Laura Kaye - Hard As It Gets

Icy slush slid into his gut. As if she wasn’t already dealing with enough, he was going to have to find the words to tell her what had been done to her home. “Not going to your house.”

“But I thought—”

“It’s a new ball game, Becca.”

“Because someone tried to grab me.”

Her tone was way too fucking nonchalant for his taste. He glared. “Because someone tried to abduct you and stabbed you. For starters.”

“And? Why else?”

Shit. He really didn’t want to have this conversation in the car. But she was going to think him a royal asshole if he refused to answer. The words tasted like acid as he gathered them on his tongue.

His phone rang, the vibration skittering against his hip from within his coat pocket. “Hold on a minute.” He fished it out, read Miguel’s name on the screen, and put the cell to his ear. “This is Nick.”

“Did you find her?” Miguel said by way of greeting.

“Yeah, about thirty seconds before some lowlife nabbed her from a staff break room.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Is she okay? Did you get a look at the perp?” Nick could tell from the cadence of Miguel’s breathing that the man was pacing.

“For whatever good it’ll do me, yeah, I got an eyeful. Becca’s a little banged up, but she’s a trooper.” Which, honestly, was a goddamned understatement. She’d resisted her assailant, gotten in an elbow to the guy’s kidney that had probably ensured Nick wouldn’t have to make good on his threat to shoot, and dealt with a frenzy of well-wishers and questions and general ER chaos with patience and grace. She was more than a little like her old man—in all the best ways. Rixey glanced her way and found her blatantly listening in on the conversation. Not that he blamed her. “Listen, things wrapped up over there yet? I think you should clear out until I get a better handle on this. That location is too hot.”

“Door locks are changed. The guy’s doing the sliding window locks now.”

“Good. Did the police come?” Silence. “Miguel?”

“That’s not an option right now. But I’d rather explain in person.”

Aw, for fuck sake. Not an option to call the police? The whys behind a statement like that could not possibly be good. “You know where to find me. My door’s open.”

“Yup. I’ll come as soon as I can.”

“Okay. Listen, watch your six on the way out.”

“You got a tail?” Miguel asked.

The question had Nick doing the mirror-mirror-windshield circuit one more time. “Not anymore. But maybe earlier.”

“Will do. Stay safe, Nick.”

“Right back atcha.” They disconnected.

Instinct was telling him they hadn’t yet hit bottom on this situation, whatever the fuck it actually was. And figuring that out was job one. Because right now he was running blind in the middle of a shit storm he hadn’t seen coming. How he was going to come up with the who, what, when, where, and why all on his own was a whole other problem.

You can get help if you ask for it.

It wasn’t just the men who’d been killed that he’d lost last year, it was the other four survivors, too. Because he’d been too fucked in the head to find a way to get right with his role in what’d happened to them. How could they possibly want to stay friends with someone who’d failed them so spectacularly? But, goddamnit, they’d be the world’s best ace in the hole to bring in on this situation.

“Who was that?” Becca asked.

“Friend named Miguel Olivero. Private investigator I told you about. Ex-cop. He was helping me out at your place earlier.”

Rixey purposely passed the road that led most conveniently to Hard Ink and drove four blocks out of his way. His rear still looked clear, but this situation had proved again and again that he couldn’t be too careful. And it was driving him crazy, because he felt like he was missing pieces to a puzzle that he somehow found himself in the middle of.

“You think someone’s following us?” she asked, twisting to look out the rear window.

“Just a precaution. Someone obviously knew to find you at the hospital. They knew what you looked like to make the grab.” A right turn to double back. “And whatever this is, Becca, they want you.” He glanced in his rearview. Still clear. “Can you think of anything else Charlie might’ve said that could be relevant?”

Becca was silent for a long moment, a frown of concentration on her face. She shook her head. “No. Although I keep wondering what kind of information would make him say he could prove Dad had been involved in something bad.”

“It’s a good question. And figuring that out might lead us to Charlie.” Two more turns and Rixey eased the Charger into the lot behind the shop, his mind churning on the situation.

