Star Crossed (21 page)

“Don’t leave Jerry,” he pleaded.

Jerry wasn’t her client, but Luke was right. If they could avoid it, they shouldn’t leave the agent to fend for himself. She holstered her gun as she turned, judging the weapon more danger than help right then. She whistled to Jerry, gesturing him to the car as well. The stocky man ran to her, the crowd uninterested in stopping him. He scrambled in. Their driver revved the engine.

A.J. knew the sound was mostly for effect: to warn the people near them he meant business.

“Block the car!” the tall girl A.J. pegged as the ringleader yelled. “They have to listen to our demands!”

She grabbed A.J.’s arm from the back, maybe figuring if A.J. couldn’t get in the car, Luke would stay where he was. She misjudged her choice of targets. A.J. whipped her arm around the girl’s, got control of her shoulder, then—with a carefully gauged swing of her second hand behind her head—bashed her brow into the SUV’s metal frame.

Skulls were made of hard stuff. The girl was stunned but not knocked out. She blinked fast and then recovered.

“Fuck you,” she snarled. Her arm jabbed toward A.J.’s stomach, her fist clenched around something small that flashed.

“
Knife
,” Martin warned even as A.J. jerked to evade it.

The blade caught her, not deeply but enough to sting. A.J.’s instincts and training both kicked in. Too many people who might turn hostile were nearby. No matter if it did cause negative publicity, she had to shut down this particular threat. Holding nothing back, she body-slammed the girl into the frame of the car again. The girl collided so hard the breath left her lungs and her knees gave out. Seeing this, the crowd cried out in protest. What they didn’t do was move to help. A.J. had been right about the girl being their ringleader. They couldn’t act without her calling the shots—not effectively anyway.

An idea too crazy not to listen to came to her. Luke was in the relative safety of the car. If they simply drove off, they might never be sure who’d orchestrated tonight’s events.

“Open the back,” she ordered their driver.

He popped the hatch without hesitation. Grunting at the girl’s limp weight, A.J. half-heaved, half-rolled her into the rear cargo.

“What the fuck,” Martin said as A.J. jumped in after and closed the door.

“Drive,” she said, ignoring his surprise. “We’re taking this girl to the nearest police station.”

The now disorganized crowd scattered from the Suburban’s path. She checked the girl’s condition, concluded she was okay, and handed her confiscated pocketknife across the seatback to Martin.

“You can’t . . . do . . . this,” the girl panted, facedown on the carpet. “This is . . . kidnapping.”

“It’s a citizen’s arrest,” A.J. corrected, keeping her knee firmly in her back. “For inciting a riot. And attacking me with a knife.”

Though she didn’t know if the charges would stick, she definitely wanted the girl questioned. Hoyt-Sands maintained a good relationship with the cops. The local boys in blue ought to indulge her wishes as far as that.

“Sheesh,” Jerry Talon said in an awestruck tone. “Who knew a quiet dinner with my favorite client would end up this exciting?”

“Are you okay?” Luke asked her. “It looked like she cut you.”

A.J. preferred not to draw attention to this with the girl listening. All the same, the worry in his voice warmed her. Him caring was better than coffee.

“Barely,” she said, not bothering to touch the wet spot above her waist. “With a needle and a bit of luck, I might be able to save the dress.”

Luke’s laugh of response was shaky.

“Your heels are still on your feet,” Martin observed, craning around to check. His tone was bland. Maybe he knew she could use steadying. “That’s truly impressive.”

“You got cuffs?” she asked, doing her best to fight off a looming adrenaline crash. “I wouldn’t mind securing our culprit now . . .”

A.J. wished she could justify muzzling the girl she’d taken custody of. Marching her captive into the nearest precinct inspired her to inform every badge in earshot that A.J. ought to be locked up.

The goose egg rising on her forehead kind of supported her argument.

Better luck resulted from Luke’s presence. The local cops were fans of the
Final
films. Him vouching for A.J. earned her sufficient latitude to explain herself. Also luckily, the senior officer on duty didn’t heed Luke’s insistence that she go to the ER. Seeing she wasn’t badly cut, they let Martin patch her up with the first aid they had on hand. That done, bad coffee and a powdered donut set her almost completely right.

“I can’t let you in the interview room,” the detective who’d taken charge explained. “But if you swear you won’t interrupt, you can watch through the two-way mirror.”

