Dangerous Moves

by Karen Rock

  Her feet carried her back and forth across the room. She wrapped her arms around her waist and clenched her teeth to stop them from chattering. The agony of waiting for rescue. She hated feeling weak, helpless.

  Faint gunshots stopped her dead in her tracks. She pressed a hand to her chest, sure her heart would leap right out of it. Had Blake shot someone or the other way around? Was she next?

  She was no sitting duck.

  And she would not fail this first test of her new self.

  She raced to her father’s room, grabbed the gun from his cabinet then scrambled outside. On the stoop, a wall of blackness stopped her. Dallas lit the sky above it in the distance, and the outline of swooping bats crisscrossed her vision.

  At last, she could make out their live oak and the toolshed beyond it. Her toes scrunched dry grass as she crept around the corner, her pulse whooshing in her ears.

  She slunk along the side of the house and encountered only shadows. What’d happened to Blake?

  “Blake?” she whispered. No response. “Blake,” she called again, louder.

  A hand clamped around her mouth, and she reacted instinctively, grabbing her attacker’s arm to stabilize herself before jamming her thumb backward, stabbing him in the eye. The moment his grip loosened, she whirled and kicked him dead in the groin, gun pointed.

  “Oof,” Blake exclaimed, doubling over, then, “Quiet,” when she rushed to apologize.

  In the distance, an engine roared to life. A white SUV zoomed past her father’s property, a shadowed driver crouched over the steering wheel. It disappeared around a bend.

  “No apology necessary,” he gasped, straightening slowly, rubbing his eye. “And would you stop pointing that thing at me?”

  She lowered the gun. “Then stop manhandling me.” Adrenaline fired every one of her nerves, along with dismay. Had she hurt him badly? She stepped close and scrutinized his eye. “And I’m sorry. Did you shoot that guy?”

  His quick, warm breaths feathered against her temple, sending a delicious shiver of awareness tripping down her spine. “Shot at him when he pulled a gun on me. Though I think I was in more danger from you. Jesus, who taught you that little maneuver? Jackie Chan?”

  “Sifu Phu Ngo at the Shaolin Dojo.”

  “Well, you got your money’s worth. And stay put when I tell you to,” he grumbled.

  “I don’t take orders.” She peered up at his shadowed face.

  After a tense moment, he nodded, eyes gleaming. “Let’s go inside.”

  Awareness jittered through her every time her shoulder brushed his bicep as they hurried to the rear stoop. Back inside, she stowed her gun, then automatically dumped grounds in the coffee machine, poured water in the top and flipped the switch. She needed a cup or her whirling head might fly right off her shoulders. A moment later, a pungent brown stream gushed into the pot, steadying her a bit.

  “Did you notice anyone following you home tonight?” Blake pulled off his “disguise” and paced by the pantry door. His movements were panther-like, all sleek with deadly intention.

  “No.” She grabbed a couple of mugs, forcing herself to act normal. Like a possible home invasion wasn’t a big deal at all. Nope. Not one little bit.

  The cups slipped through her trembling fingers and shattered.

  “Don’t move!” Blake snatched up the shards surrounding her bare feet. At last he straightened, the pieces in his large hands.

  “Thank you,” she managed, meaning it on many levels. She’d given this guy a hard time from the start, but like he’d said, when she needed him, he’d appeared. Nothing like the cop who had assaulted her. Officer Bates, whose professional persona hid a brutal monster who’d driven her from her home and family. She’d been an innocent then, not the fighter she’d become through self-defense and martial-arts classes. She could rescue her own damn self now, thank you very much.

  She swiped the aggravating sting from her eyes. It’d been a long time since she’d had anyone to depend on besides herself, a strangely warm feeling considering all her hard work to toughen up, to become self-reliant.

  Don’t get soft, girl…

  He slid an arm around her shoulders and another beneath her knees. Before she could protest, he carried her into the living room. After setting her gently on the couch, he made a “stay” motion with his hand and backed out of the room.

