The door to the hall opened, and Becca cut her gaze across the room.
A bald-headed man in a facilities uniform stood in the breach. “ ’Scuse me,” he said.
For a moment, she braced for trouble, but then she saw the badge clipped to his shirt pocket. “Can I help you?” Becca said, standing.
He looked around the space. “Doing a check for lightbulbs that need to be replaced.” He pointed to the fluorescent ceiling fixture in the corner by the exterior door, dark where all the others were illuminated.
“Oh, of course.” She hefted her purse up on her shoulder and shooed the puppy away from chewing on her fingers. Mouthy thing.
The man crossed to the closest table and set his toolbox down. The dark skin of his arms was covered in raised scars and ink, and she wondered if her brain would’ve even registered the latter before she’d walked into Hard Ink a few days ago.
Becca picked up the dog so it didn’t bother the maintenance man and crossed to the door. Maybe Janeese had gotten snagged on a code and Nick was out there but didn’t know where to find her?
Her fingers brushed the doorknob, and something grabbed her from behind. The rough contact was so unexpected that she didn’t realize what was happening until a hand clamped over her mouth and an arm banded around her chest.
With a strangled cry, she grasped at the hand nearly smothering her, forgetting about the dog in her panic and dropping her to the floor. The puppy yelped and scrambled to her feet.
The man hauled her backward toward the courtyard door. Becca dragged her Crocs, losing both in the process, and tugged and scratched at her attacker’s arms. Victory flared through her when he released her chest. Until something sharp jabbed into the side of her ribs.
Cold fingers dug into her face, demanding her attention. “When we step outside, you’re going to walk beside me. No screaming, no more fighting. Or else I’m going to slide this blade in nice and deep.” He poked it harder for good measure, and Becca gasped into his palm at the sting.
A rolling growl drew Becca’s wide-eyed gaze back to the dog, whose show of teeth, braced posture, and downward tail all read aggression.
Metal clanked and cool air blew from behind her. The man slowed up, like maybe he was scoping the scene first. “Real friendly now, Miss Merritt,” he rasped, way too close to her ear. He knew her name? “I’d hate to have to hurt any witnesses who saw me shank you.”
Dread crawled over her skin. God, Nick, where are you? Please be here. Every instinct inside screamed that she’d be lost for good if this guy got her out the door.
The puppy’s growls crescendoed in volume.
“Here we go,” the man said.
White-hot terror washed over every inch of her, and in an instant she decided she’d rather take her chances getting stabbed than abducted to God only knew where. Becca gripped the molding around the door with both hands and braced for the slicing pain.
“What’d I tell you, bitch?” The knife jabbed.
She cried out, losing her grip with one hand, and the dog went crazy barking. It charged and attacked the man’s leg, but a kick sent the puppy sprawling with a whimper. She didn’t stay down. Wobbly legs back under her, she barked and lunged again.
The door across the room exploded open.
Nick burst in, weapon raised, stance ready, expression absolutely deadly. “Let her go, and I’ll consider not planting some lead in your eye socket.”
The bad guy’s knife twitched, and Becca clasped her hands together and wrenched back with her left elbow with all her might. Whatever she’d connected with earned her a satisfying grunt and had the desired effect of diverting whatever plans he’d been making with the blade. Suddenly, she was free, and a hard shove to her back sent her sprawling face-first to the floor. Trying to catch herself, she landed funny on one hand, and her forehead glanced off the floor.
Her attacker fled out the open door as Nick called her name.
Footsteps crossed the room, then stopped at the sound of a long, low growl.
Groaning, Becca pushed onto her elbows. Her little guardian had placed herself between Becca’s prone form and Nick’s advance.
His expression managed to be livid and bewildered at the same time.
Making a little calling sound with her mouth, Becca caught the puppy’s attention. “ ’Sokay, girl. He’s a good guy.” She held out her hand. After a moment’s hesitation, the shepherd whined and lay down by Becca’s shoulder.
Nick holstered his weapon and came around to her back. Easing his hands under Becca’s arms, he said, “Can you sit up?”
“Yeah,” she rasped, holding her breath as every joint protested the movement. “Thank you,” she managed. “For getting here in time.”
Metal scraped along the floor. “Chair right behind you. On three.” He counted off and lifted her into the chair.
Her whole body sagged into the plastic.
“Becca?” a voice asked from the doorway, where a slack-jawed crowd had gathered. Janeese. Donna. Alison, the nurse she’d been subbing for. Others whose names she couldn’t immediately bring to mind in the moment. Becca nodded.
They poured into the room, a momentary shocked silence followed by everyone talking at once.
“What the hell happened?” Janeese asked.
“A maintenance man grabbed me,” Becca said. “Nick scared him off and he fled out the door.”
“Did you recognize him?” Donna asked.
