“When you put the gun down,” Hope said. Her voice shook, but she didn’t look away.
“Damn it, I said putting the fucking phone down—”
Law’s gut turned to ice as he saw her finger tighten on the trigger. Fuck it. She was close enough now. He swept up and out with his right leg. The crescent kick knocked the gun out of her hand and sent it flying. All three of them scrambled for it, but Law blocked the woman and Hope got to it first.
The Amazon swung at him and that long, lean body of hers had some serious power in it. He grunted, pain shooting through him as he blocked the first punch with his casted arm.
She swung again, this time with her right hand and he blocked with his left, trapping her arm and shifting so that he had her pinned against him.
Aw, hell …
He immediately shifted position because if he stayed like that, there was no way she’d believe he wasn’t a perverted killer. He shouldn’t have a raging hard-on, not when she’d just pulled a gun on him and his best friend.
Not when his arm was screaming like a bitch.
Not when she was glaring at him like she’d want nothing more than to see him six feet under.
“Let me the fuck go,” she snarled.
Her pupils were huge, just the thinnest sliver of gold showing. Her mouth, so soft and lush, trembled. And although her voice and body were all attitude and fight, there was fear inside her.
Fear and grief and rage.
She struggled against him and he had to lean against her harder, muffling a groan as it put more pressure on his arm. “If I do, are you going to attack me again?” he asked.
Her body tensed.
Her eyes stared into his.
He stared at her like he’d really let her go.
He wouldn’t. He was toying with her. He had to be.
That was what she wanted to believe, needed to believe.
But staring into his eyes, she wondered …
Nia knew people. It was her stock in trade—she knew when they were scum, knew when they were basically decent people. She knew when she was being conned, knew when she was being told the truth. She also knew when she was staring into the eyes of a human monster.
That was what she’d come here hoping—needing—to find.
Fuck.
Silencing that inner voice, she told herself not to write him off yet. Hell, sociopaths could fool anybody, right?
Staring into those all-too-nice eyes, she gave a terse nod. “Fine. You let me go and I’ll be good … for now.”
Not that he would let her go.
Except he did.
Those eyes, green-gold and flecked with brown, stared into hers for long seconds and then the hand that had kept her wrists pinned slowly let go. He eased away and just like that, she was free.
Narrowing her eyes, she shoved away from the wall, glanced from him to the little brunette who’d crept into the room.
Slim, shy, and pale, the woman stood holding the gun in hands that trembled.
She was so frightened, the woman looked like she’d jump if you yelled boo too loud.
Scowling, Nia looked from Reilly to the woman.
“Who in the hell is she?”
She kept her gaze focused on Reilly, even though she kept the woman in her line of sight—just in case it was an act. Although she knew it wasn’t. Nobody acted that good.
“That’s my friend, Hope,” he said, his voice soft and easy, like he was trying to talk to a mad dog.
The words hit her heart with the force of a sledgehammer to her chest.
Hope.
“Hope Carson?” she said, forcing the words past her tight throat.
Even as she shot one quick glance at the woman, she already knew the answer.
And she started to kick herself, even as shame and grief crawled through her belly.
We’ve got two cold-blooded killers in this town—a man by the name of Law Reilly, and his mistress, Hope Carson. They are a piece of work—murdering savages, the both of them.
That gossipy, conniving old bitch—
The woman glanced at Reilly and then at Nia. “Yes, I’m Hope Carson.”
Nia closed her eyes and tipped her head back, staring up at the ceiling. A harsh, bitter laugh escaped her. The sheriff had warned her. She had to give him credit. He’d tried to warn her.
“That crazy old bitch,” she muttered, shaking her head. “That crazy, crazy old bitch.”
Tears burned in the back of her throat—choked her. They stung her eyes, threatening to blind her. But she wouldn’t give in to them.
Joely deserved more of her than tears. Joely deserved justice. Joely deserved to have her killer caught.
Waiting until she could face these two without breaking, she took one deep, slow breath, then another. And another. Then, she opened her eyes and made herself face Law Reilly.
He was staring at her with a disconcerting mix of sympathy and understanding. Like he knew too many of the thoughts whirling through her mind.
The woman, though, Hope, she was staring at Nia like she was a time bomb about ready to explode.
You have no idea how right you are.
She still held the gun, too, gripped in skinny, pale hands that looked far too small to hold the weight of the unregistered, and very illegal, Browning.
Holding out her hand, Nia quietly said, “Can I have the gun back?”
“Are you nuts?”
Her green eyes went wide and her jaw dropped as she gaped at Nia. Then she shot Reilly a quick look—the kind of look that said, You do something with her.
Setting her jaw, Nia said, “Look, I’m sorry. I was given some bad information and I reacted … well, badly. I apologize. Now can I please have my fucking gun so I can leave?”
She hardened her voice and glared at the smaller woman, fully prepared to intimidate the hell out of her, if she had to. Hope Carson looked like she had a spine made out of Jell-O and while Nia generally didn’t get off on intimidation, if she had to use it to get what she needed, then she would. This was the type of woman who would cave under that sort of pressure—Nia would have almost laid money on it.
But she would have been out the cash, because Hope glared at her.
