Witness to Passion (Entangled Ignite) (Guarding Her Body) (5 page)

“Sounds good.”

“I’m going to head out, too,” Shane interrupted, removing his keys from his pocket. “Nice seeing you again, Joy.” He leaned forward and quickly hugged her.

“I’ll talk to you later, Shane, okay?” The warning in the question reverberated in the narrowed stare Tristan pinned on him.

“Yeah. Later.” Shane nodded and climbed into his SUV, leaving Tristan to walk Joy back to her car.

While his friend was preoccupied with his fiancée, Shane had interference to run.

Chapter Six

“Thank you for dining at The Grease Spot,” she recited in a bored tone. “Today’s specials are—”

“Fallon, I need you to come with me.”

Fallon glanced up from her order pad to meet the piercing turquoise stare and gorgeous, stern face that had become the object of her fantasies and the bane of her existence. Last night he’d been tender, caring, and this morning he’d reverted back to his usual two-by-four-up-his-ass demeanor. Especially when she’d announced her intention to show up for her morning shift. For a moment, anger had flared in his gaze, and misplaced anticipation and lust had raced through her, thickened her blood. She could imagine that same hard expression stamped on his face while he brought her to a screaming orgasm. But as quickly as the emotion had blazed, Shane had banked it, his eyes shadowed, inscrutable. He’d herded her out the apartment, followed her to work since she’d insisted on driving, and ordered her to stay put before pulling off.

Even with his cold mask firmly in place, she’d sensed his frustration and irritation. He’d probably assumed her insistence stemmed from stubbornness and defiance. But in three months, the future she’d mapped out—working in an event-planning company, gaining experience under her belt, creating connections, launching her own business—had crumbled beneath her feet like a shaky ledge. First, she’d observed a murder. Second, she’d lost her job. Third, she’d fallen into dead-end employment to pay the bills. And now, he appeared on her doorstep—literally—and threatened the independence she’d fought so hard for.

No, he wouldn’t understand but just continue to see her decision as another act of impulsive rebellion.

Well, screw it. He might be her best friend’s older brother and have known her for over a decade, but he didn’t
know
her. Didn’t
see
her.

And most importantly, he didn’t want to.

Burying the pain and anger, she flicked a hand, forced a nonchalance she was far from feeling. “Hey, big boy, that
Terminator
shit might work with the other girls, but—”

“Jonah Michaels escaped from jail.”

Her heart thudded hard, then raced as if trying to trample a hole in her chest. The rapid tattoo filled her head, her ears. Jonah Michaels…escaped…

“Oh Jesus.” She sank to the seat across from him, her knees the consistency of hospital Jell-O. “How?” she rasped, her suddenly numb fingers dropping the pen and order pad on the table. “When?”

“This morning.” His voice, that deep, sin-wrapped-in-dark-chocolate voice, could’ve been relaying the elements on the periodic table instead of delivering terrifying news that threatened her life expectancy. His stoic, reserved expression didn’t change. “During a prison transfer. The bus was hijacked, most likely by his gang.”

“How’s that…?” She dragged her fingers through her hair, fisting the curls. “How’s that even possible? Things like that only happen in
The Fast and the Furious
, not reality.”

For the first time she glimpsed an emotion flicker across his face. It was a slight tightening of his full, sensual lips, but it was there. “Oh, it’s possible.”

“Oh my God.” Fear grew inside her with each breath she took in. Dropping against the booth’s back, she rubbed her palms over her arms, the thin, long-sleeved white shirt no match for the cold invading her body. A cold that infiltrated her soul and had been a part of her ever since she’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

All because of a goddamn cup of coffee. She hadn’t had a latte since.

“There’s more,” Shane said. Well Christ, the only thing missing was the ominous
dunh-dunh-dunh-dunh
.

“More?” She loosed a brittle laugh. “Well, aren’t you just a wealth of good news today?” Shaking her head, she rubbed her eyes, suddenly weary. “What is it?”

“Jonah knows who you are, and he’s going to put everything behind coming for you, Fallon. We did some checking. The murder weapon was never recovered. No DNA. No one else stepped up to finger Michaels. You’re all the police and DA have. No witness, no case.” His voice deepened. “You’re in danger.”

