EXCERPT: Cover Me

Title: Cover Me
Author: L. A. Witt

Chapter 1

  

“You know, if you keep sitting like that, you’re going to break your damned legs one of these days.” Leon took his hand off the steering wheel and gestured at my feet, which were on the ambulance’s passenger side dashboard.

“Only if you crash.” I glanced up from the clipboard on my lap. “Though with the way you drive, that wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Hey, back off my driving. And if you’re that worried I’m going to crash, put your goddamned feet down.”

“I’m not worried.” I signed the bottom of my report and flipped to the next page. “Besides, if you do crash, and I do break my legs, you have everything you need to put them back together.” I pointed with my pen at the back of the bus.

“You keep your feet up like that, I’m going to let you suffer when your legs break.”

“Keep staring at my legs instead of the road, and I might have to tell Zoe I’ve turned you to my side.”

He shot me a horrified look. “Oh, don’t you even think about it, you son of a bitch.”

“Then quit staring at my—hey! The road! Watch the fucking road!”

Leon looked up and swerved just in time to avoid hitting the curb. “Now see? See? If I’d crashed just then—”

“My legs would have been fine and I’d have used them to kick your ass.” I glared at him, then went back to filling out my report.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He slowed the ambulance to a stop at an intersection and stretched his arms while he waited for the light to turn green. “Man, it’s getting to be dinner thirty.”

“Dinner thirty?” I laughed. “It’s not even five o’clock. Besides, weren’t you just eating before we left the station?”

He let out a huff of breath. “Yes, Nick.” He threw me a glare. “And I didn’t get to finish it because we left the station.”

“Damn those inconsiderate people.” I sighed dramatically and put the back of my hand against my forehead. “Getting hurt and keeping you away from your food.”

He started to come back with something snide, but the radio crackled to life.

“Code one, code one. Shooting at Jackson and Fourteenth. Multiple casualties. All units respond.”

We were just blocks away from the location. Leon and I exchanged glances, and he gave a sharp nod.

I picked up the radio. “Dispatch, this is Twenty-seven Alpha. On our way to Jackson and Fourteenth, over.”

Leon accelerated through the intersection as he flipped on the lights and siren. I dropped my clipboard and feet to the floor. God only knew what the scene would be like, but I had little doubt there would be blood and lots of it, so I went ahead and pulled on a pair of rubber gloves.

“Busy night in Masontown tonight, isn’t it?” he said.

I didn’t reply. We’d already been to that neighborhood once tonight, but that wasn’t unusual. Between the people so wasted they couldn’t remember how to care for themselves and those who were too poor to do so, Masontown was no stranger to flashing red lights. Sex and substances were the staple crops of that place. This wasn’t the first shooting we’d attended there, and I doubted it would be the last.

As signs, cars, and buildings blurred past us, I shifted into autopilot. Training kicked in, pushing emotions to the back of my mind along with any thoughts I didn’t need for the task at hand. It wasn’t apathy per se, but it was close—something to keep me calm and focused on the clinical so I could do my job.

In minutes, we’d arrived at the scene. A small crowd had gathered, but there were no flashing lights in sight except for our own reflecting off cars and windows.

“Think it’s safe?” Leon asked. “Or do we wait for the cops?”

I surveyed the scene. With no police in sight, it was our discretion to move in or wait. In this case, there didn’t appear to be anyone brandishing a weapon, so it was probably safe for us to attend. That, and shootings usually meant serious injuries that couldn’t wait long.

“Safe as it’s going to be.” I unbuckled my seatbelt. “Let’s go.” I went into the back, grabbed the jump kit, and stepped outside. There was blood on the pavement, panic in the air and four people on the ground. No one else looked to be injured, but the wounded still outnumbered us for the time being. Triaging the scene, I silently cursed the budget cuts that had only two people manning the ambulance instead of three or four.

I could use a few more pairs of hands right about now, you fucking bean counters.

I went from patient to patient, assessing wounds and vitals as quickly as I could. Triaging a situation like this always did weird things to the passage of time, or at least my perception of it. I moved in slow motion while everyone around me was in fast forward, and even they couldn’t keep up with the rapid fire ticking of the clock.

One male was in obvious pain with blood seeping between his fingers as he gripped his upper arm. He was lucid, though, and not in immediate danger.

The other male was on the ground, semi-conscious and bloody. His vitals were fairly stable, but the bleeding was significant and his condition could quickly deteriorate at the drop of a hat. A few paces away, a woman writhed and moaned in a blood-soaked shirt, clinging to the hand of a bystander, who pressed a wadded rag against her chest. She was bleeding profusely and her breathing was labored.

The second woman lay motionless in a huge and rapidly expanding pool of blood. The man kneeling beside her alternately screamed at her to wake up and shouted at me to help her. Her vitals were bad and worsening by the second, and had she been the only victim, I’d have helped her immediately. With more wounded than medics, though, she was too far gone. I had a better chance of saving the other three, so difficult decisions had to be made.

Glancing at Leon, I gestured at the unconscious woman and the bleeding, cursing male. “She’s a black tag. He’s green.” Then I pointed at the semi-conscious man and the moaning woman. “The other two are red. You work on him and I’ll take care of her.”

Leon nodded and we went to work.

