Fearless. HelenKay Dimon
Читать онлайн книгу.
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