Terms Of Engagement. Kylie Brant

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СКАЧАТЬ Langley was a hard man to say no to. Impossible, actually.

      Within moments he had Lindsay herded into the front seat of a sporty, low-slung car and had elicited directions to her place. He’d turned on the heater, but the blast of warm air wasn’t having much effect on the shivers still skating over her skin.

      Her teeth were chattering. She gripped her arms more tightly across her chest, vaguely disquieted that she had so little control over her body’s reaction.

      With a clutch in her stomach, she realized her response had less to do with the attack and everything to do with the memory the stranger had unwittingly summoned.

       You even think about betraying me and I’ll kill you. Are you hearing me?

      She slipped farther down in the seat, battling nausea. Every time she started to believe she’d begun to put the past behind her, something happened to show her just how solid a grip it still wielded. She’d run over two thousand miles but nothing had really changed at all. Lindsay could still hear the menace in Niko Rassi’s voice, still feel the grip of his fingers around her neck.

      And she still had no doubt it was only a matter of time before he caught up with her. Until she was resting at the bottom of a riverbed, just like her friends.

      Her cheek throbbed and she raised a hand to it, wincing when she touched it.

      “What’s wrong?” Jack’s voice was sharp with concern. And his vision must be equally sharp to have seen her expression of pain in the darkened front seat.

      “I’m fine. I just need some ice. Guys like him know how to hit a woman just hard enough to avoid serious damage.” Niko had mastered the art of the backhanded slap, too. That was only the beginning of the many unpleasant discoveries she’d made about him.

      “If you have that much experience with guys who hit women, you’re hanging around the wrong kind of men.”

      “Tell me about it,” she muttered. There was something in his voice she couldn’t identify, but his words struck a chord. They didn’t get any more wrong than Niko Rassi. They didn’t get any deadlier.

      A wave of fatalism swamped her, a sensation she usually fended off during long, sleepless nights spent staring at the ceiling. Niko might not have found her yet, but in a manner of speaking he’d already won. He’d robbed her of any sort of real life. Robbed her of any chance of family. Had her constantly watching over her shoulder. She knew him well enough to realize how much he’d enjoy that.

      To distract herself from that line of thought, she asked, “What does Ava do on the squad?”

      “She’s a marksman. Her nickname’s Cold Shot.” A tinge of humor entered Jack’s voice. “You’re only slightly less dangerous than she is. Fallon had a lucky escape.”

      Moments later Jack slowed the car to a stop. “Looks like a nice house.”

      “The house is nice. I live over the garage.” Releasing her seat belt, Lindsay opened the door. “I appreciate the ride—” she began.

      But Jack was already out of the car. Slowly, Lindsay rounded the hood, mentally rehearsing a way to get rid of him. All she really wanted right now was a hot bath and a cold pack for her face. Given the contents of her apartment, she’d be making due with a tepid shower in the minuscule stall and a package of frozen peas held to her cheek.

      “Like I said, thanks for everything…” Her second attempt was no more successful than the first.

      “You’re not getting rid of me until I see your injuries in the light and make sure you don’t need to go to the ER. So save your breath and get your key out.” Openmouthed, Lindsay could only stare as Jack strode ahead of her to ascend the narrow exterior stairway leading to her apartment.

      

      It wasn’t much. Jack threw a quick, all-encompassing look around the small space. The fresh paint on the walls only made the secondhand furniture look rattier. There was a sagging easy chair and a fairly comfortable-looking daybed situated around a small TV in one corner. A midget-size kitchenette was placed opposite, with a small countertop eating area and a couple doors that had to open to closets or a bathroom.

      But it wasn’t the meagerness of the space that struck him. It was the total absence of any personal items in it.

      There were no pictures on the walls or on the tops of the mismatched end tables. There weren’t any of the useless things women were forever hanging up or setting around for a clumsy guy to knock into. No magazines. No books. No CDs or, for that matter, anything to play them on.

      “How long have you lived here?”

      “Six months or so.”

      So she hadn’t just moved in. Wasn’t in the middle of unpacking her things. Lindsay Bradford didn’t have anything to unpack. His curiosity deepened.

      She brushed by him and went to one of the doors and pulled it open. Looking past her, he saw a bathroom barely big enough to turn around in. She stepped inside and swung the door shut behind her. But it didn’t latch and swung open again several inches. He was honorable enough to avert his eyes, male enough to resent needing to.

      Half a dozen scenarios occurred to him. Was she recently divorced? Jolie and Dace hadn’t mentioned an ex, but maybe they didn’t know about one. Or maybe she’d just gotten out of a bad relationship. Yeah, that could be it. Maybe he’d been abusive. That would explain the comment she’d made in the car.

      He found he didn’t much like the idea of someone raising a hand to her. Hell, he’d still be beating on Fallon for doing so if Lindsay hadn’t stopped him.

      A hard smile crossed his lips when he thought of what the man had in store for him. His bruises were going to be the least of his worries. Jack had heard rumors that the guy had a reputation for roughing up women. There might even be a misdemeanor or two in his past. Once he convinced Lindsay to make a statement backing up the woman’s complaint, Fallon’s career was in the trash heap. It was about damn time.

      Second nature had him crossing to the window in the kitchenette, checking its security. Cool air seeped in at the seam where the sash met the sill. Frowning, he jiggled the window. Despite the lock, it rattled easily. A five-year-old armed with a toy screwdriver could jimmy it open in two minutes flat.

      “You need to have the landlord spring for a screen. And a new lock for the window,” he called over his shoulder. “Or else I could just…” The words died in his throat.

      From this angle, he could see her in profile through the opening of the bathroom door. She’d stripped off the ripped shirt and the wide pants. Once again it occurred to him that Lindsay Bradford was a study of contrasts. She dressed as sedate as a nun, but what nun wore a matching black-and-white-striped bra and panties? What nun had a silver hoop piercing her navel and a tiny tattoo of a butterfly on one smooth shoulder blade?

      She turned around to reach for something, saw him watching her and froze. The oxygen abruptly backed up in his lungs.

      Because a nun wouldn’t look at him with naked desire in her expression, either. Desire that he fully, achingly reciprocated.

      The moment spun out. Neither of them moved. Hell, he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. СКАЧАТЬ