Darkest Night

by Megan Erickson

  Something was there—alive. And that something could range from a rat to a kid to an adult person intent on doing her harm.

  Another block. Close to home. People here kept to themselves, and the last thing she needed was attention. A cat screeched and sprinted out of the hallway, just as a human-shaped shadow melted back into the alley.

  Nope, that was enough.

  She drew her gun, silencer attached, and pointed it at the dark hallway. Overkill, but no way would she be caught vulnerable again. “Who’s there?”

  No answer. Not even a breeze. But something had scared the cat, and she’d seen the shadow. “I have a gun. Tell me who you are before I start shooting.”

  A rustle followed her words, a scuff sound of shoes on macadam, stepping on trash, and then a figure emerged from the alley. Her eyes adjusted to take in a massive man—tall, broad-shouldered, and scowling, and that was all she needed to know.

  She pulled the trigger.

  The bullet whizzed by the man’s head and he jerked to the side, his hand coming up quickly to cup his ear. “Fuck, woman!” He pulled his lips back in a grimace, and she knew she should feel bad but it’d only been a warning shot. She hadn’t hit him.

  He dropped his hand and dark red blood dripped from his earlobe. Okay, oops? She’d tried to miss. Still, she didn’t drop the gun. What normal person skulked around in an alley? “What do you want?” she asked, trying to control the shaking in her voice. “Next time I won’t miss.”

  He held his hands out to his sides, palms facing her, and his expression looked bored. “Put the gun away.”

  “You’re not in a position to make demands.”

  “You just shot me in broad daylight.”

  “I’d call this dusk, to be honest.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly, and she wondered why he didn’t look more scared. Oh shit, were there more of him? More big-ass dudes lurking in the shadows? She took her eyes off him for a minute and glanced around.

  Big mistake. Huge.

  For such a large man, he moved with a quickness that took her off guard. He had the gun out of her hands and his beefy arms wrapped around her body within seconds, incapacitating her.

  Her heart beat against her ribcage like the bones were prison bars, which only made her feel more trapped as she was pressed against the man’s body, her back to his front, and well within the shadows of the alley.

  Her purse had a Taser and pepper spray but she couldn’t get to it now, not with the man squeezing her. She wouldn’t cry. Not now. Tears would get her nowhere. Hell, they had never even gotten her out of a speeding ticket.

  “Fiona.” His voice was deep, and the rumble in his chest vibrated against her back. He knew her name, and the only answer that gave her was that she was fucked. She closed her eyes and swallowed, taking the time to gather some strength before she went full-on wildcat to get out of his grip. He took a deep breath. “I’m friends with Wren.”

  Her eyes flew open and she stared out into the street. Those were not the four words she’d thought he’d say. She tried not to react, not to show that she knew Wren, in case he was feeling her out. “What?”

  “Wren Lee, Korean-American. Parents live in Erie. Brother’s name is Erick. You and her went to school together.”

  She wasn’t prepared for this kind of conversation. She’d assumed if they ever sent someone after her, they’d kill her on the spot. “I’m sorry, what?”

  Another sigh. “Not going to hurt you. Will you promise to stay put if I let you go?”

  She snorted. “No.” Then she clacked her jaw shut. Shit, she was stupid. She couldn’t have just said yes?

  He paused for a minute and then made a huffing sound that might have been a laugh. “You shot my ear. Think you owe me five minutes without running. Not. Going. To. Hurt. You. Okay?”

  His arms loosened and blood rushed back into her hands. She curled her fingers into fists and waited until the heat of his body left her back. Then she whirled around and clutched her purse to her body. She had her pepper spray pulled out and pointed at him just as he pulled a cell phone from his pocket.

  He arched a blond eyebrow at her, but otherwise didn’t make a big deal about the pepper spray pointed at his face.

  He pressed a button and waited, never taking his eyes off her. “Put Wren on,” were the first words he said into the receiver. Then after ten seconds, all he said was, “Made contact.” Then handed the phone out to her.

  She looked at it, then at him, and then back to the phone.

