Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Brock wrestled the dead body off Dani’s back and dumped it on the floor. He didn’t have to check the guy’s pulse. The entry and exit wound through his skull were evidence enough.
Dani’s hair fanned around her shoulders and spilled on the tile under her cheek. He gathered a handful of the long, silky strands and moved them to the other side of her neck.
He’d turned on the light seconds before firing. Seeing Dani’s purpling face and wet, bulging eyes, he’d pulled the trigger before the bastard could flinch. Terror, raw and sharp, had attacked his nervous system. He felt no remorse for committing murder in his cousin’s pristine home.
Pressing his fingers to Dani’s red-rimmed throat, he felt for a pulse. A slow, steady rhythm beat against his fingertips. Thank god. He moved his thumb over the abraded skin and ground his teeth.
He rolled her to her back, taking care to support her neck.
She lay limp on the floor, her mouth slack.
He breathed a curse and tried not to think about how long it had been since he’d done CPR training.
Tilting her chin back, he parted her lips and blew a breath into her lungs.
Her diaphragm rose. He sat up and pumped the heels of his hands against her chest. He repeated the motions three times.
Sweat dampened his brow and dread ate through his stomach.
No, no, no. He hadn’t come all this way and been so damn close to saving her just to lose her like this. Over his dead body.
“C’mon, baby. Come back to me.” His chest ached, but he sealed his lips over her much colder ones and breathed into her mouth again before transferring his hands into position over her chest. A sharp intake of breath jerked his attention to her face.
Her eyes fluttered open and the tightening hands of doom released his heart.
He dropped his face to her neck and inhaled her scent.
She tangled her fingers in his hair and took small gasps of air.
Finally, he pulled back enough to meet her wild, terrified eyes. Flecks of indigo broke up their ocean-tinted hues. He cradled her neck in his hands and watched as the crinkles of panic in her forehead disappeared. Her death grip on his neck loosened, but she still clung to him.
“B-Brock? What are you doing here?” The raspiness of her voice reminded him of the trauma to her throat.
He eased her into a sitting position and instantly regretted it.
Her stare widened on the dead man at her feet, and she shrieked and coiled away.
Brock caught her around the waist before she flopped over.
He moved between her and the body, blocking her line of vision.
“Hey, just focus on me, all right?”
She wet her lips. Tiny cracks broke the surface of the plump bottom flesh that he’d tasted only seconds ago. Too bad he’d been too terrorized to pay attention to the sweetness of her mouth—a sweetness he’d craved these past three years.
“Think you can stand?”
She nodded. He gripped her elbows and pulled her to her feet.
She slumped against his side and he fit his arm around her shoulders.
The memory of Candace snuggled in the same position flashed through his mind.
Candace’s long frame just hadn’t squished so perfectly into his form. Dani’s fit like a puzzle piece.
She gagged, and he spun her away from the blood and brain splatter on the ornate white sofa. “W-Who is that?”
“Don’t know. I’ll check him out in a minute. Are you hurt?”
He ushered her down the hall to the master bedroom and sat her on the bed.
What a stupid fucking question. She’d been seconds away from being strangled to death for god’s sake.
He dropped to his knees in front of her and rested his palms on either side of her hips.
He shouldn’t be touching her. But so help him god, he couldn’t stop himself—not unless she showed some sign of discomfort from his proximity.
She curled her fingers around his wrist, and her other hand fluttered to the bruising skin at her throat.
“I think so. I lost consciousness . . .” Her unfocused gaze shifted to him. “Then I woke up. And you were there.”
“Yeah.” The word came out as slow as pudding through a straw.
“Why?”
He cleared his throat and considered what to say. Dani despised being seen as needy or weak, so the last thing he wanted to do was make her raise that damn force field around herself and shut him out again.
He pursed his lips. “Me stay away from a job like this? I knew it had to be good if you were being pursued.”
One delicate lid lowered. “Mmm. Well, you’re not getting a cut.”
He laughed and brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Typical. Seriously,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Are you okay?”
She rolled her lips in. “I am now.” The meaning of those words made his heart throb.
