Bound by Danger

by Danielle M. Haas

  “Excuse me, are you Miss O’Shay’s roommate?”

  The woman jumped and her head moved a fraction of an inch to face him. “Yes. Who are you? Is Mickey okay?” Her breaths came out in quick spurts, her words as fast as lightning.

  “I’m Special Agent Graham Grassi with the FBI.”

  Her wide eyes narrowed before they scanned him from head to toe. “How do I know if you’re really FBI? And why would you be here? I called the police.”

  He pulled his badge and ID from his pocket and held it out for her. She studied it, and then gazed back up at him. “Okay, so you’re FBI. Where’s Mickey?”

  “She’s inside giving her statement to the police. I’m sure they’ll clear you to go up and see her soon.”

  She put a hand on her heart and her shoulders dropped. “Oh, thank God.”

  “What’s your name?” Mickey had mentioned it, but he couldn’t remember.

  “Lydia. So, Mickey’s not hurt? What happened in there?”

  He put his ID back in his pocket and pulled out the pen and notepad that were as much a part of him as his right arm. “I was hoping you’d be able to tell me.”

  Lydia shook her head and not one hair fell out of place. “I don’t understand. Didn’t you talk to Mickey?”

  He nodded. “Yes, but I think you might be able to shed a little more light on the situation.”

  Lydia lifted her gaze up to the second-story window. The streetlight behind them shone down on her, showing off her furrowed brow. “I don’t understand. Mickey yelled at me to leave as soon as I cracked the door open, and I knew something was wrong. But I didn’t see anything.”

  Graham turned and followed Lydia’s gaze to Mickey’s apartment window. Another lead with nowhere to go, another story without an ending to clear Mickey’s name. She didn’t know it yet, but another nail had just been hammered in her coffin.

  Chapter Seven

  “We can’t stay here tonight,” Lydia said.

  Her dark eyes glanced over at Graham, who stood in the corner of the kitchen, talking on his phone. “G.I. Joe over there busted the door. And even if we could get it to close properly, that woman still has a copy of the key.”

  Mickey sank deep into the soft cushions of the couch, wishing she could disappear. At least for the night. Exhaustion weighed her down. “She won’t come back tonight. That’d be stupid. And I’m too tired to pack my stuff up and figure out where to go.”

  Lydia crossed the room and sat beside her. “Come with me to my parents’ house.”

  Mickey’s eyes drifted shut. She didn’t have the energy to keep them open anymore. Not after the day she’d had. She’d spent the last hour giving her statement to the police and then rehashing everything again with Agent Grassi. But the more she’d talked, the more he stared at her with those intense, distrusting eyes. It didn’t help that Lydia hadn’t actually seen anything. At least Lydia didn’t think she was lying.

  “You should listen to her,” Graham said.

  Her muscles tightened and her eyes flew open. He stood over her, so close she could smell the lingering sweat that had soaked through his shirt earlier. “Why do you care? And why are you still here?”

  His eye twitched, but his features remained calm. “I was talking to my partner about our next move. Talking to you is important in finding Becca and the other girls. The fact that this woman said they were tying up loose ends before leaving town is crucial. If Pete’s still in town, so are the girls.”

  “I thought you didn’t believe me.”

  “I said I didn’t know what to believe.”

  She snorted and pulled herself up from the comfortable cushions that cradled her in their softness. “Whatever. I don’t care what you think. I just want you to do your job and find Becca.”

  His lip hitched up in the annoyingly sexy half smile that made her blood hum. But it didn’t matter how the scruff on his chin highlighted his strong jaw or if his shirt showed off all the definition that lay beneath it. He was off limits the minute he had questioned her about her whereabouts like she was a suspect in her own goddaughter’s disappearance.

  “We agree on something then,” he said. “That’s why you’re going with your friend to her parents for the night while I stay here. I don’t think the woman who attacked you will be back tonight, but if she is, I want to see her for myself.”

