Phantom in the Night (B.A.D. Agency, #2)(5)
Author: Sherrilyn Kenyon

Terri locked the car and kept to the shadows created by a full moon, then hiked along the sidewalk past a couple houses until she reached the one next door to the Drake’s.

Music floated from the neighbor’s courtyard, mingling with the aroma of barbeque filling the air. Terri’s mouth watered. The food in the courtyard smelled better than anything she’d ever cooked in her grandma’s kitchen.

A door squeaked open across the street right before an old man with a heavy gray jacket emerged with his little fluffy mutt on a leash.

Once he reached the street and turned the opposite way from her destination, Terri hurried to the broken concrete walkway of the Drake house.

The well-maintained blue wood exterior snubbed the rougher exteriors of the houses on each side. No obvious Katrina damage to the Drake home. Black shutters were drawn tight over the windows, no slats missing. Like all the other houses on the street, this one was narrow with white gingerbread-lattice work around the eaves. The quaint dwelling strangely reminded her of something out of an old fairy tale. Everything appeared tidy, except for some dirt and debris piled across the narrow strip of overgrown lawn.

She paused at the locked wooden gate on the side of the house that prevented strangers from pulling into the drive. A simple, cheap padlock held the chain hooked through the rickety wood structure in place. She pushed the gate ever so slightly and peeked through.

No nosy dog came charging up from the small courtyard.

Nathan Drake had probably tended the house while his mother lived here, but not in the past couple weeks, according to the overgrown patches of grass. The only information Terri had found in addition to Sammy’s notes was an obituary notice that Lydia Drake had succumbed to cancer. Very minimal obit details.

She indulged a pang of sympathy for the guy’s loss, but nothing excused working for a drug dealer. And his brother was in prison. What a disappointment for their mother.

At least they’d had their mother longer than Terri had been with hers. She’d gone to bed one night at a girlfriend’s house in north Louisiana, thinking life at fifteen sucked just because she couldn’t get a driver’s permit yet, and woke up to a real nightmare. Her mother had been shot during the night and died before Terri reached the hospital.

A dog howled way off in the distance, waking up her common sense. She had to be quick about this or Brady might catch her. Hell, from the look of this neighborhood, she risked being mugged if she dallied any longer. With her gloves slipped on, Terri moved to the lifeless front porch shrouded in deep shadows and tried the doorknob as a standard move.

The door opened.

Hair raised along her arms. Enter or not?

Glancing around to assure no one was near, she unlatched her purse and slipped her hand inside to touch her 9 mm. She shook off her trepidation and entered, but prepared. The house was dark and quiet. Empty feeling.

Once inside she used a tiny LED flashlight on her key ring to scan the contents. She’d entered through the small living room and headed toward the kitchen, which smelled clean. The counters were spotless, but drawers stuck out half-opened. A note had been taped to the refrigerator that hummed with life.

Terri bent at the knees, gritting her teeth over the sharp twist of pain that screamed from her right thigh. She held the light up close to read the note penned in a neat script. Below yesterdays date, written in marker were the words, "If I don’t make it by tomorrow A.M., Laissez les bons temps rouler!"

The body had been found around noon yesterday. So what did Nathan Drake miss doing, or whom did he miss meeting?

Chill bumps rippled over her skin. Had he known he might not come home?

If so, who had he left the note for? Who else had keys to this house?

A sharp pain jabbed down the inside of her leg. She straightened up and stretched the muscle, easing the ache.

Terri headed, from the kitchen up the hallway to the living room, where more drawers on end tables had been left pulled out.

Didn’t look as though Brady had been through the place. The DEA was usually a tad bit neater in their covert searches. Which begged the question. "Why not?"

She moved three more steps and paused when she reached a bedroom. Frilly lace drapes hung quietly above a chest with glass figurines on doilies. A bottle of White Shoulders cologne shared space with the figurines. Soft light beamed from a night-light low on the wall, an incongruous glow of life in a house with no living occupants, based on Sammy’s notes. The crocheted coverlet draped over a pristine bed indicated a woman’s room. Nathan’s mother, Lydia Drake?

Not a drawer open. In fact, nothing seemed disturbed.