  Her mouth quirked. Was she a dog now? He’d earned a bit of her trust. Not her obedience. Still, she stayed put and snuggled against the soft cushions. She watched through the archway as he pulled open a few cabinets then smiled when he discovered a bottle of Baileys Irish Cream. Nice.

  He poured the coffee and added a jaw-dropping amount of liquor with a ringless left hand. Not married, then. Something told her if he were, he’d always wear his band.

  Now, why would she make such a crazy assumption?

  She wasn’t clairvoyant, and she didn’t know anything about Officer Knight other than he carried a badge, could be quite intimidating at times, and had a great smile—not to mention that ass.

  He returned with two steaming mugs. “Drink this.” He passed one to her, slid a hand under her legs, then settled them atop his own when he sat.

  Heat unfurled between her hips at the feel of his hard thighs beneath hers. “As opposed to…?” she queried, voice sarcasm-coated, her armor back in place.

  His crooked smile did something funny to her heart. “Resilient, aren’t you?”

  She blew on her coffee. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Which it was. A bigger one than he knew.

  “It was meant to be one.” He gulped some coffee then lowered his mug, the humor wiped from his face. “So, think carefully. No one followed you out of the club? Asked if you were going straight home? Things like that?”

  “Only one of the dancers. Dixon. We caught up in the parking lot.” She sipped her brew and the minty, creamy flavor rolled down the back of her throat. “Thanks for the Baileys.”

  “Thought it’d take the edge off.” The whirling overhead fan cast shadows across his rugged face. “What did he ask you?”

  “Just wanted to know if I’d spoken to my dad recently. Before he was shot. Oh—” She took another sip then nodded, her muscles relaxing against her bones. Though she didn’t dare get too comfortable with a detective lurking in her father’s house. “He said Dad had been making cutbacks at the club. Giving some of the dancers less hours. That’s why we had an opening. One of them quit.”

  “Lucky me,” he said dryly, then tossed back another gulp. “The club’s struggling financially?”

  “Not according to the—” She raised her mug, letting another sip of coffee shut her big mouth. Sitting so close to the man who’d just saved her did strange things to her head. Like making her want to open up. Confide.

  Large, unspecified cash deposits in Dallas Heat’s books had her questioning their origins. Her father’s bookkeeping shortcuts hadn’t changed in twelve years. Considering the steroids ring, however, she wondered if there was something more nefarious to them than evading taxes or borrowing from loan sharks. Blake would certainly jump to that conclusion, though she knew her dad. He might skirt financial laws a bit, but drugs? No way.

  “According to the…” he prompted, raising his eyebrows.

  She shook her head and moved restlessly. “Forget it. And you’re crowding me,” she griped, needing to push him away, physically and mentally.

  “I won’t forget it, but we’ll move on.” He rose, scooped up her legs and settled them on the couch. His warm forearm brushed against her skin.

  “Great. I hate clingers.” She lay her heavy head back against the pillows, stretching out.

  He settled himself in the recliner. “You clung to me pretty hard back there.”

  She followed his glance to her thin T-shirt and the expanse of leg revealed along with the lace edge
of her bikini brief.

  “Doesn’t sound like you’re complaining.”

  He yanked his eyes away, his expression inscrutable. The faintest red stained his cheeks. “Just doing my job, ma’am,” he said briskly.

  She held in a smile at his discomfort. Busted, Officer Knight. “What leads were you following tonight? Anything I should know?”

  “Can’t say.” He finished his coffee and set the mug on the coffee table. Did he have two cups or was she seeing double?

  “Can’t or won’t?” She tried to sound casual, but her voice came out sounding squeezed-tight urgent. God, this had been a long night. Too much to process.

  Tired eyes rose to meet hers. “Does it matter?” Asking it pulled a huge yawn out of him.

  She bit one back, but too late: she was shattered, too. Even her vision was jumping; she couldn’t tell how far away the walls were. He really was the most aggravating man, and if she wasn’t so damn tired she’d tell him so.

