No Turning Back (3 page)

Dropping down to a crouch so he was at my level, he spoke to me, looking carefully in my eyes. "Are you all right?"

I couldn't speak so I just nodded. Surely this had to be a figment of my imagination. Men like this didn't give me the time of day.

"You're bleeding," he said, reaching out and touching my neck. His fingers came away with blood on them.

"Just a scratch," I managed. His lips curved ever so slightly. I was mesmerized.

"Nice move," he said. "What you did to get away," he clarified at my questioning look.

"Thanks," I said. "Will he be okay?" I asked, jerking my head towards the man now surrounded by security and EMTs.

"Yeah," the stranger said, "the wound isn’t deep and the medics got here quickly enough."

I closed my eyes in relief. Even if he had tried to kill me, the knife hitting him had been more accidental than planned. When I opened them, the man in black was gone. Dismayed I looked around, but with the crowd of people, I didn't see him anywhere. I scrambled to my feet.

"Kathleen!" Hank was barreling toward me. "Holy shit! Are you okay?"

I reassured Hank, who was completely distraught that the man had managed to get in the building with a knife. Not that it was entirely his fault – it seemed the metal detector had been on the fritz earlier this morning. Surreptitiously, I kept watching for the stranger, but never saw him. I sighed. He could have been a figment of my imagination, for all I knew.

It was hours later before I was able to get back to the firm. The paramedics had wanted to check me out, the knife wound requiring only a bandage, thank God. Then there were police reports to fill out and a statement to make. It was now after six and the sun was setting.

Gusting wind from my car windows had blown my hair to pieces and I tried to comb it with my fingers, wishing I had a ponytail holder with me. My hair was long and strawberry blond and one of my best features, in my opinion. Not that I had a lot of great features. I was probably short but I preferred "vertically challenged." Ten pounds that I could never seem to lose made me a little too curvy, and I had one of those voices that was too high and too soft for anyone to really take me seriously.

I thought I'd stop by Clarice's desk before I headed home. She might still be around and I dearly needed just to chat for a few minutes. No one was around Clarice when I reached her, tucked away by Blane's office in the corner. Clarice was typing at her computer, her eyes on the paper clipped to the side of her monitor, as her fingers flew over the keyboard.

"Hey," I said quietly.

She jumped, startled at the interruption. When she saw who it was, she leapt to her feet.

"Kathleen!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around me in a tight hug. "I heard what happened. Thank goodness you're okay!"

I hugged her back just as tightly. "Thanks, Clarice," I said. "I'm all right."

After a moment, she released me. "I can't believe that happened," she said, resuming her seat. I sank down in the matching chair opposite her.

"Yeah," I said. "Pretty crazy." I didn't really want to talk about it. The cops had talked me all out. "How was your day?"

"Not as exciting as yours," she said with a snort. "Just trying to get this file typed up for delivery to a client tonight. Blane faxed it to me last minute." She glanced at her watch and sighed. "Jack and I were supposed to have dinner tonight. I guess I'll call him and cancel." Clarice was divorced with two kids. She had been dating Jack for several months now. He taught science at a local high school, and from the way she talked about him, seemed to be a really nice guy.

There were at least a dozen or more papers stacked on her desk that she had yet to transcribe. It was getting late and nearly everyone else had left to enjoy their weekend.

"Want me to do it for you?" I asked. "I don't have any more runs and no plans tonight."

She looked hopefully at me. "Really?" I nodded. "But I don't want to impose," she dithered. "Especially after all you've been through today. I should probably just cancel."

"C'mon, Clarice," I urged her, "it's not a big deal. I'm fine and I have nothing better to do. You go on." I really didn't mind. I liked doing things for people. And it wasn't as if I had anything to go home to except an empty apartment and the harrowing memories of today. That thought depressed me so I shoved it to the back of my mind and smiled brightly at Clarice.

"Go out and have fun," I said, "I'll take care of this." She still looked uncertain, but after glancing at her watch again, she gave in. Grabbing her purse from a drawer she said, "Thanks so much, Kathleen. Just leave it on Blane’s desk when you’re through."

