Hard to Handle (9 page)

Harley didn't answer, and Stasia looked at him. He kept glancing in the rearview mirror.

“What are you doing?”

“I thought I saw headlights.”

She jerked around and stared, but they'd gone around a bend and she couldn't see anything. Voice low, she asked, “Do you think it's the same truck?”

“Don't be afraid, Anastasia. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you.”

His arrogance chased off her unease. “Listen up, Tarzan, I wasn't asking for your protection.”

“You've got it anyway.” His shoulders flexed. “And good thing for you, because here he comes.”

“Oh, God.” She twisted around again. Far behind them, headlamps shone against the darkness of the night. “Do you really think it's the same truck that tried to run me off the road?”

“I guess we'll find out.” Harley shifted, settling into his seat and getting a firm grip on the steering wheel.

The lights closed in.

“Whoever it is, he's driving faster than us.”

Harley agreed. “He's catching up.”

Stasia squeezed her eyes shut. “I can't believe this.”

“Believe it.” He glanced at her briefly, then returned his attention to the road and rearview mirror. “Wanna tell me about any enemies while there's still time?”

Her stomach knotted. “It's far-fetched.”

“Then this is the night for it.”

Stasia had to agree. She looked over her shoulder again. The truck gained on them. Because of the storm, it'd take at least another ten minutes to make it to her cabin.

Not enough time.

“It's a long story that, by necessity, I'm going to shorten.”

“Go.”

“One client misunderstood my interest in him. He thought it was more personal and…and he told his wife that he wanted a divorce so he could marry…me.”

Harley whistled.

Keeping an eye on the approaching truck, Stasia explained, “We had never done anything intimate, I swear. I only encouraged him about his business and talked to him about family problems as I do all my clients, but—”

“You don't need to justify yourself to me.”

Good thing, because she had no justification.

The lights drew closer.

Heart hammering, Stasia rushed through the rest of her tale. “When he told me his intent, I set him straight. I told him I had
no
interest in him personally.”

Harley snorted. “Bet he took that well.”

She shook her head. “He refused to believe me. He hounded me for months, first trying to court me and then railing at me and calling me names. It got so ugly. Finally he tried to go back to his wife, but she couldn't forgive him.” The memories burned, and she lowered her voice to a whisper. “She now suffers severe depression.”

Lacking her emotion, Harley said, “Guess he blames you for that too, huh?”

Stasia blamed herself. She should have seen his infatuation, should have been clearer, should have…“I haven't heard from him for a month or so.”

“This is why you're taking time off work?”

“Yes.” The headlights reflected off the mirrors. “Harley, he's going to hit us.”

“Not if I hit him first.”

S
TASIA
couldn't believe her ears.
“What did you say?”
“Hold on.” Harley slammed on the brakes, and the truck, taken by surprise, swerved hard in an attempt to miss rear-ending them.

It wasn't entirely successful.

The front bumper of the truck clipped the back bumper of the Jeep. Harley kept control of the vehicle with some cursing, and ended up on the side of the road.

The truck didn't fare as well. It swerved wildly before hitting a patch of ice and doing a three-sixty. The driver struggled, got the truck aligned, and came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the road, facing away from them.

He didn't drive away.

Stasia stared at Harley in utter horror.
“Are you out of your mind?”

“They would have rear-ended us, babe. At least this way, I kept control of the situation.”

Control? He called this control?

Harley carefully backed up and steered the Jeep around until his headlights shone into the cab of the other vehicle. “There're only two of them.”

“
Only
two?”

He put the Jeep in park. “Listen to me, Anastasia. Soon as I get out, slide over here behind the wheel. Lock the doors, keep the engine running, and stay inside. If you need to, drive around us and go back to town.”

Drive around us…
Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

When she said nothing, Harley moved away from her and opened his seat belt.

“Oh, no you don't!” Stasia launched herself at him. Her stupid seat belt hindered her, so all she could do was grasp at him.

“I'll be right back.”

Hands clenched in his shirt, Stasia tried to hold on to Harley. Something in his expression scared her. He looked distant and enraged and…she didn't know what to do. “You're not going out there, Harley Handleman, so forget it!”

“I don't have time for you to go hysterical on me now.” He pried her fingers loose, held them in his warm hands, and gave her a squeeze. “They're sitting there, Anastasia, just waiting. They aren't going away. If we try to leave, they'll just turn around and follow us, maybe to your cabin. At least here I can see them and know where they are.”

