Keeping Watch. Jan Hambright

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СКАЧАТЬ was an abduction? It had to stop here, but if he fired his weapon, he ran the risk of hitting her.

      Tension cranked every muscle in his body into overdrive as he prepared to charge in for the takedown.

      The suspect shuffled backward, dragging Adelaide with him to the edge of the yard and a thick cluster of azalea bushes.

      He shoved her hard in Royce’s direction and bolted for cover, leaving Royce without a clear shot.

      The woman lurched forward, twisted her ankle and crumpled to the ground on her knees. Reaching up, she pulled the blindfold down and stared at him as he rushed toward her.

      Royce kept his weapon trained in the direction the subject had taken, listening to the sound of heavy footfalls trailing the suspect’s getaway through the bushes and into the alley.

      He was soaked to the bone now. Rivulets of rainwater seeping under his shirt collar and rolling down his back. Sliding to a stop in the wet grass beside her, he glanced up to make sure the subject wasn’t mounting a counter attack.

      A squad car ground to a stop at the curb and cut its siren. Two officers jumped from the car and drew their weapons.

      Royce pointed in the direction the thug had taken, and knelt next to Adelaide Charboneau.

      “Are you okay?” he asked, swallowing hard as his gaze traveled the length of the flimsy pink nightgown she wore. It was soaked and sealed to her skin, clinging to her breasts, and leaving little of her body that wasn’t accessible to his view.

      Uncomfortable with the instant blaze of heat in his blood, he stood up and slogged out of his jacket. Bending down, he draped it over her shoulders. “Sorry it’s wet.”

      She raised her face to his. “It’s cover. Thank you.”

      A trickle of blood trailed from a small cut on her lip.

      Concern jolted him, and he knelt back down on the grass next to her. “Your lip is bleeding. Did he hurt you?”

      Adelaide ran her tongue over the tiny, insignificant cut on her lip. She’d probably gotten it when she tried to bite him. “It’s minor, but I did twist my ankle when he pushed me, and I’m fairly shaken up.”

      “You put up a heck of a fight.”

      She nodded, realizing how cold she was even though the rain was tepid and the air warm. A shudder racked her body, followed by another, as she made an unsuccessful attempt to brush the wet hair off her face with the back of her bound hands.

      “Can you get this tape off me?” She turned the plea on him, but she already knew the answer.

      Reaching out, he stroked the hair back with his fingertips. “It’s evidence. You’ll have to wear it until the CSI team can collect it, but I can get you out of the rain.”

      Grateful, she touched his forearm with her hands. A wave of relief flooded her body. Help had come. It had come in the form of a man who for some overwhelming reason made her feel safe for the first time in weeks.

      “I’m Detective Royce Beckett.”

      “Adelaide Charboneau,” she whispered as he gently brought her up onto her bare feet, as if she were made of something fragile. He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him.

      Heat ignited in her body, chasing away the chill. She swallowed hard, knowing if it weren’t for Detective Royce Beckett, she’d be trying to kick her way out of a car trunk right now.

      She pushed the haunting image into the back of her mind, knowing it would resurface, but not tonight. Tonight she was safe and she had every intention of relishing it.

      Royce spotted a cluster of chairs on the veranda next to the open front door and aimed for them, but the moment he stepped forward, Adelaide let out a yelp of pain and sagged against him.

      Without hesitation he scooped her up in his arms and carried her across the expanse of grass, up the steps and onto the porch. He carefully set her down on a wicker settee and stepped back.

      In the glare and shadows of the headlights, he could see the intense shade of purple forming along the narrow shaft of her bare ankle. “You need to have that looked at. It could be broken.”

      For the first time tonight he finally got a solid look at her face. It was a fresh face, a beautiful face, he decided as she stared up at him with eyes the color of smooth jade.

      The drone of another squad car hummed from up the block, and it pulled in just as the other officers appeared from around the side of the house using their flashlights to comb the darkness.

      “Anything?” he asked, dragging his gaze away from Adelaide.

      “Nothing. We saw a car pull away from the curb a block over, but we weren’t close enough to get a description.”

      “Do an inside sweep in case the unsub had a partner. I’ll call in CSI.”

      The two officers climbed the steps, drew their weapons and disappeared inside the front door.

      Royce pulled the radio from his belt and called in the team, hoping the thug had left evidence he could use to nail him.

      Two more uniforms sloshed up the walkway and stopped at the bottom of the steps. “Miss Charboneau?”

      Royce turned just as one of the officers took the stairs a couple at a time and knelt next to the settee.

      A jolt of protectiveness jumbled his thoughts, and he had to fight the urge to step closer to her, to pull his jacket tighter around her shoulders, to cover the smooth expanse of her bare leg stretched out on the settee.

      “Officer Brooks. It’s a horrible night to be out.” She gave a tired smile.

      Brooks’s face was stern as he stared at the tape locking her wrists together, then back up at her face. “What happened?”

      “A man broke into my house and tried to take me.”

      “Do you know who he is?”

      “No, I never saw his face.”

      “You mean you didn’t recognize him?”

      “I mean I never saw his face. He blindfolded me in the closet.”

      “Dammit.” Officer Brooks came to his feet and turned to face Royce. “She’s the best sketch artist the department has ever hired. If she’d seen the bastard, she could draw him, and I’d catch him.”

      It hit him then, like a Mack truck on the 10 freeway. Adelaide Charboneau, NOPD sketch artist. In fact he’d just used a composite she’d drawn to catch a serial rapist. “I got a look at him.”

      Adelaide glanced up a him. “If you saw him, I can create a composite.”

      Royce pulled the image in his brain, then realized how obscured the details were by the man’s ball cap. “We’ll give it a try, but between his hat, bad lighting and the rain, I’m not sure it’ll make a difference.”

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