Blade's Lady. Fiona Brand
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eyes unblinking, and so direct that any fiction she might have entertained that he had just wandered in casually off the street died.
Heads turned as he angled around a cluster of tables. The steady hum of conversation dropped away, so that he walked in a spreading pool of silence.
A group of women in the next booth, regulars who Anna knew were hookers working out of the bar, stopped their heated debate over the love-life of one of their friends. They were dressed in tight jeans and even tighter low-cut tops, with jackets pulled capelike over their shoulders for warmth.
“Is that for real?” one demanded. “Nita, how many beers have I had?”
“Not enough if you’re still thinking of going home with that jackass you were eyeing before,” came the dry answer.
“He don’t have to pay,” another one murmured.
The first woman who had spoken sighed. “Speak for yourself. I was thinking of paying him.”
Anna jerked her gaze back to the booth she was supposed to be clearing. Blade had said he would check on her tonight, at her flat. She tried to isolate one believable reason for him to come looking for her today. There wasn’t one.
Abruptly, she swung on her heel, abandoning the table and the tray as she began threading her way through the tables, heading away from Blade toward a side door that led to the rest rooms. There was a small storeroom next to the Ladies that was generally unlocked, as it had nothing in it that anyone would want to steal—not even the patrons of Joe’s. It was usually crammed with mops and buckets and cleaning materials, but it had the added convenience of a bolted door that opened onto the dusty service entrance in back.
She quickened her step, her mind automatically putting together a strategy. If she could just get outside to the car park, there were any number of places she could hide. When she was sure Blade was gone, she could come back and claim her briefcase, which was stored in a staff locker. If she had to leave Joe’s early and forfeit her money, then so be it.
The flat of her palm connected with the swing door. She was into the hallway, her heart pumping wildly, head faintly dizzy at the fast movement. Her hand closed around the door handle to the storeroom. For a crazy moment she thought it was locked, but then the stiff handle gave way. She stepped inside and gently closed the door behind her.
It was pitch-black. She didn’t dare turn on a light in case he saw it and decided to check this room before the Ladies.
She heard the creak of the swing door as she picked her way gingerly forward, and her heart accelerated on another spurt of adrenalin. Her shin connected with a box, she gasped, shuffling sideways. The back of her hand brushed against a stack of what felt like broom handles. One more step and the door should be right in front of her. Her fingers encountered the heavy door, then searched for and found the cold metal of the bolt. She fumbled, easing the bolt back, then pulled the door inward.
Wind blasted into the room, thrusting the door back against her, almost knocking her off balance. A sound had her turning in time to see the widening arc of light as the other door swung open; then she was outside in the alley, damp wind cold around her legs, flattening her black skirt against her thighs and tugging hair loose from its knot so strands whipped around her face.
Anna heard her name, risked a glance over her shoulder, and saw him burst through the door. His black gaze seared into hers, and panic exploded through her. She knew Blade wouldn’t hurt her physically, but she was too much on edge, too hunted, to respond in a rational way. She rounded the corner and broke into a run, her breath shoving hard into her lungs.
She had only gone two steps when his hand fastened on her arm. Instinctively, she jerked to free herself, and when that didn’t work, she lashed out, her elbow driving back to connect with his stomach. He grunted as she pivoted to strike out with one foot, at the same time still desperately wrenching at his hold. But he was too strong, shifting every time she tried to hurt him, so that her blows glanced harmlessly off his body. Instead of breaking free, she found herself pressed face first against the unyielding surface of a concrete block wall, his muscled arm snaking around her waist, cradling her against the impact as his heavy weight pinned her.
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