by Sybil Bartel
“Try again.” I gave her a sideways glance. “The brackets are ripped out of the wall. The shelf didn’t fall. It was pulled.” More like yanked.
“I didn’t do anything,” she snapped defensively. “I wouldn’t break the bottles. They can’t be returned to the distributor that way.” She reached for the bottles she’d kicked into a pile before I could stop her.
“Shit.” She jerked her hand back.
I reached for her hand. “Let me see.”
She jerked away like I’d burned her. “I’m fine.”
For a heartbeat, I was immobilized. Up close, she was even prettier. In the light of the hallway, her eyes were a color of blue I’d never seen. She smelled like woman and spice and laundry, and her skin was so fucking perfect and smooth, she could’ve been a magazine picture. But her hair—wild and loose and everywhere—it was fucking chaos.
The contradiction of her sucked me in and fucked with my head.
I didn’t know if she was eighteen or thirty. Her face was young, but her eyes were old. She could’ve been homeless or royalty. Her clothes were secondhand, but her beauty was mesmerizing. She was captivating—a gorgeous, beautiful, mind fuck of incongruity.
I’d never laid eyes on a woman I wanted more.
Pulling her arm in close, she repeated herself. “I’m fine.”
I forced myself to snap the fuck out of my blatant staring. She wasn’t fine, and she wasn’t only protecting her hand. “What’s his name?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her gaze dropped as she spoke, and she pulled up the corner of her flannel shirt, dabbing it against her palm.
“Come on.” I nodded toward the office. “First aid kit’s in Dax’s desk.”
“No it’s not.” She took a step back. “It’s in the stock room.”
“Not the real one, sweetheart.” I’d been in enough fights over the years to know exactly where Dax kept the full medical kit. Between his four brothers and assholes like me, he had enough supplies to stitch, staple, and disinfect most shit that happened in his bar.
“I’m fine. I don’t need help.” A drop of blood fell from her hand to the floor.
I told myself she was more trouble than she was worth. Lying, hiding shit, refusing help when her hand was bleeding. I should’ve walked away. Found a woman less complicated than this hot mess, take her home and fuck her.
That’s what I needed to do.
But I was staring at haunted eyes, and my boots weren’t moving.
Hers, however, were.
She turned toward the stock room, and I threw down my one play.
“I saw the car.” Beautiful or not, she could be trouble for Dax.
She froze, but she didn’t turn around.
I said what I should’ve said five minutes ago. “We both know the prick in the black Mustang dumped the shelf. The only question is intent. Was he warning you, or trying to hurt you. Either way, I don’t give a fuck right now. I spent twenty-seven hours on five flights to get here, then I sat in a hospital for six hours. I just wanted a damn beer. But now I’m standing here wondering how much trouble you’re gonna be for my friend and what I should do about it.” If anything.
She turned to face me, and her expression had shut completely down. “No one was here but me.”
“Right. And I’m fucking Santa Claus.” Christ. “You have two choices. You can follow me into Dax’s office and let me fix up your hand, or you can stand right there while I make a phone call and have the plates run on that Mustang.” My friend André Luna, former Marine and combat brother who owned his own personal security firm, would be able to track the plates in seconds.
The brunette stared at her hand.
I stared at her.
The bell over the door in the bar dinged two more times, and the noise level from the front amped up.
I lost patience.
I pulled my cell out and dialed.
Luna answered on the first ring. “Madre de dios. Collins, you son of a bitch. Are you home?”
“Yeah. And I need a favor.”
Luna chuckled. “Come work for me and you can have all the favors you want.”
“Wait,” the brunette said quietly.
I ignored her. “I still have a few more months.” I hadn’t been sure if I was going to reup before I came home, but five minutes into the hospital visit after I got off the plane, and I had my answer. “Then I’m out.”
“Well, amigo, you got a job waiting for you when you get back.”
“Copy that.” I’d take him up on it. Personal security would be better than a desk job any day of the week.
