Phantom in the Night (B.A.D. Agency, #2)(17)
Author: Sherrilyn Kenyon

She sometimes limped when no one else was around. What was wrong with her right leg?

He could ask her if she’d talk to him again. The whole point in his standing out here like a stalker.

Walk across the street… or not?

Nathan dug a rut in the rich soil with the heel of his boot, procrastinating.

She wouldn’t be happy to see him again, but he was quickly losing his objectivity because of her. He had to convince her to share what she knew, then back away from this before she ended up dead and not just limping. Spending another half hour of debating would just waste what was left of the night.

Time to make a move or get off the pot.

He heaved a deep breath, admitting silently he wanted to see her again. Stupid, stupid, stupid to even think about her.

Screeching guitar music blared from a car loaded with teens that whizzed past, disturbing leaves and debris along the narrow street. And drawing his gaze back to her bedroom, which remained dark. She hadn’t even turned on the light.

With any luck she’d still be in the kitchen, dressed, so this time he might be able to concentrate on talking to her. Instead of paying more attention to all that creamy skin he’d like a second shot at.

As if she’d let him near her again.

Nathan checked the area. A few people half a mile away and some dog digging in a yard nearby. Nothing for real concern. He started across the street. Terri should be alone.

Her grandmother had left with some friends and a suit-case early this morning. Later, Terri had rushed out to the car like she was late for a lunch date.

He paused. A date. That soured his already low frame of mind. Scowling, he moved on, reaching the rear of the house. Daydream later, when she was long gone from sight. He’d never been this distracted on a mission and had better buckle down if he hoped to survive.

Out of habit, he tested the lock on the back door. Unlocked. Hadn’t Terri learned anything from the last few days?

Turning the handle carefully, he slowly opened the door and eased inside. The vent light above the stove cast a yellow hue on the worn oak table and white Corian counters.

A quick check confirmed no one in the kitchen or the living room. He hesitated, debating his next move. When had he ever second-guessed himself? Never, but he wasn’t sure he could take another night of seeing her in a towel, or sans towel, and walk away.

There was only so much any man could take.

A soft murmur reached his ears.

The skin along his neck tightened in warning.

Nathan slipped closer to the long hallway. Terri’s room was at the very end.

A voice spoke too low for him to catch the words, but he had no question on the gender. Male.

Not alone. Nathan clenched his fingers and stretched them, buying a minute to think. Hadn’t figured on her having company, which didn’t sit well at all, and he didn’t really care to figure out why. He had to get out of here right now if there was any hope of not embarrassing her and sparing himself vivid details of what was going on back there.

This royally sucked.

Terri had sure acted like an available woman. She’d responded to his kiss as if she enjoyed it and wanted more. Screw this. Get the hell out.

Nathan couldn’t make his feet move any more than he could ignore the green haze of jealousy he suffered at the thought of her in there with someone else. When had she gotten to him?

He shoved his black mood about face and started to leave when Terri’s voice clearly snarled, "I don’t give a damn what anyone told you, I don’t know who this Drake guy is_"

A hard slap of flesh against flesh cracked the air.

Terri cried out in pain and sounded as though her body had hit the floor.

Nathan wheeled around and moved with the speed and stealth of a cougar on attack. At the door, he inched close, taking in everything within a second. Terri was sprawled on the floor, wiping blood from her mouth. The window shade hung half torn down from where she’d grabbed at it, allowing a smear of light into the room.

"Get up, bitch. I’m not through with you." Hatchet, one of FinMan’s goons Nathan had been hunting, stood over her, waving a gun. He was the only bodyguard not accounted for yesterday when the other ones were sent for a long vacation in the hospital.

Nathan shot into the room, not trying to hide his entrance.

Hatchet spun around to his right. His left hand followed with the weapon, bringing the handgun up to shoot.

Nathan caught Hatchets left hand, shoved it up, and slammed a hard chop to break the goons arm at his elbow. Hatchet dropped the gun, yelled, and swung his meaty right paw in a power slam, bouncing it off Nathan’s head.

