Imminent Danger (Adrenaline Highs) (10 page)

Abbey set an arm over the steering wheel and gave him a sidelong glance. One arched brow and the
I told you so
on her face was all it took for Blake to cave. Plus, this way he could be closer to her.

“Fine. Whatever.” Gently, he settled back in the seat as Abbey made the call to Troy then pulled into traffic. “We need to at least stop at my place so I can get a change of clothes.” His were shredded and filthy. The EMT had given him an extra hospital scrub that had been tucked away in the ambulance, but his favorite Black Eyed Peas T-shirt was dust in the wind.

“Deal. That I can do,” Abbey said, glancing at him, all business. What would it take to get back the girl who smiled and joked?

When they arrived at Troy and Julie’s house in Beverly Hills, Abbey ran around to the passenger side to help him out and Blake took advantage of her strength, setting his arm over her shoulder as she wrapped her arm around his waist. This close, he smelled the mix of her citrus shampoo and the sweat she’d worked up between her audition and the afternoon’s blazing sun. The heady scent wreaked havoc with his decision to keep her at a distance.

The door opened before they got to it and Troy and Julie both came out. Troy took Abbey’s spot as they walked up the four front steps and into the house.

“Did you get a look at him?” Troy asked quietly, going straight for business. Abbey’s phone call from the car had given him the basic report.

Blake shook his head. “No. The glare on the windshield was too bright and the tint on the side glass was too dark. Well, that and he was coming at me too fast to do anything but get the hell out of the way.”

“Thank God you did,” Julie said, leading the way toward the bedrooms. “We set you up in the office. I want you closer than the pool house. The pullout is a queen, so it’s plenty big.”

“It’s great. Perfect. Look, I hate that I’m putting you guys out. You really don’t need—”

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” Troy said. They reached the office where the bed had already been pulled out and made in the large room. Troy’s half of the office consisted of a large mahogany desk and leather chair facing one wall. The other side, with another mahogany desk only antique, smaller and more feminine, belonged to Julie. The tan paint gave the room a cool, relaxed atmosphere and the pullout sofa at the far end of the room indicated where they might sometimes meet in the middle. “Maybe the ladies can get you some water,” Troy suggested.

Blake caught the look in his eye. He wanted to talk privately. “Yeah,” Blake said. “Water sounds great. A couple of ibuprofen chaser would help too.” No lie there. He’d taken a couple pain relievers at his apartment, knowing the soreness was only going to get worse, but he hadn’t planned on
this much
worse.

“Coming right up,” Julie said. “Abbey, you get the ibuprofen in the guest bathroom and I’ll get the water.”

As soon as they cleared the room, Troy closed the door. “We have a serious situation. I can’t see this as random, given what Abbey witnessed yesterday. I think these guys have been following her, waiting for a chance to get rid of a witness. What also concerns me, though, is the possibility that the guy from your family’s kidnapping might have been the one driving, and recognized
you
from two years ago.”

Blake let Troy’s words settle as he kicked off his boots. “It would sure explain why he didn’t bother turning on the street,” Blake said as Troy helped him lean back on the bed. He’d not only helped kidnap the whole family, but he’d mutilated his twin brother by slicing off his earlobe. Unless the guy did something like that on a regular basis, Blake didn’t see how he’d forget Brendan’s face. A face that Blake happened to share. “Or maybe it was a random dude whacked out on crack. Who knows. I sure as hell didn’t expect him to try and run me down, but your idea would explain it.”

“Got torn up, did you?” Troy said, gesturing to his arm.

“Little bit. Nothing that won’t heal in a few days.”

“And your ribs?”

“Bruised.”

Troy lifted a dark eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

“Mostly.” Blake didn’t like the skeptical look on Troy’s face. “Look, I know a cracked rib when I have one. Trust me. It hurts, but it’s not broken.” At least he was pretty sure. God, he was so damn tired all of a sudden. At least with Abbey safe at Troy’s place, he could close his eyes for a few minutes and rest.

