Chapter 1
Alex
I flipped the lever up and down repeatedly and stared into the toilet bowl.
Nothing.
I turned the faucet’s handles back and forth. A groaning noise followed, the water pipes shook, and then...
Nothing.
It was apparent I’d forgotten to have the water turned on before I moved in, and I desperately needed to pee. The closest gas station was ten minutes away if there was no traffic, but I had serious doubts I would last ten minutes. As I considered peeing in the sink, the low drone from the exhaust of his Corvette gave me hope that relief was in sight.
I pulled the blinds to the side and peered out the window. Although it was dark outside, the security lights mounted over his garage door provided enough illumination for me to see him. His short curly locks of brown hair and not-so-well trimmed beard gave him a rugged appearance, and his worn jeans, boots, and untucked V-neck tee shirt topped off the ensemble.
In the half a day I had spent unpacking and situating my belongings, I had seen him come and go no less than four times. He was quite handsome, and rather tall. I had many weaknesses, but tall men were my biggest of them all.
Tall men, shoes, and double cappuccinos.
In that order.
With a full bladder and an overactive imagination, I walked out of my house, through the yard, and onto his front porch.
I inhaled a shallow breath of courage and knocked on the door. Immediately, it swung open. I met his gaze and grinned, but I wasn’t prepared for his gorgeous hazel eyes. I fought to swallow. He smiled in return. My eyes fell to his boots, and slowly rose the length of his six-foot-plus frame. His jeans were much tighter than I expected them to be and his tee shirt clung to his wide chest.
I went wobbly-legged and quickly decided living next door to him was going to be the best thing that ever happened to me.
“Hi. I just moved in next door, and they haven’t turned on my water yet. I really need to use the bathroom, and I was wondering if you’d be kind enough to let me use yours,” I blurted in one breathless sentence.
“Sure.” He stepped to the side. “Come on in.”
His half of the duplex looked identical to mine, only reversed. A couch and a chair sat side by side in the living room, and from what I could see, there was no other furniture in the entire house. I glanced around the sparsely furnished home and wondered if he was moving out, moving in, or had spent all his money on the car and had very little left over for furnishings.
I pointed toward what I assumed was the bathroom door. “Over there?”
He nodded. “Yep.”
“I’m Lex,” I said over my shoulder.
“Brad,” he responded.
Brad. I wondered if it was Bradley or just Brad. I found Bradley to be more attractive, and felt it suited him better than the shortened version.
I pushed the door closed behind me and locked it. The bathroom didn’t appear to be much different than the rest of his home. A single towel on the rack beside the shower was all that adorned the walls.
I carefully pulled the shower curtain to the side.
Not a single bottle of shampoo, conditioner, or soap.
I opened the drawers of the vanity.
Empty.
I peed and rinsed my hands, then dried them on the lonely towel. Perplexed by clinical environment that my neighbor lived in – and wanting to tell someone about it – I sent my brother a quick text message.
Met my neighbor. He’s hot but weird. See you when you get here.
Freshly divorced, but finally out of my terribly abusive relationship, I moved to Kansas City to be closer to my brother. Although I rarely agreed with him, he was the only family I had. He adhered to rules, regulations, and society’s expectations of him, and I, on the other hand, didn’t. We were polar opposites, him taking on our mother’s saint-like qualities, and me being more like my alcoholic ex-con father.
I opened the bathroom door and gazed into the living room. My hazel-eyed friend was sitting on the couch with his legs crossed. I shot him a grin of appreciation. “Thanks. Maybe after I get moved in, we can…”
In mid-sentence, the front door crashed open, sending splinters flying throughout the room. A man dressed in black SWAT-type gear rushed in, pointed a gun at Brad, and began screaming. His glare was stern, his stance expressed his confidence, and his extended arm held the pistol rock-steady.
“Where’s the fucking money, Bradley?” he bellowed.
Brad’s eyes widened as the man pushed the door closed with his foot and then took a few steps toward the couch. He resembled a cop, but he hadn’t identified himself as such. At least not yet.
“I uhhm. I don’t. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brad muttered.
“You sure as fuck do.” He took another step toward Brad. “I need that money. Now where is it?”
Brad’s right hand twitched ever-so-slightly.
The man reacted immediately, pointing the gun directly at Brad’s chest. “Keep your fucking hands where I can see them.”
