by Lara Lacombe
“Please,” she begged, trying in vain to twist away. “There’s no more. I swear.”
“You’re lying!” He slammed her against the counter while he screamed in her face. “Where’s the rest of the money?”
This guy was hanging on by a very thin thread, and if Nate didn’t act soon, the punk was going to kill Fiona. The thought made his gut tighten as he moved closer, searching for an opening. No way was he going to let her die in this crappy little store. He stepped to the side, trying to find a better angle for his shot.
Fiona caught the movement, and her eyes widened as he approached. “No,” she said, keeping her gaze locked with his while she spoke. “Please don’t.”
Warmth spread through his chest at her brave attempt to protect him. Despite being in very real danger, she didn’t want him to get involved, clearly thinking he would only get himself hurt. His estimation of her climbed even higher, and he nodded, trying to silently reassure her while he crept closer.
The perp stepped back, pulling Fiona as he moved. He came dangerously close to bumping into Nate, but he shifted just in time. He turned and pushed Fiona forward, but before she took a step, he saw Nate. With a cry of alarm, he yanked Fiona back against his chest, bringing the gun up to press against her head.
“Drop it,” the robber demanded, his voice high and strained. “Drop it or I’ll shoot her.”
Nate kept his gun up, knowing that if he lowered it, Fiona was as good as dead.
“I’m a police officer,” Nate said, striving to keep his voice calm. The last thing he wanted was to antagonize the guy further. “Put down your weapon and let the woman go.”
The man’s wide eyes scanned the empty convenience store as he took a step back, careful to keep Fiona in front of him while he moved. “You drop your gun first,” he hedged.
Nate shook his head. “You know I can’t do that,” he said. “No one has to get hurt here. Just put down your gun and we can talk.”
“I’ll shoot her,” the man warned, his finger sliding dangerously close to the trigger. “Don’t make me do this.”
Nate saw the desperation in the other man’s eyes, recognized that he was close to the breaking point. Even though all his training screamed against lowering his gun, he couldn’t count on the perp to remain in control. Better to break a few rules than to risk watching Fiona die in front of him...
“Okay, okay,” he soothed, slowly lowering his hand until the gun pointed at the floor. The man’s eyes followed the movement, his body relaxing some as the worst of the danger passed. “Let’s just talk,” Nate offered, hoping to distract the man enough that he would lower his own weapon.
“I don’t want to talk,” said the man, vigorously shaking his head like a dog sloughing off water.
“That’s okay,” Nate replied, careful to keep his voice friendly. “I’ll talk, and you just listen. Sound good?”
After a slight hesitation, the man nodded uneasily. It was a start.
“I’m Nate. What’s your name?”
The man narrowed his eyes, as if trying to decide whether he should part with this information. “Joey,” he finally muttered.
“Joey,” Nate repeated, nodding his head. “That’s a good name. A good name for a good guy, I’m sure.”
Joey huffed out a laugh. “You think I’m dumb? I’m not a good guy, man. Don’t you see what I’m doing here?”
Nate tilted his head, pretending to consider the other man’s words. “The thing is, Joey, I don’t think you really want to be doing this. I think you got yourself in some kind of trouble, and you need the money to buy your way out. I know you don’t want to hurt this lady here.” He cut his gaze to Fiona, who was staring back at him with wide eyes. She was holding herself so still she could be mistaken for a statue, and her impossibly pale face only heightened the resemblance. He wanted to give her a wink of reassurance, but to do so would only inflame Joey, a risk that wasn’t worth taking.
“If she gets hurt, it’s on you. It’s ’cuz you made me do it.” A note of desperation rang in Joey’s voice. He was clearly in over his head. He began to inch back toward the entrance, obviously wanting to leave.
A movement in the parking lot caught Nate’s eye, and he looked beyond Joey and Fiona to see a squad car braking just outside the store. Thank God, they hadn’t come in with sirens blazing...