Abbey and Julie came back in with water and pain relievers, which he dutifully swallowed. Abbey reached for the glass when he finished, but Blake took her hand. Her eyes widened at the contact. “Thanks for coming to my rescue earlier.”

Troy, perceptive boss that he was, grabbed his wife and quietly left the room.

“What are you talking about? You saved me. I’d be flattened on the sidewalk if it weren’t for you. I’m just glad you’re okay.” She studied him, her eyes bright with concern. “You are okay, right?”

“Would you care if I wasn’t?” It was a selfish expedition on his part, but he wanted to know where he stood with her. Would they forever be work acquaintances, friends or did he have a chance for more?

“Of course I would.” Her brows shot together in an irritated pucker. “What kind of question is that?”

He leaned back on the pillow, stroked his thumb across the softness of her knuckle. “Sorry.” He shook his head. “I just get the feeling that you really don’t like me that much.” He released her hand when she pulled away and her actions said more than words.

“That’s not true. It’s not the case at all.” She stood up, looking like a deer in the proverbial headlights. “I better see if I can help Julie with dinner. I’ll be back to check on you in a little while.” She zipped out of the room in seconds flat.

“Fuck,” Blake muttered, easing farther down on the mattress. The move cost him, as familiar pain throbbed in his chest and out to his arm and shoulder. It sucked almost as much as his inability to communicate with Abbey.

Kwami threw his gloves across the room as he entered his apartment. He bee-lined to the fridge and snagged a much-needed cold brew. He opened the bottle and chugged half as the cold air of the open fridge wafted over his hot skin. It was a fucking million degrees outside and he’d made it even hotter by torching his ride. The dark Guinness tasted bitter on his tongue, and Kwami welcomed the bite. After another minute in front of the fridge, he sat his ass in his comfortable massage chair. After paying for two years of Mal’s private high school and two years of college tuition, he’d splurged and gifted himself with this bad boy last Christmas. Wiping a hand down his face, he settled in the soft leather and turned on the controller.

The rollers in the chair went to work and Kwami forced himself to relax. The shit was going to hit the fan soon enough, so he planned to enjoy a few minutes of peace.

Kwami snatched the remote and turned on the flat screen. He flipped the station to the local news to see if his handiwork made—

A smile curved his lips as the helicopter camera showed his gift to the inner city. The black Mercedes he’d jacked was now a burned out piece of shit. It was possible the owner didn’t even realize it was gone yet.

The last hour began replaying in his head. He’d been so close to taking the girl out. The dude too. The guy’s face popped into his head. Again. Why the fuck did he look so familiar?

His phone rang and he reached in his pocket, checked the number.
Damon.
Kwami hit Talk. “Qué pasa, man? What’s up?”

“What’s up is I never heard from you? Did you get her?”

So much for his relax time. “Not yet. But I will.”

“You sound pretty relaxed for a dude who’s going to eat a bullet if they manage to ID you. Facinetti’s going to take you out before the cops get near you. He won’t want the hassle, K.”

“It won’t get to Facinetti if you keep your mouth shut. I’ll get her.” Kwami said.

“Damn bitch is going to pay for making me shave my ’stache, you can count on it,” Damon said.

Kwami listened to him complain for another minute before he ended the call and tossed his phone on the table. Killing her had seemed the smartest thing because it eliminated the chance of her identifying him.

Except she’d been too fast. He’d been a second away from creaming her on the sidewalk, but the shithead down the road had warned her. Kwami hadn’t so much as heard him yell as see his mouth move and because of that, he’d been the next target. But why did the shithead look so familiar?

The massage cycle ended on the chair and Kwami got up to pace. The guy, the guy… Who was that guy? He knew him. He was sure of it. Dark hair, light eyes. Dark hair, light eyes.

That was it. There were four all together, but two of them had been twins. “Well, fuck me.” Kwami rubbed his jaw, thinking back two years. “What was the name? The name?” He wracked his brain. There’d been six family members all together and the mom had been one hot piece of ass…shit what was the name? It was simple. Smith, Jones…no… John! Yeah, that was it. Wait. No. St. John! That was it. He was one of the St. John twins.