He patted her knee. “Stay here. I’m going to check out our friend.
” He stood and her wide, pale eyes watched him.
Then she nodded. He turned and disappeared into the hall.
He returned to the kitchen, checked the peephole in the front door, and secured the lock.
One man. Why would they send only one man?
And who were they? He didn’t know a damn thing about what she was involved in, but Dani better start talking soon.
He knelt beside the lifeless figure on the ground.
A black tailored pinstriped suit and a crisp white shirt adorned the body, which was built and stocky.
Gray strands dotted the sandy blond beard that matched the combed-back hair on his head.
Brock fished around in the jacket pocket and pulled out the guy’s wallet.
An ID card filled a clear plastic screen. Special Agent Rudolph James. International Police.
What the actual fuck?
Brock’s hand turned to stone around the wallet.
“Sonofafuckingbitch,” he whispered. He scrubbed his hand over his face.
If the international police were after Dani, shit had just gotten really fucking real.
He got to his feet, found a dishtowel in the kitchen, and wiped his fingerprints off the ID and wallet.
Like it would do any damn good. It appeased his nerves momentarily, though.
Pinching the towel around the objects, he laid them beside their owner and took out his phone.
He snapped pictures of the man, the ID, and the scene of the attack, including the half-inch-thick rope still wrapped around the attacker’s fingers.
If anyone tried to twist this story, he’d have proof.
“Who is it?”
His muscles bunched, and he exhaled steadily to slow his heart rate.
No need to alert her to the fact that she’d scared the fucking shit out of him.
Steel hardened her words. Her arms were locked around her abdomen and a blanket lay over her shoulders.
The dark circles under her eyes stood out against her milky skin.
The braided ring around her throat was already a deep purple.
He opened and closed his fist at his side.
“You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”
Dani shook her head and took half a step in Brock’s direction.
The scent of raw meat floated to her nose.
She pressed her knuckles to her lips and turned her face toward the wall.
Brock’s stride ate up the distance between them and he guided her back to the bedroom.
She hated being babied, especially by him, but had he not moved her away from the rancid stench, she would have puked.
“Stay in here until it’s time to go.” The words lashed out from his lips and her hackles rose. He didn’t get snippy with her too often. Even when she deserved it.
“You didn’t answer my question.” She flicked her gaze over the face that had haunted her dreams—and fantasies—for years.
Copper flecked his hazel eyes, which changed color with his mood.
Had he grown taller? No, that was unlikely.
But it seemed his chest was higher over her head than she’d remembered.
Muscle rippled under his long-sleeved shirt, showing off the fact that he hadn’t taken a hiatus from the gym since she gave him the boot.
One thing was certain: he hadn’t lain around pining over her.
His gaze traveled over her face. She watched as he rubbed his thumb and forefinger together.
The familiar action indicated his thoughts were anywhere but on the present.
His locked jaw loosened. Her fingers ached to toy with the short strands of scruff at his jawline, and her mouth tingled with the memory of the last time he’d kissed her—after she returned home from the hospital three months ago.
He’d thought everything was fine and dandy between them because he’d coughed up the cash for her ransom.
“Interpol. The guy’s an agent.” His words bounced inside her brain and then slowly registered.
“Inter . . .” She shook her head and frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Interpol. You know—international police who investigate terrorists and international criminals of all kinds.”
She moved away from the bed and pressed two fingertips into her temple. Waving a hand at him as if swatting a fly, she pivoted to face him again. “I know what Interpol is. I just don’t understand.”
“Why don’t you start by telling me what the hell you stole?” His tone was laced with contempt.
She dropped her hand and glared. “Oh, that’s cute. Didn’t anyone ever tell you people in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones?”
His mouth twitched, but he kept the smirk in check.
God, he was sexy when he was annoyed. “Let’s not get into that battle.
You need to tell me, Dani. I can’t help if I don’t know what we’re up against.” He folded his arms across his chest. Part of her wanted to remind him that she hadn’t asked him to come here.
She didn’t want to work alongside him again.
Not after he’d screwed her over three years ago.
But he was here. If he hadn’t come, she’d be dead. So there was that.