FEARLESS (2 page)

Chapter Two

Davis Weeks rubbed his eyes as he walked out of his bathroom, fresh from a shower. Thanks to the sticky Maryland summer heat, he didn’t bother changing out of the towel wrapped around his waist. He was tempted to let it fall to the hardwood floor and stand naked in front of the fan. But because he could see the narrow street one floor down from this position, he decided to keep something on. No need to scare the crap out of poor Mrs. Winston next door. The woman had to be over eighty, though from the way she winked at him all the time he wondered if she’d enjoy the show.

Sweat dripped down his back just from the ten-foot march from the bathroom to the bedroom window. Man, it was hot. That would teach him to buy a run-down town house in Annapolis then not be home long enough to fix it up or figure out some sort of air-conditioning solution.

Between the massive summer thunderstorms and the tropical storm that had blown up the coast earlier in the week, the small strip of land behind his house, listed as a backyard on the real-estate sales contract, had morphed into a muddy mess. He’d just burned off some of the extra energy rumbling around inside him by laying gravel over the driveway off the alley.

Why he’d picked a humid afternoon for the task had more to do with being limited to desk-job duties at work than anything else. He wasn’t the sit-around type.

Now his muscles ached and his lower back begged for mercy. Three months shy of his thirty-fifth birthday and his bones creaked. He chalked the new pains up to too many years of chasing, shooting and diving for cover. He used to recover from jobs within a day or two. This time he neared day ten and his ribs still ached from where he’d got hit by that car. At least he’d got the bad guy.

He started to stretch his arms over his head and winced from the pull. Glancing around for a clean T-shirt, his gaze fell on the unmade bed. The blinking green light on his phone caught his attention next. With his job at the Corcoran Team he was on call all the time, and that habit gave him some comfort, but he had forgotten to bring the cell with him when he went outside earlier. He’d been unavailable for two hours, which was a record.

He swore under his breath as he reached over. A few buttons later and a voice he hadn’t heard in months buzzed in his ear. Eleven months and twelve days, but who was counting?

“Davis, it’s me. I’m in huge trouble. I...need you. Please be home.”

Lara Bart, his former fiancée and the sole reason he went off the grid on a job that ended with busted ribs and a bruised jaw. The passing of days didn’t matter. He knew that voice, could hear it every time he closed his eyes.

He also knew something was very wrong. The slight tremor. The stammer. None of that was normal for her. Husky voice, yes. Scared? Never.

The swearing this time included a few extra words and a lot of grumbling. Jamming his finger on the button, he called her back and nearly threw the phone when it went directly to voice mail.

He’d just pivoted and started stalking to his closet when the doorbell rang. He took off down the stairs with his bare feet thumping against each step.

As he hit the foyer, the rapid-fire knocking started. Breaking from protocol and his usual common sense, he entered the code on the alarm as he opened the door. Lara shoved her way inside and pressed up against him. Her arms wrapped around him as her cheek landed against his bare chest.

“You’re home.” She was out of breath and trembling as she mumbled the words against his skin.

The touch had his brain cells misfiring. It took a second for all the pieces to register. Her hair was lighter, with touches of blond through the rich brown waves, but still so soft. And his need for her still kicked hard enough to knock him over.

Ignoring the feel of her in his arms, he set her away from him and scanned her body, trying to remain as detached as possible as he checked for obvious injuries. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. “Well, except for my knee.”

Looking down, he noticed the ripped hem of her skirt and red knee. That, along with the untucked and torn silk blouse, signaled trouble.

“What happened to you?” He almost dropped to the floor and checked her leg, but her next comment stopped him.

“I was attacked.”

“What?”

She conducted security-clearance interviews, but there was nothing inherently dangerous about her job. He knew because he’d checked out her company and its independent contractor ties with the Department of Defense when she’d taken the position. Not that she knew that.

And it didn’t matter that they’d broken up. He watched over her and always would.