  In one day, Graham had gone from the sexy mystery man who saved her life to a major pain in her ass. No way she would let him tell her what to do, especially after the way he’d treated her all day.

  “I’m not going anywhere. If you want to stay, good. Then Lydia could leave and be out of harm’s way without worrying about me.” She stood and looked down at Lydia. “You go. I have G.I. Joe with me for the night. I’ll be fine.”

  Graham snorted out a laugh. “G.I. Joe?”

  Mickey’s lips curved into a tight smile and she batted her lashes at him. “Yep. My hero.”

  “I don’t want to leave you here. You’ve had a rough couple of days.” Lydia reached up and grabbed her hand.

  “And all I want to do is fall into my bed and go to sleep. I’ll be fine. Graham’s here.” She plastered on the same smile she used at work—the one that hid the irritation dying to scream from her pores. The last thing she wanted was to spend more time with Graham, but she wanted to keep Lydia and her family safe. If someone was following her, what would stop her from leading them to the doorsteps of her best friend’s parents’ house? As much as she hated to admit it, the safest place for her was with Graham.

  Lydia arched one finely shaped eyebrow. “Graham?”

  “Agent Grassi.” Graham chuckled behind her and she gritted her teeth. “Now go pack your bag and get out of here so I can go to sleep.”

  Lydia gave her one last pleading look before getting up and heading to her bedroom. Mickey turned to face Graham and planted her fists on her hips. “You could’ve asked if I was okay with you staying here. You can’t tell me what to do, and then think I’m all right with you making yourself at home in my apartment. It doesn’t work that way.”

  Graham took one step toward her, bringing him way too close in the small space. “How does it work then, darling?”

  She swallowed hard and stood her ground. “I don’t care what you think of me, you will treat me with respect. And you won’t call me ‘darling.’ You don’t get to waltz in here and dictate what I do. I’ve done nothing wrong, and I won’t stand for being treated like a criminal. If you want to stay here tonight, fine. You can sleep on the couch. Pillows and blankets are in the hall closet. I’m going to bed.”

  Turning away from him, she walked to her bedroom and closed the door. She pulled off her clothes and threw them in the corner of the room before grabbing a large T-shirt from her drawer. The soft material bunched in her hands. She hadn’t showered at all today, but it would be too much work right now. Besides, maybe Graham would keep his distance if the sweat from her workout still hung in the air around her. He might not trust her, but if he was half as attracted to her as she was to him, she had to do whatever she could to keep space between them.

  Yanking the old Cubs shirt over her head, she pulled the long strands of her hair out from under the shirt and climbed into bed. The mattress dipped low beneath her weight and she pulled the down blanket around herself. She shifted, trying to find a comfortable position. Her muscles relaxed, but the tension in the back of her neck remained. She closed her eyes, willing sleep to come, but images of Becca played on repeat in her mind. Tears sprang to her eyes and leaked down onto her pillow. They had to find her. Failure wasn’t an option. She just prayed that when they did, it wouldn’t be too late. Holding on to that prayer, sleep finally came and gave her a short reprieve from the nightmare of her life.

  …

  Mickey bolted up in bed, a cold sweat clinging to her brow.

  Her room was dark, except for the tiny sliver of moonlight seeping in through a slit in her curtains. She pulled her blanket over her chest
and her eyes scanned the room. Her heart raced and she tried to steady her shaky nerves. The rapid banging of her pulse beat through her eardrums. Something had woken her. A noise? No. That wasn’t it. She had to get out of here, though.

  Her gaze flew to her nightstand, and she reached down and grabbed her taser. She’d been too tired to be afraid of staying in her apartment for the night, but she wasn’t stupid. The taser had been switched to a higher setting, and she’d made sure it was within reach before she went to sleep. If someone came back for her tonight, she’d be ready. And this time, the person wouldn’t be walking out of here.

  The floorboards of the old apartment shifted. She held her breath and strained to hear anything happening outside her bedroom door.

