Czytaj książkę: «Fearless»

Even through the thin shirt he could feel the heat of her skin, and his fingers tightened.

His temperature spiked as his gaze lingered on her. He justified the need rumbling through him by thinking about the adrenaline aftermath. Never mind that he’d never had the desire to kiss anyone else but her after a work takedown. Seeing those big eyes and soul-stealing face, he felt his common sense go on the fritz.

It had always been this way between them. Hot and pulsing, both desperate to get the other into bed. They could communicate between the sheets. Real life was the problem.

About the Author

Award-winning author HELENKAY DIMON spent twelve years in the most unromantic career ever—divorce lawyer. After dedicating all that effort to helping people terminate relationships, she is thrilled to deal in happy endings and write romance novels for a living. Now her days are filled with gardening, writing, reading and spending time with her family in and around San Diego. HelenKay loves hearing from readers, so stop by her website, www.helenkaydimon.com, and say hello.

Fearless

HelenKay Dimon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Chapter One

Lara Bart picked up her ice water and used her palm to wipe away the puddle left behind on the coffee table. Drops slid down the side of the glass, making her hand slip. She fought the urge to dump the contents down her shirt or at least close the dull brown curtains outlining the window to the right of her chair. The sun pounded on her, filling the twelve-footsquare room with bright light and an almost unbearable heat.

It was summer in Washington, D.C. Between the soaring temperatures and bone-melting humidity she’d already lost the battle with frizz. She could feel her hair morphing from wavy to wide as she sat in the non–air-conditioned, seemingly airtight Capitol Hill brownstone belonging to Lieutenant Commander Steve Wasserman. She had to interview the man as part of a security-clearance check for Martin Coughlin, a retired navy lieutenant looking to obtain a new position with the Naval Criminal Investigative Service.

Steve and Martin had been roommates at the Naval Academy years ago, which was why she sat in the rolling heat with the backs of her thighs stuck to the leather chair and the sweat soaking through her silk blouse and seeping into her navy blazer. She had to talk with people from Martin’s past and those familiar with his current life.

And because her luck was at an all-time low, this assignment qualified as a rush. Her boss at Hampton Enterprises, the private firm contracted with the Department of Defense to conduct clearance interviews, said to make this one a priority. Apparently, someone at NCIS wanted Martin hired on there and fast. That meant long hours of searching through records and asking questions, followed by a ton of paperwork.

Not that anyone cared how inconvenient a work rush was for her on top of her regular clearance caseload. That much was evident from the fact Steve had disappeared into his kitchen ten minutes ago and hadn’t said a word or bothered to come out since. A wall blocked her view, but she didn’t even hear him clanging around in there as expected. He’d got a message on his cell and excused himself, and she’d been stuck in the makeshift sauna alone ever since.

So much for the idea of beating the Thursday afternoon rush-hour traffic back to her condo in Alexandria, Virginia. She’d likely sit on the 14th Street Bridge forever. Good thing She’d grabbed that granola bar before she headed out earlier today.

A loud scrape that sounded like someone dragging a chair across tile broke through her internal grumbling. She waited for another sound, for anything, but the narrow brownstone remained quiet except for the loud tick of the antique clock above the fireplace as the minutes slowly passed. Because she hated having her time wasted, she stood up, ignoring the ripping sound of her skin against the chair and the sharp sting. Despite her host’s lack of social skills, this time she put her glass down on a magazine. No need to take her frustration out on his furniture.

Her shoes fell silent on the beige carpet. In two steps she was at the kitchen doorway. Her gaze went to the open back door and the small patio beyond. It took her a second longer to notice the brown shoes and khakis sticking out from behind the butcher-block island.

Guy on the floor. Her mind rushed to fill in the blanks. At fortysomething and in good shape, Steve seemed young for a heart attack. That probably meant he’d somehow fallen without making a sound.

