frequent fantasy of yours?” She’d been aiming for a sarcastic tone, and instead the words came out breathy. Like an invitation.
“Definitely.” His raised eyebrow spoke volumes and she balanced on the thin line between anger and appreciation. He was good. Scratch that. He was very bad, and he knew it.
“I meant, use them on your friend. We need to get out of here before the fire closes in.”
“And if I refuse?” She swiped her forearm across her cheek and stifled a groan when her skin burned from the action.
“Then you deserve each other,” he drawled. Brawny’s warped sense of humor added to his raw appeal. Laughter and looks were a dangerous combination.
She lowered her gun a smidgen. Was she really going to shoot either of the men? And if she had to trust one, it would be Brawny. His silky brown eyes slid down her body and then to the gun in her hand.
“You’re making me nervous. How about a truce?”
“How long until the police arrive?” she countered. The burst of adrenaline was quickly fading from her bloodstream, causing her hands to shake.
“Twenty minutes.” His critical eyes swept her again. “Do you need an ambulance?”
Did she? The thoughts were getting jumbled in her head. She couldn’t stay here, but didn’t know how to leave. The man on the floor shifted, distracting her long enough for Brawny to pry the gun from her fingers.
He pointed the weapon at the man she’d temporarily sidelined. “I will shoot.” He kicked the balding man’s outstretched arm for emphasis, earning a grunt in return.
“Hand me the cuffs,” Brawny said.
Kira reached for the handcuffs, stifling the urge to ask where he’d gotten them. Pressing her back against the wall, she struggled to stand, one bare foot crunching on broken glass. She winced, throwing all her weight onto her other leg while trying to extend the cuffs to Brawny.
“You ain’t cuffing me,” the other man bellowed.
“Shut up,” Brawny said.
An obnoxious noise filled the room. Belching, maybe? But the man’s lips weren’t moving.
“Oh, that’s classy,” Brawny said. “Where’s the phone?” He pressed the barrel of the gun against the balding man’s head when he didn’t reply. “Last chance.”
“All right, all right, it’s in my pocket.”
As Brawny squatted to search the denim pockets, Kira stood holding the cuffs. She should do something to help, right? Maybe slip one of the silver bracelets onto the man’s wrist while Brawny subdued him.
She took a step closer as Brawny located the phone and silenced the annoying ringtone. In a flash, the balding man wrapped his fingers around her ankle and yanked her off balance as he threw his elbow toward Brawny’s face. Her bare foot was already unsteady as she tried kicking free.
Kira tumbled, her arms windmilling as she tried to catch herself. Hot pain hammered the back of her head as she fought to remain conscious. Her eyes slid closed against a backdrop of grunts and punches. She rolled to her side, unable to do more than lie there and listen.
Another punch, another curse, another gunshot, then silence. She felt more than heard the vibration against the floor. Sensed someone moving nearby. Her heart hammered in her chest, but she couldn’t breathe.
“Tell me she’s dead.” An unfamiliar voice crackled through the phone.
Another gunshot exploded and Kira grabbed her head. The sound echoed in her ears, reverberated through her skull. Then silence.
“She’s dead.” Dalton mimicked the thug’s voice to perfection, a skill he and his brother, Josh, had honed as kids. At the same time he was grinding his heel into the intruder’s face for emphasis.
“Clean it up and get here by morning.” Whoever Rico was, he disconnected before Dalton uttered another word.
He shoved the phone into his pocket. The surreal activities of the past twenty-odd minutes came into clear focus. The blonde bomber had told at least one truth: she didn’t have a partner. She also didn’t have a prayer of walking away without sharing the full, unabridged version of why she’d ended up at his door, and how she planned to stay alive.
For a moment, he allowed his gaze to roam her body, lingering on the cleavage exposed when her shirt had slipped off one shoulder. The thickening smoke reminded him they had to get out of here.
Dalton could consider himself every kind of fool for not letting the woman suffer alone, but she needed a doctor. A man with any functioning brain cells would’ve found out her name when she’d first opened her eyes. There had been an explosion, so maybe he should cut himself some slack.
The sound of rain splattering against the house, along with the crack of thunder that followed, had him breathing easier. The small fire would be out in no time. “At least something is going right.”
He should have expected that the man would put up quite a fight. The bastard had gone after Blondie again, leaving no doubt he wanted her dead. Dalton had stopped short of killing him, but the thought still flickered in the back of his mind.
It would be self-defense, plain and simple. But he didn’t want an ounce of scandal to touch his family’s name ever again. His mom couldn’t take another and would never forgive him. First Lauren, and the personal attacks that had seeped into his mom’s life, then Dalton lying his way through his brother’s death. The tabloids insinuated Josh had gotten what he deserved, and although Dalton felt the same way, he had to deflect their claims.
Josh had always been their mother’s favorite. Maybe because he was the baby of the family, or maybe because his mother coveted his free and easy nature. He could do no wrong in her eyes. And since they’d fought the day before his death, his mother was convinced she’d played a role in sending him over that cliff.
Dalton grabbed the man’s shirt collar and dragged him into the bathroom, anchoring him with duct tape to the cast-iron bathtub while he writhed in agony.
“Who are you and why do you want her dead?”
The portly man pressed his lips together, trying to look cocky. “You’re a wrinkle in the plan,” he said. “They want this place gone, burned to the ground. I’ll be out of jail and back in a couple hours to finish the job.”
“I’m shaking with fright.” The man might have been intimidating to anyone else, but to Dalton, he was simply a bully. “Behave yourself and I’ll call the cops tomorrow.”
He returned to the bedroom and dialed the emergency services number again. He couldn’t second-guess his decision to help the unconscious woman. Commitment was his middle name. “This is Dalton Matthews. I need to cancel the call for a grass fire. Looks like the rain put it out.”
“I’ll remove it from our list,” the dispatcher replied.
“I’m heading out of town for a few days. Could I get an extra patrol to swing past tomorrow and make sure everything’s in order?”
“We can do that.”
The man in the next room gathered enough energy to bellow a string of curse words.
“Sorry. Forgot to mute the television before I called.”
“No problem, sir. I’ve heard worse.”
“Now that I think about it, switch the patrol to the day after tomorrow.” Dalton grinned to himself. “Nothing exciting ever happens around here.”
“Right. I’ve got you down. Have a safe trip.”
He disconnected the call and stared at