  Nothing.

  Blood thundered in her ears, drowning out everything around her. Taking a deep breath, she swung her legs over the side of her bed and stood. Cold air blasted out of the vent above her and a shiver tore through her. The hairs on her arm stood on end, but she wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or fear.

  Her bare feet padded across the carpet and her hand rested on the doorknob. If someone was out there, she’d rather be on the defensive. She wasn’t going to lie in her bed and wait for someone to kill her. Something, or someone, had woken her up. Taking a deep breath, she turned the handle and stepped out into the dark hall. Not even the moonlight lit a path for her, and she blinked to adjust her eyes to the total darkness.

  The plush carpet absorbed the sound of her tiptoeing down the hall. Her hands wrapped around the taser and she pointed it straight in front of her. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, and her heart beat harder with every step.

  A soft creak came from the direction of the kitchen. She stopped, squeezed her eyes shut, and gathered all of her courage. You can do this. Don’t be a victim. Take control. She took two long strides to the end of the hallway, whipped around the corner, and sucked in a breath as a dark figure in the kitchen turned toward her. Her finger shook against the trigger of the taser.

  “Holy shit, Mickey. What the hell are you doing?”

  “Something woke me up,” she said as she released a pent-up breath. She dropped her arms to her sides and relief washed over her.

  “And you didn’t think if a threat was in your apartment the FBI agent would take care of it?” He grabbed a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water before facing her again.

  No curtains hung from the kitchen window, and moonlight streamed in and danced across the tiled floor. Graham stood in front of the sink. Dark circles hung low under his eyes, but that wasn’t what caused her pulse to pick up. Graham Grassi, Mr. G. I. Joe himself, stood in her kitchen with bare feet and his white dress shirt unbuttoned to reveal his smooth, muscular chest.

  She met his gaze head on. “For all I knew, you fell asleep and got caught with your pants down. It seems I was partially right since you’re walking around my home half naked.” She had to hold on to her annoyance to keep from drooling over his washboard abs.

  Even with his face slightly hidden in the shadows, there was no mistaking the spark of humor in his eyes. He shrugged and the muscles in his shoulders bunched together. “I wanted to make myself a little more comfortable before I went to sleep. It seems I’m not the only one,” he said, dipping his chin low in her direction.

  She glanced down and heat erupted in her like a volcano. The T-shirt she’d thrown on barely skimmed the top of her thighs and her nipples pressed against the flimsy cotton of the ancient shirt. Thank God it was dark. It’d be harder for him to see how red her face grew when she was embarrassed. Swallowing down her humiliation, she met his gaze once again. “I’m in my own home. I can dress however I like.”

  He cocked his head to the side. “I didn’t know there was a dress code for guests. You should have warned me of that before you stormed off to bed earlier.”

  Anger flared inside her, but it was hard to stay focused when all she wanted to do was run her fingers down the hard board of his stomach. My God. How many hours a day did the man work out to get such chiseled abs? She couldn’t tear her eyes off them.

  “Do you like what you see?” He took a step toward her, and she took one back.

  Her eyes snapped to his and her face tingled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest and instantly regretted it. Instead of hiding her breasts, the material clung more firmly against them. She took another step toward the hall and dropped her arms back to her sides. “I’m going back to bed.”

  “I didn’t mean to wake you. I wanted a drink of water before I went to sleep.”

  She glanced at the clock and raised her brows. “You’re just now going to sleep? It’s almost three.”

  Graham lifted the glass to his lips and took a long sip. “I had work to do.”

  “Did you find anything?”

  He shook his head. “I can’t discuss the case with you, Mickey.”

  “But you said earlier it was important to talk to me.” She ground her teeth together. It couldn’t hurt to tell her what he’d found out. Hell, it might even help him. No one knew Pete and Becca like she did.

  “I needed to talk to you about what happened tonight, and you gave me some interesting insight. Beyond that, the only thing we can discuss is any information about Pete that you think might be helpful in finding him.”

