Susan Andersen - Coming Undone

But she couldn't think about that now. "You won't get away with this," she whispered, her voice raspier than usual.

He didn't seem particularly worried, merely staring at her with those judgmental eyes. "Right is on my side," he said solemnly. "Behold. You're Delilah, a snake-kissed Eve, the whore of Babylon. Women like you were turned into pillars of salt in Sodom and Gomorrah, stoned at the walls of Jericho." For a second rationality returned to his gaze. "And what can you do to stop me, anyhow? Yell?" His tone mimicked her speaking voice. "Go ahead. No one will hear you." Lifting the shears, he yanked up a hank of her hair and lopped it off.

Shock reverberated down her spine and her lip quivered. But she was damned if he'd see her cry. And if he truly believed she'd simply sit here and take this quietly he was even crazier than she'd already realized.

She met his zealous gaze squarely. "I'm guessing you've never heard me sing." Since anyone who had would know she could project her voice to the back row of a thirty-thousand-seat arena.

He paused with another handful of hair draped over the bottom blade to look down his nose at her. "Your pride doesn't interest me. That you can speak with conceit at a moment like this only proves that you deserve to die."

Not if I have anything to say about it, Bub.And figuring she had nothing left to lose, she screamed the house down.

Earlier

IT WAS WAY PAST TIME somebody yanked him off this case.

Jared scowled as he realized he'd just missed the start of the venue's gate security procedures report. It wasn't the first time in the past half hour he'd found his thoughts straying. Hell, it wasn't even the second or third. He hadn't been able to concentrate worth spit since the moment he'd left P.J. with Nell. What the screaming eff had possessed him to let a little bit of five-foot-nothing titanium-laced femininity dictate the terms of how he did his job?

The fierceness of his dissatisfaction must have shown on his face because the young man giving him the overview began to stutter. Jared forced himself to concentrate on the report. It was vital information and considering he'd been the one to request it in the first place, the least he could do was give it the courtesy of his full attention. The very fact that he had to work this hard to focus, however, merely deepened his self-disgust.

As he walked away a few minutes later he blew out a breath. Inhaling another, he drew it deep and held it in the bottom of his lungs as long as he could before exhaling again. Breathing was supposed to be soothing-or so he'd always heard. According to his sister it even helped minimize the pain of childbirth. So was it asking so goddamn much to hope it might elevate his mood to a calmer plane?

Apparently so, since he didn't feel a freaking bit more tranquil.Shit. Another deep breath and he finally faced the bottom line he'd been tiptoeing around.

There wasn't a rationale on God's green earth that excused him for putting P.J.'s safety into someone else's hands. Particularly when the someone in question was a mild-mannered songwriter without an iota of training in personal security. And the fact that he'd let Priscilla Jayne's minimeltdown make him forget the bedrock basics of said personal security-many of which he'd frigging perfected-was unforgivable. Rocket was going to have his balls in a basket when he told him about this.

The cold, hard truth was he'd gotten much too close to P.J. It might have been acceptable if he'd managed to keep some separation between his personal and professional personas. But today's screw-up was just another reminder that there were good, solid reasons for his cardinal rule to never, but never, get involved with a client. His emotional entanglement in P.J.'s life had made him careless and if anything went wrong she'd be the one to pay the price.

"Entanglement," he muttered and a harsh, humorless laugh escaped him. There was a prissy-ass word if he'd ever heard one. This went so far beyond that it wasn't even funny. He'd allowed his feelings to cloud his judgment right down the line.

In the course of his career he'd worked with some of the most difficult clients a man could ever care to meet and not once had he let his feelings interfere with the job at hand. He'd stuck to them like flies to a glue trap no matter what their mood, their attitude or the amount of lip they'd given him. Yet had he done the same with P.J.? Oh, no. She had one little hysterical moment, said she needed a break from him and he'd backed off like a goddamn rookie.

Well, break time was over. As of now, he was back on the job.