“The police,” she began but petered off at the flint in his blue-green gaze.

“Can put you up in a safe house or a hotel until the trial,” he conceded. “Like I said, you’re their only eyewitness to the crime, and it’s in their best interest to keep you secured. But placing you in custody doesn’t mean you’ll make it to the trial. Michaels and his crew have already attacked a prison bus and killed the driver and an officer. The same person who leaked your name might not have an issue with betraying the location of a safe house. Fallon, I don’t want to scare you. The police are good, but,” he leaned forward and covered her hand with his much bigger one, “we’re better. Let me keep you safe. Let me protect you.”

She stared down at their stacked hands. Heat from his palm radiated over her skin, rivaling the warmth inside the restaurant. Even in spite of the danger hanging over her head like Damocles’s sword, she couldn’t help but acknowledge this was the first time in seven years that he’d voluntarily touched her. Last night she’d just about begged. How unfair that it came under these circumstances. Or that her breath stuttered in her lungs, her belly clenched, and a dull ache pulsed in her clit.

He was her easy button.

And he didn’t want her. She was his younger sister’s immature, reckless, and flighty best friend. Nothing more.

And he was a rigid, stoic stickler. He could probably give her orgasms so mind-blowing she’d create a religion to worship them, but still…

Best she stay focused on more important issues—like staying alive.

“But the circumstances are different than three months ago. Wouldn’t I have to go with the police?” She slid her hands from under his and tucked them in her lap, ordering her heart to calm down.

“No. You have the choice of accepting witness protection or opting out just like before. I’m not saying they won’t do a good job, Fallon. But guarding people, ensuring their safety and security—that’s my job. And I’m damn good at it. And unlike the police and DA’s office, I have more of a personal investment than making sure you make it to a trial to testify and win a case.”

“Right,” she drawled, her fists tightening. “Not making Addy cry with my untimely death.”

“Don’t,” he ordered softly but with an underlying and unmistakable hint of steel. “You know damn well this is about more than an obligation or Addy. You’re family. Like my little—”

“Sister,” she finished. “Yes, I know.” And didn’t that just slice her into pieces every damn time he said it? As if she needed constant reminders of how he saw her.

“I protect what’s mine,” he stated, voice flat. Brooking no argument. Or refusal.

“See? Here’s the funny thing. I’m
not
yours. I don’t care that you consider me family. We’re not. And I still have a choice—choices. I’m not powerless in this situation.” Maybe if she said it often enough, she would eventually believe it. “And what about a job? Money? The trial date hasn’t even been set as far as I know. What, do you expect me to live off you and your
generous
largesse? I’m not a damn charity case. How am I supposed to support myself?”

Shane might believe she was a spoiled rich kid who refused to grow up, but for two years she’d lived on her own, provided for herself. Even after Carolyn had fired her, she’d taken this waitressing job to pay the bills while she looked for another position with an event-planning company. Not once had she allowed her father to step in and rescue her—no matter how many times she’d wanted him to.

“You’re talking about things that are trivial when compared to your life,” he snapped. “Goddammit, Fallon. For once, think. How can you weigh gathering drink orders against breathing?”

Anger rolled through her like a barrel of storm clouds. Heat flooded her face, prickled her palms. He didn’t get it; he thought she was being silly, fickle Fallon. But of course he did, because Shane couldn’t separate the girl from the woman. He couldn’t comprehend that her concern was less about the job and more about being a burden, a sycophant who took, took, took and had nothing redeeming to give or offer.

“You’re so right,” she bit out. “That’s exactly what I’m worried about. Enough tips to buy the latest pair of Gucci sunglasses. But how about you humor me and tell me anyway about how I’m supposed to support myself if I’m locked away for months on end.”

His sigh could’ve been one of apology or frustration. Hard to tell since his hooded gaze revealed nothing. “We have the resources to take care of you.”

“I don’t want to be ‘taken care of,’” she snapped, seconds away from slamming her fist on the tabletop. But that action would reinforce his spoiled brat image of her, and she refused to hand him the ammo. “If I agree to this—and I’m stressing
if
—I need to talk with the police first. Then I insist on reimbursing you and your company after the trial is over. That’s a condition I’m not budging on.” She was no longer that girl dependent on her parents’ wealth, and she refused to allow anyone—even a sociopath murderer—to reduce her to that again.

