“Yeah, right.” He ran a hand over his face. His eyes were so grainy they hurt. “When my ass gets tossed off the force for sharing confidential info, I just hope you have a job for me.” He turned away, marching for the door.
“Don’t worry.” Pak’s soft voice. “I will.”
Pak waited for the cop to leave. A good guy, if too grounded in human ways.
He glanced at the manila file, then picked up his cell phone. Dee’s number was one of the few automatically programmed in the phone because she was one of the few who mattered to him.
The text message was short. Simple.
Don’t come in. Cops are hunting you.
Dee wouldn’t go to jail. He’d never let that happen.
Stick to the case. Kill the Born Bastard.
Before the Born succeeded in killing her.
“Why didn’t they kill me?” Dee asked as the first rays of dawn began to appear on the horizon.
Dawn. Her favorite time. She loved it when the light kicked night’s ass across the sky.
Simon sat next to her. They were on his back porch. Small, compact. Two old rocking chairs that reminded her too much of her past.
At her question, he turned to her and his eyes seemed shuttered. “Why do you think you’re still breathing?”
“Don’t know.” She wouldn’t have asked the question if she knew. What was this, some kind of Freud crap? “They’re setting me up, and—”
Her pocket vibrated. No, her phone. She’d jerked on her jeans earlier, knotted Simon’s shirt at her waist, and tried to feel normal. She’d even found her phone, checked the battery, and thought about calling Pak.
She’d also realized that if the vamps were truly setting her up, he might be ass-deep in cops. So she’d waited.
Protocol for an agent in trouble was to wait, stay low for twenty-four hours, then seek contact.
Unless a superior from Night Watch contacted first.
She pulled out her phone. Punched the buttons until she saw her text, then her breath whistled out. “Damn.”
Simon rose. “Trouble?”
Of course. Like good tidings followed her. Dee licked her lips and glanced up at him. “Can I…” Yeah, his gaze had definitely heated with the swipe of her tongue. Her heartbeat kicked up a notch. “Can I stay with you? Just for a day or two?”
His gaze was still on her mouth. “I already said you could. Stay as long as you want.” The words were a dark rumble.
Oh, they would so be getting into bed soon. Her head was better now. The swelling had eased. No more black spots danced before her eyes.
Simon had pushed for a visit to the hospital, but she hadn’t wanted to risk that.
Vamps loved hanging out in hospitals. Talk about free and easy access to a blood supply.
If she’d had double vision, if she’d passed out, if she’d vomited on Simon’s sexy self, then, yeah, she would have found a doctor.
But it looked like she’d pull through.
And that she’d get to jump Simon soon.
“You keep saving me,” she told him. Weird. Usually, she did the saving. The protecting. She wasn’t quite sure how to act with him. But twice, twice, he’d saved her butt from the flames.
“You’ll do the same for me.” Absolute certainty.
Her eyes narrowed. That phrasing…it was off. Not, you’d do the same, but you’ll do. She forced a laugh. “Don’t worry. I always pay my debts. In fact, I—”
He caught her arms. “We need to go inside.”
His hold seemed too tight. “Uh, okay.”
Simon’s lips thinned. “I’m…sorry. I’m tired. Hell of a night, you know?”
Oh, yes, she did.
He eased his grip.
And Dee realized he looked tired. There was an edge of darkness under his eyes. The faint lines near his mouth had hardened.
Only fair, considering I probably look like warm hell.
She followed Simon inside. He bolted the back door, rolled his shoulders. Then he asked, voice distracted, “You want some food?”
She’d already had a shower, and sure, food sounded real good right then “Yes, why not?”
His head shot up and his gaze zeroed in on the front door. “Fuck.”
An icy stillness settled over her. “Uh, Simon?”
“Company.”
Understanding hit hard. “And here we are without a welcome mat out.” Weapon. Simon had to—
The windows exploded. Glass shattered, raining into the room as bullets ripped through the panes.
Shards hit her, cutting deep, and the rapid fire thunder of the guns echoed in her ears.
Sonofabitch.
Dee hit the floor just as the wooden front door burst apart. Bits of wood flew across the room, some biting into her flesh, some scraping the skin right off.
She crawled behind the couch. Pitiful cover, but it was better than nothing. Simon inched toward her. A long trickle of blood ran down the side of his face.
Dee sucked in a quick breath. Whoever was firing—the bastards were sure doing a fine job of shooting up the place.
Where was her gun? Back in that blood-soaked room? Perfect time to be unarmed.
Simon grabbed her shoulder. “We’ve got to run for it,” he whispered.
That didn’t seem like the best option, but then, sitting there and waiting for the ass**les with guns to come and shoot her right in the face didn’t seem like such a fine plan, either.
He pointed to the right, to a closed door. “Garage,” he mouthed.
Five feet away. Maybe six. But where were the shooters? Still outside? Or working their way in?
The faint groan of wood reached her ears. The porch was wooden. Old, faded wood. Fuck. Their attackers were getting too close.
“Go!” Simon heaved her up, moving at the same time to cover her back. Dee lunged for the door. How had they found them so quickly? How had—
Bam. Bam.
One bullet cut right across her shoulder. Sonofabitch.
Using her left hand, she jerked open the door.
Simon hit a button on the wall even as he fell into her. They tumbled down three steps, hit the concrete, hard, and staggered up in a tangle of limbs and curses.
The Mustang waited. Black coat gleaming. Dee jumped into the passenger seat even as more bullets flew. Simon took the wheel.
The garage door was opening—must have been a door control that he hit before—
“Here.” He dug under the seat. “Get those bastards off our backs.”
A gun. A sweet, black Beretta that fit perfectly in her hands.
Two ass**les in black appeared, heading down the steps into the garage. Ski masks covered their faces and their guns were up.