“Hey! Hey!” The man beside the dying woman screamed as we both walked past her. “She needs help!”

“We’re doing everything we can,” I said. “Backup is on its way.”

“She’s going to die!” he shouted. “You gonna let her die just because she’s black?”

I gritted my teeth. There wasn’t time to explain to him what ‘black tag’ meant, or that it had nothing to do with race. Though I felt for him, and I certainly felt for the woman on the ground beside him, there simply wasn’t time. With her plummeting vitals and that much blood loss, there probably wasn’t much that could be done for her even if I had the manpower to try.

Kneeling beside the other woman, I looked at the man by her side. Her husband, I assumed, judging by the gold ring on one blood-stained hand and the way he gripped her hand with his other.

“What’s her name?” I asked.

He opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated.

“Her name?” I asked. Maybe my assumption was incorrect. Maybe he wasn’t her—

“Chelsea. Chelsea Wayland.”

“Chelsea? Can you hear me?” I touched her shoulder. “Chelsea, my name is Nick. I’m here to help you. Can you hear me?” She moaned, which could as easily have been in response to the pain as to the sound of my voice.

Her husband looked over his shoulder, then back at me. “Tell me they’ve got backup coming.”

“On their way.”

Come on, guys, where are you?

Getting into Masontown was a nightmare in heavy traffic, and as luck would have it, we were right in the middle of rush hour. Every unit in town was probably stuck on that fucking two-lane bridge.

Chelsea tried to take a breath, wincing and wheezing with the effort. Her lips were losing color and quickly.

“Her breathing has been getting worse,” he said. “When she could still talk, she said her chest hurt, but I assumed she meant where she was stabbed.”

“Stabbed?” I looked up. “I thought this was a shooting.”

“It was.” He nodded toward the other woman. “She had a knife, though.”

A comment about bringing a knife to a gunfight stopped at the tip of my tongue. Gallows humor may have kept me sane in these situations, but the same usually couldn’t be said for a husband applying pressure to his wife’s bleeding chest.

“We need to get her shirt off,” I said. With her husband’s help, I cut it away. To my surprise, removing her shirt revealed a bulletproof vest underneath. In a less urgent situation, I might have questioned just what I’d walked into, but the vest was stained with too much blood to wonder why she was wearing it in the first place. We quickly unfastened the straps on the side and got rid of it.

With the vest out of the way, I looked at the wound. It was a deep laceration with substantial bleeding, but it was more or less under control. It was her breathing that concerned me. Removing the vest didn’t make it any easier for her to breathe, and the color of her lips continued to fade.

“Chelsea, can you hear me?” Again, I couldn’t tell if the response was to the pain or my voice. I held her free hand. “If you can hear me, squeeze my hand twice.”

She responded with two squeezes, the second more feeble than the first. I pressed the stethoscope against her chest and she flinched weakly.

“Chelsea, can you take a deep breath?”

She tried, but immediately grimaced. Her chest barely rose. The more I took her vitals, the more pieces fell into place, and it didn’t look good. Her heart was racing, her blood pressure was dropping, and the shallow, rapid breathing was getting worse.

“I’ll be right back.” I sprinted to the ambulance, ignoring the furious, panicked shouts of the man beside the black-tagged woman. Cursing the traffic that kept backup dangerously far away, I grabbed a few items out of the ambulance and hurried back to Chelsea’s side. There, I slipped an oxygen mask over her face and opened the valve on the tank.

Her husband raised his eyebrows. “How bad is it?”

“Her lung’s collapsed.”

“Jesus,” he whispered.

It wasn’t quite so simple, but I had no time to explain in detail that she had a tension pneumothorax and needed a thoracentesis to release the air building up in her chest cavity. This wasn’t the first time I’d treated something like this in the field, and I anticipated the barrage of questions about how bad it was and if she was going to die. He said nothing though. In fact, he was quite calm given the circumstances.

Kneeling beside her again, I gestured to two bystanders. To them and Chelsea’s husband, I said, “Hold on to her. Keep her as still as you can.”

“I don’t think she’s going anywhere,” her husband said through gritted teeth.

“No, but she isn’t going to like this.” As I pulled the large needle out of its packaging, his breath caught. “Don’t watch. Look at something else. Trust me.” When I pressed the needle against a groove between her ribs, he cleared his throat and looked away. At least he didn’t insist on watching. Leon and I had enough to worry about without a passed out husband on our hands.

Just before I pushed the needle into her skin, something cold and solid dug into the base of my skull. My hands and breath froze. Moving only my eyes, I looked at Chelsea’s husband. He stared past me, lips parted and eyes wide.

“Get away from her,” an unsteady voice commanded from behind me. Something creaked, and even with my limited experience with guns, I recognized the menacing sound of a hammer being drawn back. “Get the fuck away from her.”

“Jesse, stop.” Chelsea’s husband tone was still surprisingly calm, but the faintest note of uncertainty sent ice through my veins. “Listen to me, Jesse. Put the gun down.”

“No, no, he’s hurting her.” The voice bordered on hysterical now, and the gun’s muzzle twitched against my skin. I swallowed hard. It wasn’t just the metal against my skin that concerned me. It was the way that metal shook. A shaking hand on a loaded gun against my head wasn’t what I’d call a comfortable combination.

