30 Seconds

by Chrys Fey

  “Blake.”

  “What?”

  “Call me, Blake.”

  “Blake Herro.” She listened to the sound of his full name and decided she liked it. “I know Blake is old English, but I don’t have a clue about Herro.”

  “And wouldn’t.”

  She frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

  “I changed my last name when I was twenty. It’s completely made up.”

  “Why?”

  “My father split the day after I was born. My mother and grandmother raised me. My mother kept his last name but I had no respect for it. On my twentieth birthday, I changed it to a name I could live with.”

  “And you chose hero. I mean He-are-row.” She sent him a teasing smile. “Your future wife and son will be proud to have your name.”

  He glanced at her. “Thanks.”

  She smiled. “And when did you decide you wanted to be a police officer?”

  “When I was eighteen, I wanted to conquer the world, but I figured I should make the world a better place before I did.”

  “So you’re conquering the crimes in the world.” She nodded. “After my accident, I wanted to do the same thing, but instead of killing the bad guys, I wanted to help the injured.”

  “Accident?”

  She hesitated. “Car accident.”

  “How’d it happen?”

  “I don’t remember,” she answered honestly, but she didn’t want Blake to dig any deeper, so she cranked up the volume, effectively putting an end to all conversation.

  As she stared out the window, the horrible memories of the car accident that left her in a coma for a year played in her mind. She almost didn’t notice the city shrinking in the distance.

  She peered over her shoulder as they drove farther away from Cleveland. She turned stiffly and eyed the stretch of road taking her farther and farther away from the police station. Her heart galloped in her chest. Where was he taking her? While she told him revealing stories about her birth and showed him her tattoo, he was driving her out of the city.

  She nonchalantly folded her arms across her stomach and continued to sing along with the song as her fingers snuck over to the belt buckle. The door was unlocked. All she had to do was release the buckle and she’d be free.

  She may be scared shitless of being in another car accident, but it was better than letting Blake kidnap her.

  She eased the buckle out of its trap and held it in her sweaty palm. Blake was driving in the outer lane. She figured she had a chance at escaping without another car running her over. All she had to do was jump and roll.

  The song changed and her hand released the buckle. The seat belt flew across her chest and snapped back into place as she launched forward and flung open the door. Her feet were on the edge, her hands braced on the frame. She was flying forward when an arm like an iron bar looped around her waist and pulled her back in. Her hip slammed into the stick shift.

  “What the hell is the matter with you?” Blake demanded. “You really want to jump out of a moving car?” He fought to hold her with one arm and still keep driving while she kicked wildly. “Will you stop?”

  “Pull the car over,” she shouted.

  He swerved the car and stomped on the brake. Her nails tore at his neck, breaking skin. He let out a curse and snatched his arm away, giving her the opportunity to break free. She dove out of the car and was running before her feet even hit the ground.

  Her eyes were on the city, an oasis too far away, as her feet pounded the asphalt. She wouldn’t make it, not all of those miles, but cars were coming. She was a good runner and she was in great shape. She could run to one of those cars.

  She ran as fast as she could, creating a gap between them, but she underestimated the speed of a cop. Blake caught her arm and yanked her out of the way of oncoming traffic. The sudden jerk caused her to lose her balance and she fell to the ground cursing.

  Blake tumbled with her.

  She fought with him, kicking and punching, but he grabbed her wrists and cemented her hands over her head. “What the hell is wrong with you? I saved your life and now you’re running away from me as though I were trying to take it? I’m a fucking cop! A good cop!”

  She didn’t care. “You said you were taking me to protective custody.”

  “I am.”

  “Bullshit! The police station is in the city, not out here.”

  “Do you want to spend the night behind bars? Because that is the only protection they’ll give you at the police station. Is that what you want?”

  “No.”

  “Hey, what’s going on over there?” A red pickup truck had stopped on the other side of the road and a black man was coming toward them.