Surprise that he wasn’t fast enough to hide flickered in Shane’s eyes. He studied her for several long moments almost as if trying to figure out her angle. Well, gee, color her offended.

“Fine.” The quiet statement stole the righteous wind out of her sails. Well, damn. She was spoiling for a fight. With the rage, fear, and uncertainty twisting inside her like Dorothy’s cyclone, she needed an outlet. Needed a release to calm the storm inside her. “I need to go let my supervisor know I’m leaving, and then we can head for the police station.”

“Dammit, Fallon, we don’t have time—”

“One,” she growled, slipping out of the booth. “My name is not Dammit Fallon or Goddammit Fallon. Two, I’m going to the police. I want to speak with them about Michaels, his escape, and hear their advice on where I should go from here. You can come with me or meet me there.”

A beat of silence. “I’m coming with you. No way am I letting you out of my sight,” he stated, voice flat. But a tic along his jaw betrayed the emotion hidden under the ice in his tone.

She widened her eyes and batted her lashes until she probably resembled a deranged Betty Boop. “Well now, that’s a switch isn’t it? Used to be you couldn’t wait to get away from me. Now we’re bosom buddies.”

Not waiting on his response—which would undoubtedly be more stoic, self-suffering silence—she spun around and headed for the kitchen. Ten minutes later, she returned to the dining area sans apron, pen, and order pad, leaving a pissed-off supervisor behind. She sighed. Join the club of people who weren’t happy with her at the moment. And the man glaring at her near the front door with a phone pressed to his ear was the lifelong charter member.

“Yeah,” he said to the person on the other end. “We’re coming out.” Pause. “Police station first, then we’ll decide from there.” Another pause. “Copy that.” He ended his call, but the scowl remained firmly in place. “You ready?” he growled.

“Yes.”

Silently, he held the door open, allowing her to step out of the restaurant. She sucked in a breath and held it as he pressed in close behind her.
Damn
. Too late. His scent—that unique combination of fresh wind, and skin—teased her nose, setting off a chain reaction of heat, heart palpitations, and flocks of birds in her stomach. She gritted her teeth against the Pavlovian response.

He shifted beside her, his strong, firm upper arm nudging her shoulder. His unblinking, sharp gaze scanned the street and sidewalks as he settled a hand on the small of her back and guided her to the blue BMW convertible parked around the corner. Relief poured through her like a cold drink of water on a hot day. As silly as it seemed, FiFi represented the only stability in her world. The only thing that hadn’t metamorphosed into something unrecognizable or scary.

“You have your key?” Shane didn’t glance down at her, his restless survey of their surroundings continuing.

“Yes.” She pointed her key fob at the car. The fob had been a gift from her father months ago after he discovered what happened. He’d sent the dealer to her home with the new electronic device, not wanting her to waste seconds opening the car with a key if someone was after her. The gesture had brought tears to her eyes. Though her father had been an absent parent, a preoccupied, distracted one, she’d never doubted he’d loved her. She just wasn’t a priority.

Several feet away, she pressed the open button, and the headlights blinked once, the horn beeping twice.

“I’ll follow you—”

Shane’s words were swallowed by the huge, deafening
boom
from the end of the street. A fiery blast knocked both of them off their feet. Twisting midair, he wrapped his arms and body around her. His back slammed to the concrete hard enough for him to groan in pain. But immediately, he rolled, covering her from head to toe from the heat searing the air around them.

Oh
Jesus
. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

FiFi.

Gone. Someone had bombed her beloved FiFi to hell and back.

She blinked, tears burning her eyes as hot as the flames licking at her car.

“—okay?”

She frowned, the ringing in her ears loud and subsiding slowly.

“Are you okay?” Shane repeated, his voice urgent, harsh. The cold reserve had disappeared, melted by the bomb and rage blazing in his eyes. Fury hardened his features, the sculpted cheekbones, angular jaw, and carnal curves of his mouth even more pronounced under his taut skin.

“Y-yes,” she stuttered. Then lifted her head and peered over his shoulder at the flaming heap that used to be her darling FiFi. She lowered her head, stared up at the sky, and let the tears fall.

“So where did you say your safe house was?”