Chelsea moaned and gasped for air. Every breath was more difficult than the last, and her lips were beginning to turn blue beneath the mask’s clear plastic. Gun to my head or not, she needed this tube in her chest. Willing my hands to stay steady, I pressed the needle against her, but the muzzle of the gun dug even harder into my head. The shaking was more violent, and my mind’s eye showed me a trembling finger on a trigger. One twitch. One twitch was all it would take. Oh, fuck.

“Jesse.” Chelsea’s husband looked at him even as he tried to hold her still. “He’s trying to help her.”

“He’s hurting her, Mark.” The one called Jesse’s voice was getting shriller. “Mark, Mark, he’s hurting her. Make him stop hurting her!”

“No, he’s not,” the husband—Mark, apparently—said. “He’s helping her. Put the gun down.”

Chelsea tried to suck in a breath, wheezing hard and writhing on the pavement. The cyanosis worsened by the second, and she couldn’t wait any longer. Hoping to God I hadn’t just signed my own death warrant, I leaned against the needle and forced it between her ribs. She released a feeble cry, thrashing as much as the three men holding her down would allow, and a split second later, air hissed out of the needle.

For a moment, I held my breath, fully expecting a bullet through my head after my sudden movement and Chelsea’s struggles.

When that bullet didn’t come, I tried to continue concentrating on Chelsea. I gestured toward the kit.

“Hand me that plastic tubing,” I said to Mark. My voice shook more than I expected it to, and I shuddered. I could almost ignore this heart-stopping terror until I heard it in my own voice. I’m going to die. I’m going to die. Pushing those thoughts away, I forced myself to focus. He handed me the plastic tube I’d indicated, and as he reached over her, his eyes darted over my shoulder to the unhinged lunatic.

I worked as quickly as I could to get the tube into her chest. The faster I moved, the sooner I could get her on the ambulance and out of here. I could also pretend my hands weren’t shaking and maybe, just maybe, ignore the gun that was still pressed against my head. The gun that twitched every time Chelsea moved or made a sound.

“He’s hurting her,” Jesse said. “Make him stop hurting her.”

“Jesse, he’s helping her.” Mark’s voice got calmer and gentler as if to counter Jesse’s hysteria. “If you kill him, you’re going to kill her too.”

The gun twitched. Then again. After a second, it moved away from my head and I released my breath. As I slid the tube in and the needle out, some of Chelsea’s color returned. She murmured, then moaned, weakly trying to get away from the pain I was undoubtedly inflicting.

Clenching my teeth to keep them from chattering, I struggled to focus on Chelsea. With the tube releasing the air from her chest cavity, her lung would have room to reinflate, but she needed to get to the hospital. I needed to get her out of here. I needed to get myself the hell out of here. Away from this armed idiot.

With Chelsea’s condition improving slightly and the gun down, I became aware of my surroundings again. A crowd had gathered. The black-tagged woman’s companion was beyond hysterical now. In the distance, sirens filled the air, coming at us from all directions. Backup at last. Still, I prayed there were no blue lights among them. Though the gun was down, I didn’t know how crazy Jesse really was. Something told me if he saw cops and panicked, I was done.

Chelsea whimpered and tried to pull away from me, but the three men held her still. The whimper became a cry and feet shuffled behind me. I cringed, expecting the muzzle of the gun against my head at any second.

Mark moved suddenly, and the shuffling halted. Several bystanders gasped and the air around me flexed as they all took a collective step back.

“Put it down,” he snarled. My eyes flicked up and I sucked in a breath. He had his own gun now, drawn and aimed past me. His hands were alarmingly steady, and there was nothing but cold, murderous rage in his eyes. Slowly, he rose, eyes and weapon still trained on my unseen assailant. “Jesse, raise that gun again and you won’t live long enough to put it to his head. Put. It. Down.”

Then, feet shuffled again. More gasping, more movement, more oh God, where is that gun?

“Jesse, you son of a bitch!” Mark flew over Chelsea and darted past me.

All around us, emergency vehicles pulled up with sirens screaming and engines roaring. My senses focused only on the fading footsteps. I expected gunfire, but there came none, and eventually the footsteps faded away, leaving only the rumble of diesel engines and the murmur of panic and confusion in the air. A violent shudder rippled down my spine, relief knocking the breath out of me.

A hand touched my arm and I jumped, nearly falling back before I looked up to see Leon.

“What the hell happened over here?” he said.

I shook my head and gestured at Chelsea. “Let’s get her out of here.”

He cocked his head, but didn’t argue. With police on-scene and other firefighters and medics attending the rest of the victims, Leon and I got Chelsea onto the stretcher and wheeled her across the sidewalk to the ambulance.

Just before we reached it, a hand flew out of the crowd and seized my arm, nearly hauling me off my feet. I regained my balance and found myself face to face with the distraught companion of the woman I’d black-tagged.

“You racist son of a bitch,” he snarled. “Why didn’t you help her?” Behind him, the woman lay between two kneeling firefighters, one of whom drew a sheet over her face.

“You killed her. You fucking killed her!” He grabbed for my neck, but I deflected his hand with my elbow. Two officers pried him off me and I stumbled back, staring at him in stunned silence. I jumped when another hand touched my shoulder, even though I knew before I looked that it was Leon again.