And here she had been sitting in the other room complaining. Tiny pricks of guilt stabbed her as she switched to rescue mode. She grabbed the cell in her blazer pocket as she turned the corner and slipped farther into the kitchen, intending to perform CPR as she called for help. Her fingers fumbled on the buttons so she stopped her rush and looked down, trying to concentrate on dialing something as simple as 9-1-1.

“Who are you?”

The male voice had her head jerking up again. Her gaze bounced to her far right. There in the corner near the sink and tucked behind the oversize refrigerator stood a man. He had brown hair and a furious glare, but the real problem was the knife in his hand.

Her gaze bounced back to Steve’s still form. For the first time she noticed the circle of dark red pooling beneath his body and spreading across the once off-white tiles.

“I didn’t…” She cupped the phone in her palm and slipped it back in her jacket as she tried to maneuver back out of the room. “I’ll just go.”

Before she could turn and run, the man pounced. Just as the scream left her lungs, he grabbed from behind and around her middle, choking off all sound. The move trapped her arms to her sides and squeezed the air out of her lungs. She coughed as her gaze darted around the room for some way out of this strange nightmare.

She opened her mouth again and his beefy palm settled over her mouth. “Oh, no, princess. Not one word.”

She strained and shoved her shoulders against his hold. Her neck ached from stretching and the activity exhausted her, but he didn’t even move. His hand muffled her screams and her lungs burned from the effort. When she finally collapsed against him, she stiffened and moved away from him again just as fast.

Fear threatened to swamp her. She heard a roaring in her ears and her heart thumped so hard she was surprised she couldn’t see it through her shirt.

“You picked the wrong day to visit your boyfriend.” The attacker’s hot breath blew across her cheek as he spoke.

His sick laugh rumbled through her senses and dark spots swam in front of her eyes. To keep from passing out, because that had to be the worst idea ever in this type of situation, she forced her breathing to slow. One more beat at the current speed and she’d be doubled over hyperventilating.

As she struggled to regain control of her body, words raced through her mind, blurred and garbled. She closed her eyes for a second, trying to concentrate and bring them into focus.

Stay calm. Remember what I taught you.

Like that, anxiety stopped pinging around inside of her. Her ex wasn’t in the room but she could hear his voice inside her head. He was an expert at self-defense and at breaking a woman’s heart. Only the former mattered right now. A brief mental review of the skills he’d taught her stopped the room from spinning.

In a span of seconds her brain rebooted. She let her body go completely limp as she gathered her energy reserves for a big play.

The attacker tossed her around as he walked into the family room. When he finally stopped, he lifted his hand from her mouth but kept it hovering there, ready to slap against her lips again. “Are you going to be a good girl, princess?”

She nodded. Relief crashed through her a heartbeat later when the tight constriction around her chest eased. The man still held her, could crush her windpipe or any other body part if he wanted, but she could breathe without panting again. Oxygen flooded her brain as she waited for her chance.

“Thank you,” she whispered, trying to sound grateful and submissive and whatever else this guy needed to feel confident in his power over her.

He spun her around. Only a foot of space separated them as his fingers dug into her upper arms. “What are you doing here?”

“Work.”

He leaned in. “What kind?”

Now. She lifted her knee, putting all of her strength behind it, every ounce of will and the adrenaline flowing through her, and nailed him right between the legs. His mouth moved but nothing except a tiny squeak came out. His hands slid down her arms, all pressure from his fingertips gone, as he fell to the floor in a whoosh.

He groaned and swore as he rolled around. After rocking a few times, he tucked into the fetal position and stayed there. Then his breath came back full force. The furious whispering started, filled with swearing and what he planned to do to her before he snapped her neck.

She blocked the words, refused to be paralyzed by them. She had to move and wouldn’t get a better opportunity. She shifted around his prone body, ignoring the thrashing and threats. She’d almost stepped to freedom when his big hand clamped around her ankle.

With his body still bent over, his furious gaze stayed on her. He twisted and pulled until she hopped on one foot. She let him drag her closer as she fought for balance. It was either give in to his strength or topple over him and she knew if that happened, she was a dead woman. He’d made that clear.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He almost spit as he talked.