Terri moved away to the next door, wanting to search the only other bedroom in the small house. A glance in the room told her someone had been staying in there and the simple decoration indicated a man’s taste.

Nathan’s room?

Moonlight sliced through the slats of the shutters on windows. She turned off her key chain flashlight and tiptoed in. When her eyes adjusted, the first thing she noticed was a drawer open on a small table where papers had been disturbed and piled on top of the desk.

Terri reached for the papers.

Out of the darkness, someone with large hands grabbed her from behind.

One thought registered. Shit.

CHAPTER TWO

The intruder had underestimated the power needed to hold her, but he’d shifted her purse to her back out of easy reach.

Terri made a two-punch move. Right. Left. Arms now free, she swung around fast, guessing at the position of his head. Her whole body jarred when her elbow smacked his jaw.

His head snapped back with a nasty cracking sound. He cursed, stumbled backward, but quickly caught his balance and blocked her exit.

Crap. This one wasn’t going down easy. And she couldn’t reach for her weapon without lowering her defense.

She couldn’t make out his face in the dark, but had no problem discerning his size. Moonlight threw shadows past his massive silhouette.

Options ran through her mind. She’d taken her instructor down and he wasn’t exactly a weakling at over two hundred pounds. Not this big, though.

The man shook his head and stood very still, watching her.

Blood pumped furiously through her chest. She licked her lips, hoping the adrenaline charge would give her enough of an edge to beat him.

No matter what, she would make him pay for anything he got.

"You’re a surprising little thing."

The disbelief in his muttered words stroked her ego until she picked up the underlying anger.

"No, I’m a dangerous little thing." She positioned her feet and feinted to his right. Her bluff worked to draw him out of position. She gritted her teeth against the inevitable pain, took a step, and threw her weight onto her injured leg.

Then shoved her left knee up hard. Big mistake.

The bastard blocked his groin with both hands faster than she’d ever seen a man move.

Terri lost her balance, hopping to stay off her right leg, but pain knifed up her side.

She sucked in her breath. The white-hot burning in her thigh caused her to hesitate to attack again.

And cost her what little edge she’d just gained.

Quick as a whip, he caught her by one arm and spun her back against his chest. His arms wrapped her like giant manacles, immobilizing her.

Shit!

Terri struggled but knew when she’d been beat. This was the downside of refusing to work with a partner again.

"What do you want?" she demanded and damn if she didn’t sound mad enough to back up the fury in her tone. Her pulse kicked into hyperspeed. She struggled. Panic would not help her, but the fear of being a victim again after the knife attack hid just beneath the surface under a thin veneer of confidence.

He said nothing. His chest expanded with each breath, but she hadn’t been a real challenge for this guy. No one with his lightning reflexes would be winded. In fact, he’d contained her without roughing her up, which took effort.

Hope blossomed in her chest. He might not kill her.

Maybe he was just a thief.

"You find anything good here?" she asked, trying to prod him to confirm his presence.

Still no reply. Great impression of a statue.

She had to calm down and think. Calm equaled control. Her handbag was still intact and had moved back to her hip, but still out of reach while he held her. She glanced around for a weapon or something she could use as one.

The papers and open drawer snagged her gaze. Why go through the drawers of this house? What did people hide of value in drawers?

Jewelry, cash, checkbooks, credit cards…

The possibility of him being a thief was beginning to sound pretty plausible. Maybe he read obits, knew how to locate the houses and hit the ones that looked like easy pickings. She wanted to slap her head for not taking the unlocked door more seriously.

"Guess you’ve combed this place pretty good." She tried to turn her head. Not going to happen until he gave up this intimidation routine.

She knew the stay silent tactic. Let the other person babble. No problem. She’d play along and talk if that gave her any chance of weaseling her way out of this.

Terri took a breath, feeling back on her game, even if she was in a compromised position. Her best bet would be to convince him she’d also come here for a heist.

"Hey, buddy, I had no idea we were casing the same house. My bad. If you’ll let me go, I’ll stay off your turf." She tried to flex her arms, but she’d have an easier time flexing against a tree limb. This guy must spend his days as a gym rat.

A lock of her wavy hair tumbled into her eyes. She huffed the curl back and waited for him to make a move. Preferably, not an aggressive one.