“Um, no, you can’t have your fucking gun,” Hope said, her eyes narrowing. “You reacted badly? You think that’s sufficient? That’s sort of like calling Hurricane Katrina a thunderstorm, don’t you think?”
“Look,” Nia growled, advancing another step. “My cousin, my only family, is dead and I was told you two had something to do with it. What in the hell would you do?”
Hope jerked the gun up.
Sneering, Nia said, “You couldn’t use that if you had to, Tinkerbell.”
“Wanna bet?” Hope snapped.
“That’s enough.” Law stepped between them, pushing the gun down. He took it away from Hope and Nia watched as he managed to get the safety on, even though he was somewhat compromised, considering he had his right arm in a cast. But if she thought he was going to turn it over, she was dead wrong.
He looked it over, and shot her a quick glance, one brow lifting. “This is illegal.”
Nia just stared at him, wondering how he knew to look. Yeah, the serial numbers had been removed but not everybody knew to check for that.
When he tucked it in the back of his pants, she snarled at him. “Give me my damn gun.”
“You managed to get your hands on one unregistered gun, you can get another and I’m not letting you in my house with a loaded weapon.”
“How do you know it’s loaded?” She lifted her chin.
Angling his head to the side, he asked, “Well, do you want me to check?” Then he shook his head. “You came here gunning for blood and if you’d decided I was responsible, you were perfectly willing to pull that trigger. I saw it in your eyes. You’re not leaving here with the gun.”
Nia curled her hands into fists. He wasn’t wrong. Yes, she’d been willing, and ready—hell, she’d been dying to
kill. Anything to avenge Joely. Slowly, she blew out a breath. “You’re not off-base,” she said softly. “You’re not. But you didn’t do it, I see that, and I’m not so lost in grief that I’m going to kill innocent people.”
“Grief does bad things to the head,” Reilly said quietly. “Sometimes innocent doesn’t look all that innocent.”
“Yeah. Grief does bad things to the head. But I’m not blind. You can be a charming bastard, I’d bet my bike on that.” She skimmed him over with a quick look from head to toe and then looked at Hope. “But if I’m supposed to believe this woman had anything to do with killing somebody … hell, no.”
There was something about the way she said it that made it seem both insult and fact, Hope decided.
And for some reason, the fact that the woman had decided Hope wasn’t capable was this woman’s reason for not killing them? It didn’t do much to soothe the wild fear in Hope’s belly just then.
Of course, she was also completely pissed over the dismissive way the woman had looked her over … the way she’d sneered at her and called her Tinkerbell.
Weak.
The woman looked at her and saw weakness, the same way so many other people did.
Blood stained her cheeks red as the woman’s eyes bored into hers.
She had it—that indefinable confidence, that strength. The same kind of confidence Lena had. The kind of confidence, the strength Hope would never have.
Even though grief ravaged her face, turning her dusky skin translucent and leaving shadows under her pretty brown eyes, she looked strong. Confident. Ready.
And she stared at Hope the same way so many others did.
That Tinkerbell comment had pissed her off, for reasons Hope couldn’t even imagine.
“So because I don’t look like much, you think we should just give you your gun and let you go on your way?” Hope said, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Look, I’m sorry. I already said that. What else do you want?”
“How about you give me an idea what made you think we were responsible?” Law asked.
Her mouth twisted in a sneer. “Fine. I can tell you that. Her name was Deb Sparks. Now you give me my fucking gun.”
“Deb.” Law closed his eyes.
Hope could have screamed.
The woman looked between the two of them and her eyes narrowed. “This woman pulled this before?”
“She’s just … imaginative,” Law bit off.
Imaginative, my ass, Hope thought.
“Fine. You got her name. Maybe you can go have Tinkerbell there give her a talking-to. Now can I have my gun?”
“No.”
“Give me my damned gun,” she snarled, moving as though she might come after Law.
Law shifted, his body braced and ready. Despite his casted arm, he didn’t look at all worried, and the woman scowled at him. “You’re not getting the gun, angel. Deal with it.”
Hope smiled and angled her head to the phone lying on the floor. “You could always call the cops,” she offered. “Tell them we stole your gun.”
Her belly jumped even thinking about it, but as the woman’s gaze cut to hers, she knew there was nothing to worry about. This woman wouldn’t be calling the cops.
Her eyes lingered on Hope’s for a moment.
Then she looked at Law, the tension dragging on.
Finally, without saying another word, she turned on her heel and stormed out, her booted heels thudding dully on the polished hardwood floors.
Somehow, Hope knew they hadn’t seen the last of her.
It was a terrifying thought.
“Should I call the sheriff?” she asked quietly.
Law shook his head and moved to the door, watching the woman.
“No.”
“She just pulled a gun on us.”
He didn’t say anything, just kept staring out the door.
Long after the dust from her bike settled, Law continued to stare after her.
When he finally turned around and met Hope’s gaze, she was braced for him to be pissed, or mad. Or something.
What she wasn’t prepared for was the pensive, almost thoughtful look on his face.
She knew his expressions—knew them pretty well, especially after living under the same roof as him for the past month.
He looked … interested. Very, very interested.