The fury in his tone whiplashed around her. Her mind went blank except for one thing—escape. With one hand pressed against the side of the couch, she reached out, trying to grab for the lamp sitting on the table behind it. As he pulled hand over hand, bringing her closer, she stretched out to full length, ignoring his nails as they dug into her skin.

Keeping her focus on the target, she waved her hand and her fingertips brushed against the shade. The base wobbled and thudded against the wood. Her breath caught as she waited for it to bobble then fall out of reach, but luck was on her side this one time.

With one last lunge she slapped her palm around the long stem and held on. Yanking as hard as she could, she ripped the cord from the wall and dragged the lamp over the back of the sofa toward her chest.

A ripping sound cut through the room as the top of the lamp broke through the shade. She ignored the pain shooting up her leg and the heavy weight in her hand. Pivoting, she turned and held her unexpected weapon directly over her attacker’s head. And let go.

His eyes popped wide and he yelled as he moved his head on the carpet. At the last second, he let go of her and folded his arms over his face to ward off the inevitable blow.

Suddenly free, her body went flying from the momentum. She stumbled as balance completely abandoned her. Next thing she hit the floor on her knees and heard a crack. Biting through her lip to beat back the sudden thumping in her knee and scrambling on all fours, she shuffled across the carpet.

The slide against the rug burned her skin and something sharp on the floor dug into her palm. She gave a quick tug to her purse strap where it sat next to her abandoned chair a few feet away, and the contents spilled all over the floor. She grabbed for her keys and left everything else behind.

With a push, she got to her feet. One knee buckled as a sharp sting stole her breath. She ignored it all, keeping her focus on the front door. Freedom sat a few steps away, and she had to get there before her attacker showed off a new weapon. She saw the knife but he could be hiding anything anywhere.

She looked over her shoulder one last time as her hand closed over the doorknob. Her attacker had almost reached a sitting position as he felt around him for something.

Now or never.

Throwing the door open, she tripped across the threshold and down the three steps to the walkway. Every cell inside her told her to look back and see how close he was. She pushed it all away.

After a chirp, the car’s locks clicked. Her hands shook as she opened the door and threw her body across the seat. From the corner of her eye she saw a shadow. The attacker stood in the doorway with his hands braced against the sides of the jamb.

When he started down the stairs her heartbeat kicked up until the hammering filled the car. The keys jangled in her hand as she tried to shove them in the ignition. Once, twice, three times she missed, clicking against the steering column. Finally one fit into the slot and she turned it hard enough to twist the metal.

Just as the attacker reached the side of the car, she slammed her elbow against the lock and jammed the gas pedal to the floor. He smacked his hand against the driver’s-side window and she put all her weight on that pedal. The tires squealed and her nine-year-old car fishtailed out of the parking space and onto the one-way street, barely missing the motorcycle parked across the street.

With fingers locked around the wheel, she wrestled to keep the front end from smashing into a car right in front of her. This area of town consisted of narrow streets packed with brownstone residents who juggled on-street parking regulations on a daily basis. Her only goal at the moment was to keep from pinging through there like a pinball. And to keep moving.

She ran the stop sign and flew down the street at a speed guaranteed to get her a ticket, and right then she’d kill to see a police car. A few people standing on the sidewalks yelled at her and one shook his fist. Their neighborhood-watch outrage was the least of her worries right now.

Taking the corner too fast, she ripped around to the left at the next intersection and didn’t stop while her heartbeat still clanged in her ears. Up ahead she saw a red light and traffic flow in both directions. With her eyes closed or open, no way could she pass through there and live. She needed an alternate route, but she didn’t know this part of town well enough to know the best ways in and out.

Easing over, she hooked a right and flew down another residential street. When she finally eased up on the gas, the shaking in her hands had moved to her entire body. Every cell and muscle trembled. She hadn’t realized she was mumbling and gulping in breaths until the fog clouding her brain cleared a little.