  “I don’t know what else—”

  Bang!

  Mickey jumped and threw herself at Graham. His strong arms circled around her back and pressed her tightly against his hard body. His lips pressed against her ear. “Shh…you’re fine. It was a car backfiring.”

  She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against his chest. The unsteady rhythm of her heart had as much to do with being so close to him as it did the damn car that scared her to death. Small hairs tickled her skin and she took a deep breath, inhaling an intoxicating blend of spiced cloves and coffee. She lifted her chin and found Graham’s eyes, dark with desire, shining down on her.

  Her hair fell across her face, and his knuckles brushed it back, before his hand traveled to the back of her neck. His fingers slid through her matted hair and rested at the back of her head. His other hand pressed against the small of her back, molding her into him. Tingling sensations danced in her belly and her nipples grew hard as they rested against his skin. She bit into her bottom lip. Maybe she should stop this before it started, but the comfort he offered was tempting as hell.

  Graham made the decision for her. He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. A soft moan purred from her throat and she melted into him. She parted her lips and his tongue invaded her mouth. His tongue slid steadily over hers and the taste of him filled her senses. Her arms circled around his neck and Graham’s hands dropped to her ass. His palms settled on her bare cheeks exposed by her thong, branding her skin. Her eyes flew open.

  She pulled back and pushed against his chest. What the hell was she doing? Agent Graham Grassi was the last man she should be kissing right now. Hell, she could barely tolerate the man. She struggled to get enough air in her lungs and calm the desire crashing over her.

  Graham’s hands covered hers as they lingered on his chest. “What’s wrong?” His breath came out as ragged as hers.

  She shook her head and kept her gaze locked on the floor. If she stared up at his sculpted jaw or broad shoulders, she wouldn’t stand a chance. “I know what you think of me,” she whispered.

  Graham dropped his hands to his sides and took a step away from her. The distance was small, but it spoke volumes. She glanced up, and he rubbed a hand across his face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

  “I shouldn’t have thrown myself at you because a car backfired,” she said with a smile, trying to ease the awkwardness.

  He chuckled. “I don’t blame you for being jumpy. We both need some sleep.”

  She nodded and turned toward her room. This day had gone from bad to worse to monumentally embarrassing. She wanted
it to be over.

  “And Mickey?”

  She spun back toward him and her mouth went dry. She cleared her throat. “Yes?”

  His lips hitched up on the corner. “Don’t let those backfiring cars scare you tonight. She had a key, remember? No need to make a bunch of noise to break back in.”

  She rolled her eyes and fought to suppress a laugh. “That doesn’t make me feel better, G.I. Joe.” Turning back around, she walked toward her door. Realization struck her like lightning and she whipped around to face him. “Graham, did you guys go to Pete’s apartment today?”

  “Shit,” Graham said. “No. We haven’t been able to find where he lives. Do you know where he lives?”

  A grin spread across her mouth. “Even better. I’ve a copy of his key.”

  Chapter Eight

  “You’re not coming with me.” Graham fixed his most intimidating stare on Mickey, which was hard as hell to do when she stood in front of him with her explosion of red hair raining down her shoulders and hands fisted on her hips.

  “I don’t see how you have a choice. I have the key and I know where the apartment is.”

  Dammit, she was right. He’d called the owner of the apartment complex Pete lived in to get his permission to enter the premises, but no one had answered. Not that he was surprised. It was close to four in the morning. No sane person would answer their phone right now unless they worked in law enforcement or had children to worry about.

  “Just give me the key and let me call in backup. I’ll make a call to secure a warrant and pray like hell it comes in quickly.”

  They’d run Pete’s name all day yesterday and hadn’t found anything listed under his name, or any combination of names associated with him. Besides the house in Mexico, they had dick to go on. Mickey’s involvement in all of this was still pretty sketchy, but if she was willing to lead him to Pete’s apartment, he had to jump on the opportunity.