Anyone interested in the many infamous murders that had occurred in Los Angeles knew the Hotel Cecil—now known as the Stay on Main—was worth a visit. More than one violent killer had called the building home, and brutal crimes had been committed within its walls. The place showed up on the city’s murder tours, and had even landed its own TV series on a cable network.
For Evie Fleming, however, going to the Cecil wasn’t about morbid curiosity. She made her living—a very good one—writing in-depth exposés about infamous crimes. As far as she was concerned, there was no better place to begin her research on the city’s most brutal killers than at the hotel connected to some of the worst.
Right now, though, she wondered if that visit might have been a big mistake.
Because a man was following her down Seventh Street.
“Shit,” she whispered as she heard his hard footsteps behind her.
If she’d seen his hulking figure in the shadows of a doorway, she probably would have gone back to the hotel. But she’d been halfway down the block when he emerged behind her.
She walked a little faster toward the parking garage where she’d left her rental car, wishing the neighborhood wasn’t so quiet. When she’d arrived this afternoon, it had been crowded with people who worked in the surrounding businesses. There were few shops, though, and the restaurants catered to daytime workers who’d left long ago.
She should have left, too. But her conversation with a talkative old maintenance man at the hotel had been fascinating, and she’d spent hours in his small office. Hours during which the night had grown late, the air had grown cold, and the street had grown menacing.
Knowing she was within a block of the garage didn’t offer much relief. The narrow entrance ramp was tucked in between two tiny stores. Even from here she could see they were dark and shuttered with security gates.
She’d parked on the third level. The elevator was in the back. The stairs were completely enclosed—a vertical tunnel of privacy for anyone with crime in mind. None of this looked promising.
Maybe there’s a twenty-four-hour cashier at the exit gate.
Or maybe it was entirely electronic.
There’s probably a security guard.
But there might not be.
Damn it. She’d seen the movie P2. Walking into it that garage could be like entering a boxed canyon. She might be trapping herself with no way to get out.
The heavy footsteps on the sidewalk were getting louder. He was closing in.
Maybe he was totally innocent, on an errand or meeting a friend. But she didn’t think so. A creepy-crawly sensation danced up her spine, the one every woman felt when she thought she was being followed by danger. Her job—the constant immersion in the world of violent crime—made her more suspicious than most. She knew awful things could happen to anyone. At any time.
Should’ve Uber’d it.
Yes, she should have. But it hadn’t seemed necessary. The LAPD headquarters building was only six or seven blocks from the Cecil. She’d walked to the station that afternoon, hitting the hotel on her way back. The neighborhood was a busy, commercial one. She just hadn’t seen the nighttime potential. Big mistake.
“Okay, what are you going to do?” she whispered.
Did she go into the garage and call herself a paranoid fool when the stranger kept walking up the street? Did she turn around and confront him, knowing some guys would back off if they were aware they’d been looked at and could be identified?
Identified. Another possibility flared in her mind.
Without missing a stride, she reached into her purse and pulled out her phone. Tapping the screen and thumbing for the camera app, she was prepared to swing around and take the guy’s picture. Just in case.
The footsteps pounded harder. The guy who’d been lurking in the doorway, as if just watching for a potential victim, either was closer or was speeding up. Maybe he’d seen the flash of light from the camera screen. Or maybe he’d realized they’d reached the darkest center of the street.
“Damn it,” she snapped as she fumbled with the phone. Not even wanting to stop long enough to turn around, she lifted the camera high. She snapped what might have been a picture of her own shoulder, or the street in the opposite direction, and forwarded it in response to the last text message she’d received. Although she knew she should take another—one that might actually show the guy—her tension had quadrupled. Her heart thudded, her pulse roared, and her brain ordered her to move. Now. Go now.
Sensing she didn’t have time for the picture idea, she obeyed her inner voice and took off toward the next intersection. Broadway. It was seventy yards, maybe. She just hoped she got there safely to give it her regards.
She ran. No, she flew, her long legs eating the sidewalk, her feet steady in her block-heeled leather boots.
Although she’d anticipated it, the attack still shocked her. A hard body slammed into her, a powerful arm encircling her waist, a hand yanking her hair.
“Don’t scream.”
Of course she screamed.
He let go of her hair, slamming his thick hand over her mouth. Even as she twisted and struggled, he began to drag her toward a narrow service alley between two tall office buildings.
Evie wasn’t stupid, and she wasn’t helpless. She couldn’t let him get her back there, away from any potential passersby. Getting into the car or going into the back alley or into the strange building was a common mistakes victims made when confronted by an attacker. Because once he got you—them—out of sight and sound of anyone else, the battle was already lost.
She fought with all her strength, elbows hitting his gut, eliciting a grunt. Her nails clawed the hand over her mouth. Swinging her leg back, she caught his shin with the heel of her boot.
He winced, but tightened his grip around her. “Stop struggling, bitch.”
As if. So far he hadn’t produced a weapon. That was fortunate. She just had to get away from him, or at least turn around to give herself a real fighting chance. Anything to prevent him from getting her in that alley.
Suddenly, she remembered a trick from a self-defense class she’d taken.
Evie picked up her feet.
Surprised at having to bear her entire weight, the attacker dropped her onto the ground. She rolled away quickly, knowing he would lunge after her, and that he wouldn’t be caught off guard again. Leaping to her feet, she swung around, preparing to jab her nails into his eyes, her fist into his throat, her knee into his crotch.