He backed into a spot, wanting an easy out in case he found himself needing to leave quick. Suddenly he was looking at everything differently. Now he saw a situation that needed a whole host of plan As and Bs. A security problem that required planning and redundancies and fail-safes. An operation that necessitated a team if it had a prayer in hell of being successful.

A mission that needed to be completed—with everyone getting home safe and whole. At one time he’d committed his whole life to that very ideal.

Killing the engine, he was up and out of the car immediately, gun in hand, eyes working a three-sixty sweep. He opened Becca’s door and offered her his palm.

She lifted the puppy to him, and Rixey made quick work of depositing her onto the ground.

Becca gasped. “She’ll run away.”

Helping her stand, he shook his head. “She defended you. Twice. She won’t leave your side.”

Flinching, Becca rose to her feet. “Man, I think I’m gonna need a fistful of ibuprofen and a bottle of wine for dinner.”

He hated that she was hurting, but he was also glad she wasn’t one of those people who refused to admit their limits. It took strength and courage to know when you were at the outside of what you could handle. It was a lesson Rixey wasn’t sure he’d fully learned, so hell if he didn’t find himself admiring that about her. Just one more thing in a growing list. “I think that can be arranged.”

She reached the panel first and entered the code with no hesitation. The mechanism clicked free and they stepped inside, the fur ball rushing in ahead of them.

In the shade and security of the hallway, he managed to get the first deep draw of oxygen his lungs had had in hours. He holstered his weapon.

Becca whirled, almost pinning him against the door. Eyes of blue fire threatened to scorch him and held him captive. “All right, Nick. Enough. We’re here. Start talking. Now.”

Becca’s insides nearly vibrated with the need to know what the hell Nick wasn’t telling her. She’d hit the edge of her tolerance for any more mystery, even of the tall, dark, and achingly handsome kind.

His lips pressed into a grim line and his eyes flashed. “Becca, let’s just—”

“No.” She stepped right into his space and jabbed a finger into the granite of his chest. “Don’t put me off anymore. I deserve to know. I need to know,” she said, hating the strained pitch of her voice.

His expression went dark and his jaw ticked. She saw it in his eyes the minute he made the decision to spill. Her stomach plummeted to the floor. It was bad. He didn’t need to tell her that much. Everything inside her braced for the onslaught of bad news.

When he spoke, the words were even, straightforward, factual. “Someone ransacked your house. Picked the back door lock again. Went through just about every room.”

The brick walls bent and warped around her, but she shook off the dizziness and forced herself to focus on Nick’s face. His presence was the only thing grounding her. “Why would they do that? Could you tell if anything was missing?”

He shook his head. “The why of it I intend to figure out. I promise you. But the place was too much of a mess to—”

“Take me.” Becca pushed past him and hit the handle on the door.

Arms wrapped around her from behind. “Becca, we—”

“No!” She threw off the hold and scrambled away, her back coming up hard against the wall.

Nick’s expression was a roiling sea of emotion. Surprise. Fear. Anger. Concern. “I’m sorry. What just—”

“That was how he grabbed me.” She swallowed hard and shuddered at the remembered press of the man’s flesh against hers. “I’m sorry,” she rasped, embarrassment heating her face, despair and exhaustion sucking the fight out of her.

He came forward slowly. “Don’t apologize,” he said, his voice cranked tight. “And don’t cry.” His thumb swiped under her eye, once, twice, and then his knuckles caressed her cheekbone. The little touches were comforting, sweet, and she thought maybe he needed to give them as much as she needed to feel them. He tucked the loose strands of her destroyed ponytail behind her ear.

“I’m not crying,” she said despite the wetness plain on her face. She shook her aching head, then pressed her cheek into his hand. “I’m not.”

“I know.”

Peering up at him, her breath caught.

The moment their gazes connected, his expression shifted from sympathetic concern to uncontrollable desire. His mouth fell open. His chest rose and fell against hers. His fingers burrowed into her hair.

Becca went hot all over, like the sun had hung itself in the stairwell above them.

He leaned closer, closer, his free arm bracing on the wall above her shoulder. The warm puff of his breath caressed her lips as his gaze bore into hers. She couldn’t move, couldn’t blink, couldn’t breathe.