Giving me a quick hug, she headed for the elevators and I sat down at her desk. Taking a look at where she'd left off, I started typing.

Typing had been one of the most useful classes I'd ever taken in high school and I was good at it, averaging around seventy-five words per minute. It was so quiet, the only sound I could hear was my fingers tapping the keys and the solemn ticking of the big grandfather clock that stood in the alcove by the elevators. It was relaxing, especially after the events of today, and I felt myself sort of drop into a zone.

This particular document was about a case the firm had taken a while back defending a local union that serviced voting machines. During the last election, there had been reported cases of fraud and the accusers had singled out the union as the perpetrators. It made for interesting reading even if quite a bit of it was legalese.

I wasn’t surprised at the famous names involved in the case – all people I recognized as being well known in Indianapolis. Blane's career was high-profile in this city. While his social life made the Lifestyle pages of the newspaper, his exploits as a lawyer often made the front page. Defense attorneys and trial lawyers had a reputation for being morally questionable and more showmen than men of substance, and I wasn't sure where Blane fell in the mix, though no one questioned his ambition and drive.

"What are you doing?"

The words came from behind me and I let out a piercing shriek, so surprised was I by the interruption. I jumped up and whirled around, accidently overturning the chair as I did so.

Blane was standing there looking as startled as I was. "Jesus!" he said, shoving a hand through his perfect hair. "What the hell was that for?"

"You scared me!" I said, embarrassment making me snappish. "You shouldn't sneak up on people."

"I didn't sneak," he replied matter-of-factly. "And you didn't answer me. What are you doing?"

Still unnerved, I didn't consider my words before they fell out of my mouth. "I'm typing, obviously," I said, heavy on the smartass.

His eyes narrowed at that and I swallowed nervously, dropping my eyes to keep from having to meet his. It belatedly occurred to me that he was one of the owners and if I pissed him off, he might not be as lenient this time in whether or not to fire me.

Blane wasn't dressed in his normal business attire but much more casually in jeans that hugged his lean hips. Catching myself gazing at his crotch, I abruptly remembered his ex-girlfriend's Facebook post and flushed. I jerked my eyes upward and saw he had on a black, long-sleeved Henley with the sleeves pushed up his arms to just below his elbows. He had very nice, muscular forearms. Why was I staring at his forearms? Desperate for a safe place to look, I dropped my eyes to his shoes. His very nice, very expensive, very large shoes.

I cleared my throat and answered again, making my voice as pleasant as possible.

"Clarice had plans so I offered to help finish this for her." I glanced up at him but his expression was unreadable.

"Don't you have plans for tonight, too?" he asked.

I shook my head, feeling my cheeks heat even more as I inwardly cursed my fair skin. Nervously, I looked back down at the papers. I was nearly done. Just needed to finish up, save and print. When Blane didn't say anything else, I turned away, righting my chair and resuming my seat before typing again.

The skin on the back of my neck seemed to prickle as he silently watched me. Finally, he moved past me into his office and I released the breath I'd been holding. Looking over what I had typed, I grimaced. I had to correct numerous typing errors. In my own defense, I never did well when someone was watching over my shoulder.

I finished up the document and printed it before gathering up my things to leave. Glancing into Blane's office, I saw him working at his computer. Clarice had said to leave the document on his desk so there was no avoiding talking to him.

Cautiously, I tapped on his office door. He glanced up from his computer and I hurried inside.

“Clarice said to leave these for you,” I said, handing him the file.

“Thank you,” he replied, returning his attention to his monitor. I hesitated for a moment, but there didn't seem to be anything else I should say and he wasn’t paying attention to me anyway, so I just headed for the elevator.

The night had gotten colder and I shivered as I unlocked my car and slid behind the wheel. I tossed my things on the passenger seat and shoved the key in the ignition. I turned the key and...nothing happened. I tried again. Same result. Two more times. Two more nothings.