A gasp shot from my lungs. So far, I had gone unnoticed, but now feared for my life. His eyes shot to me. They were as black as death. “Who the fuck are you?”
My heart rose into my dry throat. I swallowed hard and somehow managed to give a one-word response. “Neighbor.”
“Don’t fucking move, neighbor,” he demanded.
I had no intention of doing anything but following his orders. I raised my shaking hands to shoulder height and waited for further instructions.
He shifted his eyes to Brad. “Last time I’m going to ask. Where’s the fucking money?”
“You uhhm. You must have the…you’ve got the wrong house,” Brad muttered.
“You’ve got fifteen seconds to decide how you want this to end.” The man glanced at his watch. “You give me the money, and I’ll leave. No one gets hurt. By the time I count to one, if you haven’t told me where it is, I’ll put a bullet in your chest. The decision’s yours.”
Brad swallowed heavily and stared back at the man.
Dear God. I really don’t want to be in the middle of whatever…
“Twelve,” the man barked.
I felt myself teeter to one side. I lowered my hands slightly and wondered if my shaking legs would be able to hold me up any longer.
“Ten.”
Please, tell him something…
“Eight.”
“Seven.”
“Six.”
I wasn’t great at evaluating people, but it didn’t take a genius to see that he was serious. His barking out the seconds into the otherwise silent room was making me feel sick.
“I swear, you’ve got the wrong house,” Brad pleaded.
“Four.”
“Three.”
I fixed my eyes on Brad.
Jesus. Tell him a lie.
“Two.”
Brad shoved his right hand between the couch cushions. A deafening explosion followed and the air became thick with the acrid smell of burnt gunpowder.
I closed my eyes and clenched them tight. My bottom lips began to quiver. I didn’t want to know, but I opened my eyes and glanced at Brad anyway.
It was different than in the movies. The blood wasn’t red. His once white tee shirt was covered in a wine-colored stain. His eyes were open, but lifeless and distant. Everything went to slow-motion. The man walked to the edge of the couch, pushed his hand down into the couch cushion, and pulled out a pistol.
What the fuck have I got myself into?
He glanced at his watch. “Neighbor, huh?”
My ringing ears made his voice seem dull and muffled. I was scared to death, and although I knew I needed to, I realized there was no way I could formulate a response. I nodded and hoped it was enough.
“Just move in?”
He seemed extremely calm for just having killed someone. I struggled to keep from vomiting and nodded again.
The smell of blood and gunpowder hung heavily in the air. My tongue swelled. My mouth went dry. Bile rose in my throat. I tried repeatedly to swallow but couldn’t.
He extended his hand. A gold badge with US in the center and Drug Enforcement Administration over the top filled his palm. It looked just like the pictures I’d seen of my brother’s badge.
“I’m a federal agent,” he said. “He’s the bad guy, a drug dealer. He was going to shoot me. It was self-defense.”
I met his gaze. Strangely, it was the first time his image registered in my mind. Prior to that moment, he was a faceless, nameless, emotionless killer. Now, as I studied him, he seemed to be slightly more human, but more than anything, he stood out as being attractive.
So much so that it was difficult not to stare.
“Come here,” he barked.
I blinked and stared, wondering how long he’d been speaking to me.
He pointed directly in front of where he stood. “Come stand right here. With your back to my chest.”
I did as he asked and stood in front of him.
His hands formed around the ankles of my jeans, and worked their way up the length of my legs until they were pressed against my crotch. After patting against my pockets and along my torso, he ran his fingertips along the bottom edge of my bra.
I inhaled a choppy breath.
A tingling sensation shot through me as his hands cupped my breasts. His fingertips traced along my cleavage and fell beneath the edge of my bra, almost touching my nipples. I told myself he was only checking for weapons and that his touch shouldn’t have been sensual, but it was. Very much so.
A sigh escaped my lungs.
He released me and took a few steps to the side. My legs went weak. He turned to face me when I didn’t immediately follow him. “You’re coming with me.”
I followed him into the bedroom and then into the walk-in closet. A paper bag right inside the door seemed to catch his attention, and after looking inside, he met my gaze and grinned.
“Listen to me very carefully,” he said.
I nodded.