  Blake put his badge in the air. “I’m a cop.”

  The black man didn’t stop his pursuit. “Cops do dirty shit these days.”

  Blake ripped his handcuffs out of his back pocket.

  Dani looked at them fearfully. “What are you doing?” she hissed.

  He didn’t answer. He flipped her over in the dirt, forced her hands behind her back, and handcuffed her. “This is police business,” he shouted to the man. “Get back in your truck before I arrest you too.”

  “You can’t do that.”

  Blake hauled Dani to her feet. “I sure as hell can. You’re interfering in an arrest.”

  The truck driver looked from Blake to Dani. “What’d she do?”

  “That doesn’t concern—”

  “I’ll tell you what I did,” she cut him off. “I hotwired his car. I didn’t know it was an undercover cop car. You have to be careful these days. Pigs drive all sorts of cars now.”

  “All right.” Blake pushed her forward. “Get back in your truck and drive on,” he told the truck driver.

  With a firm grip, he led Dani back to his car. Both of the doors were wide open. After the red pickup drove by, he turned her to look at him. He had one hand on her arm to hold her still and the other hand planted on the car. He had her cornered.

  Apparently, he didn’t trust her.

  “I played your game,” she told him. “Now where are you taking me?”

  “Protective custody.” He moved his hand from her arm to her shoulder. “You need to trust me.”

  “I don’t need to do anything.” She shrugged her shoulder away from his hand.

  “I keep people alive every day, and right now, the person I’m trying to keep alive is you. Will you let me?”

  She stared into his dark green eyes. They were the eyes of an honest man. She let out a sigh of surrender and nodded.

  “Are you going to bolt again, or can I uncuff you?”

  “Yes,” she growled.

  His brow shot up. “Yes you’re going to bolt, or yes I can remove the cuffs?”

  “You can remove the cuffs.” He didn’t move. “I won’t bolt, I promise.” He turned her around and removed the cuffs.

  While she rubbed her wrists, he slammed the passenger’s door shut and opened the back. “Get in.”

  “Real trustworthy,” she grumbled, but climbed in anyway.

  From the back seat, she kept her eyes on Blake, watching every movement. He switched radio stations, turned up the heat, cracked open a window, and took the knit beanie off his head. She bit her bottom lip when she saw his hair; he had curls. She had always had a weakness for curls and his were chestnut with blonde streaks.

  So cute.

  “Where’d you learn to run like that?”

  Blake’s question caught her off guard. For the last minute, she had been imagining running her fingers through his gorgeous hair. She shook the dangerous thought away.

  “I ran track in college for fun. I had to do something between suturing pig’s feet and practicing how to administer an IV.”

  “Is there anything you can’t do?”

  “I can’t whistle.”

  “Seriously? All you have to do is put your lips together and blow.”

  She sent him a cool look. “When I do
that, I don’t create music.”

  Blake threw his head back and laughed.

  Suddenly, she had the urge to rip out those cute little curls. “Did you play a sport in college?”

  “I didn’t go to college. I joined the police force immediately. But I did play football when I was in high school.”

  “I figured. You have a good tackle.” She saw his hands tighten on the wheel and was satisfied that she hit a nerve.

  The rest of the way to wherever-in-the-hell-he-was-taking-her was shrouded in complete silence, except for the scream of rock.

  Thank God for rockers. But when she realized the car was traveling down a snowy road, her hands went cold. She looked about anxiously as she played out dreadful scenarios in her head. A few houses were spread far apart on the road. Snow blanketed the roofs and covered the driveways, because all the husbands were still in bed, snug and warm with their wives.

  Blake drove the car deeper and deeper until no other houses were in the area.

  Her heart punched her chest, like an angry boxer. He’s taking you down here to kill you.

  Blake’s not a cop. He’s one of those lowlifes who pretend to be police officers so they can coax stupid women into their cars to rape and kill them. And she couldn’t believe she was one of those stupid women.