Panic had her talking fast and too loud. “Let's just go back to town, then. Someone there can help us.”

In contrast, his tone was icy with rage and in complete control. “I don't think they'll let us past them—unless I make them.”

“Harley, they could have guns.”

His eyes narrowed. “Anyone pulls on a gun on me, I'll make him eat it.”

Incredulous, she slumped back in her seat. “You're a lunatic. You really are. Oh dear God, I've aligned myself with a certifiable lunatic.”

Stony-faced and eerily calm, Harley opened his door. “Do exactly as I said and you'll be fine.” He got out.

“Yeah, fine.” Immediately, Stasia scampered over and got behind the wheel. She left the door open, though, so Harley could hear her. “Fine enough to drive past your body after they trample you into the snow.”

Harley didn't acknowledge her, but he hadn't taken two steps when she remembered that she wore his coat. If the bullies didn't kill him, he'd freeze to death!

Except…he didn't look cold.

Or afraid.

He looked like six feet of walking rage.

Idiot. Fool. The Jeep's headlights lit the scene. Knowing she wouldn't miss anything, Stasia shut the door and locked it.

No need for them both to die.

Her eyes were so wide, it felt like they might fall out of her head. With her heart threatening to explode, a cold sweat sticking to the back of her neck, and her muscles tensed to the point of pain, she waited.

Before Harley reached the truck, two people got out.

Only two, as he'd said.

But they were big brutes, bundled from head to toe in warm layers.

One of them carried a tire iron.

Stasia put the Jeep in gear. If she had to, she'd run over someone to help Harley. She'd—

Everything seemed to happen at once, so fast and smooth that she barely comprehended what her eyes saw.

The unarmed man swung a fist at Harley, and got kicked in the face for the trouble. Obviously the cold hadn't stiffened Harley's muscles. He was fluid and loose and remarkably fast.

The attacker's head snapped back. As if in slow motion, his limbs went limp and blood splattered out, staining the white snow and ice. The man hit the frozen ground hard, lay still for a moment, then curled to his side in evident pain.

He didn't get up.

Roaring, the other man rushed forward, every awkward footstep kicking up clumps of snow and ice. He wielded the tire iron like a bat, drawing it beyond his shoulder and then swinging hard.

Unmoving, Harley waited for him; at the last second he ducked. Momentum would have carried the bully face-first into the snow except that Harley came up with a beefy punch against his chin, then another to his gut, and another to his crotch.

Stasia winced.

Each punch drove the man back another step. The rod fell from his loose fingers and sank into the snow, disappearing.

Harley landed another bomb to his face, and the man flailed backward. With one last punch to the temple, the man toppled backward, arms and legs out like a beached starfish, unmoving.

Slack-jawed, Stasia couldn't believe what she'd just seen. Harley had walked right through two assailants as if they were nothing.

She'd seen Harley fight in the SBC, but those bouts were more methodical. They lasted longer, too. Of course, these men weren't other trained fighters. But they were obviously thugs, practiced in attacking innocents, and Harley had made it look
so
easy to fend them off.

Fascinating.

While she sat there in amazement, Harley half-lifted one man and went through his pockets. Stasia didn't know what he was hunting for, but he must have found it, because he straightened and turned to look at her.

Even from that distance, she saw the electric blue of his eyes reflected in the glaring headlights. Anger vibrated off him. He remained coiled, ready.

And in her peripheral vision, she saw the other man coming toward Harley.

The man held a compact black item, barely visible in the night—until he stepped into the light.

A gun
.

Screaming would do her no good, not that she could get a sound past the constriction in her throat anyway.

Without any plan or much forethought, Stasia barreled toward the gunman. The Jeep bounded over snow piles and icy patches at Mach speed. Leaping out of her path, the man half-climbed atop his truck and clung to the side door. She narrowly missed hitting him.

Foot on the brake, Stasia jammed the Jeep into reverse and looked over her shoulder.

Harley gaped at her.

Both men scrambled to get in their truck, hopefully to leave. But Stasia remembered the gun, which meant the men were willing to shoot.

Where better to do that than within the safety of their vehicle, while Harley stood out in the open?

She wouldn't take any chances.

Again, she put the pedal to the floor. The Jeep's wheels spun on the ice, making her fishtail before the deeply treaded tires gained traction.

She aimed for the truck.

