by Geri Krotow
She watched DiNapoli turn a corner and cut behind a laundry to pick up her trail more efficiently. The do-gooder was heading for the homeless shelter. Of course she was. It had been part of the job to check out DiNapoli, observe her daily routine so that she’d know when to take advantage of it with the laptop placement. The woman spent a lot of time at the shelter, and from what she’d overheard, also at the library, doing things for others who weren’t even her relatives. So as an ROC agent, she scoped the shelter out on a night the librarian wasn’t there. Posing as a lost homeless woman had been easy. And had allowed her to commit the entire building to memory, room by room. She’d known immediately the room with all the books and magazines was DiNapoli’s doing. It was organized just like the town library, but on a smaller scale. The room opened onto the courtyard—perfect for her plan.
Volunteerism was singularly distasteful to her. If there wasn’t a payment, why do it?
DiNapoli paused in front of the shelter and unexpectedly looked around the street. She had to duck into an alcove but was certain the librarian hadn’t seen her. The early winter darkness was her ally.
As soon as she confirmed DiNapoli was in the big house that the town used as a homeless shelter, she formulated her plan. She’d break into the shelter wherever the librarian worked and kill her there. Or better yet, she might be able to lure Portia outside, like she’d inadvertently done this morning. Portia DiNapoli was a naive, pampered woman, who wouldn’t know the workings of an AK-47 if she were forced to watch an online video about it. She’d never outwit a former FSB agent and current ROC mastermind.
She felt no guilt, not a drop of remorse as she removed her pistol from her parka and prepared to take out Silver Valley’s beloved librarian with one shot between her eyes. The woman would die as she lived—with her books.
* * *
Portia gasped at the intrusion, the sheer boldness of the intruder who barged into the shelter library and shut off the lights. He’d actually locked the door to the small room behind him. But then she recognized him, his gray eyes, the homeless man who reminded her of the sexy stranger who’d held her close only twelve hours ago. She stopped fighting her intuition that something bad was about to happen. She opened her mouth and prepared to give the loudest scream of her li—
The man moved faster than she blinked, and before she registered his intent, he was next to her, his hand over her mouth. Portia’s instincts kicked into hyperdrive as she at once shoved her heel onto the man’s instep, attempted to bite his hand and elbowed his ribs.
Her defensive tactics didn’t yield a single ouch. He was a rock. “Portia DiNapoli, I’m a friend and colleague of Detective Josh Avery’s. You know it’s me, the man who shoved you off the tracks earlier today. You’re in danger and I have to get you out of here ASAP. You have to trust me.”
His voice, low and urgent against her ear, made something deep inside her still. It was the same voice; she’d know it anywhere. Or else she had completely lost touch with reality, in which case she was about to be killed by a stalker.
She tugged on his forearm. Slowly, he moved his hand away from her mouth. For as dirty as his hands had looked in the dining room, they were smooth and didn’t smell. The scent of coffee clung to his skin, and she caught a whiff of the same scent from this morning. It wasn’t a cologne or soap. It was him. The musk that she’d been unable to let go of.
“Why do you think I’m in danger?” She remained primed, her back still to his front, ready to lurch for the door and scream bloody hell.
“Like I told you this morning, I’m someone you can trust. But I can’t explain it all right now. We don’t have time.”
She turned on her heel, still in the circle of his arms, and looked up at him. Only the shaft of moonlight revealed his shape, his largeness compared to her. But she knew it was him.
“It is you. But if I can trust you, why am I in danger for the second time in one day?”
The sound of the back door being rattled echoed across the room, and they both stilled, only their breaths between them.
“I want you to stay behind me. Do not come out of here until I come get you. And you can’t go back into the dining room or you risk involving everyone else here.”
“I’m calling 9-1-1.” She was tired of people trying to break into her place of work, places that until now she’d always felt secure in.