“I should have called the police, but all I could think about was getting to you.” Her hands were a blur of constant motion. Her gaze bounced all over the room, and she pushed her shoulder-length hair out of her eyes.

“Okay.” Good, even. Being her first thought certainly didn’t suck, but he needed her to calm down. “Take a deep breath.”

Her chest rose and fell as she took his advice, but her hands kept shaking. “There was blood everywhere.”

Dread ripped through him. Didn’t sound as though this, whatever “this” was, had happened at the office. It took all his considerable control to focus the energy pinging around inside of him.

He wanted the information fast and clean, but she wasn’t a field agent with the sort of delivery skills for that. Then there was the problem where her words kept jumbling together.

He cupped a hand over her cheek and lifted her head until her almond-colored eyes met his. Even terrified and twisted up, she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Tall and trim with high cheekbones and a face that you could slap on a magazine cover without makeup.

But none of that mattered now. He needed information. Without it, he couldn’t step in and fix whatever this was.

Skipping over the “blood” comment because he’d probably be hearing that one in his sleep, he went for the broader picture. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“My jacket is in the car.” She looked around as panic moved into her eyes and turned her movements into uncontrolled jerks. “My briefcase.” She turned to head back outside.

The last thing he wanted was her out in public until he ferreted this out. “Wait...”

A shadow moved in the open doorway behind her and the facts clicked together in Davis’s head. The adrenaline started pumping through him a second later.

Jeans and a jacket, much too warm for the weather. And the gun with the convenient silencer screwed on the end. No question what that was for.

Davis assessed and acted. With a hand on Lara’s arm, he tugged her around him. She practically flew as he shoved her against the wall and into the small corner at the bottom of the stairs wedged next to the coat closet. Her back hit with a thud, but he couldn’t worry about that now. His concentration centered on the guy with the massive body and bald head aiming right for him.

As the attacker stepped inside, a flood of tension filled the air. Davis kicked out, trying to catch the door and knock it into the guy’s head. Maybe make him drop the gun. The attacker was quicker. He caught the edge and slammed it shut behind him.

Davis reached for his weapon and touched only the cotton of his towel. No gun, not even any pants. The closest weapon was hidden across the room by the fireplace. That left few options.

He dived for the attacker’s stomach. The guy groaned as he crashed into the door and Davis smashed his hand against the knob.

Heavy breaths echoed through the room as each threw punches and aimed kicks. Davis’s landed awkward because of his position and the need to keep the barrel of that gun aimed at the empty center of the room.

He slammed the guy once then twice into the hardwood, but he didn’t drop the weapon. Barely looked winded.

The guy’s knee came up, catching Davis in the jaw. His head snapped back and pain shot down from the base of his neck. Impressive training but Davis’s was better. He rammed his elbow into the side of the guy’s head and heard a sharp crack.

With the attacker off balance and reeling, Davis connected with a punch to the stomach, then one to the jaw. The guy went down hard on his knees, yelling. The gun flew across the room before spinning under the coffee table.

Davis scrambled, but the other guy wasn’t going down easy. He dropped and crawled on his elbows and knees. Blood dripped on the floor from his split lip.

Knowing it was going to hurt like hell, Davis did a jumping dive, landing on the attacker and sending a knee plowing into his back. The guy howled in pain as his head tipped back and he bared his teeth.

Davis didn’t wait. He threw his upper body out, ignoring the tearing he felt along his injured ribs, and reached out his hand. The pain smacked him hard enough to close his eyes, but he forced them open again. He couldn’t stop. Hesitating meant death for Lara and that was not going to happen on Davis’s watch.

Just as he collected his strength and shimmied closer to the weapon, the attacker grabbed his leg. Twisting and sucker punches to the back of the knee came before Davis could brace for the attack. A shocking agony spiraled through him and his breaths came in rushed pants, but he refused to give up.

His fingers brushed against the metal. A few more inches and he’d have it. To get leverage, he balanced a hand against the floor and lifted his sore body up. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw Lara move. She sneaked up behind the men as they fought, carrying the heavy glass lamp that usually sat on the small table right near the double window at the front of the house. The same one she had bought right after they’d put an offer on the town house and he now used to hold his discarded keys each day.