If they collided, it'd surely rattle both attackers, giving Harley time to disarm them.

Disappointment smothered her as the truck throttled out of her path. The back end skated sideways before gaining purchase on the road and racing away at breakneck speed.

Frantic with nerves, Stasia watched the taillights grow dim before remembering to hit her brakes. The Jeep freewheeled for a heart-stopping moment, then slid in sideways, and came to a neck-wrenching halt only a foot from Harley.

He hadn't moved.

Stasia threw her door open and explained in a one-word shout:
“Gun.”

Calm personified, Harley put his hands on his hips and closed his eyes. He appeared to be silently counting.

When he opened his eyes and spoke, his voice was low and even. “You want to tell me what the hell you were doing?”

Stasia stared at him in confusion. Adrenaline had her teeth chattering. Anxiety left her breathless. She gulped down a breath and tried again. “He had a
gun
.”

Harley just waited.

She reached out and grabbed a fistful of his flannel. “I didn't want him to shoot you!”

Head dropping forward, Harley inhaled deeply. Then again. His breath left a foggy plume between them. “I wish you hadn't interfered, babe.”

“
What?
” Stasia considered smacking him. “I
saved
you.” She gestured at the truck. “They're leaving.”

“Are they? Or are they just retreating so they can return, better prepared?” He lifted a black-and-silver gun to show her. “I appreciate your concern and your effort. But I'd already disarmed one guy, and the other dropped his weapon when you almost ran him over.”

“He did?” How had Harley noticed that?

Harley nodded. “With them both being unarmed, I had a good chance to find out who they are and what they want.”

Dismay prickled inside her. She had goofed in a big way. She wrapped her arms around herself. “I suppose you planned to beat it out of them?”

“If necessary. At the very least, I would have restrained them so we could get them back to town, and to the authorities—whatever authority there might be in this county.”

“I see.” Damn, she felt like a dolt.

Harley touched her hair. “There was really no need for you to drive my Jeep off the road.”

Uh-oh. Dread burned her throat like acid. “Off the road?”

Releasing her to lean on the roof, Harley said, “The Jeep does great in nasty conditions”—he nodded at the back tires—“but I don't think we'll be driving anywhere tonight.”

Stasia stuck her head out the door and looked.

Oh hell. The rear tire had dropped over a sharp ledge in the frozen ground at the side of the road. They were good and stuck.

Numb, she whispered, “What are we going to do?”

“I'll think of something. Sit tight.” With that statement, Harley strode away from her.

Like she had any choice?

Stasia watched him plod through the snow to the middle of the road. He searched around for a bit, kicked aside the disturbed snowdrifts, then bent and came up with another gun.

He lifted it to show to her.

They now had both guns, which she supposed was good in case the truck came back. Did their attackers know they were stuck? Would they see them as sitting ducks? Would they gather more weapons and return?

Sick at heart, choking on anxiety, she waited for Harley's return.

With the fighting over, she noticed him starting to shiver. Fluffy snowflakes covered his blond hair and his shoulders. His face was ruddy with the cold. Snow clung to his jeans all the way up to his knees.

And she'd stranded them.

Damn it, she didn't want to cry in front of him, but her day kept going from bad to worse.

“Scoot over,” he told her when he got back to the Jeep.

She climbed over the center console. “Harley, I am so sorry.”

“Don't worry about it.”

He was so cavalier, but how could she
not
worry? Removing a glove, she brushed at the snow clinging to him, put a hand to his jaw. He had beard shadow coming in, and his skin was cold. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Distracted, he brought her palm to his mouth and kissed it, then released her as if the intimate touch hadn't happened at all.

Stasia sat in stupefied silence while he checked both guns, set them in the cup holders, and reached past her to the glove department. “I need you to carry a few things. Can you do that?”

Before she could reply, he dropped a slim flashlight, a vehicle registration, and a proof of insurance card into her lap.

“Okay, sure.” She tried to be as calm as him. “Why do you need your proof of insurance card?”

“I don't want to leave any ID behind in case the Jeep gets ransacked.”

That made sense. Good thing one of them was still able to think straight. “Where do you want me to carry this stuff?”

“We're not close enough to your cabin to make it there, and I don't trust those guys not to return. If they want to find you, the first place they'll look is where you live.”

She agreed. “So where do we go? We can't walk all the way back to town.” Then she held up a hand. “Or I should say, I can't. You seem impervious to the weather, so I have no idea what you can do.”