“Get the fuck out of the way, you lousy piece of shit.” Riley slammed his hand onto the steering wheel, his horn blasting at the BMW in front of him, which of course had nowhere to go in this fucking bottleneck on Santa Monica Boulevard.
He growled and pressed redial on his phone, but once again he only got Tasha’s voicemail. Shit, shit, motherfucking shit.
He laid on the horn again, not because it would do any good. Just because he was so wound up he’d probably kill somebody if he couldn’t offload some of his fear and frustration.
Surely she’s okay.
Surely she just has her phone on silent.
Finally—finally—the traffic moved enough to let him turn off this motherfucking road, and once he was clear, he floored it, then laid on the horn as he blew down surface streets as he zig-zagged in and out of traffic, stopping only when traffic patterns and red lights forced the issue.
He was at just such a light when his phone rang. He glanced at the Caller ID, saw it was Ian Taggart, and hit the button to connect the call.
“Why the hell aren’t you in China?”
“Why the hell are you calling me? I’m in kind of a rush here. Some serious shit hitting the fan.”
“So I’ve heard. I just got a call from some woman named Aly. Says she has a message for you from Natasha but didn’t know how to reach you. But she remembered you work for me, and so she called the number on the website. Gotta love the modern world, huh?”
Oh, Christ. “What was the message?” His voice was tight, and he was working to hold back his fear.
“The girl just said that they were on the phone and all of a sudden Natasha told Aly that she needed to get a new blade. Said that since the words made no sense, she figured that was a code. A message for you.”
Thank God for Allison McCray. Riley hadn’t seen her in probably six years, but in that moment, she was his best friend in the whole damn world.
The light changed and he floored it into the intersection. “Do me a favor and call Detective Garrison for me. I talked to him already, so he should be en route, but tell him the situation I told him about has escalated. I’m on my way now. And for God’s sake, Ian, tell them to hurry.”
* * * *
There’s crazy in Joanna’s eyes as she lunges at me once again, leading with the knife. And though I may be trapped, I’m not giving up. It hurts like hell, but I thrust my legs up and out, catching her in the gut and giving me a few precious seconds to climb to my feet so that I can stumble out of here.
Except I can’t climb to my feet. The wound is too bad, and as I try to rise, I stumble once more, then fall, smacking my head on the corner of the table in the process.
“He’s mine,” Joanna says, her words sounding like they are underwater. “He doesn’t want you. He wants you to just go away.”
My hand closes around the fallen coffee pot, and I force myself to think. To not give in to the pain in my head. I try to hurl it at her, but I have no strength, and it travels only inches.
Joanna laughs. “You should calm down.” She strokes a finger over the blade of her razor-sharp knife, raising a thin layer of blood. “It will only hurt a little, then it will stop. As the blood leaves you, it will all stop. And then we’ll both be fine. You see? It’s all so simple.”
Hell, yeah, it’s simple. You’re crazy. I blink, realizing I’ve only said the words in my head. The pain in my leg and the pain in my head are drawing me under, and I’m not even scared. I’m just lost and sad. Riley. I won’t even have the chance to say good-bye to Riley.
Above me, Joanna’s face contorts, and she lifts the knife at the same time I hear a loud crash from the far side of the room. I have no idea what it is—I’m on the floor, my vision blocked by the couch.
But the next thing I hear is a sharp crack, and then the knife clatters to the ground. For a moment, Joanna looks stunned. Then I see that her hand is a bloody mess.
Gunfire, I think, as my head pounds and my vision turns gray.
I fight to stay conscious. But it’s hard, and things are moving so slowly. I have to stay awake though. I have to fight so she doesn’t hurt me again. But it’s hard—it’s so damn hard.
And then I hear a feral yell, and as if in slow motion, someone leaps into view, knocking Joanna to the ground before turning his attention to me.
I try to smile, but I’m not sure I manage.
Riley.
He’s here, and I’m safe.
And that’s when I relax and let the gray pull me under into sleep.
* * * *
“I could have lost you,” Riley says hours later as he carefully settles me into my bed. “I just found you again, and I could have lost you.”
“But you didn’t,” I say. It’s the same thing I’ve been saying for the last two hours—ever since I woke up in the condo as he’d held me, his muscles straining as he kept pressure on my leg while we waited for the police and paramedics. I reach out and clasp his hand. “You didn’t lose me. You saved me.”
“I sent Big Tag a text message from the hospital. I’m done. With Dallas. With all of it.”
The words are clear enough, but they make no sense, and I decide that I must be woozier from the pain meds than I thought. The knife missed my femoral artery, thank goodness, but it was still a deep slash, and I now sport a lovely set of twelve stitches on my thigh and some even lovelier pain meds pumping through my veins.
“Ian Taggart,” he says, obviously seeing my confusion. “My boss. I quit. I’m not going back to work.”
That time I understand the words, but I’m still fuzzy on the meaning. “Why?”
His laugh is strangled, and when he cups my cheek and looks into my eyes, I see that the man looking back at me is just as wounded as I am. “Why? Because I can’t leave you. Because I’m staying here.”
My heart skitters, and I fear that the drugs and the pain have discombobulated my brain. Surely he’s not saying what I think he’s saying. Is he?
“You’re not going back to Dallas?”
“No.” He takes my hand, then kisses my fingertips. “I told you. I’m staying here.”
“Oh.” I lick my lips, barely daring to hope. “But you hate it here.”
He studies my face, his expression tender. “I did. I’ve had a change of heart.” He draws a breath. “I don’t want to scare you by moving too fast, but I love you, Natasha Black, and I want a chance to make this work between us.”
My chest tightens, and I can’t speak through the tears of joy that are trying so desperately to escape.
“I figure I can consult on films and television. Lyle and Matthew can help me line up work. God knows this town makes enough action movies that I won’t starve.”
It takes a moment for those words to process, and when they do, I take his hand. “I can’t… I don’t think I can handle that. Knowing I pulled you away from something you love. I don’t want you to resent me.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“You might. But it’s more than that. It’s part of who you are. Just like it was part of who my dad was. And even though the worst happened to him, I wouldn’t want to go back and change who he was. And I don’t want to change who you are either.”
His brows rise. “Are you saying you want me to call Tag and tell him I’m moving back to Dallas after all?”
I smack him lightly on the chest. “Don’t you dare. But maybe you could tell him you’re open to freelance? When he needs you? And you could even do freelance work for Ryan, too. And the Hollywood consulting. That should keep you busy. The rest of your time can be devoted to pleasuring me.”
“Oh, can it?”
“Absolutely. In fact, you can start by kissing me.”
“Anything you want,” he says, then slides a hand under my neck as he rises over me, his mouth closing hot and gentle over mine, a kiss like making love slowly, lazily. A kiss that holds a promise of things to come, and when he pulls away, I regret the pain in my thigh and the exhaustion and drugs that weigh down my body. But at the same time, I know it doesn’t matter. There will be so many more nights between us, and so very much to look forward to.
“I love you, Riley Blade.”
“Oh, Tasha, I love you, too.”
I sigh, deeply satisfied, then press my cheek to his bare chest. “We do have one problem though, you know.”
“We do? Wait. What are you talking about?”
I rise up, perversely enjoying the hint of panic I hear in his voice. “It’s just that you’re too good at what you do.”
I watch as his face relaxes as he realizes he’s being teased. “Is that so?”
“You caught my stalker without having to take me back to The Firehouse.”
“I see. And that’s a problem?”
“Not if you promise to take me back.”
His grin is pure, carnal wickedness. “Sweetheart,” he says as he carefully curls up next to me. “I’ll buy us a membership in the morning.”