasty grimace.

  “That’s it? All you got, sailor boy?” After his taunt, he spat on the bedroom floor and ducked down, charging Russell.

  Both men hit the wall. A painting crashed to the floor. Russell’s back hit a dresser, shoving it along the wall two feet before he tore the other man off and tossed him up against the closet door. Lance ducked Russell’s fists and broke away to hit him in the face with enough force that Lacey screamed.

  The gun trembled in her hands, but she forced herself to hold it ready. She could do this. She could.

  Russell nearly managed to knock Lance down with a hold on his waist, but Lance gripped Russell’s waist and shoved him back. When Russell stumbled, Lance bent and quickly drew a long blade from his boot, swiping at Russell with a nasty snarl.

  He sounded more animal than man to Lacey. She lifted the gun and tried to aim, but every lesson her father had ever taught her had been wasted because fear had her shaking. What if she hit Russell by mistake?

  Metal glinted in the sunlight, and Russell barely caught Lance’s arm to prevent him from stabbing the sharp steel down into his chest.

  She sucked in a breath. Why didn’t Russell kick him away? Why didn’t he turn to her and take the gun? He had to know she had it.

  Instead, the two men struggled together until she wanted to shoot Lance.

  Right when she thought she’d have to pull the trigger, Russell twisted in Lance’s hold. She watched him twist Lance’s arm until she expected the arm to break under the strain. The knife dropped, and Russell hit Lance with a brutal uppercut to his jaw, sending him toppling backwards and down to the floor.

  Before she could process what was happening, Russell was on top of Lance, one fist rising and falling with a sickening sound of flesh hitting flesh. She looked away and covered her mouth with trembling fingers. If she could have, she would have covered her ears to muffle the dull cracks of fists on flesh, but she didn’t dare in case Lance managed to get up.

  Silence suddenly echoed through the room.

  When she got up the courage to look again, Russell met her eyes and everything else fell away. Relief filled her in a whoosh, and her legs felt weak. Her hands started to shake and she feared she’d drop the gun, but Russell gripped her hands and prised her fingers off the stupid thing. Within her next inhalation he hauled her into his arms. He was sweaty and hurt, she knew, but his heart was beating steady and fast under her cheek. Her own pulse raced, and she began to shiver. Shock, she knew, but the trembles grew until Russell cursed and bent to scoop her up.

  “It’s all right. It’s all right. I have you. I have you, talk to me. Sunshine? Come on, now.”

  Her eyes stung with tears at the breathless, panicked tenor of his voice.

  “Sunshine, talk to me, here. Come on. Did he hurt you?”

  She tried to answer, she really did, but all that came out was a sob.

  Russell exhaled and nearly crushed her in his arms. One big hand ran up and down her back, and his other curled around her waist while he rested his cheek on her head. She could feel his body tremble. Unsure why, she sucked in a ragged breath and pushed to gain some room. He reluctantly released his death grip on her waist, and she tipped her head back to examine him. He was bruised, his lip cut, his jaw red and swollen and it looked like one eye was darkening, but he was alive.

  “He got in, Russell. I told you not to leave me.”

  He grimaced. “God, I’m so damn sorry. So fucking sorry, look at you. Look at your bruises. I’m going to kill him.”

  “Russell. I want him gone. I want…” To be safe. Another sob broke past her control.

  “I’m going to take care of this. I am. Trust me, Sunshine. Trust me.”

  “Russell…”

  He hushed her with gentle, all-too-brief kisses. “Trust me. Come on, now, we have to secure this asshole. Didn’t I tell you not to let shit like this in our house?”

  She choked at that, and stared up at him. Our house?

  “Come on, don’t look at me like that. We need to get moving. Come on. Can you stand up for me?”

  She sniffed and brushed her hair behind her ear. “That guy was a weirdo, Russell. Don’t leave me again. Promise?”

  Underneath her, she felt Russell’s thigh tighten. He tipped her head up, cupping her neck with his hand, and brushed her bottom lip with his thumb.

  “Never again, all right? I won’t leave you.”

  She nodded, biting her lip at his hurt face. He’d saved her. He’d been trying to keep her safe, and he had. She reached up and kissed his cut lip. “Russell, you’re all busted up.”

  He grinned down at her, breaking her heart with the happiness she saw in his grey eyes.

  “This is nothing. Come on. Let’s take the trash out.”

  She shook her head and tried to smile. “God, you are awful.”

  “And all yours. Don’t forget that.” Grey eyes narrowed; Russell leaned in and brushed a kiss to the side of her mouth. “I love you, Sunshine,” he husked in her ear.

  Her heart lifted, feeling as if it had bubbled up and pressed against her throat. “I love you too, Russell.”