Kwami wiped a hand across his jaw. “The one with two full earlobes, or the one without.” Facinetti had told him to take the whole ear off, but Kwami hadn’t been able to. He’d barely managed to slice off the chunk he had without puking. But he’d laughed and talked through the whole thing like it was business as usual. That had been one hell of gig. He’d barely gotten away.

But this brought up a whole new bag if issues. What if the kid saw him today? What if—between both of them—they made a positive ID and connected him to any of the Facinetti family? He’d started working for Michael not long after Paul had been sentenced.

Now he had two people to get rid of. Just what he needed.

“What were the fucking chances of this happening?” he muttered to himself.

The TV cameras cut back to the burning Benz. He hadn’t left any prints because he’d been wearing gloves, but he saw no reason to take any chances. No hair or DNA to find if everything in the interior gets incinerated. As it definitely did by the looks of things.

He may not have gotten what he wanted today, but he had to admit it was a hell of a ride. Besides, he had no doubt he’d succeed. He had to. He’d take the advice he dished to his brother. Do the work and you’ll get what you want. That’s why he always had a job and always made top dollar.

It was only a matter of time with these two. A matter of time.

Chapter Seven

Abbey eased the door open and stepped into the dark office, now Blake’s room for the immediate future. She’d never been more torn in her life. To be living under the same roof with him, even for one or two nights, was almost more than she could handle. He made her itch to do things she didn’t want to do. He made her think about all the natural things she’d possibly—probably—been missing out on as an adult.

The road rash on his arm cut a livid red distinction from the sleeve of the white T-shirt he wore. He’d thrown back the comforter and only a clean beige sheet covered him from the waist down.

Gingerly Abbey sat at the edge of the bed and set her hand on his arm. “Blake? Wake up. I need you to wake up.” The EMT had been very clear about not letting him sleep for more than a couple of hours at a time until they knew for certain he really didn’t have a major head trauma. Abbey wished for the thousandth time that Blake had gone to the hospital to get checked out. Why was he so stubborn? She shook his arm again. “Bla—”

“I heard you. I’m up,” he croaked out in a sleepy voice. He turned his head toward her, his eyes just slits of blue. “Why’d you creep in so quiet if you planned on waking me up?”

“How do you know I crept? Maybe I came in with a bullhorn.”

“Liar,” he mumbled, but he was smiling and that made her smile.

Don’t be so cute!
God, he was nearly irresistible when he grinned like that. “How do you feel?” She leaned over and felt his forehead for fever.

“I’m good as long as you keep your hand there. Feels good. Nice and cool.”

“Are you hot?” she asked. He didn’t feel hot.

He didn’t say anything for a few seconds. He just watched her with that devil look in his eyes and made her feel self-conscious about her tank top and sleep shorts. That was when she realized he was taking her question in a completely different context and heat warmed her cheeks. “I’m feeling sore,” he finally told her. “Kind of like… I don’t know. Like I got hit by a car.”

She smiled at him because he was so damn adorable. But her better sense shoved its way forward and slammed some reality into her. She didn’t have the tools to make a relationship work. She stood to leave, but Blake grabbed her hand.

“Don’t go. Stay a while. Please.” He patted the space next to him on the other side of the bed. “C’mon. I promise to be good.” His eyes drifted shut for a second.

Lie down next to him? She swallowed her nervous tension. This was Blake, a nice guy she’d known for over a year. He never did anything to make her uncomfortable. She managed to do that all by herself.

“C’mon, Ab. Consider this a horizontal chair. You’re just gonna sit and hang out for a few minutes.” He looked so sad Abbey couldn’t refuse him. She crawled over his legs and settled next to him on the bed, keeping a good distance between them.

“Why are you in Siberia?” he mumbled. “Too far away.”

“You’re going to be asleep in less than a minute. It doesn’t matter.”