“I’d appreciative that,” she said.

Too tired to play it cool, her gratitude rang clear. This, it turned out, was the best tack she could have taken. The detective was an older guy and typically cop-macho. He patted A.J.’s shoulder.

“We appreciate you bringing the girl to us, rather than trying to cowboy it on your own. Besides, if this relates somehow to the sniper attack in New York, it’s in all our interest to clear it up.”

This was code for:
We’d love credit for apprehending a high-profile criminal
—an aspiration A.J. understood and didn’t object to.

“Hoyt-Sands is happy to share any info we can,” she said.

In light of how helpful the man was being, she decided not to add that
sharing
didn’t include breaching client confidence.

*

Luke’s nerves felt like they were vibrating beneath his skin. One of the officers drove Jerry back to his car, but Luke refused Martin’s offer to take him home. If Luke weren’t safe in a cop shop, they might as well give up. Anyway, he couldn’t leave A.J. here alone—which he would if Martin were escorting him. In his opinion, everyone was too blasé about her being stabbed. What if A.J.’s wound was worse than they thought? What if the interview went sideways and she needed a good lawyer? What if the cops simply let her attacker go?

“Luke,” Martin said from his leaning post on the front of an empty desk. “Stop pacing. You’re going to wear a rut in the policemen’s nice new carpet.”

Luke glanced down. The carpet might be new but calling it nice was pushing it. The whole place was freshly furnished but no more attractive because of it. In his opinion, even ugly police stations ought to have atmosphere. Apart from the assorted law enforcement posters pinned to a board, this one could have been any office, any-suburban-where.

Probably the objection marked him as Hollywood.

He stretched his neck toward the hall where A.J. and the detective had disappeared to interrogate their person of interest. “Are they ever coming out again?”

“It’s a good sign it’s taking this long,” Martin said. “The detective must believe the girl knows something, and he’s not rushing the interview.”

Irritated by his calmness, Luke spun around to him. Martin hadn’t moved since the last time Luke looked. His ankles were stacked atop each other, his expression nonchalant. The other officers were on calls, leaving them alone in the bullpen. Luke decided he’d had enough of Martin’s too-cool-to-sweat attitude. “Doesn’t seeing your female colleague stabbed in front of you bother you?”

“A.J. can handle herself, and she knows what our job entails. At least the girl wasn’t a biter.” Martin shuddered comically. “None of us likes those.”

“So you don’t care.”

“Of course I do. The same as I would if a male colleague had received an injury.”

“Bullshit,” Luke said flatly.

Anger flashed across Martin’s face. “I don’t think you want to go there, Mr. Channing.”

Now that he’d gotten the rise he wanted Luke felt ashamed. “Sorry.” He dug his hands back into his hair. He didn’t know what to say to account for his lashing out. Everything he thought of seemed immature.

Martin surprised him by unbending. “I know,” he said. “A.J. is easier to care about than she realizes. She’s also okay. Maybe you wish she hadn’t gotten hurt protecting you. Maybe you think
you
should have done something. Just know, from her perspective, you did everything she could have asked: you didn’t make her job harder.”

“I might have,” Luke confessed. “If she hadn’t stopped me. I thought I could talk those fans into leaving.”

“‘Might have’ doesn’t matter,” Martin said. “Tonight everyone goes home safe.”

“Hey,” A.J. said, causing them to turn. As she strode toward them from the hallway, she looked less rumpled than Luke expected, in part because her jacket was buttoned over her damaged dress. She seemed alert, her weariness replaced by an actual bounce in her step. When she reached them, she squeezed Luke’s arm.

She did it like a person who liked him and not a bodyguard.

“You okay?” she asked. “You look serious.”

“I’m fine. Are we finished here?”

“Well, I am. I’ve been given the heave ho. Detective Turner will hold the girl a while longer. He wants to be sure he’s got all she knows.”

“A
while
longer!” Luke exclaimed. “She used a knife on you.”

“She was stubborn. Turner had to bargain. Said I wouldn’t press charges if she answered his questions. He did us a solid by letting me watch the interview. I can’t undermine him now.” She took Luke’s arm again, rubbing it through his sleeve. In spite of everything, his touch hormones responded pleasurably. “Let’s head out to the car. I’ll tell you the rest there.”

They headed, and the apparently patient driver got them in gear.