The brunette shrank in on herself and her voice got even quieter. “Please, hang up.”
“How long you home for?” Luna asked.
“Few days,” I clipped, staring at the brunette.
“You got time for a beer?” Luna chuckled. “Or you too busy with the chicas?”
“I’m asking you to let it go,” the brunette implored.
“The latter,” I told Luna. Just not how he thought. “Which leads me to the favor.” No way in hell was I dropping it now. Something was making this woman scared for her life, and I’d bet my pension it had everything to do with who drove off in that Mustang.
Luna sobered. “This doesn’t sound good.”
I doubted it was. “I need a license plate run.”
The brunette went white as fuck, then pivoted and walked into Dax’s office.
MY HAND BURNING, MY HEART racing, I walked into my boss’s office in a panic.
He’d found me. Nathan had found me. And now the military guy was going to get himself involved, and it was all my fault.
Frantic, I scanned the small room looking for a way out, but there wasn’t one. “Shit.”
The military guy walked in behind me, his phone still at his ear. “I gotta go, Luna. I’ll text you.” His shrewd gaze locked on me, he hung up. “Looking for the first aid kit?”
“Yeah,” I lied. I didn’t care about my hand. I just needed to leave and get to my motel to get my backpack and the small amount of money I had stashed before Nathan found that too.
Well over six feet, his arms as big as my thighs, Collins stared me down as he crossed his arms. “Desk. Bottom right drawer.”
Holding my hand against my chest, I walked behind the desk and opened the bottom right file drawer. The only thing in it was a large black toolbox.
“Need help?” he asked.
“No.” Not unless he wanted to loan me a few thousand bucks he’d never see again. “I got it.” I lifted the heavy box and set it on the desk. My cut hand stinging, I tried and failed to open the toolbox latch single-handedly before the military guy took over.
Stepping around me, he opened the box at the same time he used his booted foot to bring Dax’s desk chair behind my legs. “Sit,” he ordered.
I didn’t want to notice that he smelled like clean laundry and spicy deodorant and authority. And I definitely didn’t want to acknowledge that with all of his muscles and his huge frame standing next to me, I suddenly wasn’t thinking about the danger of the proximity of another person to me. In fact, his proximity wasn’t giving me anxiety at all. If anything, he was making my fear over seeing Nathan come down a notch.
He lifted the top tray out of the box and kicked a garbage can over next to my feet. “Let me see your hand.” He took a brown bottle out of the bottom of the box.
My muscles stiffened. “I, um… I don’t—”
“Like people getting near you?” He looked over his shoulder at me. “Dax told me.”
“I don’t… like to be touched,” I lied, not knowing how else to explain it was nothing more than conditioning. When you do something for years, it becomes habit. As reactionary as blinking, but I wasn’t blinking right now. Not even close. I was inhaling the scent of the man in front of me, taking in his height and the size of his muscles, and I was having thoughts altogether different from running away.
Dax’s friend
turned to face me. “I’m not touching you to feel you. I’m helping you. You get there’s a difference?”
I got it. But he didn’t. I didn’t say anything, because whatever I could’ve responded with would have been way more information than was safe to tell.
Without warning, he reached out and put his huge hand on my shoulder and pressed down just firm enough. “Sit.”
For one heart-stopping moment, an adrenaline-fueled reaction shot through my body. Every muscle went stiff as the irrational instinct to flee took over. But then just as suddenly, the heat of this stranger’s hand warmed my shoulder and something happened.
I inhaled. Calmly.
“Hey,” his deep voice quietly commanded, “look at me.”
Looking up, I latched on to his golden-brown gaze, and another steady breath filled my lungs.
“You know what I’d tell a Marine in my unit who was panicking?” Without judgment, the question rumbled quietly from his chest.
“No,” I managed, foolishly wondering what both of his hands on me would feel like.