But he wasn’t there. Rather than the attacker charging at her, something had come at him. A dark shape, powerful and broad, slammed into the other man, sending him flying.
Her ridiculous first thought was that Batman was real. Her second was that she was going to start carrying pepper spray. Her third was sheer, utter relief.
The attacker landed on the hard corner of a cement step and howled in pain.
“Police. Don’t you even move,” a deep voice growled.
The deep voice was accompanied by a tall man who moved toward the thug and pushed him onto his stomach. A gleam of moonlight on metal, and a clanking sound, told her he was putting handcuffs on her attacker.
“This is police brutality! I think you broke my arm.”
“You’re lucky it wasn’t your neck. You think I don’t know what you had in store for this woman?”
The words being thrown right out there made Evie shiver. So far, she’d held herself together. Only the adrenaline roaring through her kept her from the emotional reaction that was sure to follow.
She might have been able to fight the guy back. But she might not. And if she hadn’t, she would probably, right now, be in that alley being robbed, beaten…maybe worse. Jesus.
Once the handcuffs were in place, her savior looked up at her. His face was washed in shadow, only the dark eyes gleaming. “Are you all right, Miss…?”
“Fleming. Evie Fleming. And yes, I’m okay. Thanks to you.”
She would undoubtedly have aches, pains, and bruises tomorrow because of her impromptu drop to the sidewalk. But all of those things were far better than what she might have endured had the broad man with the intense eyes not come onto the scene.
Just like something out of a crime TV show, he sat the handcuffed creep up on a cement step and read him his rights. Pointing an index finger in the guy’s face, he said, “You move for anything other than to breathe, and you’ll regret it.”
The would-be mugger—rapist?—groaned. But he didn’t move a muscle.
Pulling a radio off his belt, the police officer called in the crime. After he’d made the call, requesting assistance, he refocused his attention on Evie. “Are you sure you’re not hurt? Do you want me to have them send an ambulance?”
“No, really, I’m fine,” she said, meaning it. Everything—from her noticing she was being followed, to the jerk being put in handcuffs—had taken no more than five minutes. She might be a bit banged up because of her own maneuvers, but really, the only thing she could feel was relief.
Now that her heart was settling back into a normal rhythm, the rush of danger easing out of her with every exhalation, she noticed more about the cop. First, that he probably wasn’t quite six feet tall, but gave the impression of being taller because of his overall bigness. Although he still wore the shadows of the night, his body appeared powerful—broad in the shoulders and in the chest, definitely no donut belly. He was in perfect shape. Good thing, since her attacker was probably a bit taller. But the guy wouldn’t have stood a chance against someone this strong.
“You’ll have to wait talk to someone from the local precinct. It’s not far; they should be here within a couple of minutes.”
“You’re not from there?” That surprised her. She’d figured she’d been correct in her initial assumption that this neighborhood would be well patrolled, given the location of headquarters up on Second.
“No, it was just dumb luck. I was dropping off some paperwork. Saw this jackoff start to follow you when I was waiting at the intersection and decided to cruise by and see what was going on.”
“Thank heaven for me you did.”
He shifted a little, probably uncomfortable with the praise, as many heroic types were. And she’d already pegged him as one.
As he moved, so, apparently, did some clouds overhead. Because a shimmer of moonlight emerged and cast light on him.
God in heaven.
Evie quivered again, but not from delayed fear. This was sheer feminine appreciation. She’d pictured a middle-aged, hardworking guy who spent his spare time at the gym, but still wore his cop cares like a badge. Not a young, ruggedly handsome one. A very handsome one.
He had that strong, angular face, all sculpted bones and jutting jaw, that made women take a second look. And a twenty-second one. She, for example, had moved right past number two and was well into her fifth or sixth as she catalogued the thick, nearly black hair, and the swoop of equally black brows over dark, deep-set eyes. The chin was hard, the jaw defined, the nose strong but not overlarge, the mouth…oh, Jesus, the man had mouth. A slow, involuntary shiver rolled up her body, but it was nothing like the shudders of desperation she’d been experiencing just minutes ago in this very spot.
“You’re cold.” He didn’t wait for a reply, instead coming closer and whipping off a soft, worn leather jacket. He put it over her shoulders.
Funny, now that he was standing so close, cold was the last way she’d describe herself. The man put off more fire than a jet engine.
There was something else…He looked familiar.
Evie couldn’t identify him, and she was almost certain they hadn’t met in person. But she’d seen him somewhere. Maybe when researching one of her books—he was a cop, after all, in a city that had had more than its fair share of serial killer cases. She would figure it out eventually, of that she had no doubt. The man was simply too spectacular to be forgotten forever.
“I’m fine, really,” she said. “I think my senses are just a little heightened after what happened.” That had to be why she was reacting so strongly to everything—the moonlight, his mouth, his broad, powerful body, and his heat.
“Completely understandable.” He frowned. “You know, this isn’t a great area to walk alone in at night.”
“I figured that out. It looked fine when I arrived this afternoon. I didn’t realize how it would be once the businesses closed.”
“Common mistake all over LA.”
“First lesson learned.”
“You’re new here?”
She nodded. “As of yesterday.”
He barked a laugh. “Welcome to Los Angeles.”