“Come on,” he said. “We need to get her out of here.” I turned and followed him and the stretcher to the ambulance.

“You fucking racist!” The man called after me. “I will kill you! Do you hear me? I will fucking kill you!” I glanced over my shoulder at him, and the icy hatred in his eyes sent a chill down my spine.

He continued screaming at me, warning me over and over that he was going to hunt me down and kill me. The officers led him out of sight and I turned my attention back to my patient, trying to focus on the threats to her life instead of my own. Leon closed the doors behind Chelsea and me.

A moment later, he climbed into the cab. The tires beneath us squealed and we left he scene. As Masontown and its flashing lights faded behind us, I’d never in my life been so thankful for Leon’s habit of driving too fast.

EXCERPT: World Enough and Time

Title: World Enough and Time
Previously published as Until It's Over.
Author: Lauren Gallagher

Chapter One

On my way into the Pike Street Pub, I let out a groan that drowned in the noise of sports and fans. I’d let my friend Susan talk me into coming even though I really didn’t feel like it, but it wasn’t until I stepped through the door that the knot of Why the hell am I here? made itself known.

A pub I could handle. Crowds, noise, people, alcohol. All of that was fine. In fact, this was my kind of place. Baseball games on old, grainy televisions above a bar that had seen better days. At least two dozen decent beers on tap and bartenders who would sooner hit themselves over the head with a bottle of Cuervo than serve a drink with a paper umbrella in it. All it needed was sawdust on the floor and it would’ve been perfect.

In the years before Seattle’s anti-smoking laws, the air probably would have been opaque and gray, but now it was perfectly crisp and clear. Just clear enough, in fact, for me to see exactly why I wished I hadn’t come at all: Susan had spotted me and immediately sprung to life, grabbing a tall blond guy’s arm and dragging him toward me. The way she gestured and rolled her eyes told me she was persuading him to follow her. The way he gestured and rolled his eyes suggested he wasn’t particularly enthused about it.

That must be Troy. Troy Wilson, the guy Susan said I simply had to meet because he was perfect for me.

I groaned again as they wove between barstools, partygoers, and chest-high tables, closing in on me. My voice disappeared into the surrounding noise, but I didn’t have the luxury of a cloud of smoke to obscure my face, so I forced something in the vicinity of a smile.

“Hey Dani!” Susan squealed. She dragged Troy closer and gestured proudly. “This is Troy. Troy, Dani.”

“Hi.” Offering a smile that was a bit more genuine than my own, he extended his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” I shook his hand, and when his smile broadened, I relaxed a bit. Maybe Susan was right and this was what I needed. He deserved a chance, and maybe I could enjoy an evening out.

Troy cleared his throat and suddenly looked a little shy. “Can I, um, can I buy you a drink?”

I released a breath and with it, more of my apprehension. Though he obviously hadn’t been thrilled about being pulled away from his other conversation, there was no evidence of irritation in his expression now. He seemed like a nice guy, and hopefully Susan wouldn’t steer me wrong.

“Sure,” I said.

“What’ll you have?”

I glanced at the bar. “Mac and Jack’s if they have it.”

“Good taste in beer.” He gave a nod of approval. “I like you already.”

“I’ll just leave you two alone.” Susan grinned at us. In a loud whisper, she added, “Go easy on him.”

My face burned. “Susan!”

Troy laughed. “Get out of here, Suze.” When she was gone, he nodded toward the bar and I followed him. After he’d ordered, he said, “Sounds like you’re getting a taste for some of the local beers.”

“Blame Susan. She brought me out a few times when we met. Made me try something other than my usual.”

“Which was?”

“Budweiser.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Then thank God she showed you light.” The bartender set our pint glasses in front of Troy, who then passed one to me. Troy sipped his. “So, how do you know Susan?”

“We work together,” I said.

Something in his expression changed. Dulled. “Oh.” He didn’t even try to feign interest.

I loved my job as a dressage trainer, but it seemed to be a coma-inducer for a lot of men these days, so I quickly changed the subject. “What do you do?”

That brought him back to life. “I manage commercial properties.” He squared his shoulders and puffed out his chest. “Mostly here in Seattle, but I’m working on getting into the East Side. So it’s—” He did a double take, glancing at something over my shoulder. “Oh, damn, that was fast. Looks like the game’s back on.” His smile was just patronizing enough to set my teeth on edge. “It was nice meeting you though, Dani.”

And with that, he shook my hand again and then walked back to the other side of the room, where a few of the guys were focused on a Yankees-Cubs game. I watched, slack-jawed. This is the man who was supposed to be ‘perfect’ for me? I rolled my eyes and cursed under my breath before lifting my glass to my lips again. Oh well. At least I got a free beer out of it.

Though it didn’t do much for my ego, it was probably just as well. I was only a few short months out of a relationship that should have ended years ago, so a boyfriend was out of the question. That, and one night stands weren’t my thing. Even if they were, and if Troy was as self-centered and inconsiderate as he’d shown himself to be, that was probably a good indicator of how he was in bed. I didn’t care how highly Susan thought of him, he obviously thought even higher of himself, and I’d just spent four years of my life with a man like that.