"What are you doing here?" The softly spoken words were delivered in a voice as chilling as a block of ice.

She would not let him intimidate her. Her palms were slick, but everyone got sweaty palms, even undercover agents. She’d dealt with dangerous perps back when she was with the DEA.

"Same as you, just looking for something to pawn." Terri prayed she was right. He didn’t act like someone on crack so maybe he’d just been sifting through the house for loose cash, credit cards, and jewelry. A smart thief wouldn’t want to add assault to the charges if he ever got caught.

An encouraging thought… if he was sharp.

"Right." He made a sound that was a cross between a scoff and a grunt.

What? He didn’t think she was capable of B&E, just got lucky with the door being open. If he only knew. She could pick a lock faster than he could sneeze. Just ask the judge who sentenced her to a year in juvie when she was sixteen.

"Hey, I can get into anything." She scoffed right back. "And had I broken in first I wouldn’t have left the door unlocked. So what are you after? Jewelry?" Play along and keep him talking even if he did act as though he was being charged by the word to speak. He’d lower his guard at some point.

"Nothing here to pawn," he said.

Just as she’d thought. A thief. He hadn’t tried to peel her clothes off. If she acted cool and casual about all this, she might just walk away unscathed.

Unfortunately, she’d never been cool in her life, so friendly was the best to expect from her acting repertoire.

"What do you want?" His blunt question made her jump.

She clenched her fingers to keep from snapping at him. "Nothing, really. Just making a quick hit and moving on. I’ve already told you this place is all yours. You’re right, there’s not a thing I can make a dime on."

"You left a desk job in a suit and put on sneakers to hit a house you hadn’t even cased properly?"

The teasing curl of his voice insulted her, but she was beginning to feel better about getting out of this little mess she didn’t want Brady or anyone in the NOPD to find out about. If this guy had been a serious whacko he probably would have hurt her by now or said something creepy.

"Okay, I admit I suck at B and E." Not really, but he might take pity on a novice. "And, yes, it’s obvious I haven’t been cracking houses long. I may just give it up after tonight. I’m embarrassed enough. Can I go… please?" She smiled, working the whole blonde act to the hilt.

"Not yet. You owe me for stepping on my turf."

Terri stopped smiling and held her breath, assessing what he meant. Her throat tightened at the first images that popped into her mind. How was she ever going to trust her instincts around a perp again if she’d pegged this guy so wrong from the start?

" Wh-what else do you want?" She ground her teeth at her jittery words and swallowed against the lump of fear crawling up her throat. Her heart thumped so hard he had to feel the pounding beneath his forearm, still wrapped across her chest.

"Take it easy. I. Don’t. Hurt. Women."

Terri would have dismissed his words outright if not for the profound tone of insult behind them. The pressure of his grip eased as if he wanted to prove his words by lessening the sense of threat.

Or was she just trying to convince herself she could handle this? In fairness, he hadn’t flexed a muscle, hadn’t made a forward move of any sort on her.

He hadn’t forced himself on her. She felt a little better, but not enough to give him any more leeway than she had already.

What was with this silent treatment?

"Okay, so what do you want?" she snapped.

He shifted.

She tensed when he leaned closer until his warm breath feathered against her skin. Scream for help and risk a backlash or hold still and be patient?

While her brain churned with the frantic debate, he inhaled deeply. Then he breathed the air back out slowly as he whispered against her skin.

"You smell good. Damn good."

That was it?

Smelling her should freak her out and did on some level. But for some reason his words filled her with a deep sadness. He hadn’t put a hand on her except to stop her from fighting him. If she allowed him this concession, would he let her go?

"I doubt you’ll find me appealing." She’d first try to deter him from wanting more. "I’ve been up for close to twenty hours and have a hard time believing those deodorant commercials are true. I’m sure you could find a better female to sniff, maybe one with a more expensive perfume than eau de bath soap."

He inhaled again, slowly, as if he savored the breath, and whispered, "No, you smell natural and real. You smell the way a woman should. Nice." His husky voice added to the simple action of breathing in her scent had a strangely erotic appeal, spun her nerves into a frenzied tangle. He nuzzled her hair and she went perfectly still. The movement brought them close. Rogue hormones started setting up camp.