Don't Mess With Texas (15 page)

“He’s home. I can see his light on from here.” She pointed back to the apartment on the corner.

Dallas walked around the car. “Humor me.”

She frowned but started walking. He fell into step
beside her. She didn’t look at him. But he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Measuring her height with his shoulders, he wondered if she was even five-five. She looked small. Vulnerable. His gaze shifted to her stockinged feet and, for purely male reasons, they reminded him that she wasn’t wearing any underwear. He moaned inwardly and decided he really needed to get home, have a cold beer, a cold shower, and a long talk with his libido.

“Why is…” She stopped cold. “How could…”

He followed her gaze and saw a door to an apartment standing ajar. “Yours?” he asked.

“I know I shut it,” she said. “And locked it.”

He crouched down to reach his ankle holster. She took a step closer to the door. He yanked out his Smith, jerked up, hid the gun behind his back, and caught her by the elbow.

“Go to your neighbors.” He gave her a nudge. “Now.”

D
ALLAS STOOD NEXT
to the door, with his back pressed against the side of the building. He noted the splintered wood around the lock. Someone had definitely broken in. He nudged the door open with his foot. The door creaked and a couple of splinters of loose wood fell to the concrete. In the distance, he heard Nikki knocking on the neighbor’s door, but not a sound seemed to come from her apartment.

He moved in, gun held tight. He almost found himself yelling out “Police,” but stopped himself at the last moment. Those days were over.

Good riddance, too
.

Thinking someone had your back was nice, but when you found out the same people would turn their back on you so easily, it would make your head spin. And it hurt.

He blinked. His eyes adjusted to the next level of darkness. Books, magazines, and upside-down lamps littered the floor. Taking another step, he noted the small desk against the living room wall. On top lay some disconnected computer wires, but no computer. Had someone
taken it? Was this your average break-in? If so, it was a hell of a coincidence.

He wasn’t much of a believer in coincidences.

His gaze shifted back to the floor where the contents of the yanked-out desk drawers were strewn.

The place had been ransacked. Which usually meant someone was looking for something. But what? Of course, the most important question was if the “ransackee” was still present. He inhaled again, listening for any sign that he wasn’t alone. He heard the hum of the refrigerator and the ticking of a wall clock. A light shined from an open doorway that led to a kitchen. He moved against the wall. When the only sound filling the dark apartment was the clock, he swung into the kitchen.

On the tile floor lay a few upside-down drawers, and scattered around was an assortment of utensils and kitchen paraphernalia. He moved his eyes and gun together, checking all corners of the room. No ransackee here.

Careful not to make noise, he moved back into the living room, stepping over a lamp, and started down the dark hall. A door off to his right stood slightly ajar. He backed against the wall, breathed in and out, and then nudged open the door. Bathroom.

The scent of some fruity soap or shampoo filled his nose and he remembered inhaling that same aroma on Nikki. His focus went to the empty shower. His mind, obviously more connected to his dick, created an image of Nikki standing under a warm spray of water, naked and… He sent that image packing.
Focus, damn it!

Leaving the bathroom, he inched down the hall to what had to be the bedroom. Only his footsteps echoed in
the silence. He nudged the door open. Gun clasped tight in his fist, he swung into the room. He swept the four corners with his gaze. Empty.

The air conditioner hummed to life and a spray of cold air hit his face. The closet door stood open. A light creaking sound filled the room. Maybe it was a water heater kicking to life, or someone hiding in the closet. He backed against the wall and then swung around, prepared to take aim. But the only things to aim at were the clothes lining the closet and the six pair of shoes neatly lined up like dominos. The creaking sound came again. This time he recognized it as some electrical appliance waking up from a nap.

Confident that whoever had broken in had left, he relaxed his stance and lowered his gun. Shifting slightly, he switched on a light. The fan above the bed whooshed to life and brightness chased out the darkness. He looked around at the scattered underwear—white, pink, red, black. The multicolored silky-looking garments weren’t dumped out on the floor as if someone had emptied an entire drawer. They were strewn about as if someone had enjoyed the scavenger hunt with pleasure, fingered through each item, and then tossed them out one by one.

Was the perp a panty pervert? Hey, Dallas liked women’s underwear as much as the next guy, but to really get excited, he needed the woman in them… or even better, out of them.

He looked at the bedside table. The drawer had been yanked out and dumped onto the cream-colored carpet. So the burglar hadn’t only been looking for panties, he’d also gone for the small drawers. Whatever had been sought after in here must have been something that would fit in the more compact drawers. If there hadn’t been a
murder and an attempted murder connected with Nikki, he’d have thought this was just your average break-in, someone looking for quick cash and jewelry.

His gaze shifted and landed on the bed. The comforter was thrown back on one side, as if someone had slept there and slipped out hardly leaving an imprint. A sure sign Nikki had been sleeping alone.

He inhaled and caught the fruity scent again, along with something more. Sleepy, fresh-showered woman. His attention went back to the bed and his mind put Nikki in it… alone, wearing little or nothing—maybe the red panties about two inches from his feet—with her hair spread over the white pillow cases.

Scrubbing a hand over his face and the image from his mind, he turned to leave. And that’s when he heard another noise. This one different. Not another appliance waking up.

Someone was in the apartment.

His gun came up right along with his alarm. He hit the light switch. Darkness crowded the space again. He moved out of the room, his gun pointing forward. He didn’t see anyone through the doorway, but he could hear the sound of utensils clinking together in the kitchen as if someone was fumbling through a drawer looking for…

The image of Nikki’s dead ex’s knife wounds flashed through his mind. Determined he hadn’t lived through sixteen months of prison for nothing, adamant he wouldn’t die unless accompanied by the bastard who robbed him of those months, he shifted his finger to the trigger.

