Bewitched: In Too Deep. Lori Foster
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evidently didn’t like waiting, either. “I’m losing patience!” he shouted. “I’ll give you to the count of ten, then we’re coming in and shooting any damn thing that moves. Carlyle would rather have you dead than loose.”
Hurry up, Harry, she thought, listening as Floyd started a loud, monotonous recitation of his numbers.
Glass shattered at the back of the garage, followed by the sound of running footsteps. Cautiously, Charlie peeked over the edge of the window above her head. Floyd and Ralph stood frozen in the moonlight for a single heartbeat, then they cursed and ran hellbent for the back of the garage.
She waited until they were out of sight before she slithered toward the door Harry had kicked in, proud of the fact that she, too, made no discernible noise. She’d barely edged outside before a rough, hot hand clamped over her mouth and a steely arm closed tight around her waist. She would have panicked if it hadn’t been for Harry’s height, assuring her he was the one who’d accosted her.
Without struggling, she got dragged to the truck and roughly thrust inside through the driver’s door. Harry slid in beside her.
Seething, Charlie restraightened the huge coat she wore, holding the throat closed with a fist, and leaned close to whisper, “What? You thought I’d refuse your rescue and opt to stay with my buddy Floyd? Is that why you felt you had to manhandle—”
“No keys, damn it.”
She squeaked. “What do you mean, no keys? How the heck are we going to—”
He thrust the gun into her hand. “Watch out for the two stooges while I hot-wire this barge.”
Bemused, Charlie looked down at the gun in her hand, then to where Harry bent low beneath the dash, then dutifully out the window.
Hmm. There was something innately sexy about a man who could hot-wire.
It took him mere seconds. He’d just managed to fire the engine when Floyd and Ralph came stumbling back around the garage, their curses so hot Charlie’s ears felt singed, and that was surely impressive given she’d been raised hearing curses all her life. The two men literally jumped up and down in rage as gravel and mud slung off the spinning tires, embellishing Harry’s daring getaway. Ralph fired, and Charlie thought she heard a bullet or two hit the side of the truck bed, but it didn’t slow Harry. She waited, wondering if, because of the gunshot, he’d feel it necessary to put her head back in his lap.
She was slightly disappointed when he didn’t.
Harry didn’t say a word, concentrating instead on finding the main road and figuring out how to turn on the lights, the wiper blades, the heat. Charlie was just about to tuck the gun into her pocket when he retrieved it from her without a word.
She knew a struggle for the gun was useless, and she scowled. “Now what?”
Harry rubbed the back of his neck, glanced at her, his gaze moving over her from head to toe, then cursed slightly. “I think we’ll abandon this truck outside town. No sense in taking a chance that Carlyle or one of his cronies will recognize it and want to pull us over. We’ll grab a taxi to my apartment.”
“Why your apartment?” Not that she’d complain. Her curiosity over Harry grew more rampant with every moment she spent in his company. From his place, she could call her sister, and then maybe they could finish what they’d started at the garage. She glanced down at Harry’s lap, but the interior of the cab was too dark to tell if he still reacted to their little interlude. She liked it a lot that she’d turned him on. In all her life, she’d seldom had the opportunity, or the desire, to indulge in lust. But with Harry, well, she was more than a little intrigued.
“I think we need to talk, to figure out what we’re going to do.”
Charlie sighed, then carefully ventured a suggestion. “I don’t think we should call the police.”
Harry stilled for a moment, smoothly switched gears, then nodded. “Okay, I’ll bite. Well, not really, not unless you wanted me to, and then it’d be more appropriate to say nibble—”
“Harry.”
“Why don’t you want to contact the police?”
“Because I can’t see any way for you to explain this without telling them I was there, dressed as a guy, spying. And I’d just as soon no one knew about that.”
“I can see where that would be a tale you’d hesitate to broadcast. But as it so happens I don’t relish involving the police, either.”
“And your reasons are?” When he only slanted her a look, she poked him in the side. “No way, Harry. I told, now it’s your turn.”
“You told very little, actually.”
“I’ll get into more detail once I’m warm and dry and have time to reason a few things out.”
“I suppose that’ll have to appease me.”
“Give it up, Harry.”
He didn’t want to, she could tell that. He gave her a grudging look that almost made her smile. “I promised my friend I wouldn’t involve any of the other people in the area. They’re older proprietors, like Pops, and they aren’t excessively fond of the police right now.”
“You mean Pops—the guy who runs the store we were in before Floyd decided to play kidnapper?”
“That’s right. They’ve contacted the police a few times in the past over other situations—loud music, loitering, things like that. They were pretty much told that since they’re in a run-down, high-crime area, they have to expect a certain amount of that sort of thing. The police offered more surveillance, but the elders didn’t think that was enough. They were determined to take matters into their own hands, which of course would be dangerous.”
Even as she nodded, Charlie wondered if her father was one of the men being bothered. It seemed likely. She felt a moment’s worry before she firmly squelched it. Her father deserved nothing but her enmity, and that’s all he’d ever get. He’d never been there when she needed him most, but she’d found him now, and he could damn well pay. What she wanted from him—financial assistance to get her sister through college—had nothing to do with emotions or family relationships.
The rain started again, and they settled into a congenial quiet. Harry reached over and pulled her to his side. It wasn’t quite as nice as his lap, but he was warm and firm and secure, and she took comfort from his nearness, though she’d never have admitted it.
As they neared the outskirts of town, Harry nudged her with his shoulder. “It’s regretful things got interrupted back there.”
“Yeah.”
He cleared his throat. “If you’re interested…”
“Yeah.”
Laughing, Harry pulled the truck up to the curb and turned the engine off. He tilted Charlie’s face up and kissed her softly. “There’s nothing coy about you, is there?”
She raised a brow. “Should I pretend I’m not interested? That’d be dumb, Harry, since I don’t get interested all that often.”
Harry fought a smile, and lost. “So you’re telling me you’re not easy after all?”
Charlie snorted. “Most of the men that frequent my saloon could tell you I’m usually damn difficult.”
“No! You? I’ll never believe it.”
Charlie smacked his shoulder. “Smart-ass.”
Chuckling, Harry said, “Wait here. I’ll call us a taxi.”
He left the truck and trotted to a pay phone across the street. Charlie watched him go, admiring his long-legged stride, the way he held his head, the natural confidence and arrogance that appeared as obvious as his physical attributes. He was a strange man in many ways, his lofty wit and cultured diction in opposition to his