  He growled and wrapped her up tight in his arms. They both heard the footsteps on the stairs, but this time neither of them cared when Mac grumbled and told them he’d got the sniper chick on the hillside and they needed to get a room.

  She was home. This was her room. She had Russell. He had her. They had each other. There’d be no more running scared.

 
; Also available from Total-E-Bound Publishing:

  When You’re With Me

  Wendi Zwaduk

  Excerpt

  Chapter One

  “I need a lover who will drive me crazy in all the right ways…”

  Detective Drew Alwyn tapped his pen to the beat of the song in his head while he waited for Lieutenant Wallace to begin the briefing session.

  In his twelve years with the Carrington Falls Police Department in Ohio, Drew had never imagined being alone. Wasn’t a cop supposed to have a good woman to come home to? The next time he walked into his apartment, a wilted spider plant would offer the only comfort, and Drew wasn’t the type to talk to greenery.

  The scent of day-old coffee and industrial cleaner wafted into the cramped, grey discussion room. Drew rubbed his stomach to quell the rumbling. Coffee sounded awful, but a sandwich sounded so good—something with roast beef and cheese. When had he eaten last? The club sandwich at eleven-thirty. He flicked his wrist to check the time on his thick watch. Five-fifteen. Damn.

  He grabbed the bottle of soda from his backpack and uncapped it, then took a long draw. The sugar wouldn’t quiet his hunger, but the caffeine would keep him awake when he ventured on duty in an hour. He took a pen from his notebook, clicked the button at the top and began doodling. The sound of conversation in the hallway did nothing to take his mind off the undercover operation or the death of his friend and colleague, Sergeant Randy McCall.

  Drew’s partner, a bear of a red-haired man named James Mateo, strolled into the room and sat down in the closest chair. “You ready for this one?”

  Drew looked up from his sketch. “This one what? We knew the bastard couldn’t stay underground for long. We just gotta prove he’s the one who took McCall down and put him in the dumpster.” He shuddered thinking about the photos of Randy hacked up and left to rot behind the gentlemen’s club.

  James crossed his legs and flipped open his notepad. “True. Randy was one hell of an officer, even if he chose the damn stupid name of Slade as a cover. Tiny’s always looking to make a quick buck. You think he’s shaking down the girls? It was a stroke of genius to send you and Nester in as customers. You know the lay of the so-called land and Tiny thinks you’re clean. As clean as a bouncer in a strip club can be.”

  Drew added some details to his drawing and frowned. The woman in the sketch had begun to take on the features of the elusive female from down the hallway in his decoy apartment building. The soft-spoken brunette with the sparkling ice-blue eyes. The girl who lugged the enormous art portfolio down to the parking lot each morning. The one whose smile warmed his heart on the coldest evenings. The one woman he wanted to get to know better, preferably naked…and she had no idea.

  He ground his teeth together. With this new undercover operation, any meeting with the sweet-natured female was out of the question. At least, not under the pretence of the truth.

  “Is she your new girlfriend?”

  Drew crinkled his brows. “No. I can’t get with her.”

  James elbowed Drew’s ribs. “Why the hell not? If she’s as hot as your scribble there, then you’d better hit that.”

  Drew shook his head. “I can’t get involved while undercover. You know the rules as well as I do. Plus, if Carlie found out she’d kill me.”

  James slapped the pad on the wooden desk. “Bullshit. She walked away from you to screw around with Troy Balleswicz over in Vice. She doesn’t deserve your second chances. So what’s this chick’s name?”

  Drew tossed his pen onto his own graffiti-decorated desk. “You’re right. I don’t owe Carlie anything, but Wallace put her in the Silver Steel as one of the dancers—Gold Dust Woman, if I’m not mistaken. If I get the security detail, then I gotta work with her. She’ll make life hell for any other female in my life. I don’t need that kind of crap right now.”

  James folded his arms. “You didn’t answer my question. What’s Scribble’s real name?”

  “I’m not sure what her real name is. They have stage names.” Drew raked his fingers through his hair. “I still haven’t worked up the nerve to speak to her. She’s quiet and always on the move. I can’t pin her down unless she’s at the club and I don’t want to spook her by coming off as a pervert or another guy wanting to cop a quick feel.” He averted his gaze from Mateo. “Trust me… If I could, I would ask this girl for a private dance.”

  Lieutenant Frank Wallace strolled into the room with retired Detective Ross Malsam in tow. James dug his elbow into Drew’s ribs again. “When this is all over, you got a month of vacation time coming. Why not hunt her down and tag that?”

  Drew frowned. “Tag that? How about I just learn her name and see what happens from there?”

  Wallace cleared his throat. “If you’re done chatting, ladies, I called you two in here for the Silver Steel operation.”