“Law.”
He glanced at her, that familiar, distracted look on his face. The bruises had all but faded, leaving just a few discolored areas here and there. He hadn’t shaved, but it wasn’t a bad look for him. It was a scruffy, sexy look, she guessed, one that a lot of women would find pretty damn attractive.
“That woman just pulled a gun on us.”
“Yeah. I know.” He frowned and reached around behind his back, pulled the gun from wherever he had jammed it—hell, people really did just shove them in their waistbands? He eyed the Browning, that bemused, befuddled look still on his face.
He didn’t look scared, though. Despite the fact that he was holding that gun in his hand.
Hope, on the other hand, felt like she might puke. Pressing a hand to her belly, she said, “Is it loaded?”
He shot her a glance, then grunted. “Hard for me to check one-handed, but yeah. I’m pretty sure it’s loaded.”
Hope groaned and when her knees buckled, she happily let them, sinking to the floor and pressing her forehead against them. A cold sweat broke out all over her body. “It’s loaded. She came out here with an unregistered, loaded gun and now she’s gone—we don’t know if she’s going to come back and try to kill us while we sleep. You don’t want me calling the sheriff’s office. And you look like you want to eat her for lunch.”
He was quiet and she peeked up at him, saw that he was still studying the gun like it held some great mystery of the universe.
Swearing, she surged to her feet and glared at him. “Law!”
“Huh?”
“That woman is insane. She all but threatened to kill us—had a loaded, unregistered gun—and you just let her traipse away. And you look like you want to hunt her down and get her phone number! And her bra and panty size, too.”
A dull red flush settled over his cheekbones. Sighing, he set the gun down on the table under the mirror. “Hope, she’s not going to come back and kill us in our sleep.”
“Yeah, and how are you so sure? Did you go and turn into Ms. Cleo overnight or something?” she asked, her voice thick with sarcasm.
Slanting a narrow look at her, he muttered, “Geez, you went and got mouthy over the past few weeks, Tinkerbell.”
“Don’t call me that.” Shoving a hand through her hair, she glanced at the gun and then back at him. “Look, I’m just freaked out. You said it yourself—grief does bad things to a person’s head. You know that. Hell, I know that.”
She’d been reeling over her parents’ unexpected deaths just a few weeks after graduation when she married Joey. If she’d taken a little more time, grown up more, maybe even just gone to college and had some time to figure out who in the hell she was, maybe he wouldn’t have been able to hurt her the way he had.
“Hope.”
Looking up, she met his gaze. He crossed the hall and reached up, curled a hand around the back of her neck, drew her against his chest. Sighing, she rested her head against him, listened to the comforting sound of his heartbeat. Level, steady … alive. He was there—he’d always been there. Nothing had happened.
“Damn it, what if she’d shot you?” she whispered, tears thickening in her throat.
“She didn’t. And now that’s she’s cooled down and figured out just what sort of person she’d gotten her story from, she’s not going to. That woman isn’t any sort of idiot.” He rubbed his hand up and down her spine. “It’s okay, kid. Everything’s fine.”
“But what if …”
Oh, shit.
The storm inside her broke.
Reaction settled in hard and fast, and before she knew it, she was shaki
ng, shaking so hard she could barely stand. Her teeth rattled, tears burned out of her eyes and she couldn’t think, couldn’t see, could hardly breathe.
“Hope …” Helpless, Law curled his useless right arm around her as best as he could. “Come on, sweetheart. I’m fine. You’re fine.”
But she didn’t seem to hear him. Wasn’t even aware of him as she trembled like a leaf.
Feeling a pair of eyes boring into his neck, he whipped his head around. Tension spiked—adrenaline rushed.
And then it drained out when he saw Remy standing there.
Although judging by that strange glitter in Remy’s eyes …
“Come on in,” Law said. “Maybe you can calm her down.”
“Calm her down?” Remy echoed, as jealousy tore a nasty, ugly hole in his gut.
They were close.
He knew that.
He’d have to deal with it.
But standing there, watching while Hope leaned against Law …
Then he realized something.
Hope was shaking.
Trembling, terrified, and although that ivory complexion of hers was always pale, she wasn’t ever that pale.
“What in the hell is wrong?” he asked.
At the sound of his voice, Hope flinched.
Then she blinked and glassy eyes focused on his face. “Remy?”
“Yeah. Hey, what’s wrong?”
She pushed away from Law, her movements clumsy and stiff, like somebody who’d been asleep. She took one stumbling step toward him and he caught her, steadied her. To his surprise, she cuddled against his chest, rested her brow against him and sighed. It shuddered out of her and as he brought one hand up to rest it on her waist, the tension in her slender body seemed to drain away.
“What’s wrong, Hope?” He rubbed his lips against her temple, not entirely sure she’d tell him a damn thing, but he couldn’t not ask.
“Hmmm. Crazy day. Just give me a minute,” she whispered.
“I can do that.” Yeah, he could stand there for quite a while holding her. Especially when she snuggled closer. Then she slid her arms around his waist and pressed in even tighter, like she couldn’t get close enough.
The blood in his head began a slow, dangerous descent.
If You See Her Page 19