Ears ringing, Nathan reached for the gun. Hatchet was lithe for all his bulk. He kicked, trying to boot Nathan under his jaw, but missed. Adrenaline flowed through Nathan like nitrous for a racing engine. He spun and landed on all fours, then shoved to his feet.

Terri struggled to stand, splitting Nathan’s attention. He yelled, "Stay back."

The distraction gave Hatchet an opening to produce a switchblade. He slashed at Nathan’s neck, barely missing, spinning off balance. Hatchet fell against a dresser, yowling in misery. The sharp edges of his broken forearm bone stuck out of the skin, blood running freely.

Everything slowed as it always did when Nathan sensed the approach of an inevitable outcome, knew the next moves as if he and his opponent had been given a script. When the choice came down to kill or be killed.

Hatchet would catch his balance, jump back to face Nathan, and attack. Nathan would block with one arm and use the other to ram his fist into Hatchet’s neck, crushing his windpipe.

Terri would have a front-row seat to the gruesome death.

Hatchet caught his balance and jumped back around, pain gouging deep lines into his face, sweat running, but he was a moose and not going down easy. He clenched his teeth and growled, on attack.

Nathan snatched up a standing floor lamp, swinging it horizontally, connecting with Hatchet’s knife hand. The knife and lampshade went flying. Nathan immediately reversed direction with the metal pole, cracking it hard against Hatchets head, knocking him across a chair. He landed upside down on his head and stopped moving.

Nathan heaved one breath, then another before moving over to nudge Hatchets bad arm. Not a sound.

He checked for a pulse_alive_then pulled a couple of wire ties from his pocket. He bound Hatchet to the chair in a way the goon couldn’t maneuver even if his arm didn’t have a compound fracture, then placed one wire tie above the break as a tourniquet to stem the blood flow.

When he swung around, Terri struggled to get up on her feet. She grunted something unladylike.

"You okay?" Nathan straightened his hood back into place to shield his face, not sure how much she’d seen in the dark room. He moved toward her slowly, not wanting to frighten her after what she’d just witnessed.

"I’m fine." Terri leaned up on her left leg, obviously babying her right one as if she had an injury. She was almost completely upright when her right leg folded. She cursed, arms flying out for any support.

He caught her before she went down and pulled her to his chest. She clutched at his forearms, fingers digging in for dear life. He didn’t mind the pain. He could feel the steady beat of her heart in time with his thundering heartbeat. That’s all he cared about right now.

She could have died. His fault.

FinMan’s goon had come here searching for him.

She shuddered. Her body trembled, the aftermath of shock taking over no matter how tough she wanted to be.

Nathan turned his attention to comforting her. He drew her close, holding her securely with one arm and rubbing his other hand up and down her back, whispering that she would be all right.

And she would. No one was going to hurt her again.

Not and live to tell about it.

The acrid smell of fresh blood stained the air. He lifted her into his arms.

"Put me down." She snarled like a wounded bobcat. "I told you I was fine."

"You’re a bad liar to be in the business you’re in." He carried her into the living room. The couch backed up to a glass window covered by a dainty sheer. Streetlights pierced the thin material, casting a dusky hue over the room. The room smelled faintly of cinnamon and apples from the potpourri in a glass bowl. Everything about the decorations shouted feminine, from the white lace curtains to the pink crocheted doilies. Tidy, inviting, and warm.

Except for Terri’s room right now, but Hatchet could wait. He wasn’t going anywhere and he wouldn’t bleed to death.

She huffed an exhausted sigh. "Don’t worry. I’m not going to wig out on you."

Nathan lifted an eyebrow over her bravado and settled both of them on the couch, careful with her leg. "Well, I might wig out so let me sit here a minute and catch my breath."

She made a sound in her throat that he translated as disbelief. "I had a shot and should have taken it."

"Why didn’t you?"

"I thought he was you."

His heart dropped at that. Worse than putting her in danger, he’d caused her to hesitate. He’d recognized her training the first time she fought him. Terri could handle herself, but he’d skewed her instincts.

"I’m sorry." When was the last time he’d said that to anyone? He leaned back, drawing her close, and something surprising happened.

She stopped grousing and held tight to him.

He waited for her to come to her senses and shove him away, but she didn’t. She drew a long breath and exhaled, a deliberate effort to calm herself.