  It was probably all a set up. I bet the men who raided my apartment are his friends. Why, oh, why didn’t I put on the defenseless face of a damsel in distress and beg the big, black man for help?

  He pulled the car up a snowy driveway, and she eyed the white house with dark green trim the exact color of Blake’s eyes. The house looked inviting as though it wanted to leap off its concrete base and hug her with its shutters, but that didn’t stop all the blood from rushing from her face.

  “This is your place, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

  “But I’d prefer if you’d call it protective custody.”

  “I am not going in there,” she objected and crossed her arms defiantly.

  “Well, you can live out your protective custody in my car if you’d prefer, but you’ll have to do it without heat.” He turned off the engine.

  She felt Jack Frost nip her skin instantly. “How long do I have to stay here?”

  “Hopefully not long. My boys will be hunting down the men who are—”

  “Hunting me?”

  He looked at her. “I swear I won’t hurt you. I want you to believe that.”

  She met his eyes. They were demanding but gentle.

  He got out of the car and opened the back door, but she didn’t move. Then he took his gun out of its holster.

  This is it. I’m going to die. Or maybe I’ll be one of those miraculous cases where the victim gets shot in the head and lives to tell the tale.

  “Here.” He put the gun on the seat next to her. “You can hold onto that.”

  Now that she did not expect. A police officer never gives his gun to a civilian. Never! And yet Blake told her to take his.

  “Go on.” His eyes told her it was okay. “I don’t want you looking at me out of the corner of your eye every minute you’re here, so I’m letting you hold on to it for reassurance.” He took two steps in retreat. “Take your time.”

  She scrutinized the gun lying on the beige seat. Outside, Blake rocked on his feet, whistling. The bastard was actually whistling. And what was worse was the fact he was good enough she could recognize the song—“Stairway to Heaven.”

  Muttering between her teeth, she picked up the gun and slid out. She sent Blake a steely look. “I don’t intend on using this,” she informed him, “but if I have to, I know how to cut a twelve inch incision with perfect precision.”

  “Glad to hear, but that’s not a scalpel you’re holding. That’s a gun.”

  “I know,” she growled. “I meant if I have to use this thing I have a steady hand and excellent aim.”

  “Thanks for the warning.”

  “It’s not a warning. It’s a fact.”

  “Mmm.” He walked around her and she followed him to the door reluctantly.

  Inside, the air was toasty and smelled like firewood and musk. The living room was spacious and cozy with a big, white couch and a brick fireplace. The curtains were green, the walls a pretty beige with subtle hints of peach.

  Blake went to the fireplace, tossed in a few logs, and started the fire. She sat next to the flames to absorb the warmth.

  After a moment, Blake reached out and rubbed his thumb over her cheek. “You have dirt on your cheek,” he told her. “I’m sure you’ll want to take a shower. I’ll show you to the bathroom.”

  She followed him upstairs to his bedroom. She tried not to look at her surroundings but she noticed the walls were the same color as naked bodies. The rest of the room was just as sensuous. His bed was virginal white, the mahogany headboard had bars, and a mirror was on the opposite wall.

  Blake opened the bathroom door and stepped aside. She wandered in. “Oh my gosh!” Her excited statement echoed inside the bathroom.

  “Problem?”

  “Nope, no, not at all,” she said over her shoulder and walked to the bathtub. Holy cow! An elephant can fit inside this tub! In the tub, she would be able to fully submerge, lie at the bottom, and make a water angel. She smiled joyously.

  “If you need me, I’ll be downstairs,” he told her and shut the door.

  After locking the door, she filled the tub with hot water, not worrying an inch about Blake’s water bill, and sank into it. After a moment or two of savoring the feel of the hot water on her exhausted body, she let the water lap over her head and made a few angels with her limbs. Waves licked the rim of the white porcelain and she resurfaced laughing.