I leaned against the bar and sipped my beer for a few minutes, then decided there was no sense wallowing in a glass of self-pity. I could do that at home, and whether I wanted to be or not, I was here.

So, I went about joining the rest of Susan’s group of friends. With time and a little alcohol, I slowly got into the groove of mingling and socializing, striking up conversations with the few people I’d met before and even some of the ones I hadn’t. My second beer eased the tension in my gut enough that I finally relaxed into the party atmosphere and forgot all about Troy being a jackass.

Before long, several people and I were engaged in a lively discussion about the Mariners, who were having a decent season for once. Beer bottles rose and fell with the wild gestures of inebriated sports fans and I narrowly missed getting an ice cold Miller Lite down the front of my shirt.

“Sorry, sorry.” The guy flashed perfect white teeth and gave me a quick, conspicuous once-over. I didn’t mind. I gave him the same look, allowing myself a moment to indulge in a few fantasies about what he was packing in those tight jeans.

We exchanged a couple flirtatious looks, then resumed the beer-swinging baseball discussion. Though I wasn’t particularly loyal to the Mariners, given that this wasn’t my hometown, I knew and loved the sport. There were worse ways to spend an evening, I decided, than drinking beer over stats and scores. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all. At least I was out of the house.

Cheering on the opposite side of the room drew everyone’s attention. Our heads turned as one to see what the commotion was about.

And that’s when I saw him.

He was a few feet away, far enough that had the anti-smoking laws not been passed, he probably would have disappeared in the thick gray cloud. Without the exhaled tobacco, though, I had an unobstructed view, and I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

His attention had followed everyone else’s to the loud celebration at the other end of the bar. When the noise died down, he returned his focus to a conversation with the group in which he stood. Though everyone else spoke loudly and gestured wildly with hands and drinks, he wasn’t nearly as animated and didn’t say much. He seemed out of place here for some reason. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it at first, but soon realized it was because he was quiet. Subdued. Reserved. When the others laughed uproariously, only the faintest hint of a grin curled his lips, his amusement subtle but unmistakable. When he listened, lines of concentration appeared between his eyebrows as if he hung on every word. And when he spoke, even though he said little, every head in the group turned.

He wasn’t a wallflower by any means. Though he listened more than he spoke, he was as engaged in the conversation as anyone else. He was interested, but seemed content to merely observe and only occasionally offer a comment.

As soon as I saw him, he fascinated me, and I wasn’t entirely sure why. Maybe he just stood out because he was understated and calm in a sea of drunk and disorderly.

It was that magnetic quietude that caught my eye, but once I’d grown accustomed to his strangely intense presence, another fact about him made itself known: He was gorgeous.

He was probably a head taller than me and built slim and lean. Not a body builder, not skin and bones, but fit. Fit with just the right broadness of shoulders and narrowness of hips to make my mouth water. He held a pint glass in one hand while the other thumb hooked in the pocket of his jeans. Casual, but somehow dignified. Even standing perfectly still, he carried himself with a kind of masculine grace.

A tiny hint of rebellion glinted on his left earlobe, though I couldn’t tell from a distance if it was a stud or a hoop. He was clean cut except for the faint shadow of stubble, which drew my attention to his pronounced cheekbones. When I caught myself wondering what it would be like to trace the angle of his jaw with my fingertip, I quickly looked away, clearing my throat and sipping my beer. I tried to concentrate on the discussion going on around me, which had moved on to last year’s World Series. All I could think about, though, was that quiet presence nearby.

As soon as I was fairly sure my face wasn’t glowing brighter than the neon Budweiser sign in the window, I chanced another look.

He raised his beer to take a drink, pausing with his glass nearly to his lips.

His eyes shifted.

And met mine.

Maybe it was just the dim, warm light of the pub, but never in my life had I seen such vivid blue eyes. He lowered his glass, and for a moment we held each other’s gazes. Then a hint of a smile pulled at his lips and crinkled the corners of his eyes.

A second later, his attention returned to his conversation and I was left with trembling knees and a beer that suddenly wasn’t nearly cold enough.

My group of strangers eventually dispersed, but the guy who’d nearly dumped his beer on me earlier lingered.

“You’re Dani, aren’t you?” he asked.

“I am.”

“The Dani that works with Susan, right?”

“Yeah, I’ve worked with her for a few months. I’m—”

His eyes started to glaze. I wondered how much Susan had gabbed about our line of work if every man in the room was instantly bored when it came into a conversation.

So I changed the subject. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Oh, right, sorry.” He extended his hand. “I’m Kyle. Susan’s my sister.” I shook his hand, noting with some amusement how that simple movement made his balance waver.

He leaned casually against the bar, probably trying to keep himself upright. “So can I buy you a drink?”

I tried not to groan. Just what I needed: Knocked back by Mr. Perfect, hit on by Mr. Drunk. I gestured with my glass, which was still half full. “I think I’m good for now. In fact I—”

“Well, when you finish that one.” He winked.

“I, um, I think this is enough for me for tonight,” I said. “Still have to, you know, get home.”

“Don’t worry about that.” He grinned. “There’s always taxis.”