“Okay,” Nate said, taking a half step forward. He held up his free hand, trying to appear nonthreatening. “Let’s not talk about people getting hurt. As far as I’m concerned, no one has to get hurt tonight,” he continued, deliberately trying to draw Joey’s attention so the other man wouldn’t realize that backup had arrived. Keep him distracted, keep him facing forward.
“You need to put your gun down,” Joey insisted, his eyes glued to the weapon at Nate’s side. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his skinny neck.
Nate nodded. “Okay. I can do that. But you have to promise not to hurt this nice lady here.” When Joey didn’t respond, Nate offered a weak smile that the other man didn’t return. “You know I’m a cop. I can’t part with my gun unless I know you’re no longer a threat.”
The two officers who had crept into the store paused at this statement, glanced at each other, then nodded. He was out of the line of fire, at least for the moment.
“Put it down,” Joey ordered. He tightened his grip on Fiona, causing her to let out a distressed squeak.
Nate nodded again, remembering from his days in the academy that positive feedback was important in a hostage situation. Keep the hostage taker balanced, always say yes, don’t talk about death. The main idea was to avoid antagonizing the hostage taker, in the hope that lives would be saved.
“Okay. I’m going to set it down on the counter. How does that sound?” Nate slowly moved forward while he spoke, causing Joey to move incrementally backward. With every step, Nate was herding them right into the arms of the waiting officers, and the poor guy didn’t even know it.
Fortunately, the cops seemed to have caught on. They maintained their position, weapons pointed at Joey, while they silently waited. He prayed they had turned off their radios before entering the store—the last thing he needed was for a call to come through and alert Joey to the fact that they were no longer alone.
Nate placed the gun on the counter and reached out to Fiona. “Okay, Joey. I put down my gun like you asked. Now you give me the girl.”
The other man hesitated, so Nate applied a little more pressure. “It’s only fair,” he said, maintaining his forward motion. “I gave up my weapon. You have the money. Let her go and you can leave.”
His fingertips grazed Fiona’s arm. It was nothing more than a brush of skin against skin, but he wanted to roar with satisfaction. Close, so close.
Joey loosened his grip on Fiona. Hardly daring to breathe, Nate eased his hand around her arm and gently tugged.
“Just let her go,” he whispered. “You don’t want to take her with you.”
Joey gave a jerky nod, then released Fiona with a little shove. In one swift motion, Nate pulled her against him and pivoted to the side, throwing them to the floor between the shelves of the main aisle. He covered her with his body, his whole focus on protecting her while all hell broke loose above them.
* * *
She couldn’t breathe.
Hot Guy was a solid weight on top of her, pinning her to the floor and blocking her view. Not that she wanted to see, anyway. What she could hear was bad enough.
Male voices shouting, the “pop” of what could only be a gunshot, then a high, pain-filled scream that made the fillings in her teeth ache. Squeezing her eyes shut, Fiona pressed her head against Hot Guy’s shoulder, trying in vain to block out the horrible wails now coming from somewhere nearby.
It was all too much to process, especially when she had no idea what was going on. She was still adjusting to the fact that she no longer had a gun pressed to her temple. She wanted to reach up to touch the still-tingling spot, to rub away the
chill of the metal that lingered on her skin, but her hands were trapped against her stomach.
“Are you all right?”
His voice was deep and soft, for her ears only. It rumbled from his chest and into hers, a strangely intimate sensation that only added to her discomfiture.
She nodded automatically, not trusting her voice, not knowing what to say. She’d just had a gun held to her head—she couldn’t think right now, much less determine if she was fine.
He pulled back to study her face, his green eyes taking in every detail. She fought the urge to squirm, unused to such scrutiny, especially at such close range.
“Are you sure you’re not hurt?” He reached up to trace a finger over her temple, right where the gun had pressed into her skin. Fiona caught her breath at the gentle stroke, goose bumps popping out along her arms in the wake of his contact.
