me you sold art for a living.”
“I find antiques.” That was his cover and he was sticking to it.
“Find them or shoot them?”
Luke ignored the sarcasm and checked his gun. “This is your last chance to tell me the truth. Do you know how to do that?”
“You may want to remember I’m wanted for murder. Ticking me off might not be your best move.”
As if he could forget that fact. “Who’s this guy coming after you?”
“Don’t know.” Her skin paled. “Probably someone Phil sent.”
Phil Samson. Her husband. Make that her dead husband. Luke vowed to deal with her lies later. Now he needed to get them out of there alive.
The other man’s steps stopped. Except for the soft rustle of his slick jacket, he didn’t make a sound. But Luke could feel the tension radiating off the guy. He motioned for Claire to stay quiet as he peeled her fingers off his shirt. The last thing he needed was her slowing him down.
Glaring at her one last time, Luke mentally started the countdown. In one swift move he stood up and pivoted around the Dumpster, gun raised, to face the other man head on. The guy’s eyes bugged out the second before he lifted his weapon. The slight hesitation gave Luke the opening he needed. His bullet hit the man’s shoulder, sending him stumbling backward.
At the sharp bang people gathered at the end of the alley. Someone shouted for the police. Another person started yelling about a robbery. Luke heard it all, but his focus remained locked on the man in front of him. The guy refused to go down easy. Instead, he held on to his weapon and stayed on his feet.
Claire ran for the back door to the building and yanked on it. It took her a few tugs to see the wood Luke had shoved there. With a growl of frustration she ripped it out.
When the door still refused to open, she hammered it with her fists. “Open up!”
Luke lunged for her. “Claire, no! It’s—”
The other man’s roar cut off the rest of Luke’s warning. Everything moved in a blur. Claire jumped away from the door, holding the stick in her hand like a bat. At the same time the mystery man lurched, shifting his gun to waist height.
When the man pivoted toward Claire, Luke didn’t hesitate. No way was he going to let the guy get a shot off in her direction. Luke shoved her against the wall as he fired a second shot at the attacker. The explosion from the gun mixed with a second crack Luke couldn’t place. For a moment all he heard was the whir of distant sirens and screams from the street.
As he watched the man drop to his knees, the twitching began. Luke tried to flex his hand to keep it from going to sleep, but the muscles fell limp. Heat raged in a line down to his fingers as if every nerve ending had caught fire under his skin.
Claire picked that moment to run out of her hiding place with the stick held high. She slammed it into the back of the other man’s neck, knocking him face-first into the gravel.
“Claire, what are you—”
Grunting with a mania Luke guessed was fueled by adrenaline, she finally faced him. Her gaze zoomed in on his arm and her cheeks blanched even more.
“Are you okay?” Her question came out in a voice both breathy and uneven.
He had no idea what she was asking or why. “Fine.”
“You’ve been shot.”
“I … what?” Luke caught her around the waist to keep her from running. His head spun and his vision blurred, but he knew he had to hold on. No way was he losing her this time. Only thing was, she didn’t struggle or try to break away. He couldn’t figure out that part.
“Luke, stop moving around.”
“You recognize that guy now?” Luke asked, forcing the words out over the sudden searing pain radiating through his shoulder.
She stared at the man lying at her feet with the bullet hole in his back. When she glanced back at Luke’s face, her hand tightened on his forearm. “You have to sit down.”
“Why?” With the noise at the end of the alley and police sirens blaring, Luke knew they had to move. “Doesn’t matter. It’s time to get out of here.”
As the whirring screech from the approaching police cars grew louder, two men started down the alley. Luke guessed the body sprawled on the ground grabbed their attention. He couldn’t blame them for wanting to check it out. Still, he had his fill of knuckle-heads rushing in and trying to save Claire.
“Stay back.” Luke tried to lift his hurt arm, but a new bolt of pain blinded him, forcing him to let it fall uselessly to his side. He finally looked down and saw the blood. “What the hell?”
“You can’t feel that?”
The thumping increased. “I can now.”
“You’re injured.” She ripped the bottom edge of her T-shirt and held it against his shoulder. “Badly.”
The pressure of her palm knocked the breath out of him. He bit back the shout rumbling around in his throat and forced out the words he needed to say. “Adam, get here now.”
Claire glanced around. “Who are you talking to?”
A white van appeared at the end of the alley a few seconds later. Adam got out, flashed his fake badge and started issuing orders.
“Our ride is here,” Luke said through teeth tight with agony.
“Where are we going?” Claire shifted her attention from the commotion back to him.
“Out of here.”
“Not to the police.”
“Not yet.” He vowed to get the real answers first.
It was about time Claire Samson learned there were consequences to her actions. He was the perfect person to teach her—as long as he didn’t pass out first.
Chapter Two
A half hour later Claire heard Luke hiss as he shrugged out of his suit jacket and got the material caught on his watch. He sat on his kitchen table with his legs dangling and his dress shirt unbuttoned down to his stomach. The only blemish on his bare skin came from the dark red stain spreading across the white material.
Slumped shoulders and face drawn tight with pain, Luke looked ready to drop. Claire half hoped he would. If he fell over she could run. Well, she could if she somehow managed to knock out Luke’s friend. Mr. Blond, Big and Ticked Off. Yeah, that guy looked ready to kill someone, namely her.
Both men had chests and shoulders broad enough to make football players jealous. Luke’s light brown hair with bangs that brushed his eyebrows gave a boyish quality to his handsomeness. But in the two years since they were together he had changed. He now possessed a lethal air, making him more like his tough friend than the charming man she once thought would be her future.
Neither man gave off the upper-crust snootiness she expected from guys who supposedly spent their days locating precious works of art. She doubted Luke could tell a Chagall from a cartoon. The comfortable gunplay made her think his work was something more along the lines of law enforcement, but he lacked the clean-cut government-man look she associated with FBI agents. Now that she had experienced the great misfortune of being questioned by a few, she recognized the beast.
One thing was for sure. Luke, the man she followed from a distance and tracked to the office building—the same one who ran her down in the alley and kept a gun in his waistband—did not spend much time behind a desk. She’d bet her life on that. In fact, that’s exactly what she was doing.
She needed Luke’s help and cooperation, wanted to get him interested in her case and set him loose to find the truth. She just had the tiny problem of earning his trust first. With their