“Make peace or die.” Intently holding my gaze, he didn’t blink. “Fear serves a purpose. Panic doesn’t.”
Not sure if I was appreciative or insulted, I took in every hard angle and sharp plane of his strong features. Then I realized neither of those reactions left room for panic.
So I sat.
“Good choice.” With a single nod, his hand left my shoulder and he turned back to the toolbox medical kit.
I instantly felt the loss of his touch.
He dug around in the kit. “I didn’t run the plate.”
I didn’t tell him it probably wouldn’t matter.
He turned to look at me. “Yet.”
My mouth opened, but then I closed it. He was right. I’d been panicking, and that left no room for rational thought. Nathan wouldn’t be in a car with legitimate plates.
Eyeing me, the Marine tipped his chin at the hand I had cradled in my lap. “Ready?”
For him to touch me again? “Yeah.”
Who was this man? Not even my soft-spoken, burly boss who treated me with kid gloves and patience had gotten this close to me. Maybe because this man barking out orders was a Marine, maybe because I’d overheard him say he was only here for a short time, maybe because his eyes were more haunted than mine. I didn’t know why I’d let him get close. All I knew was, I foolishly, stupidly wanted more.
Biting my lip, I held out my injured hand.
Casual, as if this were an everyday occurrence, the man with the buzzed haircut and wary eyes that were more tawny than brown took my hand. Then he did the last thing I expected. He gently cupped my hand in his and slowly pulled the corner of my shirt back.
My breath hitched and my heart jumped. Not from pain, but from his touch.
“Sorry,” he murmured absently, turning my hand in his.
I hated what my life had become. But this man, his touch, it was so… unexpected I didn’t have words.
Holding my hand over the trash can he’d pulled over, he opened the brown bottle. “It’s not too deep, you don’t need stitches, but next time, don’t reach for broken glass.” He poured the stuff from the bottle over my palm.
My cut stung, and I jerked my hand back as the liquid bubbled around the wound.
“Sorry.” His eyes cut to mine. “We needed to disinfect it.”
We. Squeezing my wrist, I nodded.
He reached for some gauze in the kit. “Who is he?”
“Who’s who?” I didn’t want thoughts of Nathan in my head with thoughts of this man.
The Marine dabbed my hand with the gauze. “How long we gonna dance around this?”
“I’m not dancing.” I didn’t know how.
He shook his head. “You’re stubborn, is what you are.”
I called it survival. I tried to pull my hand back. “Thanks, I can take it from here.” Get out of here, get my stuff from the motel and move on.
“No you can’t.”
He was right. I was fighting a losing battle, but we weren’t talking about the same war. “I’ve had plenty of cuts before.”
His eyes still on my palm, he fingered the cuff of my flannel shirt and glanced at the fading marks on the back of my hand. “And these bruises?” He looked up at me, and his knowing stare said everything. “You get plenty of these too?”
I yanked my cuff back down. “Not that it’s any of your business, but manual labor isn’t a job for the faint of heart.”
“Those aren’t from lifting cases of beer, sweetheart.” His thumb swept over the back of my hand. “Those bruises are from someone having their hands on you.”
My heart tripped when he said sweetheart. “Are you done?”
He stared at me a moment. Then he dropped his gaze to my palm and picked up a tube of something from the medical kit. “Not even close.” He opened the tube. “Hold your hand still.”
I didn’t have time to respond.
He squirted a thin line of gel over the length of the cut.
It stung like hell, and I flinched.
He leaned over and blew on my hand. “It’s like crazy glue, except for wounds. It’ll dry in a minute.” He recapped the tube. “Easiest way to close the wound.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled, taking my hand back.
He didn’t comment. He threw stuff back in the kit, then put it back in the drawer.
I stood, but then I wasn’t sure what to say or how to act, because emotions I’d locked down tight a long time ago were surfacing. With no defense against them, I stared at my hand.
“You want me to wrap that up?”
I couldn’t look at him. “No, thanks.”