“Already done.” He put both hands on her shoulders as the door shuddered and she felt the cold air wrap around her legs. “Stay here, behind this shelf.”
She didn’t see a need to fight him. And what was she going to do, take out the intruder with a book?
He was gone and she hunkered down behind the one long shelf that split the room, the bookshelf between her and the door—and whomever was breaking in. Too late she realized her phone was in her purse—and secured in a volunteer locker. She’d never needed it before, never felt unsafe at the homeless mission. Even if there was an unruly overnight guest, the security guard had always been more than enough to handle it. Always.
Until now.
* * *
He knew Markova’s tactics. Her weapon would be drawn, ready to take Portia out with one shot. She might make it look like a drug deal gone bad by leaving a packet of heroin with the body, a common ploy by organized crime, but he doubted it. Markova came from a long line of FSB agents, going back to the KGB.
Kyle kept his footsteps soft and swift, mimicking a female’s. He slid into the spot under the low window, next to the door. Markova didn’t rely on her primitive tactics from this morning at the library, but instead he heard a succession of clicks, the tumblers freeing the catch. The door swung outward and he waited. It’d be so easy to take her out here, have her arrested and arraigned by a federal court on several counts, including overstaying her original visa, identity fraud and murder. Ludmila Markova was implicated in at least six unsolved ROC-related homicides.
But he didn’t know how ROC was passing shipment information yet. He had to scare her off, keep her alive and active until Trail Hikers and SVPD brought the entire op down.
Her silhouette flashed up on the open door, at the precise angle of his line of sight. The handheld pistol was pointed up, but he knew she’d lower it and shoot with zero hesitation.
One boot-clad foot stepped into the room, and he struck. He moved swiftly, using the element of surprise for the split second it lasted. Twisting his hands around her ankle, he ignored her muffled cry of pain and yanked, hard, until she hit her ass on the hard concrete porch. He leaped to his feet and kicked the pistol out of her hand before he dropped onto her, pressing his knees to her chest, holding her arms flat. When she bucked to grab his head with her legs, he was ahead of her, leaning too close to her face, where her soulless eyes glittered under the moon. She’d taken out the motion detector light but couldn’t stop Mother Nature. As he peered into her gaze, he noted that she, too, wore a wig and, in fact, was bundled in oversize clothing. But he’d know her moves, her eyes, anywhere. She was his target.
“Get off me, you stinking pig!” Her voice was low and ugly.
He wanted to shout in victory that she thought he was a homeless person. But it’d be short-lived. In the moment she took him at face value, but later, when she flashed back over the events, she’d figure out he was in the same business she was, except he wanted to save the world and keep people safe. Not watch innocent people die for the sake of the profit made off heroin or whatever the hell ROC had her smuggling for them.
“You’re not looking so good yourself. Get the hell out of here. Don’t come back.”
She spit in his face but he’d already lifted off her, stood between her and the pistol that had slid under the eaves. Markova scrambled to her feet, and without a weapon, took off to the nearest exit from the courtyard. The small wooden gate flapped against the house next door as she shoved it open, never slowing her stride.
&nb
sp; Kyle pocketed the weapon carefully, knowing a pro like Markova had worn gloves, but still hoping there might be prints on the pistol.
He’d defeated ROC again, in another battle, just as he had this morning on the train tracks, no matter how convoluted the mission had been. But he hadn’t won the war, and now Portia was Markova’s prime target.
* * *
Portia heard no words exchanged, but she did hear thuds and gasps for air. Each thwack made her jump and it was hard, so hard, waiting and not reacting.
Trust.
The sound of a mewling like an injured cat rent the room, quickly followed by the sounds of fast footsteps.
A quietly spoken but fierce string of swear words, then steady footsteps as he returned.
“You can stand up. All’s clear.” His face was partially illuminated by his phone, into which he tapped a message. Who was he telling about what had just happened?
“That’s it? You let the bad guy get away?” She rubbed the tops of her arms, chilled not only by the back door being open so long and letting the precious heat out, but from the prospect that she’d survived another near miss.