“I’d rather not leave my car in town. Thanks, though.” I smiled, then sipped my beer to get the taste of this conversation out of my mouth. The truth was I had every intention of taking a taxi home. A taxi that didn’t contain Susan’s drunk, persistent brother.

“Well, if you change your mind—”

“You know, I’m probably going to take off after this one.” I started to take a step back.

“But it’s still early.” He clapped my shoulder playfully, then held on, walking the very fine line between persistent and creepy. “Party’s just getting started. You can’t leave yet.”

“Well, no, I—”

“So, how long have you been here? In Seattle, I mean. Not the bar. I saw you walk in.” He laughed heartily, like he was certain he was the funniest man alive.

I laughed, but didn’t put a lot of effort into it, concentrating more on casually freeing my shoulder from his hand. “I’ve been here a few months. Anyway, I need to—”

“Oh, so you’re really new to town,” he slurred. “You know, I could show you around the city one of these days.”

“Oh, I’m…” I cleared my throat. “I’m learning it okay on my own. I’ll manage.”

“You sure? It can get pretty confusing.”

I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to keep smiling. “I’m okay. In fact—”

“Well, if you’re sure.” He gestured toward the beer taps. “So can I buy you a drink?”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Dude, you are plowed, aren’t you? Taking a deep breath and surreptitiously looking for Susan or any other convenient method of escape, I said, “I’m okay, thanks.”

“Aw, come on, just one beer. Really, I insist.”

I started to speak, but movement beside me caught my eye. I turned, expecting to step aside for a moment to let someone get to the bar.

I wasn’t expecting him.

Nor was I expecting him to stop and look Kyle right in the eye.

“Can I help you?” Kyle growled.

“You know the definition of insanity, don’t you?” The newcomer’s lips curled into that hint of a grin and when his eyes darted toward me, he winked.

Kyle narrowed his eyes. “Um, no, I—”

“It’s defined as doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting different results.” He raised his beer to his lips, casually taking a sip while his eyes once again darted to me, then back to Kyle.

Kyle sucked in a breath that was made of pure indignation. He opened his mouth to protest, hesitated, then cursed into his drink and stalked off, leaving me alone with… him.

I laughed and shook my head, watching Kyle disappear. “Damn, I’ve been trying to get rid of him since he started talking to me. And you just…” I gestured toward the empty space Susan’s brother had occupied.

“Guess he just…” The quiet stranger glanced in Kyle’s direction. When he turned his head, the earring—a diamond stud—caught my eye again. “Well, anyway, you looked like you could use some help.”

“Much appreciated.”

He switched his drink to his left hand and extended his right. “Connor Graham.”

“Dani Blake.”

His palm was cool from holding his beer, but all that registered was heat. When I made eye contact with him again, his eyes were even bluer up close than they’d been from across the room.

He cocked his head. “Either I’ve been completely oblivious, or you’re new to this group.”

I started to speak, then realized he hadn’t yet released my hand. We both looked down and at the same moment, pulled our hands away. Avoiding each other’s eyes for a second, we sought refuge in our drinks.

Then I shifted my weight. “Yeah, I’m… Susan and I work together, but I’m still fairly new to the area.”

He rested his hip against the bar and his eyebrows lifted slightly. “You work together?”

Inwardly I cringed. Twice tonight I’d managed to make guys’ eyes glaze over by mentioning my job. This time, I shrugged dismissively. “Yeah, nothing too exciting.”

“Come on, now.” He grinned and turned my knees to water. “It’s got to be more interesting than pushing a desk all day long.”

“I’m sure Susan’s told you everything about it.”

“Not really, no.” Even as he took another drink, his eyes were fixed on me, the slight tilt of his head bidding me to continue.

I fidgeted a little, pretending to just casually shift my weight again. “Well, like I said, it’s nothing too exciting. We train dressage horses and jumpers. Give lessons to kids and adults. Break young horses. Things like that.”

“Sounds pretty interesting to me,” he said. “My sister’s got a couple of horses. Hell if I know a thing about them, but I wouldn’t mind learning.”

Like old friends, we fell easily into conversation. No matter what we talked about—my job, people we knew, the baseball games on the screen—he hung on my every word. It was the same way he’d interacted with the others when he didn’t know I was watching, so I had no illusion that this was specially for me, but it was still refreshing after Troy and Kyle. Even some commotion behind me warranted nothing more than a brief flick of his eyes before his attention returned to me. Otherwise, he stayed focused on and interested in our conversation. Focused on me. I was surprised it didn’t make me uncomfortable, but then again there was no rational reason it should have. He wasn’t scrutinizing, just interested.

“So anyway,” I said after explaining some of the finer points of my job, “that’s what I do for a living.”

He smiled. “Sounds like you’re doing what you love.” Raising his glass, he added, “More people should.”

I wondered when he’d moved closer to me. Or I’d moved closer to him. I could have sworn we were standing farther apart but somehow, perhaps through a series of motions so minute I hadn’t noticed, we’d narrowed that space. He was near enough to touch, and touching him was oh so tempting.

When our eyes met, the hint of a grin and the sparkle of mischievousness in his eyes dared me to do it. Instead, I muffled a cough behind my hand and said, “So, what do you do?”

Setting his beer on the bar, he rested his elbow beside it. “At the moment, I’m a desk jockey, but that’s just to pay bills until I graduate.”