My head dropped to the steering wheel and I groaned. It felt as if this day was never going to end. I would have dug out my cell phone, but I had one of those pay-as-you-go plans and was currently out of minutes.

I sighed in defeat. I was going to have to go back inside and call a tow truck. Which cost money. Really didn't want to do that. And if I did go inside, that meant I'd have to see Blane again. Really, really didn't want to do that. I banged my forehead lightly against the steering wheel.

A tap at the window made me jerk upright and I stifled another shriek. Blane was standing outside my car. I couldn't roll the window down without the car being on so I opened the door partway.

"Yeah?" I said, less than gracious at the interruption to my crap of a day.

"Car trouble?" he asked, jerking his head slightly towards my engine. The cold seemed to have no effect on him even as I started shivering again, the wind blowing my hair as I sat in the car.

"Guess so," I said miserably. I wondered if I could ask to borrow his cell phone so I didn't have to go all the way back inside, but then I figured he'd probably think I was an idiot for not having one of my own. I really didn't want to tell him about the pay-as-you-go thing. I doubted he would even know what that was.

"Need a lift?"

I instinctively recoiled from that. Blane made me nervous wreck. I no longer entertained romanticized notions of him – disdainful as I was of his callous approach to relationships and women – but he was a formidable, intelligent and way too good looking man. I’d no doubt do or say something idiotic out of sheer nerves. I shook my head.

"No thanks," I replied. "I’ll just call a tow truck or something.”

"It’s late and it’s cold," Blane persisted firmly. “Let me take you home.”

I still hesitated, wishing vile things on my car for choosing this night to give out on me.

"Come on," he said firmly, pulling the door open the rest of the way and grasping my upper arm. "I have to run an errand first, but I should be able to get you home before a tow truck would show up here.”

I didn't see how I could refuse at this point without it seeming ridiculous so I grabbed my things and got out of the car, locking it before shutting the door. Blane still had a hand on my arm as we walked to his car. This was the closest I had ever been to him while standing (I ignored the memory of kneeling in front of him), and he was quite tall. The top of my head only came to his shoulder.

Blane led me to a car parked close to the building in one of the reserved spaces. I sucked in a breath when I saw it. He drove a black Jaguar with tinted windows. It suited him.

He opened the passenger door for me and waited until I'd gotten settled inside before shutting it. The leather seat was richly decadent to someone used to vinyl and I inhaled deeply. The car smelled of leather and Blane's cologne. Yum.

Blane climbed in the driver's side and I shivered again, though I didn't know if it was from the cold air or from how close he was to me in the confines of the car.

"Cold?" he asked, and I nodded wordlessly.

The engine purred to life and he flipped the switch for the heater. Pulling out of the lot, he headed south on Meridian toward the center of the city.

There was something very masculine about a man driving a car like this one and I savored the experience of being in a beautiful, powerful car with an equally beautiful and powerful man. Blane might be a shameless womanizer, but I tried not to focus on that at the moment. We did not converse and I watched out my windows as the houses lining the street flashed by, their lights muted.

After a while, Blane broke the silence. "Kathleen." He said my name slowly, as if testing it out. "What's your last name, Kathleen?"

I hesitated in telling him. People always teased me about my name. "Turner," I finally mumbled, and waited for the jokes to begin. To my surprise, he didn't immediately respond so I turned back to the window.

"Do you go by Kathy?" he asked, and I was forced to turn and look at him again.

"No." I hated nicknames.

"Katie?" Even worse.

"No."

"You prefer Kathleen," he stated rather than asked.

"Yes." At another one word response from me, his mouth curved sardonically.

"You seem to be a woman of few words," he said, glancing at me.

I hesitated. He was making me feel idiotic. "Sometimes," I finally said stiffly. He must have realized I was uncomfortable because he switched tactics.

"We didn't get off to a great start, Kathleen," he said, and I felt the color leave my face. Please tell me he was not going to bring up that disastrous meeting where I planted my face in his crotch.