  “How safe am I?” Despite everything, her eyelids began to droop. She pushed to her feet, wobbled, then sat down again. Time for him to go. With her dad’s things around, Blake had access to all kinds of evidence. She needed him gone before she dozed off completely.

  “Someone is after you or something in this house.”

  His words landed with a heavy thud between them.

  “What—what do they want?”

  “Not sure yet. As long as I’m here, nothing will happen to you,” he vowed quietly. “Ever.”

  Her eyelashes fluttered for a moment, then she gave up and let them close completely. “You’ve got to go. I can protect myself.”

  “I’m not leaving you alone again, not until I get uniforms assigned here.”

  An afghan settled over her, hands tucking the edges snug around her body. “What if I threaten you with more martial-arts moves? Plenty of tricks up these sleeves.”

  “People rarely surprise me. If they do, it’s the last time,” he said simply, exuding quiet, unabashed confidence. Kind of like how a mountain would sound if it could talk. Or a Neanderthal.

  You can take the man out of the cave, but you can’t take the cave out of the man.

  “Fine. No touching my father’s things or I’ll sue.”

  “I’ll keep my hands to myself. Besides, I don’t have a search warrant.” She might be already dreaming, but she could have sworn his fingers smoothed across her brow. So much for promises.

  “I’ve got my eyes on you.” She made a two-fingered gesture, poking her nose then swinging in the direction of his voice.

  The recliner swooshed back, and she guessed he’d settled in for the night. “Same here.”

  “Fucking cavalry,” she murmured, before drifting off to the sound of his rich chuckle.

  Chapter Four

  “For you.” Blake handed Reese a shopping bag containing a cell phone the next morning, and leaned against the dance studio’s mirrored wall to watch her stretch. He drank in her back and front view, unable to decide which side was hotter.

  Damn shame he couldn’t touch either.

  Or spend more time with her. When they finished practice, he planned to run the white Escalade’s partial plate number and introduce himself to the dance crew, especially Dixon, the performer who’d questioned Reese last night. Someone was dealing steroids out of her father’s club, and he needed to find out who. Once he made that initial connection, he’d begin infiltrating the ring, all the way to the top.

  Lots more digging ahead, and he should be impatient to get past this dance session. Yet something about Reese made it hard to leave. Last night, he’d stayed in the recliner as she dozed on the couch. Once dawn crawled across her living room, he’d patrolled her property, given it the all clear, then kicked himself out. And only then when she’d started to stir.

  He pulled off his baseball hat and pointed to the bag. “Aren’t you going to open it first?”

  Her mouth quirked. “Why do I think this is a bomb or something?” The bag swung from her hand as she stood up in the narrow room.

  Pictures of Reese in a variety of costumes, at varying ages, lined the walls. She’d been a cute kid, wide-eyed, open smile, oozing innocence. What happened along the way to cause her to close off and transform into a Kill Bill stunt double?

  Although, personally, he preferred hot and spicy to sticky sweet. Strong rather than weak. “If I wanted you gone, there’d be a cleaner way to do it.” He meant it as a joke, but she flinched instead.

  “Why do I believe you?”

  He nodded at the bag. “Don’t. And that’s another cell phone—just for our use—and a charger. Keep it juiced every day. I need to be able to reach you.”

  “I may not always pick up, but you’ll at least get to voice mail.” She placed the bag on the window ledge.

  “No voice mail.” His voice sounded harsh. Urgent. But damn it, he needed to know she was okay. Always. He’d sworn to protect her. “Ever.”

  She met his eyes, then leaned sideways, one arm extending over the opposite shoulder. Her waist curved in, her long torso defined. “Did they thaw you out, Austin Powers-style, from the ice age? I don’t need all this protection stuff.”

  “Maybe I do.”

  The fire in her eyes faded. “Fine, boss man.”

  Relieved she’d given in so easily, he smiled. “Thought you were my boss today.”

  She straightened. “Exactly. So, no back talk.”