Sensing something, or maybe reading the not-so-secret approach in Davis’s eyes, the guy whipped around. He kicked out as he lunged for Lara. In panic, she jumped to the side and threw the lamp. It missed the attacker by a few inches but it gave Davis the diversion he needed. Stretching those last few inches, he grabbed the gun and wrenched around again.

He concentrated, blocking out everything—Lara and the pain shaking through him—to hit that target and nothing else. “Hey!”

The guy pivoted and his eyes went wide. With a roar of fury, he made a final leap for the gun.

Davis didn’t hesitate. A crack split through the wrestling sounds of the room. Lara’s surprised inhalation followed the guy slumping over on his side, pinning one of Davis’s legs underneath.

Blood pooled, seeping into the small carpet. The room, ringing with activity a second ago, fell deadly quiet.

Davis kicked the guy off him then climbed to his knees. He pressed his free hand to the guy’s neck, checking for a pulse. Next came a quick search of the attacker’s pockets for some sort of identification. Davis peeked up at Lara, standing a few feet away with her hands over her mouth.

“Is he dead?” she whispered through her fingers.

The thump of a pulse grew faint then slipped away as Davis checked. “Yeah.”

Her gaze searched the room, over the newspapers stacked on the edge of the couch and the four coffee mugs lined up across the coffee table. “Call an ambulance.”

“Too late.” With an arm wrapped around his ribs, Davis stumbled to his feet.

Out of the line of sight of the window, he crept around the family room and pulled her out of range at the same time. With his back to the door’s edge, he scanned the outside for another gunman. Last thing Davis needed was another attacker blindsiding them.

When he turned back around he saw Lara watching his every move. Time to get her attention off what may be a second burst of gunfire. “Is this the guy who attacked you?”

“I don’t know.” She didn’t even look at the downed attacker.

Davis reached out to her but it was as if she didn’t even see the gesture. Her body closed in on itself as she put her hands on her shoulders, swinging her body from side to side and nibbling on her bottom lip. All while she carefully avoided looking at him or the guy on the floor.

The ache inside Davis was no longer about the death match. It was for her. For the sadness he saw pulling at her face and the tiny tremors that moved through her from the second she’d walked in the door and into his arms.

He was all too familiar with death on the job. She interviewed and wrote reports. She was normal. This was a nightmare, complete with splashes of blood and a body. “I know this is hard.”

Her gaze went to the attacker then bounced back up again. “No.”

“What?”

“It’s not him. This is a different guy.”

Now, that was a load of bad news. Davis exhaled as he tried to juggle all the questions in his mind. Rapid firing them at her would only shut her down. They had enough history for him to know she didn’t react well to the interrogation thing, even if it was well-meaning. “Have you ever seen him before?”

“Definitely not.”

Because she still avoided looking at the man in question, Davis tried again. “Are you sure?”

Her hands dropped to her sides as her cheeks flushed. “How can you stay so calm?”

The look was not a mystery. Just like always, anger slowly replaced the other emotions clashing inside her. Lashing out was her natural reaction.

If they had ten extra minutes to do this dance, he’d probably welcome anything that took her away from being scared, but right now he needed her to focus so he could get her out of there.

“Practice.” He glanced through the house and out the back door right before he did another visual sweep of the front. Next he turned to the clock above his fireplace and calculated the lead time they’d need if this guy had a partner.

“That’s your response?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

Good.
He could handle that reaction. “I was being honest.”

She snorted as she stepped around the downed attacker and came closer to Davis. “Right.”

Yeah, she’d definitely shifted to the anger phase. He’d seen it coming. He welcomed it but he also knew he’d have to sit down soon.

He had taken a huge body blow and all that scrambling had knocked something loose inside him. His breathing hovered at the wheezing point. Fearing the damaged rib had slipped from aching to broken, he walked, partly doubled over, to the edge of the couch.