Chapter Two
Terror took hold of Gianna Barone’s feet, propelling her from the bar. Frigid air stung her cheeks, and she shivered, the temperature having dropped another few degrees in the short time she’d been inside.
Get to the car. Get back to the reservation.
The man who’d walked into Lucero’s Lounge was a stranger, but he’d recognized her somehow.
Idiot. She’d been so careful to stay under the radar. This was why she always made excuses to her friend, Jennie Tsosie, about skipping girls’ nights.
She should have dropped off Billy’s medication and left.
Shouldn’t have lingered to talk to the attractive man—Caleb. Shouldn’t have been drawn to him.
When he’d smiled, her heart had thumped so hard she'd almost bolted.
That would have been the smart move—run.
Instead, she’d let a handsome face and killer smile lower her guard when she, of all people, should know better.
She rounded the building’s corner and skidded to a halt.
In the yellow haze of the security light, a lanky kid in his twenties leaned against the bumper of a black SUV. Stringy brown hair hung from beneath a pink knit beanie. His thin, sullen face and cold eyes didn’t match the bright wool cap.
He glanced over her shoulder—at someone behind her. Straightening, Pink Cap tracked her approach with an intensity that made her pulse stutter.
Don’t show fear .
Easy to say. Harder with adrenaline spiking and her vision blurring.
Maybe she could bluff her way to her car. Lock the doors. Call Zach Blackwater.
These goons might back off if a Navajo Nation Police officer showed up.
Or they might shoot him.
Then she’d have another death on her conscience.
She was only halfway through her twelve-week locum tenens contract at the Navajo medical clinic, filling in for a doctor on maternity leave. And she needed the money. If she left before her contract was up, she’d never get another job as a doctor.
Gia dug out her key and wedged the metal shank between trembling fingers. Next time she bought a car, it would be new enough to have a fob.
If there was a next time.
She started forward, chin high, sweat dampening her lower back despite the cold.
Gravel crunched behind her. No need to look.
She knew who it was.
Her steps quickened.
She would never go back to Miami.
Not to the man she’d almost married.
Not after what she’d seen.
The secret she carried like a stain on her soul .
“Senorita.” The voice, high-pitched and rhythmic, came from behind.
Gia kept walking.
Pink Cap watched her approach, his stare flat, cold.
Her pulse thudded. She held her breath. Passed him. Shifted the key in her grip.
Blood thundered in her ears.
One more step.
The key lifted, her hand shaking like a leaf in a squall.
A shove from behind slammed her into the RAV4. A hard body pinned her against cold metal.
Stale breath bathed her cheek. Panic clamped down on her lungs. Pinpricks of light sparked in her vision.
“Senorita Winters.”
The man with the mustache—the one who’d recognized her—appeared in her periphery. “You are far from home, no? I hear Senor Garcia has been looking for you.”
Breathe.
Her life depended on it.
She flexed her fingers on the key. “My name isn’t Winters.” The lie slid out easily. “You’ve got the wrong person.”
He laughed. Scrolled through his phone. Held it up. “This is you, no?”
The screen showed a woman in a red designer gown, her sleek hair straight, her makeup expertly done.
The night Vincente opened his Miami Beach nightclub.
“No. It’s not,” she said.
Not anymore.
If these men forced her to go with them, she’d never be free .
Her skin crawled under Pink Cap’s touch. If he didn’t release her soon, the screams crawling their way up her throat would break loose.
“I don’t know anyone named Garcia. I’m just passing through Gallup. If it’s money you want, I don’t have much. You can take my wallet.”
He had her photo, but Mustache Man had looked surprised to see her. Maybe they’d stumbled across her and didn’t actually know where she lived. Or worked.
Her lids slammed shut. Why had she admitted to Caleb that she was a doctor at a clinic on the rez?
Stupid. Careless.
The only thing to do was continue to bluff.
“If I’m not back at the hotel in ten minutes, my coworkers will come looking.”
Mustache Man grinned, showing nicotine-stained teeth. “You won’t be here when they arrive.”
“Let her go.”
The voice was calm. Deadly.
Caleb.
Gia shivered. Her fingers clenched tighter on the key.
Inside the bar, he’d been friendly, disarming even. Now his voice carried a lethal promise.
Pink Cap spun her. Metal, razor sharp and warm from his body heat, pressed into her throat.
She froze. Her key slipped from nerveless fingers.
Only her eyes worked. She raised them to her would-be savior.
The light bathed Caleb in gold and shadow, an avenging angel.
A scar she hadn’t noticed earlier curved from behind his left ear down his neck.
His t-shirt molded the toned chest and biceps she’d admired in the bar.
Jeans hugged his hips and thighs like God meant them to.
He seemed impervious to the winter chill.
Their gazes met. A hint of warmth lightened the gold flecks in eyes the color of melted chocolate under moonlight.
Then they flattened into the cold, emotionless stare of a killer.
Gia’s heart plummeted. Not an angel.
But if this man could help her, she’d take her chances with the devil.
Mustache Man drew a wicked-looking knife from his boot. “Mind your own business, pendejo .”
Caleb smiled—a slow, lethal smile that made her blink—and stepped closer.
Without warning, his palm struck out.
The knife flew.
He moved again, a blur of motion.
Mustache Man crumpled to the ground.
Pink Cap flinched. Gia hissed as the blade at her throat bit deeper.
“Back off or she dies.” Fear leaked from his voice.
He was bluffing, like her. If Vincente’s father had sent them, then yes. She’d believe it. But Mustache Man had said Garcia, not Lopez.