Hesitating at the end of the hall, he held his breath, felt his heart pound in his chest. Then he swung into the kitchen and tightened his finger on the trigger.

“Hold it right there!”

A scream ripped through the silence.

He recognized her. Too bad Nikki wasn’t so quick to do the same. Armed with an eggbeater, she hurled the flimsy utensil at him.

It hit his chest. “It’s me!” The eggbeater clattered to the floor.

She collapsed against the counter and stopped screaming. But when he realized how tightly he still held his gun, he suddenly wanted to scream. Damn it, he could have shot her.

He lowered his gun. “I told you to go to the neighbors.”

“Bill wasn’t… when you didn’t… I thought… I…” She took a step, stumbled over something on the floor then caught herself on a kitchen chair.

He looked around for a light switch and hit it. When he saw her standing there looking scared, vulnerable, and so damn beautiful, his gut knotted again at the idea that he could have shot her. But jeezus, he wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if he had.

“When a cop tells you to do something, you do it!” he snapped.

She wrapped her arms around her middle as if to protect herself from his anger. “You… you aren’t a cop.”

He ran a hand through his hair. The panic of what could have been faded, and he crouched down and holstered the gun. When he looked up, she stared down at him with confused blue eyes.

“You said you were a PI.” Her eyes were bright, but from tears or anger he wasn’t sure.

“I am. I used to be a cop.” He stood and considered telling her how he’d been accused of murder and spent
time in the pen. He’d never hesitated to tell other clients, but for some odd reason, he wasn’t eager to spill his guts now. One look at her expressive eyes and he knew why. He’d seen it so often—the doubt, the hint of fear of dealing with an ex-con—that it didn’t surprise him. He’d even seen it in some of the people coming to him for help. Truthfully, he hadn’t given a damn.

Until now.

Hell, he’d been pretty sure his ability to give a damn had gone missing, but for some reason the thought of seeing any judgment, or doubt or even pity, in her eyes stung like fire. So he closed his mouth, and kept his dirty past to himself. At least for now.

The silence became the elephant in the room. “It’s the same thing, though,” he said, remembering what they were talking about. “When a PI tells you to do something, you should do it, too. I could have shot you.” Saying it out loud brought another emotional jolt to his solar plexus.

“I didn’t realize you had a gun. I was afraid if someone was in here they could have hit you over the head or something. I wanted to help.” A touch of rebellion sounded in her voice.

He stood there, heart still on an adrenaline rush, and studied her. He noticed the little details, like how she chewed on her bottom lip out of some nervous habit, and how she twisted her right foot ever so slightly, and how she held her shoulders tight. That’s when the complexity of this woman struck him again. She was soft, all innocent and sweet, but beneath that layer of gentle personality was the backbone of a fighter. She didn’t give up her ground easily. He respected that.

“And what were you going to do if I was the bad guy?
Beat me to a froth with an eggbeater?” He smiled, hoping to ease the tension.

She didn’t smile back. “I grabbed the first thing I found in the drawer when I heard you—or someone—walking down the hall.” A frown pulled at her eyes. He could swear he even noted a sheen of tears. Considering the day she’d had, he couldn’t hold her mood against her.

“Whoever broke in is gone.” He looked at a clock on the wall and saw it was almost three in morning. It would be hours before this was over.

“Why?” she muttered. “I don’t have anything really of value. Why would someone…”

“It appears as if they were searching for something. By the looks of things, it was something small. However, I think they got your computer.” He stepped back into the living room. If he didn’t believe this was a random break-in—and he didn’t—then he couldn’t help but wonder what she’d had on her computer that would provoke someone to steal it and not the TV and other small appliances. Had her ex sent her something?

“No, they didn’t.” She sounded drained.

He hit a light switch. Motioning to the desk where a few unconnected computer wires lay stretched out on top, he said, “I’m afraid they did.”

She glanced at the desk and then met his eyes. “I didn’t have a computer here. I mean, I did, but I… I sold it a few weeks ago.” She glanced away as if embarrassed to have admitted that piece of information.

“To pay for your grandmother’s cable,” he said before he could stop himself.

“And… some other stuff. But it’s not a big deal, I have one at the store.”

She hadn’t been kidding when she’d said she was flat broke. He had the craziest desire to check the fridge to make sure she at least had something to eat.

Pushing a hand through his hair, he saw her grimacing at the knickknacks littering the floor. The pile consisted of candles, books, a few small figurines, and a couple of framed photos, mostly silly stuff women added to their homes to make them cozy, things men considered dust collectors. But by the way she stared at the items, he could tell she considered her silly stuff important.

“I don’t think this is your everyday burglary. Considering all that’s happened, it would be too much of a coincidence.”

She moved past him, dropped to her knees and picked up a photo frame as if she hadn’t been listening. Cracked glass fell from the image and he heard her sigh.

“We need to figure out what the perp may have taken or what he was looking for.”

She still didn’t answer.

Dallas noticed a couple of disk holders had been emptied out. “Because whoever broke in went through the computer desk so thoroughly, I’m wondering if it wasn’t someone looking for something computer related. A disk, or maybe before you sold your computer you had something on there.”

She looked at him. Again, he noticed the purple circles under her eyes. They were darker. She appeared almost too worn out to think.

“Did your ex send you anything? A disk or an attached file?”

“No.”

Now that the lights were on, he glanced around the
living room. It looked like a chick’s place. Color, a lot of reds and light browns, dominated the room and the clutter on the floor appeared to match. However, the woman curled up on the floor, still wearing hospital scrubs and nothing else, seemed devoid of color. Her complexion looked almost chalky white.