Becca shook her head just as Barry, one of the hospital security officers, pushed into the room, followed a few minutes later by Tomás and Mike, two BPD officers she knew pretty well. They’d been hanging in the ER waiting to take witness statements. She groaned inside, especially as Nick’s silent agitation became more pronounced in the tension of his muscles and ticking of his jaw.
“Becca, are you cut somewhere?” Janeese pointed and knelt next to her. “Honey, you’re bleeding.”
She twisted to the left. A line of crimson was soaking into the green of her scrubs. Lifting her ripped shirt, she frowned. How did she not feel that gash? “Oh,” she said. Her gaze lifted to Nick, standing next to her, his eyes trained on her wound and absolutely on fire. That blazing glare lit onto her face next. As reserved as he looked on the outside, she doubted anyone else in the room realized that he was an active volcano on the inside.
The next ninety minutes passed with her giving a statement to the officers, being admitted, and getting stitches—the cut wasn’t too deep, so she only needed four—winning an argument about keeping Nick and the puppy in the room with her, and failing to get Nick to tell her why he’d come racing to the hospital in the first place. If all that wasn’t enough, she also had a visit from the hospital lawyer, who was clearly trying to feel out whether she was going to sue, but on the upside they told her to take off as much paid time as she needed to recover. And given the situation with Charlie, that was a godsend.
By the time she was discharged, the adrenaline letdown had kicked in with a vengeance, leaving her tired, shaky, and feeling a whole lot like she’d been hit by a Mack truck.
Carrying the puppy like a football under his left arm, Nick guided her out to his car. He kept her a half step in front of him, his big body shielding hers from the side and back as they crossed to the sidewalk and paused at the curb.
He opened the car door and eased her down. Carefully, Becca lowered into the passenger seat and accepted the dog into her lap.
The door slammed so hard it shook the car. Nick stalked around the hood, very clearly still on full alert. He ripped a parking ticket from under the wiper and sank into the driver’s seat. Another slam. And then the car came to life on an exaggerated roar of the engine.
The puppy shrank into her chest, and Becca eyeballed Nick. Everything about the rigid discipline of his movements and the deafening volume of his silence screamed rankly pissed off.
Shifting in her seat, she reached across and placed her hand on his arm. His muscles locked up tight under her touch
and his posture and expression painted a billboard for Back the hell off, but Becca couldn’t wait another moment.
“Nick, I need to know. What happened?”
AFTER EVERYTHING ELSE this day had thrown at him, it was her touch that threatened to break him. Because it made Rixey want to haul her into his lap and prove with his mouth and his hands and his cock that she was okay.
It was the adrenaline high talking. He knew it and had experienced it before—the need to grab onto life with both hands and not let go. After all, he hadn’t known Becca Merritt long enough to explain those urges any other way. Right?
Shy of a good, long fuck to even him out, Rixey would settle for punching something. Hard. And repeatedly.
So close. He’d come so close to losing Becca. When he’d opened the door and seen that asshole yanking her out the other side, his paws touching her skin, Rixey’d yearned to lay that motherfucker out. Even now, lethal intent surged through his veins until he could barely breathe. No way he could examine all of the whys of that right this second.
“Nick?”
Her voice wrenched him from his thoughts, but not out of the dark, violent headspace. “Not now. I can’t talk to you right now,” he managed. His emotions were too volatile. Anger roiled too close to the surface. Aggression surged through him. “Let’s just get home.”
Not waiting for a reply, he veered out into traffic, his gaze making a constant circuit from the windshield to the rearview mirror to the side-view mirrors. He bet dollars to donuts they’d pick up a tail. Sure enough, within a block he was certain the gray van five cars back was following them. Just in case, he made a few choice last-minute turns and gunned it through the dying breaths of every yellow light he encountered. Either he lost the van, or paranoia had gotten the best of him and it’d never been in pursuit in the first place.
Sonofabitch.
As they hit the eastern side of town, Nick chanced a look Becca’s way. Her expression was absolutely bleak, one tiny push away from shattered, and her skin was pale as snow—except for the swollen goose egg above her left eyebrow from when the lowlife had shoved her to the floor. That was bright fucking red.
Say something, asshole. Throw her a goddamned rope. “What’s, uh, what’s with the dog?” Outstanding, Nick, truly.
She tilted her face and rubbed her cheek against its big ear. “I found her.”
“She has three legs.” Rixey winced at the idiocy of the observation.
“Uh, yeah.” Her gaze slid out the passenger window, making it crystal clear she wasn’t in any more of a mood to chitchat than he’d been before. And fine. Until he got her off the road, situational awareness was his top priority. Everything else could wait. He cut in and out of traffic on Eastern Avenue, eager to get her home. Eager to get her safe. A few moments later, Becca’s posture straightened and she leaned forward, like she was looking for something. Her gaze whipped toward him. “This isn’t the way to my house.”
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.”
Chapter 11
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.