Читать книгу Under Surveillance - Gayle Wilson - Страница 13

Driven by panic and fury, Kelly ground the high heel of her sandal down on her assailant’s toes. Luckily, he was shod in sneakers rather than the boots the others favored.

Hissing a profanity, he loosened his grip long enough to allow her to pull free. She started up the ramp again, intending to run to the next level, which she hoped would not be as deserted as this one.

Before she’d taken two steps, she heard the sound of a car. She looked up in time to see headlights appear at the top of the ramp. She ran toward them, waving her arms to attract the driver’s attention. Surely he would take in the situation and stop to help her.

And what if he did? Always assuming it was a “he.” It would still be four to one.

Four to two, she amended, feeling a ridiculous sense of triumph in the victory she’d achieved with her high heel.

Realistically she knew that the smart thing for whoever was in that car to do would be to drive past her. Just get the hell out of the parking deck. If she were lucky, he might stop somewhere and call the police. If the driver were another woman, that was almost certainly what would happen.

If it were a man, maybe he would slow enough to let her jump into the car as he went by. That would probably depend on whether or not she could put enough distance between herself and the boy who’d grabbed her to make that maneuver safe for the driver. Right now that was doubtful.

Even as she acknowledged the difficulty, the hand of the teen who had been hiding behind her car closed around the fabric of her skirt. She staggered forward, feeling the sheer material rip free from where it was attached to the bodice.

Desperation lent her strength. Somehow she managed to pull away from him. Once she had, she looked up again, trying to gauge how far she was from the approaching car.

She’d made almost no progress at all, she thought in despair. Then she realized the vehicle had stopped, its headlights shining down on the scene playing out below.

Her heart sank. Either this was a confederate arriving with the getaway car or the driver was rethinking his route.

Don’t leave, she pled silently as she ran. Please don’t leave me alone with them.

The sound of a car door slamming at the top of the ramp put an end to any hope of rescue. No one in his right mind, if he were an innocent bystander, would get out of that car. He might drive by at full speed. He might even back up to a higher level and park somewhere in the darkness, hoping the boys wouldn’t come looking for him.

Those were options a normal person might take. Getting out of the car wasn’t. Not in this situation.

As she ran toward the top, she could hear the sound of the driver’s footsteps coming down the ramp. Slow, almost measured, they were suddenly the only noise on this level of the parking deck.

She turned from the blinding glare of the headlights to glance behind her. The four attackers had stopped their pursuit. Just as she was, they were listening to the approaching footsteps with a wary intensity.

Not a confederate then. This was something—someone—totally unexpected.

She picked up speed as she ran toward the driver, hope reviving her flagging strength. She didn’t have breath enough to scream for help. She had to trust that he’d assessed the situation and figured out what was about to happen.

“What’s going on here?”

The voice was deep and unbelievably calm. Too calm. Maybe he hadn’t understood. Maybe he’d just seen people on the ramp and stopped to investigate.

As the man posed his question, he stepped toward the center of the ramp. She could see him now, silhouetted against the twin beams of the headlights. Tall and broad-shouldered, he looked capable of holding his own in a fight.

“Help me,” she gasped as she ran toward him.

He didn’t look at her, focused instead on the teenagers who were still watching from below. “Are you hurt?”

“No, but—”

“Get in the car.”

That had clearly been an order, given in a tone that brooked no argument. She didn’t even think of making one.

She ran past him, her hand closing over the handle of the passenger door of the black SUV he was driving. Before she opened it, she looked back down the ramp.

The four had apparently recovered from their shock. Or maybe they had finally realized there had been only one person in this car and that he wasn’t a cop or a security guard.

They were advancing again. Slowly this time. From somewhere a long iron bar had appeared.

Tire tool or crowbar, she guessed. The one who’d thrown her purse aside held the instrument in his right hand, slapping it against the palm of his left. The whole thing looked like something out of a bad production of West Side Story, but she didn’t feel the slightest inclination to laugh.