She let the car slow to a stop as she pulled into a space reserved for buses. Checking the rearview mirror for the hundredth time, she scanned the street, looking for anyone who might be following. Cars passed and people walked by—a few even stared at the lady drawing in deep breaths as she sat frozen in place. But all that mattered was she didn’t see the attacker.

Once the air flowed inside her at a normal rate again, she fumbled around in her jacket pocket and grabbed her cell. This time she skipped a frantic emergency call to the police. She needed the one man she’d vowed never to call again—Davis Weeks, her ex-fiancé and the same man who specialized in crazy combat skills and secretive missions.

He would know what to do. He always did.

Chapter Two

Davis Weeks rubbed his eyes as he walked out of his bathroom, fresh from a shower. Thanks to the sticky Maryland summer heat, he didn’t bother changing out of the towel wrapped around his waist. He was tempted to let it fall to the hardwood floor and stand naked in front of the fan. But because he could see the narrow street one floor down from this position, he decided to keep something on. No need to scare the crap out of poor Mrs. Winston next door. The woman had to be over eighty, though from the way she winked at him all the time he wondered if she’d enjoy the show.

Sweat dripped down his back just from the ten-foot march from the bathroom to the bedroom window. Man, it was hot. That would teach him to buy a run-down town house in Annapolis then not be home long enough to fix it up or figure out some sort of air-conditioning solution.

Between the massive summer thunderstorms and the tropical storm that had blown up the coast earlier in the week, the small strip of land behind his house, listed as a backyard on the real-estate sales contract, had morphed into a muddy mess. He’d just burned off some of the extra energy rumbling around inside him by laying gravel over the driveway off the alley.

Why he’d picked a humid afternoon for the task had more to do with being limited to desk-job duties at work than anything else. He wasn’t the sit-around type.

Now his muscles ached and his lower back begged for mercy. Three months shy of his thirty-fifth birthday and his bones creaked. He chalked the new pains up to too many years of chasing, shooting and diving for cover. He used to recover from jobs within a day or two. This time he neared day ten and his ribs still ached from where he’d got hit by that car. At least he’d got the bad guy.

He started to stretch his arms over his head and winced from the pull. Glancing around for a clean T-shirt, his gaze fell on the unmade bed. The blinking green light on his phone caught his attention next. With his job at the Corcoran Team he was on call all the time, and that habit gave him some comfort, but he had forgotten to bring the cell with him when he went outside earlier. He’d been unavailable for two hours, which was a record.

He swore under his breath as he reached over. A few buttons later and a voice he hadn’t heard in months buzzed in his ear. Eleven months and twelve days, but who was counting?

“Davis, it’s me. I’m in huge trouble. I…need you. Please be home.”

Lara Bart, his former fiancée and the sole reason he went off the grid on a job that ended with busted ribs and a bruised jaw. The passing of days didn’t matter. He knew that voice, could hear it every time he closed his eyes.

He also knew something was very wrong. The slight tremor. The stammer. None of that was normal for her. Husky voice, yes. Scared? Never.

The swearing this time included a few extra words and a lot of grumbling. Jamming his finger on the button, he called her back and nearly threw the phone when it went directly to voice mail.

He’d just pivoted and started stalking to his closet when the doorbell rang. He took off down the stairs with his bare feet thumping against each step.

As he hit the foyer, the rapid-fire knocking started. Breaking from protocol and his usual common sense, he entered the code on the alarm as he opened the door. Lara shoved her way inside and pressed up against him. Her arms wrapped around him as her cheek landed against his bare chest.

“You’re home.” She was out of breath and trembling as she mumbled the words against his skin.

The touch had his brain cells misfiring. It took a second for all the pieces to register. Her hair was lighter, with touches of blond through the rich brown waves, but still so soft. And his need for her still kicked hard enough to knock him over.

Ignoring the feel of her in his arms, he set her away from him and scanned her body, trying to remain as detached as possible as he checked for obvious injuries. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. “Well, except for my knee.”

Looking down, he noticed the ripped hem of her skirt and red knee. That, along with the untucked and torn silk blouse, signaled trouble.