“I’m fine,” she said, her voice breaking at the end. She winced and cleared her throat, not wanting to sound too emotional. She wasn’t going to fall apart just because some thug had held her hostage for a few minutes. She didn’t have time—she had to proctor final exams for her adviser’s classes soon, and a nervous breakdown was not in her schedule.
But, oh, it felt so good to be pressed up against her rescuer. Hot Guy was everything she’d thought he would be and more—a potent combination of muscle and bone, wrapped up in a very nice package. And his smell—God, his smell! Warm skin, some kind of woodsy smell from his soap and a faint note of musk all mingled to create a heady combination, making her want to press her nose to his neck and inhale deeply.
But that would be too creepy.
He carefully extracted himself and pushed to his feet, then reached down to offer his hand. She took it and had a sudden thrill as he quickly pulled her up. She swayed a bit on her feet, and he placed his hand on her shoulder to steady her. Fiona closed her eyes, enjoying his warm touch.
“I know you.”
Fiona opened her eyes at the intrusion to see a uniformed police officer staring at Hot Guy, his eyes narrowed in thought.
Hot Guy stared back, his brows drawn together while he considered the other man. “Steve, right?” he said slowly.
The officer nodded. “And you’re—?” He let the question trail off, inviting Hot Guy to supply his name.
“Nate Gallagher. Homicide.”
The officer nodded, recognition dawning. “Gallagher. You were the MVP of the last police-fire softball game. I knew I’d seen you somewhere before!”
Nate smiled faintly. “I’m glad you recognized me. I knew I was taking a chance having my gun pointed in your direction.”
Steve shook his head. “I’m not gonna lie—I didn’t appreciate that. You’re lucky we saw what was happening when we pulled in.”
Nate shrugged, then pulled Fiona closer to his side. “I couldn’t let him hurt her,” he said simply.
The officer transferred his gaze to Fiona, as if noticing her for the first time. “Are you all right, ma’am?”
She nodded. Why did they keep asking her that? It’s not like they could do anything to help her if she told the truth.
“We need to take your statement,” he said, holding up an arm to gesture her forward. She moved reluctantly, not wanting to leave the security of Nate’s side. Even though their contact was limited to his hand on her shoulder, she still felt comforted by his presence.
Now that Nate and the other officer were no longer talking, Fiona realized that the robber’s moans of pain had stopped, leaving the store silent except for the intermittent crackle of the police radio. As she cleared the aisle and glanced down, Fiona saw the man was unconscious, lying in a small pool of blood.
She swallowed hard at the sight, her instincts urging her to put as much distance between them as possible. He’d been so rough and strong, jerking her around the store, but now, lying on the dirty floor with his face slack, he seemed very small and powerless.
Rationally, she knew the man couldn’t hurt her, unconscious and handcuffed as he was. Still, her body refused to move any closer, and she stood frozen in place, panic climbing up her spine to wrap choking fingers around her throat.
Another officer was kneeling by the man, halfheartedly pressing a wad of gauze to his shoulder. The officer glanced up at her and offered an absent nod. She nodded back mechanically, and he frowned.
“Are you all right, miss? You look a little pale.”
“I, uh—”
She couldn’t get the words out, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “I think I need to use the bathroom.”
Fiona turned to the right and practically ran for the bathroom, yanking open the door with such force that it bounced off the wall to slam shut. She flipped the lock and collapsed onto the toilet, leaning forward with her arms wrapped tight around her stomach.
Oh God, oh God, oh God. Her thoughts were a twisted jumble as she rocked back and forth, the events of the past half hour crashing over her anew. She hadn’t had time to think or even panic in the moment, but now that the danger had passed, she couldn’t seem to escape the flood of emotions that adrenaline had kept at bay.
