sizeable detour, even as she cycled through her mental Rolodex. She could call her cousin, Isabella, who worked nights in the ER, to come take a look. The idea had merit—and Isabella was discreet—but something held her back.
Wrapping an arm around his waist, she pulled him close, careful to avoid pulling too quickly and forcing him off balance. “Do you have me?”
“Yes.”
“We need to get out of the front area here. Even with the lights off, we’re too easy to see through the windows.”
He nodded, the motion exaggerated enough to put pressure against her body as she forced him to walk.
“Easy. Step by step.”
“I shouldn’t—”
“Shhh. Focus on getting back to the kitchen.”
While her catering shop—a renovated warehouse in Dallas’s Design District—was sizable, the trek to her kitchen wasn’t anything she’d ever considered. Suddenly, the door to her kitchen—and safety—seemed a mile away.
Using the stubborn streak she’d honed since birth, she moved them forward. One foot. Then the other. They walked, slow and plodding, as she fought to maintain the press of his body and the increasing pull of shock and gravity that was determined to drop him to the floor.
The entire shop was maybe twenty yards from the front door to the back. Despite the relatively limited space, the distance to her industrial kitchen seemed interminable. Gabby cleared the two of them through the swinging door that acted as sentinel to her inner sanctum just as the screech of tires echoed in front of the building. “Damn it.”
“What?” Knox’s head tilted upward.
“I locked the door, but forgot to set the alarm.”
“You can’t go back out there.”
“I’ve got a keypad back here, but you’re weaker than you were. Can I leave you unsupported?”
He grunted at that—whether in acknowledgment or irritation, she wasn’t sure—before standing straighter. “Go. Now. I’ll be right behind you.”
Although that imperious tone usually set her teeth on edge, she ignored it in favor of expedience. And a funny sort of relief that he’d want the property armed.
Ignoring the odd mishmash of thoughts, Gabby hotfooted it to the back entrance and keyed in the code—her grandmother’s birthday—and prayed she wasn’t too late. The blinking green light that said all her doors and windows were closed flipped to red just as she slammed the last number into the keypad. Instantaneously, the piercing siren that accompanied a breach lit up the interior of the kitchen, growing louder as the stainless steel surfaces deflected the sound, pushing it back into the atmosphere like a living, breathing wall of energy.
She shoved Knox toward a large pantry, ignoring whatever cleanup would no doubt be involved in having a large man bleed all over her food before racing back toward the swinging door. She tipped it open slightly to view the outer room of the shop and could see a man fleeing down the front steps of her business, his large silhouette and strained gait highlighted by the streetlamps that lined Slocum Street.
“Is the bastard gone?”
Even with the unceasing clanging, Gabby heard the question. “Yes.”
“Then turn off the bloody alarm.”
For the second time in a span of moments, ire tickled the back of her neck at his imperious words and snappish orders. It was time to set things to rights. She stalked back to the alarm keypad and reset the code. The cell phone she’d left lying on the counter rang, and she snatched it up, answering the alarm company on the other end.
“No, I’m fine. False alarm.” She added the required password to confirm she wasn’t actually being held hostage and thanked the man on the other end.
“Beef enchilada is your password?”
Knox’s sultry voice held the unmistakable notes of pain, but she didn’t miss the veneer of humor underneath. “I make damn good enchiladas.”
“I curse myself for not sampling them. It’s still an odd password.”
“It’s as good as any other.” She shrugged and fought down the natural swell of concern working its way through her defenses. She might be the youngest child in a family of boys, but she had a damn fine mothering instinct.
Not that she’d put it to good use, of course. A fact her mother reminded her of on a near-daily basis. Especially since it had been two—no, three?—years since her last serious relationship.
Had it really been that long?
Gabby shook off the embarrassing answer, well aware it had been that long. She’d been so focused on getting her business off the ground, the ninety-hour weeks more joy than punishment, but her personal life had paid the price. Just that evening, in fact, her mother had reamed her out for not having a date to her cousin’s engagement party.
Shaking off the remembered conversation and the maudlin thoughts she’d spent far too much time dwelling in lately, Gabby sized him up. “Are you okay?”
“I’ve had worse.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“It’s like I told you—it’s a surface wound. The bark is far worse than the bite.”
Could she say the same for him? With a hard turn on her heel, she headed for the front door. She hated to leave him, but an unlocked door left them exposed. “Let me see what damage they did to the lock, and then I’ll be right back.”
His protest to stay in the kitchen echoed off her back, but she ignored him, already halfway to the front door. She knew how to protect herself, and she’d be damned if she was going to leave her business to the whims of some nameless, faceless threat. She also knew how to move around the room to avoid a direct line of sight to the front door.
The street outside remained devoid of life, and she walked along the edge of the demonstration area until she’d almost reached the front door. At the last minute, she put herself in full view of outside, her form visible in the glass door. The lock she’d so recently flipped had been unlatched.
“Someone’s damn quick with a pick.”
Brushing off the small shiver, she turned the lock once more, then leaned down and latched a second small bolt at the bottom of the door frame. It was invisible from the outside, and the only way anyone was getting in now was by coming through the glass.
“I said I’d handle it.”
The dark tones, rich and cultured, slithered over her skin as she straightened. For the first time, Gabby was forced to wonder if the real threat was already inside.
* * *
Knox St. Germain ignored the shot of heat that sizzled through his veins at her glorious ass still pointing heavenward. He loved women—all of them, regardless of age or size—but there was something about Gabriella Sanchez that gripped him with fierce claws.
He kept a hand over the towel at his shoulder, but a combination of steady pressure on the wound and a few moments of downtime had gone a long way toward restoring his equilibrium.
Sadly, the same couldn’t be said for the temptation standing before him.
His vision cleared as Gabriella straightened, and he didn’t miss the wary expression that filled eyes the color of a rich espresso.
“You don’t appear capable of handling much right now.”
He couldn’t quite tell if the statement was meant to put him in his place or reassure her she wasn’t in danger.
Don’t let the gunshot fool you, love.
The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he held them back. He was in pretty bad shape. But after a few