“What happened to you?” He almost dropped to the floor and checked her leg, but her next comment stopped him.

“I was attacked.”

“What?”

She conducted security-clearance interviews, but there was nothing inherently dangerous about her job. He knew because he’d checked out her company and its independent contractor ties with the Department of Defense when she’d taken the position. Not that she knew that.

And it didn’t matter that they’d broken up. He watched over her and always would.

“I should have called the police, but all I could think about was getting to you.” Her hands were a blur of constant motion. Her gaze bounced all over the room, and she pushed her shoulder-length hair out of her eyes.

“Okay.” Good, even. Being her first thought certainly didn’t suck, but he needed her to calm down. “Take a deep breath.”

Her chest rose and fell as she took his advice, but her hands kept shaking. “There was blood everywhere.”

Dread ripped through him. Didn’t sound as though this, whatever “this” was, had happened at the office. It took all his considerable control to focus the energy pinging around inside of him.

He wanted the information fast and clean, but she wasn’t a field agent with the sort of delivery skills for that. Then there was the problem where her words kept jumbling together.

He cupped a hand over her cheek and lifted her head until her almond-colored eyes met his. Even terrified and twisted up, she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Tall and trim with high cheekbones and a face that you could slap on a magazine cover without makeup.

But none of that mattered now. He needed information. Without it, he couldn’t step in and fix whatever this was.

Skipping over the “blood” comment because he’d probably be hearing that one in his sleep, he went for the broader picture. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“My jacket is in the car.” She looked around as panic moved into her eyes and turned her movements into uncontrolled jerks. “My briefcase.” She turned to head back outside.

The last thing he wanted was her out in public until he ferreted this out. “Wait…”

A shadow moved in the open doorway behind her and the facts clicked together in Davis’s head. The adrenaline started pumping through him a second later.

Jeans and a jacket, much too warm for the weather. And the gun with the convenient silencer screwed on the end. No question what that was for.

Davis assessed and acted. With a hand on Lara’s arm, he tugged her around him. She practically flew as he shoved her against the wall and into the small corner at the bottom of the stairs wedged next to the coat closet. Her back hit with a thud, but he couldn’t worry about that now. His concentration centered on the guy with the massive body and bald head aiming right for him.

As the attacker stepped inside, a flood of tension filled the air. Davis kicked out, trying to catch the door and knock it into the guy’s head. Maybe make him drop the gun. The attacker was quicker. He caught the edge and slammed it shut behind him.

Davis reached for his weapon and touched only the cotton of his towel. No gun, not even any pants. The closest weapon was hidden across the room by the fireplace. That left few options.

He dived for the attacker’s stomach. The guy groaned as he crashed into the door and Davis smashed his hand against the knob.

Heavy breaths echoed through the room as each threw punches and aimed kicks. Davis’s landed awkward because of his position and the need to keep the barrel of that gun aimed at the empty center of the room.

He slammed the guy once then twice into the hardwood, but he didn’t drop the weapon. Barely looked winded.

The guy’s knee came up, catching Davis in the jaw. His head snapped back and pain shot down from the base of his neck. Impressive training but Davis’s was better. He rammed his elbow into the side of the guy’s head and heard a sharp crack.

With the attacker off balance and reeling, Davis connected with a punch to the stomach, then one to the jaw. The guy went down hard on his knees, yelling. The gun flew across the room before spinning under the coffee table.

Davis scrambled, but the other guy wasn’t going down easy. He dropped and crawled on his elbows and knees. Blood dripped on the floor from his split lip.

Knowing it was going to hurt like hell, Davis did a jumping dive, landing on the attacker and sending a knee plowing into his back. The guy howled in pain as his head tipped back and he bared his teeth.

Davis didn’t wait. He threw his upper body out, ignoring the tearing he felt along his injured ribs, and reached out his hand. The pain smacked him hard enough to close his eyes, but he forced them open again. He couldn’t stop. Hesitating meant death for Lara and that was not going to happen on Davis’s watch.