Fiona pressed her fist to her mouth in an effort to muffle the quiet sobs. She had learned to stifle the sounds of her grief as she cared for her mother during her battle with cancer, but right now Fiona couldn’t stop the tears from falling. She ripped a ribbon of toilet paper off the roll and pressed it to her eyes, mopping up the tears before they could drip onto her shirt in a telltale sign of distress. She had to regain her composure so she could talk to the police, and then she could go home and cry in the privacy of her empty house.
She dropped the soggy toilet paper into the trash, then moved to the sink and splashed water on her face. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she toweled off and froze, her eyes fixed on the red mark that marred her temple. With shaking fingers, she reached up to touch the bumpy spot, feeling the definite imprint of the gun barrel.
So close. Her stomach twisted at the thought of her brains on the floor, and she quickly dropped to her knees in front of the toilet, making it just in time.
“Fiona?” Nate’s voice was quiet on the other side of the door, and Fiona wanted to sink into the floor tiles and disappear. How long had he been standing there? Had he heard her crying? Worse still, had he heard her throwing up?
“I’ll be right out,” she said, trying desperately to sound normal.
“Can I come in?”
God, no! The cloying sweetness of industrial air freshener had combined with the acrid stench of bile, making a new and entirely unappealing aroma that now permeated the small room. The last thing she needed was for Nate to come in and get blasted with the scent of her breakdown.
“Um, not right now,” she hedged, wiping her mouth with a wet paper towel and smoothing back her hair. “Just give me a second.”
He was silent, but something told her he hadn’t gone far. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, silently cursing herself for crying. Why couldn’t she be one of those women who was attractive when crying? Instead, she looked like some kind of allergic mess, with swollen eyes, puffy lips and blotchy red skin. That was bad enough, but the fact that she had to step out and face Detective Hottie, who hadn’t batted an eye at tonight’s events, made her feel even worse.
I can do this. Taking a deep breath, Fiona dabbed at the last lingering wetness on her cheeks and ran her palm down the front of her shirt to smooth out the wrinkles.
Her fragile defenses in place once more, she turned and opened the bathroom door.
Here I go.
Chapter 3
Dammit, she’d been crying.
Nate could tell the minute she opened the door. She walked out with her shoulders back and head held high, her chin thrust upward in defiance and determination. But her eyes gave her away. Red rimmed and slightly swollen, they bore silent witness to her earlier tears.
He turned to follow her, but not before catching a whiff of the bathroom. Oh, honey.
She certainly wasn’t the first person to lose her lunch after such a stressful situation, but he hated that she’d had to experience it.
Joey was still out cold on the floor near the register, so he quickly steered her in the opposite direction, guiding her to walk the outer perimeter of the store on her way to the door. Not only did he want to spare her from seeing her attacker again, it gave him a chance to swipe a bottle of ginger ale as they walked past the refrigerated cases.
“Here you go,” he said, pressing the bottle into her hand with a smile. “Thought you might want this.”
She blushed but met his eyes. “Thanks,” she said softly, her mouth turning up at the corner. “Guess I wasn’t as quiet in there as I’d hoped.”
“Don’t feel bad,” he assured her, reaching up to lay a hand on her shoulder. For some reason, he couldn’t stop touching her, a fact that should have bothered him but didn’t. “I’ve seen 350-pound men cry like a baby after having a gun shoved in their face, so a little vomit is no big deal.”
She stared at the bottle for a few seconds, then shrugged and twisted off the cap.
“Something wrong?”
She shook her head. “I was just thinking that we’re not allowed to eat or drink anything from the store.”
“I’m happy to pay for it,” he said, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. She laid a hand on his arm, stopping him.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said, giving him a small smile. “After the night I’ve had, I think the store can donate a soda to make me feel better.”
“Sounds fair to me,” he said, placing his hand on the small of her back to urge her forward again. He wanted to get her out of the store and away from her attacker as soon as possible. He could just make out the faint wail of a siren, which meant the ambulance was on its way. Fiona didn’t need to be here when the paramedics loaded Joey onto the stretcher and carted him off to the hospital.