“What are you studying?”

“I’m finishing my master’s in linguistics.”

“Linguistics?” I couldn’t help but grin. “So that would make you a cun—”

“A cunning linguist, yes.” He rolled his eyes and laughed.

“Can’t say I’ve ever met a linguist before.”

He grinned. “Not even a cunning one?”

“Especially not a cunning one.”

He lifted his beer again, his eyes narrowing and his lips curling into a smile that made my knees tremble. “What a pity.”

Chapter Two

Lost in conversation with Connor, I didn’t realize just how late it was until I noticed that the pub was getting progressively quieter. People migrated toward the door. The bartenders spent more time cleaning than pouring. The baseball games on TV were long since over.

Connor glanced at his cell phone. “Wow, it’s almost one.”

“Already?” I said. “Time flies, I guess.”

He smiled. “So it does.”

“I should probably go.” But damn, I don’t want to.

“Yeah, me too,” he said. “Another hour and they’ll throw us out anyway.”

“Bastards.”

Connor chuckled. “Probably just as well. Or we might end up here all night.”

It took me a second to realize why that would be in any way undesirable. I could think of no place I’d rather be, but the night had to end sooner or later. We couldn’t stay here all night, so it was, as Connor said, just as well.

He looked at the door, then at me. “Do you mind if I walk you back to your car?”

“I took a taxi.” I gestured at my empty glass. “I was planning to have a few more of those than I did.”

The smile on his lips was caught somewhere between devilish and shy. For a moment, he avoided my eyes. “If it’s not too forward of me…” A pause, possibly gauging my reaction before he’d fully asked the question. “Could I give you a lift home?”

Had it been anyone else, I’d have balked at the offer. After all, he was a complete stranger. Did I really want to get into his car and show him where I lived? But Susan knew him, and even if she knew such impolite cretins as Troy and Kyle, I doubted she associated with psychos.

 “You don’t mind?”

The shyness faded. “Not in the least.”

“What if I said I lived a few hours away? Like, say, Bellingham?”

His expression was all devilishness now, and my knees shook when he said, “Then I guess we’d be in for a long drive together, wouldn’t we?”

I suddenly wished I lived in Bellingham.

“Let me take care of my tab and we can go,” he said.

I nodded and he disappeared into the thinning crowd.

Out of nowhere, Susan was suddenly by my side giving me a good-natured glare. “Dani Blake, if I didn’t know any better, I’d be sure you were just flirting with Connor.”

“Define ‘flirting.’” I batted my eyes.

She rolled hers. “After all the trouble I went to setting you up with Troy.”

I snorted. “Please. I don’t think he was interested, considering how quickly he made his escape as soon as you were out of earshot.”

Susan blinked. “What? Oh, I’m going to kill him, that—”

“No, no.” I put a hand up and shook my head. “Trust me, it’s for the better.”

Her eyes flicked toward the bar and she smiled. “Well, if Connor’s a suitable consolation prize, don’t let me get in your way.”

“Consolation prize?” I glanced at Connor. “You won’t hear me complaining. Besides, he’s just taking me home.”

“Taking you home?” Her eyes widened. “Doesn’t that—”

“As in driving me back to my apartment, Susan.” I eyed her. “So I don’t have to pay for a cab. Nothing like that.”

She laughed. “And I suppose you have some oceanfront property in Arizona to sell me while you’re at it?”

Though I tried to laugh it off, I could only half-heartedly deny what my intentions were. One night stands weren’t for me, but I hoped the next half hour or so would at least warrant a “can I see you again?”

Connor’s voice came from behind me: “Susan, you’d better not be filling her head with lies about me.”

Susan put her hands up defensively. “No lies. None at all.”

“Or truth, for that matter,” he said. I turned to see him giving her a look that might have been intimidating had it not been for the mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

After some playful ribbing, we said our goodbyes to Susan and headed out of the pub. It was a warm night, considering it was only early spring, but the occasional gust of cold wind off Puget Sound made me wish I’d brought a jacket. Or a shirt that served as a somewhat better defense than this thin blouse. At least I was wearing jeans. Susan would be miserable when she stepped outside in her super short skirt.

About three blocks from the pub, Connor indicated a black parallel-parked Jeep. He unlocked it and opened the passenger door to let me in before going around to the driver’s side.

He slid into the driver’s seat. “So do you really live in Bellingham?”

I wish. “No, my apartment is in the U-district.”

“Not far at all then,” he said quietly.

“You sound disappointed.”

He shrugged and buckled his seatbelt. “I have to admit, I was hoping for a longer drive.”

My heart skipped. That was probably the least subtle thing he’d said all night, and I so, so hoped he wasn’t just saying it. I wasn’t quite sure what I wanted from him, what I wanted out of this, but whatever it was, I hoped he wanted it too.

Connor shifted gears and pulled out onto Pike Street, following it in the direction I indicated. While he drove, he said, “You mentioned that you’re not from this area. Where are you from?”

“Wyoming. Moved here about seven months ago.”

“What brought you out here? Work?”

Before I could think twice, I said, “Boyfriend.”

He glanced at me, eyes wide.

