Chapter 2 #3
Moe led Bea around to the front of the building to an SUV with the Bozeman Yellowstone International Airport logo emblazoned on the doors. “It’s a loaner while I’m in town,” he explained as he opened the passenger door.
Bea placed her bag and jacket on the floorboard. Moe helped her into her seat.
When she fumbled to secure her seatbelt, he leaned across and snapped it in place.
His face was so close that all she had to do was lean forward just a bit and her lips would touch his stubbled chin.
Her pulse quickened, and her breaths caught and held in her chest at the exact point where his shirt brushed against hers.
He turned to face her. “Are you okay?” He touched a finger to the base of her throat. “Your pulse is still pounding. I can see it. You should have let the EMT take you to the hospital for a complete exam.”
“I’m okay,” she whispered, afraid to drag in enough air to expand her lungs and raise her breasts to touch more than fabric against him.
He stared a moment longer, his eyebrows forming a V over his nose. “I’m not convinced.”
Finally, he pulled out of the vehicle, closed the door and rounded the front to climb into the driver’s seat. He started the engine and sat with his hand on the shift, his gaze moving to Breely, a crooked grin widening his lips.
“What?” Breely asked. “Is everything all right? Did you change your mind? You are under no obligation to ferry me around.”
He pressed a finger to his lips. “Shh. It’s okay. I’m taking you home. But to do that, I need to know where you live.”
Breely’s cheeks heated. She let go of the breath she’d been holding and laughed. “I guess it would help to know.” She gave him the address.
He entered the data into the map application on his cell phone. When he was done, he showed her the screen. “Is that it?”
Leaning over the console, she nodded. “That’s it.” She sat back against the seat, staring out at the streets lined with lights at each corner.
He could take her anywhere, and no one would find her.
“Relax. I’m not going to abduct you,” Moe said. “If I were, I would be wearing a ski mask like the jerks who grabbed you. Stan’s seen my face and probably watched as we drove away, memorizing the license plate on this vehicle.”
She gave him a weak smile. “Sorry. I’m a bit punchy. It’s not every day I’m grabbed, knocked silly and thrown into a van.”
“Nothing to be sorry about. You are the victim. I just wish I’d been able to hold onto at least one of those bastards. I should’ve hit them harder.” He took one hand off the steering wheel and absently rubbed the knuckles of the other as he came to a stop at a traffic light.
“What bothers me is why they grabbed you in the first place. If they’re looking to add you to a human trafficking ring, you’d bring a high price with that hair.” He glanced her way, his lips turning upward in a wry grin.
“All the more reason to dye my hair dirt brown. Or, better yet, cotton candy pink.”
“It’s your hair. You can dye it any color you want.” He shot a glance at her. “Me, personally, I like its natural color.”
“Thank you.” Breely glanced his way. “My grandmother had red hair like mine. She let me brush it when I was a little girl. It already had gray streaks in it. By the time she turned seventy, it was a stunning shade of white. When I’m seventy, I hope my hair is that exact same shade.”
“And you’ll still have sexy hair,” he said, still grinning.
The heat returned to her cheeks, making them burn. Breely pressed her cool palms to her skin, refusing to look at Moe the Flirt.
He turned onto the street with her apartment building and drove into the parking lot, coming to a stop.
Breely quickly opened her door. “Thank you for bringing me home.” She dropped to the ground and hurried toward the front entry. When Breely reached for the door handle, her fingers were brushed gently to the side.
Moe’s strong, capable fingers wrapped around the knob and pulled the door open.
Breely led the way up a set of stairs and down a long hallway to stop at her door. When she started to shove her key into the lock, barely applying any pressure, the door swung open. The doorjamb and the door itself were splintered.
Breely automatically recoiled backward several steps. “I locked it this morning,” she whispered.
“Locks don’t always work against crowbars. Get out your cell phone,” he commanded as he bent to pull a knife out of a scabbard strapped to his ankle. “Call 911.”
Breely keyed the numbers to place the call.
She had just punched the send button when Moe leaned close and said, “Stay here.”
Breely’s heart leaped into her throat. “What are you going to do?”
“If someone is in there, I’m not waiting for him to get out and run.”
She didn’t have time to respond as the dispatcher came on.
With Moe entering a potentially dangerous situation and a dispatcher in her ear, Breely fought the urge to race in after him. Instead, she relayed the information about the break-in at her apartment.
Once she had given the address and was assured a unit was on the way, Breely ended the call, pushed the door open wider and gasped.