“Dax know what’s going on with you?”
“There’s nothing going on.” How could I feel trust toward a stranger?
He ignored my lie. “Is his bar in danger, other employees, the customers?”
I knew what I needed to do. I needed to leave and get as far away as possible, but I couldn’t make my feet move away from this man. “How would I know who’s in danger?” I half shrugged, lying again. “I don’t have control over the criminal element in Miami, let alone society.” That was the most truthful thing I’d ever said.
“So he’s just after you?”
“Again, no one’s after me.” Lies rolled off my tongue like water.
“What you’d do? Leave him? Domestic violence? Disgruntled ex?” He rattled off his questions like he had a right to ask and like I had an obligation to answer.
It was the reality check I needed. I pushed my useless thoughts of trust aside and focused on what I needed to do. “My shift’s over.” I needed to get out of here and get my shit out of the roach-infested motel before Nathan showed up there as well. “It was, ah, nice meeting you.” Backing up, I still didn’t look at him. I couldn’t, because suddenly the thought of walking away from him made my eyes water, and I didn’t cry. Not over men. “Good luck, or stay safe, when you, ah… go back to the Marines.”
I turned and fled.
I FOLLOWED HER.
With a bogus excuse to Dax about being tired, I’d walked out the front of the bar, then hauled ass to my car and barely caught up to her as she got on a bike. She didn’t even have a fucking vehicle.
I called Luna back as I drove.
He chuckled as he answered. “That didn’t take long.”
“I changed my mind. Can you run that plate number after all?”
“Already ahead of you. It’s stolen.”
Fuck. “Seriously?” Staying a few cars back, I followed her as she went down a side street then cut back out to the street the bar was on.
“Well, the plates are. They belong to a stolen Toyota Camry.”
Damn. “Thanks for looking into it.” Her hand hadn’t been cut bad, I’d seen way worse, but it couldn’t be comfortable riding a damn bike.
“You wanna tell me what this is about?” Luna asked.
No. “Just a hunch.”
“Let me g
uess. It involves a woman.”
Shit. “Doesn’t it always?”
Luna chuckled. “Fess up, who’s your lucky chica?”
“She’s not mine,” I admitted. “She works for Dax Tyler.”
Luna whistled low. “The homeless brunette that’s got trouble written all over her?”
I frowned. “You know her?”
“Know of her. Met her once—if you could call it that.”
“What happened?”
“It wasn’t what happened, it’s what didn’t happen. Dax had been suspicious when he’d hired her, and he’d asked me to run her social. He suspected it was fake, and it was. When I went to give him the news in person, she was there working. He introduced us, but she didn’t shake my hand or even make eye contact. Like a spooked animal, she backed off and disappeared. I gave Dax the news she wasn’t on the up and up, in fact, I couldn’t even find anyone with her name when I ran a background check. I thought Dax would fire her on the spot, but the idiota only shook his head and said he’d have to pay her under the table.”
I watched her pull into a dump of a motel. “Jesus.”
“So that chica is connected to the stolen plates?”
“I’m not sure, but I’m guessing she is.”
“What happened?”
“I was having a beer with Dax, we heard a crash in the back and we found her holding up that wire shelving unit in the hall as the back door slammed shut. The shelf’s brackets were ripped out of the wall, and when I ran out back, I saw the black Mustang I told you about with the plates.”
“Who was driving?”
“Couldn’t see.” I watched her carry her bike up the outside stairs, then disappear inside room 2B.
“Damn, amigo. You’re home hours and you’re already neck deep in mierda.” Luna chuckled. “You’re gonna fit in perfectly at Luna and Associates. Can’t wait to have you on board.”
“I was gonna reup,” I admitted.
Luna read between the lines. “But?”
“My mom’s not great.”
“Something happen? Is that why you’re home?”
“She fell. She’s fine, but the nursing home called me to authorize the treatment plan with the hospital.”
“Shit, man. I’m sorry.”