  Twenty minutes later, she came downstairs in pink velvet sweatpants and a matching hoodie. She had pulled her hair into a wet bun, her cheeks were clean and rosy.

  She found Blake in the kitchen. He had slipped out of the black trench coat and was wearing a long sleeved black shirt that hugged his muscles beautifully. She watched him, smiling to herself as he stirred a pot and flipped something in a skillet.

  She set his Glock on the stand outside the kitchen and walked in. “Hi.”

  Blake peered over his shoulder, starring for a fraction too long before he turned to the stove. “No gun?”

  “I figured if you wanted to cause me harm, you sure as hell wouldn’t be cooking for me.”

  He shrugged as he continued to stir. “I thought you’d be hungry.”

  “You thought right. The last time I had something to eat was a bagel at one o’clock this morning.”

  “Then you’re starving.”

  She chuckled. “I am.”

  He motioned for her to sit at the table. “I don’t know what you like so I made everything I know how to cook.” He set a plate on the green placemat in front of her. She looked at it and grinned. He had made a tomato grilled cheese sandwich, homemade mashed potatoes, and spaghetti.

  Blake sat across from her with his own plate and looked at her. “Why are you smiling at the food?”

  “No reason,” she insisted. “It’s exactly what I would’ve made.”

  “Is that bad?”

  She shook her head. “No. It’s good. It looks good.” With that said, she dug right into her food. The cheese was gooey, the mashed potatoes were excellent, and the spaghetti tasted like it came from an Italian restaurant. And she ate every last bite. “Those mashed potatoes were fabulous,” she claimed.

  “My grandmother’s recipe. It was the only thing she was able to teach me how to cook. My sister is the chef in the family. That spaghetti sauce was hers.”

  “She makes her own spaghetti sauce?”

  “She uses it in her restaurant and sells it to her customers. She gives me a couple of jars every month.”

  “Tell your sister she makes the best damn sauce I’ve ever tasted. And that grilled cheese was also the best I ever had. No lie.”

  “Well n
ow, I created the grilled cheese on my own.” He picked up the plates and set them in the sink. “I’m going to go up and take a shower. The door will be unlocked if you need me.”

  “Okay.” She didn’t know why the little detail about the door being unlocked while he was wet and naked had her heart racing.

  Oh, wait, that’s why!

  Chapter Three

  “Dani…Dani, wake up.”

  Dani’s eyes sprang open and she started to bolt upright, but gentle hands stilled her. “It’s okay. It’s Officer Herro. Blake.” She laid her cheek back on the couch cushion in relief. She wasn’t even aware she had fallen asleep.

  “Have they come for me?” she asked, her voice drenched with sleep.

  “No, you’re safe here.”

  “Then why’d you wake me?”

  “I don’t want you to sleep on the couch. There’s a bed upstairs. I would’ve carried you but I didn’t want you to wake up in my arms and claw me to death.”

  She nearly laughed except she saw the red marks on his neck. She ran a fingertip down a long, irritated scratch. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It was self-defense.”

  Behind him, she could see the gun where she had left it. He gave it to her so she’d trust him, but also if she ever thought she needed it for protection.

  She released a yawn and Blake took her hand. “Come on.” She shuffled along beside him and let him usher her up the stairs, a hand on her lower back. Her eyes were drooping when they came to Blake’s bedroom. She didn’t even know it until she caught a glimpse of the white bed between her falling eyelids.

  She turned abruptly.

  “Where are you going?” he said.

  “To sleep.” She started for the door but he shifted in front of her.

  “You can sleep in my bed.”

  She sent him a withering look. “If you think I’m going to tumble into your bed because you saved my life, which has yet to be determined, you’d be smart to think again.”

  Blake merely lifted a hand. “I’m sleeping on the couch,” he answered dryly.

  “No,” she said. He raised an eyebrow in question. “I don’t want to take your bed.”

  “You’re not. I’m letting you.”