  He grinned, enjoying her attempt to order him around.

  “And you’re staring,” she observed, her expression equal parts amused and irritated.

  “Am I?” His eyes ran over her cropped tank top, toned midriff, snug booty shorts and shapely legs. Jesus, she was sexy. For a moment, he imagined ripping off her scrap of a shirt and tumbling her to the floor. Then he’d grab her sweet ass and…

  He gave himself a shake. He needed to back the hell off before he did something he’d regret, like sleep with a possible suspect. Whoever came for her last night wanted her gone for a reason.

  Reese shot him a dry, sideways glance while pinning stray hairs in her tight bun. “Put your eyes back in your head.”

  “Surveying the scene is part of my job description.” He sauntered to the water cooler in the corner. His last performance review came to mind, the words, “reckless” and “disregards personal safety,” scrawled by his superior. It wasn’t the glowing report he needed to land his promotion. This investigation had to be strictly by the books, no matter how badly Reese tempted him.

  Joining his dad’s elite group would prove that, unlike his birth parents’ view, his life had purpose and worth: namely, to rid the streets of people just like them. Just as importantly, he’d honor his fallen father and continue down the straight and narrow path he’d taught Blake to follow. Growing up in his adopted parents’ privileged world, he’d never been able to shake the feeling he was only an interloper. As a DPS officer, he’d finally belong to his father’s world. He had to get that spot.

  He’d been working for it all his life.

  Had maybe even been born for it.

  Reese pointed a bobby pin at him as he lifted a paper cup. “Do I look like I’ve got a concealed weapon?”

  He eyed her second-skin outfit while he drank. “I’d have to check orifices to be sure…”

  She rolled her eyes and tightened her elastic band. “Dream on, buddy. We’ve got work to do. Not the police kind. And eww, by the way. Do you really do that?”

  A grin, unstoppable and wide, spread across his face. He crumpled the cup and tossed it in the garbage before ambling back to her side. “Only for recreational purposes.”

  “You’re joking, right?” She leaned forward, fractionally closer, getting in his face as boldly as any sparring partner he’d ever encountered. The tough-girl effect was mitigated, however, when a sexy strand of ebony hair
slithered out of place and fell over one shoulder.

  Blake tried hard not to imagine what it would feel like to run his fingers over that shiny ebony curl. And failed. “I never joke about pleasure. I could demonstrate…”

  “Tempting, but I’ll pass.” She rocked back on her heels, and her wide eyes belied her calm-and-cool act. Damn, her eyes were something else. A deep emerald, like jewels in water on a sunny day.

  “Let’s start. I’m due back at the hospital for lunch.” She beckoned. “Stand next to me and match your hip motion to mine.”

  The soft skin of Reese’s arm brushed his when he lined up beside her and faced the mirror. Her hips swiveled left then right, the delicious rocking motion making his tongue swell in his suddenly dry mouth.

  “Hello.” Her fingers snapped in front of his eyes. “You’re supposed to follow.”

  Blake pressed his lips together and shoved his hips left then right, feeling awkward as hell.

  She moved behind him, trailing her intoxicating scent. “Not bad,” she said in his ear. He jerked when her fingers gripped his butt. “But you’re still a little too stiff.”

  He blew out a breath. “You don’t know the half of it.”

  She swatted his arm. “TMI. Now smooth out the movements and add a dip between each one.” She guided his hips side to side, stopping between each sway to let his knees buckle for a second.

  He couldn’t focus with her this close, or maintain his rigid self-control. Reese, he suspected, could tempt him to leave his straight and narrow life’s path if he wasn’t careful. Her secretiveness and uncooperativeness proved she didn’t share his crystal-clear view of right and wrong, making her wrong for him in every way.

  Now Blake just needed to convince his body to ignore its hunger for her. “I’ll try it on my own.”

  She stepped back and arched a shapely brow. “Just trying to help.”

  “Help with jiggling around on stage?” he scoffed, hiding his discomfort. “How hard can it be?”