  “Probably have to put the pepper spray away to talk on the phone,” he said slowly, as if she were a scared deer.

  She shoved the canister back into her purse and snatched the phone from him. “Hello?” she said into the receiver.

  “Fiona.”

  The word was a gasp, and Fiona blinked at the brick wall, processing the fact that she hadn’t heard her friend’s voice in nearly a decade. “Wren?”

  “I don’t even know what to say right now. I wasn’t prepared…what happened? Did someone try to hurt you?”

  “Uh, I shot some guy.” That was all she managed to say as she stared at the man in front of her, standing with his hands on his hips, blood dripping from his ear.

  “You shot someone?” Wren asked.

  “The guy who handed me the phone?”

  “You shot Jock?”

  “I don’t know. He didn’t introduce himself. He was hiding in an alley like a creepy person, and I freaked out and shot him!”

  “Is he okay?” Wren’s voice was reaching screech levels.

  “Fine.” The man, who Fiona assumed was Jock, muttered loud enough for the phone to pick up.

  “It’s like…his ear, I think. I meant to miss, honestly.”

  “I’m kind of proud of you. I like knowing you’re up there, capable of defending yourself.” There was a smile in Wren’s voice, and Fiona’s heart ached. She missed girls’ nights out. Girl talk. All the things that came from talking woman-to-woman with someone who knew you better than anyone else. She’d had that at one time with Wren.

  But that was before…before everything.

  She cleared her throat. “So can you tell me…?”

  “Oh right,” Wren cleared her throat. “So that’s Jock, and you can trust him. He’s been there for about a week watching out for you…” Her voice changed, and Fiona braced. “I can explain, or Jock can, but we have reason to believe they are looking for you. Actively looking.”

  Fiona’s throat constricted, and a panic attack like she hadn’t had in years—that Sundance had seemed to placate—threatened to drown her. She flared her nostrils, seeking more oxygen just as the edges of her vision began to blur. Fuck, fuck, all of this just for some fucking kale…

  His arms were around her again, but this time they weren’t contracting. There was something else about them, something that didn’t elevate the panic attack but certainly didn’t make it better. Wren was still talking, her voice sounding more frantic. Then the phone was out of her hand, and a deep voice murmured. She couldn’t concentrate on the words.

  Fiona’s legs buckled and she wanted to cry for being this weak, for being unable to handle this news. She’d feared this for so long and had known it could happen, but the actual truth was too much.

  She never hit the ground, though, despite her body giving out. She was airborne, and although that deep voice was no longer in her ear, a warm body cradled hers. Her fingers slipped into coarse hair and she held on, not sure where she was being taken, but Wren’s words telling her she could trust this giant of a man were on a repeat in her mind.

  Trust him. When was the last time she’d trusted anyone but herself?

  CHAPTER TWO

  Jock hadn’t expected this. He prided himself on always thinking of all possible outcomes, but he’d never imagined Fiona would shoot him and then nearly collapse in a panic attack.

  He couldn’t stop thinking about the look in her eyes as she’d aimed the gun at him, the determi
nation and strength even as her hands shook. He was lucky she hadn’t taken his head off.

  He held her in his arms and grabbed her grocery bag. She was dazed but aware, her breathing short and sweat beading at her temples, matting her hair to her forehead. She mumbled something about being able to walk so he placed her down gently and, with a firm hand on her bicep, directed her up the street and to her apartment. If she’d been more alert, she probably would have wondered how he knew where she lived and which key on her key ring unlocked her deadbolt.

  Paws skittered on the other side of the door and a deep woof seemed to shake Fiona out of her daze. When Jock opened the door Sundance immediately bounded into his owner, sniffing her hands, checking out her body. When he spotted Jock his ears went flat, and his lips curled back to reveal his teeth. A deep growl rumbled from the dog’s chest. He reminded Jock a bit of the dog he’d had as a kid so he held out his palm for the dog to smell while keeping a firm hand on Fiona.