I laughed. “Ex-boyfriend now.” The momentary panic faded from his expression, but unasked questions hid in the furrows between his eyebrows, so I continued, “He wanted a change of scenery, so he moved. About four months after we got here, he decided to change all the scenery.”

Connor shot me an incredulous look. “Are you serious?”

I shrugged. “Eh, he was a jackass. It’s better this way.”

“Still,” he said. “I can’t imagine packing up your life, moving halfway across the country, then having someone turn around and pull a stunt like that.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” I said dryly. “But, it’s done. I’m here.”

At that, Connor smiled, but said nothing.

“What about you?” I asked. “Are you from this area?”

He nodded. “Born and raised.”

“Seems like a lot of people who are born here, stay here.”

“It’s a great place to live,” he said. “Well, I might be biased. All I know is that no matter where I go, this city will always be home.”

I could have sworn my apartment was further from the Pike Street Pub, and I cursed every green light that whisked us closer to the our destination. I wasn’t ready for this night to be over. There had to be some unscheduled middle-of-the-night road construction somewhere. Or a fender bender. A damned red light. A riot. Something. Anything.

But, after mere minutes, Connor pulled his Jeep into one of the vacant guest spaces at the foot of my building. For the first time since he’d shooed Kyle away at the bar, an awkward silence hung between us.

“Listen, without resorting to some clichéd pick-up line,” he said, “I’d like to see you again.”

I smiled. “Well then, without resorting to some clichéd response, why don’t I just give you my number?”

“I like the sound of that.” He pulled out his phone. I recited my number and he entered it, showing me the screen to make sure it was correct.

With my number securely in his phone, we could safely call it a night. Go our separate ways knowing we’d cross paths again and soon. Still, neither of us moved, nor did we speak.

He scratched the back of his neck, resting his other arm on the steering wheel. “I know I should let you go, but to be honest…” He paused, a shy smile pulling at his lips. “I don’t want to.”

I glanced around the parking lot. “Well, it’s not like they’re going to kick us out of here.”

He laughed. “True.” He set the parking brake and sent my pulse into overdrive. My heart pounded over the purr of the engine, but the tiny world inside the Jeep was otherwise silent. Though conversation had come easily all night, I couldn’t think of what to say now. Everything that came to mind would either sound stupidly awkward or be rife with double entendre.

Connor took a breath and started to speak, then hesitated. He rested his elbow on the steering wheel and rubbed the side of his jaw with the backs his fingers, the muffled scratch of skin on stubble making my fingertips tingle. I wanted to touch him. Good God, I wanted to touch him.

We just met. I barely know anything about him, How can I want him this badly? This can’t—

My mouth went dry when the tip of his tongue traced a quick arc across the inside of his lower lip. Then his body shifted and the seatbelt snapped back as he freed his arm from the shoulder strap. When he turned to me, I wanted to let his beautiful eyes mesmerize me, but all I could do was stare at his lips when he spoke.

Leaning across the console, he reached for my face and said, “I’m sorry for the way you ended up moving to Seattle”—his fingertips met my skin and he drew me closer to him—“but I have to say, I’m really glad you’re here.”

His hand moved into my hair and he kissed me.

Just like everything about him tonight, his kiss was the very epitome of quiet intensity. Neither gentle nor rough, aggressive nor passive, but somewhere in between, with all the electricity of a first kiss and such familiarity it was as if he’d known all along just how I’d like it.

My fingers sought his face and finally satisfied the craving to feel him, to memorize the contours of his jaw and trace his five o’clock shadow. His tongue parted my lips and when his jaw moved and his cheek hollowed beneath my palm, I had the space of a single heartbeat to shiver, knowing he was deepening this already spine-melting kiss.

The tip of his tongue slid beneath mine and neither invited nor demanded, simply assumed I’d allow him to draw it into his mouth. Even the way his mouth moved was subtle, like he wanted to make sure I felt every place our lips met and tasted every touch of his tongue against mine. I was hyperaware of everything he did, of every way we made and broke contact. His breathing slowed and I couldn’t help but mirror it, inhaling deeply when he did, releasing when his warm breath brushed across my skin.

My finger grazed the surface of his earring before combing through his thick hair. When my fingertips ran down the back of his neck, a shudder pushed him closer to me.

He looked at me and sucked his lower lip into his mouth as if to get one last taste of our first kiss. “I’ve been wanting to do that all night,” he whispered.

Do it again and I swear to God, I’ll be your slave for the rest of the night. I wasn’t quite brazen enough to say it, though. Besides, speaking was out of the question at this point. My mouth knew how to do one thing and one thing only.

My fingers tightened in his hair and he offered no resistance when I pulled him into another kiss. When we separated this time, we stayed close, just looking at each other. In the back of my mind, I couldn’t quite grasp the fact that we’d been strangers just hours ago. Nameless faces in a crowd.

But now we knew each other’s names, and I desperately wanted to hear him say mine over and over again.

With the taste of his kiss on my tongue, speech was still nearly impossible, but the only alternative was going out of my mind, so I swallowed hard. “Do you—”This wasn’t like me at all. One night stands weren’t my thing, but they sure were tonight. “Do you want to…” My eyes darted toward my apartment, then back to him, and I lifted my eyebrows.

Connor unbuckled his seatbelt.