“Here in a minute, there’s gonna be cops all over this place. They’ll search this house, search my car, and start asking a lot of questions, but they won’t search you or your home. So, take this money to your house, put it in a safe place, and get your ass right back here. I’ll come for it later. I’ll give you fifteen seconds and then I’m going to come looking for you. Understand?”
What the fuck with you and fifteen seconds?
Still in slight shock, and somewhat overcome by his handsome looks, I stared back at him and didn’t immediately respond.
“If you’re not back in fifteen seconds…”
Taking the money seemed like an odd request, but I wasn’t about to try arguing with him. I reached for the bag. “I will be.”
The neighborhood I had moved into was new and vacant – short of Brad and me. With Brad being dead, I knew I didn’t have many options regarding running away or screaming for help, and strangely, I didn’t feel I needed to. I sprinted home, tossed the sack of money under my bed, and ran back as fast as I could.
I stepped into the living room and found him looking over Brad’s dead body.
“Listen carefully,” he said dryly.
I turned away. It made things seem less real. “Okay.”
He stepped between me and the door. “You know how to shoot a gun?”
I grew up on a farm in Kansas the daughter of an ex-con father who never saw value in abiding by the law. Truth be known, I’d probably shot a gun more than he had.
I gazed beyond him and focused on the splintered door frame. “Uh huh.”
“Well, it was my plan to get in and out of here without incident. This neighborhood’s empty, and he was supposed to be the only one in it. Things don’t always go as planned, though, do they?”
I studied his chiseled facial features and shook my head.
“My time’s limited and my options are few. You can either choose to help me, or I can kill you. I’m hoping you’ll help me, ‘cause you’re too fucking cute to kill.” He chuckled. “So, which will it be?”
Gee, thanks.
He may have been a cop, but he sure as fuck wasn’t a typical cop. I didn’t feel I had an option. “I’ll help you.”
He pulled Brad’s pistol out of his waistband, wiped it down with a handkerchief, and held it by the barrel with the piece of colorful cloth. “There’s rubber gloves on the couch cushion. Put ‘em on. Put this in his hand, point it at my chest, and pull the trigger using his index finger. Understand?”
I glanced at Brad’s dead body. My throat constricted. I nodded and fought to stretch the rubber gloves over my sweaty hands.
What the fuck am I getting myself into?
It didn’t really matter. Whatever happened, it was better than dying. I formed Brad’s hand around the frame of the pistol, poked his finger through the trigger guard, and pointed the barrel directly at the center of his chest.
“My name. It’s Lex.” I had no idea why, but it seemed like a good idea to tell him.
It seemed he couldn’t have cared less. He cleared his throat. “You heard two gunshots. That’s it. No matter how many people ask you, that’s all you know. You didn’t hear a car, see any lights, anything. Boom! Boom! That’s what you heard. Reluctantly, you walked over here. Much to your surprise, you found one dead bad guy and one cop on the floor. Upon seeing us, you dialed 911. And that money? It didn’t exist. Understood?”
I nodded.
If I was too cute to kill, he was damned sure too handsome to shoot. But, he asked for it.
“Now shoot me,” he said. “I need to call this in before he gets cold.”
I took aim and inhaled a shallow breath. His dark eyes met mine. He nodded. It was my cue. As much as I really didn’t want to, I slowly squeezed the trigger.
The force of impact against his bullet-proof vest knocked him to the floor. I jumped from the couch and ran to his side, wondering if the bullet somehow penetrated the protective gear he was wearing. After a what seemed like forever, but was probably no more than a few seconds, he gulped a breath and tried to sit up.
“Son-of-a-fucking bitch.” He reached for my hand. “That fucking hurt.”
I gripped his hand in mine and had every intention of pulling him to his feet. Apparently, he wasn’t ready to stand, and I wasn’t prepared to support his weight. As a result, he stumbled and fell against my chest.
I wrapped my arms around him and held him close as he fought to catch his breath. After a moment, I felt a wet warmth against my chest. He leaned away, inhaled a slow breath, and gazed into my eyes.
“Carter,” he whispered.
I rubbed my hand against my shirt and glanced down at my wet fingers.
Blood.
His vest had a dark wet spot on the left side of his chest. “Oh my God. You’re bleeding,” I snapped.
He didn’t seem to care. He shook his head and locked eyes with me. “My name,” he said. “It’s Carter.”
And he collapsed onto the floor.