But that was easier said than done, he discovered after searching in fifteen different places without seeing so much as a glimpse of her and Nell. And while several people reported sighting them, every time he chased down a new lead it was to find himself once again having just missed the duo.

With every minute that passed he grew more uneasy. He wanted to believe it was merely a continuation of that mistake-to-let-her-out-of-my-sight edginess scratching low and deep in his gut. But it was more than that. Something else was nagging him.

The security in this place had more holes than a slab of Swiss cheese. Take for example the nervousness of the young man who'd given him the report. The thought of it had him picking up his pace. Because no one involved in gate security should be rendered jumpy by one unhappy expression. You had to be ready to push back when someone gave you grief. Anything else rendered you worthless at manning the entrances of a venue of this magnitude.

Then there was the fact that the arena's head of security had sent a kid to do the job in the first place. A kid who hadn't even been familiar with the sketch of Menks that Jared had sent over the minute they'd hit town.

Jesus. If Menks had decided to come after Peej again:

His gut churning and, finally running out of people who'd seen P.J., he headed for the dressing room. It was the only place he could think of that he hadn't already checked. He'd left a trail of his business cards, handing them out like kisses from a politician to everyone he'd come across, along with strict instructions to tell P.J. or Nell to call his cell number the instant they were spotted.

Meanwhile, the churning in his belly was growing worse. If anything happened to Peej it was on him. He had one area of expertise in his life and he'd blown it big-time today.

A woman's scream suddenly rent the air as he was approaching the intersecting hallways where he'd turn off for her dressing room.

Son of a bitch!Heart slamming, adrenaline spraying through his system like fire laid down by a semiautomatic, he sprinted toward the sound echoing down the tunnel-like corridors. He'd know that voice anywhere.

He moved faster than he ever had in his life, yet still felt as if quicksand sucked at his feet, as though hours passed before he spotted the tinfoil-covered cardboard star that P.J. always nailed to her dressing-room door. Blood pumping hot and furious through his veins, he burst into the room. "P.J.!"

For one awful second, as he tried to make sense of the scene before his eyes, he felt as though his entire system had stopped in its tracks.

Muttering incoherently, a hunched man jerked awkwardly toward him then lurched a few steps in his direction with a Quasimodolike gait. It only took one look to know it was Menks and Jared tore across the room, his gaze on the long-bladed shears in the man's hand.

Shit, shit, shit!Where the hell was P.J.? It took a moment for his cognitive processes to clear, then he saw her feet and lower legs, which were partially blocked by the man between them. They stuck up in the air at a forty-five degree angle, and he realized that not only were her ankles bound together but she was tied to a chair that was tipped over on its back. Sucking in a deep breath to stave off the rage trying to shanghai his reason, he gritted his teeth over his inability to go to her aid until he had Menks secure. He could only demand, "Peej. You okay?"

For a heart-stopping moment, she didn't reply. Then her voice, low and raspy, said, "Yes. That is, I think so-only:I don't know. He said-" Her voiced trembled. "Oh, God, J, he said I set a hor-a horri-an awful example in life but he'd see to it that I set a good one in death." She swallowed audibly, clearly fighting back rising hysteria. "I think I kicked him in the nuts."

That would explain the bastard's posture.

"Be not deceived," Menks croaked, waving the shears as he backed away from Jared. "Neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor-"

Not about to let him close to P.J. again, Jared lunged, grabbing Menks and twisting the shears from his hand. For one enticing moment the thought of plunging them into the asshole's neck beckoned like a Belgian beer on a blistering summer day. Then, grabbing hold of his professionalism, he tossed the implement aside. Yanking the older man's hands together behind his back, he looked around for something to bind them.

When Menks twisted to stare at him over his shoulder, however, Jared left off searching to study him in return. A cold shiver worked its way down his spine, leaving a wash of goose bumps in its wake. The guy had seriously crazy eyes.

"Let the marriage bed be undefiled-for fornicators and adulterers God will judge." In a sudden, unexpected movement, Menks jerked half-free of Jared's hold to lunge toward P.J.