“Get back into the car,” she said to the man standing in front of the headlights. “Let’s just get out of here.”

There was no response. His stance, illuminated by the headlights, seemed completely relaxed.

“Please,” she begged, beginning to be as afraid for him as she had been for herself. “We can lock the doors and drive by them. They can’t hurt us if we’re in the car.”

No response. Maybe there was something wrong with him. Maybe he still hadn’t realized what was going on. Maybe—

There was some sound from the group of teenagers. As if it had been a signal, they charged up the ramp in unison. The one holding the iron bar raised it high above his head, in full attack mode.

Sick with fear, she watched as they closed the distance to the solitary figure standing in front of the vehicle. She released the door handle and started back around the SUV. She had no idea what she could do, but she wasn’t about to let him bear the brunt of that assault alone.

“I told you to get in the car,” he said again, his voice as low and steady as it had been before.

And then, suddenly, they were there. She saw the raised crowbar begin its descent and knew its target. Too horrified to look away, she watched as it began to slice downward and then seemed to stop in midair.

The boy who wielded it staggered backward. With an agonized yell, he clutched his crotch with both hands. That’s when she realized he was no longer the one holding the weapon.

It was being employed by the driver of the car instead. Although the headlights distorted the scene, so that it was almost like watching a flickering silent movie, she could still follow his movements. Shifting the weapon he’d taken from the first teen, he slammed the end of the bar into the ribs of a second, leaving him doubled over in agony.

In the time it had taken him to dispatch those two, the second pair had decided on a concerted effort. They attacked in unison before the man could get the crowbar into position to repel them. The momentum of their forward motion carried all three backward to slam onto the hood of the SUV. Kelly flinched at the hollow thud of their impact.

After that, given her position at the side of the car, she couldn’t tell what was happening. All she knew was that two of the original four were still down and that the others were engaged in a fierce struggle with the driver of the SUV for possession of the weapon he’d taken away from their leader.

And that meant they were all occupied, she realized belatedly, their attention focused on him or on their injuries.

Her eyes flicked toward the elevator. Now was her chance to get out of here. While they were either distracted or in too much pain to care what she did.

The clang of the metal bar, striking and then bouncing off the concrete floor, brought her attention back to the bodies writhing on the hood of the car. She could hear the sound of blows as well as the noise their victim made as they impacted against flesh and bone.

She couldn’t distinguish the recipient, but given the loss of the crowbar, she believed she knew who was getting the worst of the fight. No matter what happened to her, she couldn’t run away without trying to aid the man who’d stopped to help her.

She bent down and slipped off one of her sandals, unable to think of anything else to use as a weapon. When she raised her head again, she saw that the three were no longer on the hood of the car. They were upright again, still exchanging blows.

Gathering what fragile courage she had left and feeling like a fool, she raised the flimsy shoe over her head and ran toward the struggling figures. Before she reached them, the two slighter bodies were propelled backward.

With room to maneuver, the driver, obvious both by his height and the breadth of his shoulders, began a series of lightning punches that drove his attackers back. His movements were so fast they were difficult to follow. She almost expected him to add a couple of martial arts kicks to the mix.

Apparently, he didn’t need to. One of the two teens still on their feet broke away, running down the ramp with a clatter of boot heels. When the second realized he was about to have the driver’s undivided attention, he also took off. His less noisy departure identified him as the one who had leaped across the ramp to grab her.

Having vanquished those two, the man advanced toward the first couple he’d dispatched. They weren’t inclined to wait for him to reach them.

The one he’d kneed in the groin to take possession of the crowbar was still breathing in low, keening moans. His agony didn’t prevent him from staggering to his feet and backing down the ramp, however, his eyes never leaving the driver. The second punk had his arms wrapped around his body, possibly the victim of broken ribs. If so, they didn’t slow his retreat.

In a matter of seconds the parking level was empty except for her and the man who had just effected her rescue. In the sudden stillness she could hear the sound of his breathing. He swayed a little, but somehow managed to give the impression that he was both ready and able to take them on again if they returned.