If Vincente planned to kill her, he’d make it personal, not farm it out to a low-level thug.
“He won’t do it,” she forced out, past the press of sharpened steel.
Pink Cap flung her aside. He charged Caleb, his knife slicing the air in fluid strokes.
A scream locked in Gia’s throat.
Caleb side-stepped and parried the attack, sending Pink Cap’s knife hilt-over-blade to ricochet off gravel.
The younger man didn’t go down as easily as his older counterpart.
Time slowed.
Curses littered the air .
Flesh met flesh in a deadly dance of hand-to-hand combat.
Gia stood, feet rooted to the ground while her body jerked in sympathetic rhythm with every grunt. Caleb, a stranger, was risking his life for her. She should run inside, get Billy to call the police.
Except if Caleb lost, she couldn’t risk the people inside the bar. And police meant an official report.
Attention she couldn’t afford.
Leave. Now.
She’d have a head start. Back to the safety of the rez. Then she’d figure out what to do.
She dropped to her knees. Felt around for her key. Her fingers grazed metal.
Key in hand, she stood on shaky knees. Panic blurred her vision, along with an oppressive wave of guilt. Was she really going to abandon her Good Samaritan?
Metal scraped as she struggled to unlock her car door.
The key slipped into the lock.
A bloodied hand closed over hers.
She screeched, her heart nearly exploding.
Caleb raised his palms. Stepped back. Blood flecked his white shirt and swelled from his lower lip.
“I’m no threat to you.” Despite the exertion, his voice was calm. Too calm.
“I have to go.” Her voice shook along with the rest of her.
“You’re in no condition to drive. I’ll take you wherever you need to go.”
She shook her head, unable to form words past the howling in her brain . Go. Go. Go.
“At least let me open the door for you. ”
Tremors racked her. Could she trust him? He had come to her defense.
Movement over Caleb’s shoulder caught her eye.
Mustache Man got to his feet. Raised his gun.
Pointed it at Caleb.
Gia’s eyes flew wide.
Caleb lunged, wrapping his arms around her.
The sky tilted as a shot rang out. Metal pinged.
Caleb grunted.
Gia hit the ground, pebbles digging into her back. Caleb’s broad palm cushioned her head. His hard body covered her.
Gravel crunched beneath Mustache Man’s boots.
She stared over Caleb’s shoulder at the cold, black barrel of a gun, then tore her gaze from death to look into the eyes of her protector. This close, his breath, smelling of sweet whiskey and spicy chili, bathed her lips.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Her vision blurred. How damned unfair that a good man would die tonight because of her.
Another death on her conscience to mark her soul.
His thumb swiped her cheek. His lips grazed hers—soft as butterfly wings.
She waited for fear, revulsion. Instead, she felt the fleeting contact to her soul. A sense of comfort, of peace she hadn’t felt for as long as she could remember.
Caleb’s leg swept out.
Mustache Man sprawled backwards, the gun flying from his grip.
A chill blanketed Gia’s body, bereft of Caleb’s warmth as he vaulted to his feet, his boot connecting with Mustache Man’s head.
Gia sucked in sorely needed air. Her lips tingled .
She licked them to find out if Caleb had left a taste of himself behind, then levered to a seated position, her thoughts scattering at the tableau of violence spread before her.
Blood.
Drops of it rimmed a neat round hole in her driver’s door. More on the gray pebbles next to her hand. Another next to Caleb’s boot.
He bent to pick up the gun. Crimson blossomed across the white fabric on his shoulder.
Her fear vanished. She scrambled to her feet.
“Come on.” Grabbing his uninjured arm, she unlocked her passenger door with surprisingly steady hands. “Get in.”
On the backseat, she spied the towel she’d thrown in the car with every intent of going to work out at the wellness center yesterday, but an emergency patient had kept her late.
Folding it into a neat square, she pressed it to his wound. “This might sting.”
He didn’t flinch. It was easy to believe he was no stranger to violence.
She wouldn’t think too hard about that right now. The enemy of my enemy is my friend .
“Press your shoulder into the seat. The compression will slow the bleeding.”
Pink Cap was stirring.
She jumped into the driver’s seat. The RAV4’s engine rumbled to life.
Gia thanked God, or whoever listened to her prayers, that the old clunker she’d purchased for cash seven and a half weeks ago hadn’t chosen this moment to be temperamental.
She fishtailed out of the parking lot .
Her knight in shining armor reached for the seatbelt. “Try not to kill me after saving me.”
“Ha ha.” He wouldn’t be in this situation if he hadn’t played the hero. Of course, if he hadn’t…Her grip on the wheel tightened.
Caleb.
A strong name. It suited him.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
Good question. Everything in her was screaming to get back to the rez, pack her bags, and flee.
But what did she do with him?
“Are you a tribal member?” He’d told her his mother was, so it stood to reason.
“No.” Clipped. Flat.
Okaaay. Touchy subject.
She was a doctor. She couldn’t drop him off on the nearest street corner and wish him luck. He wasn’t safe now either, thanks to her. The main hospital in Gallup would notify the police. She couldn’t take him to a tribal medical facility without there being questions she didn’t want to answer.
“My place,” she blurted.
What are you doing?
The steering wheel dampened beneath her palms. “I can treat your wound.” She owed him. “You saved my life back there—thank you.”
It would give her time to calm down. Think about what to do next. Make a plan.
Caleb’s gaze met hers. “You’re welcome, Doc. Now tell me who those men were.”