“So,” she said, once she saw Luke and Martin were listening. “As you must have guessed, the crowd came from that fan forum
Luke and Christie Forever
. Kourtney Prentiss, the girl we caught, recently graduated from a smallish local college, where—as I’d suspected—she excelled at hoops. I guess she missed being the star attraction, because rather than take an entry-level job, she devoted herself to building up the fan fiction board. She bragged she’d increased participation tenfold in six months.”

“Fan fiction,” Martin repeated.

“They write stories about Luke and Christie James living happily ever after and having kids.”

“Not about themselves hooking up with Luke or her?”

“Nope,” A.J. confirmed. “These shippers are purists. Or pretend to be if they want to continue posting. It’s a social thing. Online camaraderie. Prentiss spoke pretty scathingly about those girls who wanted to kiss Luke. Anyway, she organized tonight’s intervention, as she called it. Made sure everyone had a ride. Told them what to write on the signs. She said it was time to remind Luke who his true soul mate was.”

“Really?” Martin said dubiously. “The chance to see those two together is enough motivation for her to do all that?”

A.J. laughed softly. “Detective Turner shared your skepticism. He pushed a bit harder, and it seems Prentiss had a second, more personal agenda. She was hoping her campaign would attract national attention. She could sell her Listie fiction for beaucoup bucks. Maybe get a movie deal.” She shook her head bemusedly. “Only in Hollywood.”

“Christ,” Luke muttered beneath his breath.

“If it makes you feel better, I think she was planning to sell the rights to you.”

Martin leaned toward them from his facing seat. “Who tipped her off where we’d be? I didn’t notice any of the servers texting that we were there.”

“Well, that’s the million dollar question. Prentiss got cagey when Detective Turner pressed her on that topic. She said she ‘made it her business’ to find out those things. She was trying to seem mysterious and all-knowing, but I spotted billboard-sized signs of deception. I can’t be certain, but I suspect someone fed her the information, maybe someone whose identity she’s in the dark about.”

“Prentiss seems able physically,” Martin mused. “Like maybe she could handle a high-powered rifle. Does she have an alibi for the New York shooting?”

“She claims she watched the coverage of the premiere on TV at a friend’s house. Turner says he’ll check it out and let me know if he can confirm.”

“He can’t just release her,” Luke protested.

“Don’t worry. Hoyt-Sands can assign a man to her.” A.J. was as infuriatingly unconcerned as her coworker. “If she really is an out-of-control nutter, she’ll try again. If not, surveilling her could lead to the real offender.”

“You’re enjoying this,” Luke said, belatedly realizing why she seemed so alert.

A.J. soft laugh was an admission. “It’s the former cop in me. I like making progress on a case.”

“This is progress?”

“For sure,” she promised, smiling into his eyes.

Her gaze was warm, affection and attraction combining in its gleam. Luke couldn’t look away as his chest tightened. What did people say about facing danger heightening the libido? Her facing it certainly heightened his. His cock was aching hard in seconds, his fingers curling with his urge to pull her onto his lap. He’d very much have liked to kiss the breath from her.

If Martin hadn’t been sitting across from them, he suspected he would have.

*

Driving up to Luke’s sprawling pink estate felt like coming home—not a reaction A.J. thought she should indulge in. Yes, she’d been through it tonight, but now wasn’t the time to get comfortable. To make up for it, she watched the reactions of his household to their arrival with extra attention.

Nettles opened the door in his three-piece suit. The butler could have come from central casting, he was so Rushmore-faced.

“Your guests have heard about your contretemps,” he said in his tony voice. “I’ve arranged drinks in the salon.”

Luke handed him his jacket. “Great. I expect we could use them.”

“Luke!” Naomi exclaimed, bursting out from the room in question. She seemed better after her day of rest. She’d put on some makeup, and her outfit—brightly patterned leggings and a Ramones T-shirt—showed off her famous, cover of
Vogue
figure.

“I’m okay,” he said, hugging her. “We all are.”

Naomi squeezed him back harder. “We were worried.”

Actually, she looked more excited than upset. Christie James hovered behind her in the salon’s archway. Seeing Naomi embracing Luke with such enthusiasm clearly displeased her. As her girlfriend pushed her former lover back by his shoulders, Christie’s mouth pulled down in a frown. Naomi, by contrast, smiled slyly.