Kelly realized she was simply standing, openmouthed at the speed and efficiency with which he’d detached the four attackers. She closed her mouth and started toward him.

Either he had incredible peripheral vision or very good instincts. He turned, dropping into a fighter’s crouch. When he saw that she was the one who’d been moving behind him, he straightened.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“What is that? Is that your shoe?”

Only then did she realize that she was still holding the sandal over her head, its heel pointing toward him.

“What the hell were you planning to do with your shoe?”

“Hit one of them,” she answered truthfully.

Embarrassed, she lowered the feminine, near-nothing sandal he’d just belittled. Reaction was finally setting in. Her knees were shaking so hard she was in danger of falling flat on her face. She leaned tiredly against the hood of the SUV, tears threatening for the first time since the assault had begun.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The first one she’d managed in quite a while.

It’s okay. Everything’s okay. Now isn’t the time to fall apart.

“Are you all right?”

She opened her eyes to find him looming over her. Because they were standing between the beams of the headlights, she still couldn’t see his face.

He was nothing but a shape, tall and broad. And a deep voice, filled with concern for her.

Which was ridiculous. He’d just taken a beating, and she was the one who was weak-kneed and weepy.

“If being scared spitless counts as okay.” She hated that her voice trembled, but there didn’t seem to be much she could do about it.

“Spitless?” he repeated, the intonation amused as he emphasized the first syllable.

“Are they gone?” She ignored the mockery, feeling she had earned it. She looked back down the ramp, half expecting to see the attackers regrouping at its foot.

“They won’t be back. They’re the kind who like—”

“Easy pickings?” she supplied when he hesitated. If so, they’d come to the right place, she acknowledged bitterly.

“Obviously, they didn’t know about the shoe.”

The amusement was back, but she found she didn’t resent it, even if it were at her expense. He was right. The sandal was a ridiculous weapon, but there was some justification for why she’d felt it might do some good.

“I ground my heel into his toe, and he let me go. I thought that maybe if I hit one of them with it—”

She sounded like an idiot. Actually, she felt like one.

“Thanks.” The deep voice had been wiped clean of mockery. “There aren’t many people who would have put themselves at risk to help.”

“You did.”

“Yeah, well, that’s a failing of mine.”

“Helping people?”

“I’m a sucker for a woman in distress.”

For a fraction of a second she thought he’d said “a woman in a red dress.” She must be more rattled than she’d believed.

“Why don’t we get out of here,” he suggested.

Since he’d used the plural pronoun, she wasn’t sure if he meant individually or collectively. He didn’t start around his vehicle to open the door for her to climb in, so she supposed he must mean in their own cars.

He took a long assessing look down the ramp and then moved toward the driver’s side of the SUV. In doing so, he passed directly in front of the beam of the left headlight.

“You were at the auction,” she said, finally taking in the tuxedo.

“Sorry, but I didn’t buy anything.” He bent to retrieve the iron bar that had been lost in the scuffle, so she had to strain to hear the last. “A little too rich for my blood.”

Since the guest list had been carefully screened to ensure that their checkbooks would be equal to the task before them, she wondered if that was his idea of a joke. She’d been introduced to most of the attendees during the cocktail hour, but she couldn’t place him.

Could he be one of the wait staff? The big SUV he was driving made that unlikely, however, so who the hell was he?

After he retrieved the crowbar, he had continued past the driver’s side door to open the back of the vehicle. He carelessly tossed the weapon inside. Then he straightened, looking at her over the line of the roof.

His face was still shadowed, but she couldn’t help feeling there was something familiar about it. Maybe they had been introduced. After all, there had been a huge crowd of people.

“I’m Kelly Lockett.”

It was a rather obvious attempt to evoke information. If he’d been there, he knew certainly who she was. She’d been paraded around that room like a sideshow for most of the evening.

“Of the Lockett Legacy. I know.” The tone was sardonic.