  James shrugged and grabbed a pen and notebook from his bag.

  Drew groaned and half-listened to the directive. His dream girl ruled his brain.

  “Gentlemen, the drug problem in the west end is getting worse. After the discovery of McCall’s body, we’re not taking chances. Salazar ‘Tiny’ Balthazar’s targeting the girls in the exotic clubs. Two are missing and one is confirmed dead. Alwyn, I want you to work the security detail as a transfer from the Pink Pussy Cat Club in Chatsworth. Kenworth supplied me with a list of the dancers and Malsam has given me the accompanying photographs.”

  Ross Malsam handed each detective a manila folder. The former officer swept his comb-over across his forehead and frowned. His brown eyes darkened. “Drew, Tiny knows your reputation from the PPC and wants you personally. He’s always got something up his sleeve, so keep on your guard double time. I lost McCall. I don’t want to replace you too. Mateo, you’ll come in for an interview tonight as a bartender. Harry’s looking forward to the help. Questions?”

  Drew flipped through the stack of pictures. Most of the women wore too much makeup. Their hair fluffed around their faces. Forced smiles painted their lips. He knew each girl and their particular dance styles, not that he cared. He rolled his eyes until he came to the last image. His breath caught fast in his throat.

  Mateo elbowed Drew. “That’s your girl. According to the dossier, her stage name is Judy Blue Eyes, but her real name is Jude Nelson. Looks like a sweet thing. Innocent, ya know?”

  Drew shook his head and drank in her details. Kohl-rimmed blue eyes sparkled and her pale skin shone with the honest smile on her crimson lips. Ringlets cascaded from the crown of her head and swathed her pink-tinged cheeks. “She looks too innocent to work in such a dive.”

  “I’m sorry, Alwyn. Is there a conflict?” Wallace asked. “You have the best inside information on this operation. McCall was your friend. If you have any issues, then you need to get out now. Your work as Ramon Decker is essential.”

  Drew closed the folder. He glanced at Ross. “No conflict. I’ll be fine. It’s just different to see the dancers I pretended to ogle as real people.” Sure, he’d be fine if he could stay a decent distance from Jude. A voice in the back of his mind didn’t agree.

  She’s your salvation.

  As Wallace returned to his directive, Drew slipped Jude’s photo from the folder. He prayed she didn’t remember him and, if she did, he hoped she wasn’t involved in the drug ring. He needed to trust one insider.

  Or maybe he simply wanted her.

  Shit.

  An hour later, Drew headed out of the office and into the parking garage. He craved space, speed and chrome in order to get into character as Ramon Decker—bouncer and all-around hard-ass.

  “I am Ramon,” he chanted. “I am Ramon, the bouncer and tough guy extraordinaire. I have to believe it so they’ll believe it.”

  Instead of the elevators, Drew chose the exercise and fresher air of the stairwell. His days as a beat cop had enticed him with wide-open spaces and room to move. Now that he’d become a detective, he coveted his freedom—it reminded him of his time on the farm when he’d had no
commitments. He liked having space to work within the team, though, rather than carrying the entire load on his shoulders as he had as a child.

  When he opened the door to the second level, his cell phone rang. He knew the ring tone—Carlie Kenworth, his most recent ex-girlfriend. He stopped on the landing to answer her call. Since their acrimonious split six months ago, he’d refused to talk to her and she ignored him unless she wanted something. Now, circumstances were forcing them to work together and get along.

  He used his cold, authoritative voice. “This is Alwyn.”

  Carlie was the type of woman who never knew when to give up and walk away, especially when she was the one to cause the problems. Carlie hated competition. He couldn’t forget that her jealous streak was a country mile wide and violent. Although she was a stunning woman with statuesque legs, perfectly coiffed bleached blonde hair and high cheekbones, her downfall was her selfishness.

  He didn’t have time for her shenanigans. A raw shiver ran the length of his spine. Bile rose in his throat. Carlie had a tendency of showing up when he least expected her…like right then.

  She giggled. “I know who you are, silly.”

  “What do you want, Carlie?”

  “Are you alone?”

  “Nope.” He leaned on the wall of the parking garage.

  On her end of the line, she snorted. “Who are you with? Anyone I should know?” The question served as a thinly veiled reference to the reason they’d split up—she’d cheated on him with another officer on the police force.

  Drew glanced through the window in the steel door out at his motorcycle. It was a used Harley that had needed restorative work when he’d bought it. After his brand of TLC, the machine gleamed like it was brand new. It was his pride and joy.

  “You’ve never met,” he said smoothly. And you never will…

  “Can you come over?”

  He gritted his teeth. “Are you drunk? We have a major case going that you can’t screw up because you’re angry.”