Just as he collected his strength and shimmied closer to the weapon, the attacker grabbed his leg. Twisting and sucker punches to the back of the knee came before Davis could brace for the attack. A shocking agony spiraled through him and his breaths came in rushed pants, but he refused to give up.

His fingers brushed against the metal. A few more inches and he’d have it. To get leverage, he balanced a hand against the floor and lifted his sore body up. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw Lara move. She sneaked up behind the men as they fought, carrying the heavy glass lamp that usually sat on the small table right near the double window at the front of the house. The same one she had bought right after they’d put an offer on the town house and he now used to hold his discarded keys each day.

Sensing something, or maybe reading the not-so-secret approach in Davis’s eyes, the guy whipped around. He kicked out as he lunged for Lara. In panic, she jumped to the side and threw the lamp. It missed the attacker by a few inches but it gave Davis the diversion he needed. Stretching those last few inches, he grabbed the gun and wrenched around again.

He concentrated, blocking out everything—Lara and the pain shaking through him—to hit that target and nothing else. “Hey!”

The guy pivoted and his eyes went wide. With a roar of fury, he made a final leap for the gun.

Davis didn’t hesitate. A crack split through the wrestling sounds of the room. Lara’s surprised inhalation followed the guy slumping over on his side, pinning one of Davis’s legs underneath.

Blood pooled, seeping into the small carpet. The room, ringing with activity a second ago, fell deadly quiet.

Davis kicked the guy off him then climbed to his knees. He pressed his free hand to the guy’s neck, checking for a pulse. Next came a quick search of the attacker’s pockets for some sort of identification. Davis peeked up at Lara, standing a few feet away with her hands over her mouth.

“Is he dead?” she whispered through her fingers.

The thump of a pulse grew faint then slipped away as Davis checked. “Yeah.”

Her gaze searched the room, over the newspapers stacked on the edge of the couch and the four coffee mugs lined up across the coffee table. “Call an ambulance.”

“Too late.” With an arm wrapped around his ribs, Davis stumbled to his feet.

Out of the line of sight of the window, he crept around the family room and pulled her out of range at the same time. With his back to the door’s edge, he scanned the outside for another gunman. Last thing Davis needed was another attacker blindsiding them.

When he turned back around he saw Lara watching his every move. Time to get her attention off what may be a second burst of gunfire. “Is this the guy who attacked you?”

“I don’t know.” She didn’t even look at the downed attacker.

Davis reached out to her but it was as if she didn’t even see the gesture. Her body closed in on itself as she put her hands on her shoulders, swinging her body from side to side and nibbling on her bottom lip. All while she carefully avoided looking at him or the guy on the floor.

The ache inside Davis was no longer about the death match. It was for her. For the sadness he saw pulling at her face and the tiny tremors that moved through her from the second she’d walked in the door and into his arms.

He was all too familiar with death on the job. She interviewed and wrote reports. She was normal. This was a nightmare, complete with splashes of blood and a body. “I know this is hard.”

Her gaze went to the attacker then bounced back up again. “No.”

“What?”

“It’s not him. This is a different guy.”

Now, that was a load of bad news. Davis exhaled as he tried to juggle all the questions in his mind. Rapid firing them at her would only shut her down. They had enough history for him to know she didn’t react well to the interrogation thing, even if it was well-meaning. “Have you ever seen him before?”

“Definitely not.”

Because she still avoided looking at the man in question, Davis tried again. “Are you sure?”

Her hands dropped to her sides as her cheeks flushed. “How can you stay so calm?”

The look was not a mystery. Just like always, anger slowly replaced the other emotions clashing inside her. Lashing out was her natural reaction.

If they had ten extra minutes to do this dance, he’d probably welcome anything that took her away from being scared, but right now he needed her to focus so he could get her out of there.

“Practice.” He glanced through the house and out the back door right before he did another visual sweep of the front. Next he turned to the clock above his fireplace and calculated the lead time they’d need if this guy had a partner.