  Sundance sniffed his hand tentatively and stopped growling but didn’t take his eyes off the intruder.

  Jock nodded to Fiona to walk toward her kitchen. She stared at him in confusion. “Groceries,” he said, gesturing to the bag in her arms.

  After a moment, his words penetrated. “Oh right, thanks for grabbing them.”

  Of course. Like he’d leave her food on the street.

  She led the way and he set her bag on the counter while Sundance stuck to Fiona’s side. Jock began to put away her groceries—vegetables in the crisper, eggs on the top shelf, milk in the door.

  When he straightened up, Fiona was watching him. Her breathing seemed normal, and her eyes were less panicked. He poured a glass of water and handed it to her silently. She took it with a hesitant hand. “So, you’re Jock.”

  He nodded.

  “And you’ve…” She bit her lip. “Been watching me?”

  He nodded again.

  “Are you going to speak?”

  “I can speak when I have to, but you’ve been asking yes or no questions.”

  She took a sip of her water. “Okay, so can you tell me how you’ve been watching me without me knowing? Wren said to trust you, but this isn’t easy for me.”

  He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the refrigerator. “Got an apartment here for the last two weeks. Secured your online accounts so it’s harder to trace you. Ran background checks on every delivery person that comes to your door. Also checked this apartment for bugs.”

  She choked on her water. “I’m sorry? You checked my apartment?”

  He wasn’t going to apologize for keeping her safe. “Yes.”

  Her eyes widened. “When? How?”

  “Two weeks ago. I didn’t install cameras or anything, just checked to make sure your apartment was clear. You were at the dog park at the time. If it makes you feel better, Wren told me to do it.” He didn’t want to be cruel but he was blunt and honest. He didn’t know how to be anything different. He could understand if she was pissed, but he figured she’d be more pissed if she were dead.

  She blinked at him and then chugged the rest of her water while staring off into the rest of her apartment. It was a comforting space—the kitchen was painted a bright yellow with blue tile, her living room was a soft green, and a purple blanket rested along the back of her beige couch. The floor was old, scarred hardwood and creaked a bit under his boots.

  “I don’t know what to say right now,” she said softly. “I don’t know you. And it’s been a long time since I’ve known anyone, really. No one comes into my apartment, and now you’re here.” Her gaze traveled down his body and back up, and he was surprised at the heat that flushed through him at her perusal. “Taking up a lot of space.”

  “I do that,” he said.

  She cocked her head. “Can you please tell me who you are? How you know Wren? I’m still trying to process…”

  Talking about himself hadn’t been in the job description. “Do you want me to call her back?”

  “Maybe later,” Fiona answered. “But you’re the one here right now, standing next to me, supposedly watching over me. So I’d like to hear you talk.”

  He didn’t say anything for a moment, unsure where to start.

  “How about you tell me if your name is really Jock?”

  Okay, that was easy. “No, it’s a nickname. Hacker term for using brute force.”

  Understanding dawned. “You’re friends with Erick and Roarke, then. Wren told me what they did.”

  “Met Roarke years ago. Owed him a favor and helped him out with a mission recently.”

  “Do you still owe him a favor?”

  He frowned at her. “Sorry?”

  “Is this, with me…” She pointed at herself. “Is this another favor?”

  He shook his head.

  “Then why are you here? You don’t know me. Why do you care what happens to me?”

  It was a good question. “I didn’t two weeks ago. Watched you and now I feel responsible. When I feel responsible for something, that’s it. I’m all in.”

  Again, her gaze perused him. “Are you ex-military?”

  He wondered how she’d guessed that. “Retired.”

  She nodded. “You have that…vibe.”

  “Vibe?”

  “The taking orders, honor code, hoo-ah vibe. I bet you have some sort of military tattoos beneath that tight tee, right?”

  He liked how perceptive she was. “Yep.”

  She jolted. “Oh shit, that reminds me. I, uh, shot you? We should probably look at your ear.”

  He ran his fingers along the ragged rim of his ear. She’d taken a chunk of cartilage, but he didn’t need it anyhow. Plus, the blood had clotted. “It’s all right.”