Steel-gray eyes found hers. The colors on the phone screen danced across his face, but his eyes were uncompromising in how he watched her. “I scared them away is more like it. And for the record—you’re being targeted by some very bad people. I need to get you out of here.”
A knock, then a loud “Portia? You in there?” sounded from the dining room. Gary, one of the other volunteers, was concerned.
Portia turned. “Let me unlock the door at least.”
“No!” His hand was on her arm, stopping her. “Not an option. We’re leaving out this back door, now.”
“But I need my coat, my purse—”
“And I need to keep you alive.” His words, exacting and scary in their connotation, seemed at odds with his stance, the expression she could make out in the dim phone light. “Damn it.” He quickly tapped on his phone, held it to his ear. They were in the dark again.
More pounding. More people were outside the library room door. “Portia, are you okay? Open up!” Some of the patrons must have alerted the security guard that she’d been followed into the room by this man. And she didn’t know his name.
“Josh, it’s Kyle. I have Portia DiNapoli with me and I have to extract us both from the homeless shelter, ASAP. Can you talk to her and tell her I’m good?”
She heard a man’s voice answer, but it could be any man. When her rescuer held his phone to her ear, she saw the name across the top—Detective Josh Avery, SVPD.
“Hello?”
“Portia, it’s Josh. You must do whatever Kyle tells you. It’s a life-or-death situation.” Josh’s voice conveyed what his words didn’t. He was worried for her.
She handed the phone back to the man... Kyle.
“Where are we going, Kyle?”
Chapter 5
Kyle took his keys out of his pocket before he threw his coat over Portia’s shoulders and checked out her feet. “I know my jacket stinks, but it’ll keep you warm. At least you have boots on tonight. Let’s go.”
She was a silent, quick partner next to him as they exited the house and ran alongside the walls that were shadowed from the moonlight’s reach. He noted that Markova’s footprints led to where he’d chased her off—the front of the building, away from the back part of the shelter, where the guests slept. Not that the ROC henchman had wanted anyone but Portia.
Portia stayed with him, thank God.
He’d wanted to take out Markova then and there, but couldn’t. He had to have her alive to be able to track her movements, to figure out ROC’s next move. But his problem was that Markova had come to wipe out her witness from this morning. The woman who trustingly ran with him, up to the wrought-iron gate that swung out onto the street. The snow around the gate was virgin, so no chance that Markova was lurking at this edge of the property. Yet.
He cleared the area, visually scoured it for any interlopers. Just an empty winter street in downtown Silver Valley, but he knew Markova or another ROC thug could be lying in wait anywhere. Fortunately his vehicle was directly in front of them. He’d planted it hours earlier, during daylight, before he’d assumed his homeless cover.
“Come on. This is my truck.” He didn’t wait but trusted, this time, that she’d follow without hesitation. He hit his key fob and the lights blinked twice quickly in succession. As he rounded the back, quickly checked under the chassis for explosives and then opened the driver’s door, he noted that Portia had already slid into the passenger seat.
He didn’t speak until they’d driven away and he’d employed countermeasures to ensure they weren’t being followed.
“Thank you.”
“For what? Blindly following you to my probable death?”
He laughed, the release of pent-up tension but also from her dry humor in such a dour circumstance.
“I promise you, Portia, you’re not in danger from me.” He pulled to a stop at a red light and turned to her, held out his hand. “Kyle King.”
She looked like she might slap him away, but instead grasped his hand with hers. Her grip was not only firm but surprisingly large, for a woman.
“Portia DiNapoli. But you already knew that.” She shook once, then withdrew. Not before she saw his expression at her grip. “Don’t look so surprised. I threw shot put in college.”
“You look like a runner, and you almost caught your thief this morning.”