An antique mantel clock ticked away in the silence. He sat holding her, content to stay this way for as long as she’d allow it.

He’d meant only to soothe her, but she’d flipped the tables on him. Having a woman turn to him for comfort thawed a layer of the frozen shield around his heart.

Her hair tickled his throat and smelled of strawberries. He loved strawberries. Nathan dropped his chin and inhaled deeply, then kissed the top of her head.

Terri stirred. He eased his hold to allow her to move as she pleased.

She lifted away from his chest and stared at him.

He tensed. The room was dark and the light from outside the picture window behind his head would keep him silhouetted.

She lifted her hand toward his hood.

He considered catching her hand, stopping her from unmasking him, but a part of him wanted Terri to see his face.

To know him.

Not some phantom she’d heard about.

She didn’t touch the hood. Her fingers slipped inside the cloth and cupped his chin in her palm.

His breath caught at the unexpected touch.

Her eyelids fluttered shut. She smoothed her hand over his cheeks, caressing his face, then sliding her fingers over his eyelids, as a blind person would do to memorize the shape. He closed his eyes to allow her complete access. Her fingers glided light as a feather, feeling each hard edge, his nose and farther down to his mouth.

Her gentle exploration fed a savage part of his soul that had been starved too long for human contact.

With one finger, she traced the curve of his lips.

Nathan released the breath he’d been holding and kissed her finger.

She stilled.

Had he broken the spell? Tell him he hadn’t. He couldn’t recall being touched so gently. As if she tried to soothe the beast inside him.

She moved her finger away to her lips, kissed it, and returned the soft pad to his.

His heart stomped a beat of desire so hard he could hardly breath. When she leaned her face closer to him he was sure the organ had hooves.

He lost all ability to care about the consequences and leaned forward, cupping her cheeks and touching his lips to hers. Unlike the quick stolen kiss, this one reached deep into his soul and unlocked feelings he’d buried long ago. She kissed him back, her mouth a turbulent mix of passion and virtue.

In that moment, he longed so much for the life he’d once thought would be his, but never would, that disappointment twisted sharp as a knife blade to his gut. Any opportunity for a life he’d want was as dead as his mother and brother.

So what was he doing kissing a woman he’d never see again once he disappeared? Ending the kiss was almost as painful as accepting his destiny.

Terri must have sensed the change within him. She eased back without complaint when she had every right to question his actions." Why did you come here tonight?"

"To talk to you."

She shook her head. "You didn’t knock again."

"Sorry, bad habits are hard to break," he joked.

"Lucky for me this time," she murmured and smiled, then winced. Streetlight from the window caught her face. Her cheek was swelling.

How could any man raise a fist to a woman? "Let’s get some ice on that."

"I’ve got to call the police… soon." She pushed up out of his lap.

Yep, the spell was definitely broken.

"No rush. Hatchet might lose some blood, but his pulse was steady." Nathan stood and wrapped his arm around her waist, concerned her leg injury might cause her to fall.

"I need to get him out before he makes a bigger mess," she grumbled.

She didn’t pull away, so Nathan walked her into the kitchen and gently lowered her into a chair. The hood fell forward, keeping his face hidden. "Want to tell me about your leg?"

"Not really."

He had to appreciate her honesty "Got any Ziploc bags?"

"Third drawer, left of the sink." The swelling affected her speech, garbling some words. That jaw would hurt like the devil tomorrow.

He found the box and withdrew a bag, filling it with ice. Glancing around, he snagged a frilly towel hanging on a drawer handle and wrapped the bag in the towel before handing it to her.

"Thanks." She cupped the makeshift ice pack to her face and winced.

Hatchet deserved the compound fracture.

"You want some tea or something?" Nathan’s mother used to like tea when she was upset.

"No, but thanks for offering. I’m good right now, really."

"What did Hatchet want?"

"Is that his name? Fits him."

"He’s one of FinMan’s bodyguards."

She adjusted the bag slightly on her face. "Hatchet must have missed the party when you put the others in the hospital."

Nathan flinched. That removed any doubt he had about whether she knew if he was responsible for Hatchet attacking her or not. "What did he say?"