  She opened a cabinet near the sink and pulled out a small white plastic box that said First Aid in red block letters. “Please, let me at least clean it.”

  He didn’t move, and they stood in the kitchen awkwardly, with him leaning against the fridge and her standing with the first aid kit clutched in her hands. She pointed to the small table at the edge of her kitchen. “How about you sit down, and I’ll take a look?”

  Fine. He’d do this, even if he’d rather just look at it on his own. He strode toward the chair and sank down in it, waiting for her to attend to him. Sundance, tongue lolling out of his mouth, trotted over and sat down beside Jock.

  Fiona placed the first aid kit on the table, flipped it open, and pulled out a disinfectant wipe. She stood at his side, so close that her tits brushed his shoulder, and he closed his eyes. He didn’t want to be attracted to her, and for two weeks he’d been able to ignore his growing interest. But now he knew her, heard her voice, saw the anger and fear and strength and everything else that lurked in her blue eyes. He liked her now, and his protective instincts were in overdrive.

  It would have been better if she weren’t a nice person. If she’d shot him and then hadn’t tried to clean him up or get him to talk to her. If her voice wasn’t so soothing and her skin so soft.

  Fuck.

  The antiseptic wipe stung a bit, but he’d been hurt worse so he didn’t move. He let Fiona clean his ear and apply a bandage to it. Her breath blew over his scalp, and her fingers handled his injury as if he were made of porcelain. When she was finished, she swiped at his shoulder. “There’s blood on your shirt.”

  He opened his eyes to see Sundance still watching him. Fiona was so close he could smell her, some citrusy scent that he’d never forget now. “It’s fine.”

  “I can wash it for you, if you’d like.”

  He tilted his head to eye her. “I have five others just like this. It’s fine.”

  “But still, if you want to leave it with me—”

  He stood up abruptly, towering over her smaller frame. Sometimes he forgot how large he was, but next to her in this small apartment, he felt huge. “Fiona, do you really want me to take off my shirt right now?”

  Her eyes were huge and round as she stared up at him. Her hand had
been on his shoulder, and as he stood up it slipped down to rest on his chest. The heat of her fingers burned through his thin T-shirt, lighting up his body like fireworks. He clenched his jaw and she backed up, the hot weight of her hand leaving him as she cleared her throat. “Right, I, uh, can get it from you some other time.”

  He didn’t know her history with men, if she’d had a man’s hands on her since the assault. It’d been ten years so maybe she’d been able to recover enough to be touched. But he wasn’t about to put her in a position where she was uncomfortable with a half-naked man in a small space. He’d never hurt her but he understood trauma—it fucked with your head, twisted shit and turned everything ugly.

  With a whine, Sundance nudged Fiona’s hand, and she briefly rubbed his nose before pointing to her door. “He needs to go out.”

  A red leash hung on a hook near the door. Her apartment was so small that he was there in a second. He clipped it to the dog’s collar, who sat patiently, and then he wrapped the leash around his wrist. “Let’s go.”

  She didn’t move for a minute, as if she hadn’t expected him to go along.

  “You want me to stay here?”

  She bit her lip and then shook her head with a couple of quick jerks.

  He opened the door and motioned for her to go on ahead. He followed her out with a happy dog.

  * * *

  Fiona walked the route down to the courtyard on autopilot as her mind spun to catch up with all that had happened. First of all, Sundance had been fine with Jock. How was that possible? Her dog hated everyone but her. Was the man some sort of dog whisperer, too?

  And why was it that she herself felt so comfortable in his presence? He was just so…big. She glanced over her shoulder at him. His gaze continually took in their surroundings, his jaw set, full lips in a straight line. Yeah, she felt safe. Despite his size. She’d avoided large men for years. While she worked out and built up her strength, she couldn’t change the fact that she was short and petite. A large man could still overpower her. When she had tried online dating—which hadn’t been for years—she’d always asked about height before agreeing. Which was probably neurotic, but then she was neurotic.