“I ran in high sch—wait. It was you. I’m not crazy.” Her bemusement unsettled him. A distraught, scared civilian, he could handle. But Portia’s steady thoughtfulness threw him off.
* * *
Portia fought to calm herself as Kyle sped through the icy streets. She’d always found the silence of a Silver Valley winter night soothing, but no longer. A lot of things were going to affect her differently after facing down the woman with the knife this morning.
Who was this man who called himself Kyle King? Was that really his name? His profile was exactly as she remembered it, against the morning sky, next to the train tracks as he held her. Rugged but with enough sexiness to make her feel the pulse between her legs wake up and remind her that it’d been too long since she’d been with a man.
But he was about more than the unrelenting sexual attraction she felt for him. This man, this Kyle, was on a mission of some sort. She’d seen that expression on the face of her friends that worked at SVPD, including Josh. And she’d seen it reflected back at her when she was hell-bent on making a community event happen, like the gala.
This mission, or whatever Kyle was about, had nothing to do with warm and fuzzy things like a charity event, though.
Before her nerves blew her anxiety into a full-blown panic attack, she forced herself to take action.
“Can I borrow your phone?” Portia was certain she’d heard Josh’s voice on the other end of his cell earlier, but she’d been a little stressed. She prided herself on being a details woman. If she wasn’t as safe as Kyle wanted her to believe, she wanted to find out.
“Sure.” He pressed the home button with his forefinger, unlocking the cell phone. Portia wasted no time punching in Annie’s number. It was one of the few she still knew by heart, thanks to the ease of a smartphone.
“Hello?” Annie sounded cautious, as Kyle King’s number clearly wasn’t in her phone.
“Annie, it’s Portia. I can’t explain a whole lot now, but do you happen to know where Josh is right now?”
“He’s next to me. Why? Do you need to talk to him?”
“Yes.”
The sound of muffled laughter reached her and heat rushed over her face. Annie and Josh were inseparable since they’d decided to make a go of their relationship and got engaged.
“Portia, Josh here. Everything going okay with Kyle?”
Phe
w.
“Yes. I had to double-check and make sure it was you I spoke to.”
To his credit, Josh didn’t laugh at her. “I get it. I’d do the same. Where are you two now?”
She surreptitiously looked at Kyle, whose focus remained on the road, with no hint that he was listening. Not that he could help overhearing, though. “We’re heading out of town, toward the catering barn.” The town proper fell behind them and they traversed the road that cut like a pale blue ribbon through worn farm fields, blanketed in feet of snow that had fallen over the last month.
“If you’re with Kyle, you’re safe, Portia. He’ll fill you in on what he can.”
“Got it. Thanks, Josh.”
“No problem. Call anytime, as always. Do you want to speak to Annie again?”
“No, that’s okay. I’ll catch up with her later in the week. Bye.” She disconnected and wished it were already Friday and she was having dinner and a drink with Annie. Their standing girls’ night hadn’t changed, except for the frequency, since Annie had fallen in love with Josh. Portia slid the phone back across the wide console toward Kyle.
“Feel better?” Kyle’s voice was too alive. Too full of sexy vibration.
“Yes. No. How would you feel if a complete stranger first saved you from becoming a human Frisbee earlier in the day, then protected you from some unknown intruder the same night?”
“I’d feel pretty damned lucky, Portia.” The lines that bracketed his mouth deepened and she sensed he fought a smile.
“Good for you, Kyle. But I’m a librarian, not a... What are you? Do you work for SVPD?”
“Something like that. I’m a private contractor, law enforcement. I get called in for the cases that require a little more finesse and time than the local LEAs can provide.”
“So you’re here because of ROC.”
He maneuvered the truck around a tight turn before he pulled over to the shoulder and put it in Park. Kyle turned to fully face her, and the sense of comfort she’d started to feel shattered in the face of the sheer power he exuded. From his eyes that missed nothing to his hands that had held her, saved her twice today, to his athletic physique, Kyle King embodied competence and awareness.