“Do I know you?” she asked, reacting to it.

She had never been particularly self-conscious about the notoriety her family’s wealth and prestige created. She had known nothing else her entire life, but something about that comment rankled.

“I was there on a friend’s invitation. He said the food would be good.”

“I trust you found that to be true,” she said, a hint of ice creeping into her voice.

This man had rescued her, and she was genuinely grateful. Her initial inclination, which had been to view him as some kind of knight in shining armor, seemed to be fading.

Of course, she was well aware that most knights had been lacking in the courtly graces. Their forte had been the battlefield. She could hardly deny his skill there.

“You plan the menu?” He leaned forward, putting his arms on the top of the SUV.

“I was on the committee,” she said stiffly.

“Could I make a suggestion?”

“About the menu?” There was something surreal about the conversation, considering what had just transpired.

“Fewer frills and more substance.”

Despite her anger of a moment ago, she felt a tinge of sympathy. Dinner probably had seemed meager to a man his size. The appetizer had consisted of three large prawns, a dollop of crabmeat and a couple of avocado slices. The entrée, a nice piece of sole, had been surrounded by a selection of lightly sautéed vegetables. She had left food on her plate, but by no stretch of the imagination could the meal be called substantial.

“Steak and potatoes,” she said, deliberately lightening her voice.

“It’s hard to go wrong with a good steak. Especially at those prices.”

“I’ll ask the committee to take it under advisement,” she promised, controlling her urge to smile.

“Almost makes me wish I could be at next year’s shin-dig.”

Something subtle about his intonation indicated he was aware she was patronizing him. It made her feel like a jerk.

“What happened to your shawl?”

“Stole,” she corrected automatically, welcoming the change of subject.

Her eyes considered the concrete ramp that stretched in front of the SUV. Even with the headlights shining down it, she couldn’t see a thin spill of red anywhere.

Her purse was also down there, she remembered. And more important, so was her wallet.

There was nothing in either that was irreplaceable, but it would be a hassle. Besides, they should still be there. She doubted those thugs had had the presence of mind after he’d finished with them to search for them on their way out.

“My evening bag’s down there,” she said. “Somewhere between the foot of the ramp and the elevator.”

She turned her head, focusing again on the man in the darkness on the other side of the car.

“They snatched your purse?”

“I threw it to them. I thought maybe they’d take it and let me go, but…I don’t think they were after money.”

For some reason, she wasn’t comfortable putting into words what she believed their motives were. Not to him.

“Maybe they wanted that.”

He had inclined his head in her direction, but it took a couple of seconds before she figured out what he meant. She reached up to touch the replica of the diamond necklace Hepburn had worn in the movie. The central stone, had it been real, would have been between fifteen or twenty carats.

“It’s paste.”

“You think they knew that?”

It made sense. As much as anything about tonight.

“I’ll get your purse,” he said. He slammed the rear door of the SUV, the sound echoing under the overhang as the driver’s side door had earlier.

Only when he started down the ramp did she realize she was about to be left up here alone. Although the headlights illuminated the ramp, the area behind his car was dark and shadowed. She shivered, remembering the hard fingers of the boy closing around her arm.

“I’ll show you where he threw it.”

She had already taken a step, attempting to catch up with him, before she realized she still held her sandal in her hand. It would take longer to put it on than to take the other off.

Balancing on one foot, she slipped the second shoe off as she watched him walk down the concrete incline. The fabric of the tux, illuminated by the car lights, emphasized the play of muscle in his back and shoulders. Regretfully pulling her eyes away, she laid her shoes on the hood of his car. Then, picking up her skirt as she’d done before, she hurried after him.

He slowed briefly, plucking her stole off the railing where it must have landed when she’d dropped it. Without stopping, he held it out to her. The wisp of fabric looked very delicate dangling from those long, dark fingers.

She grabbed the stole as he let it trail behind him and wrapped the material around her shoulders as he continued to stride ahead of her.

When he reached the end of the ramp, he turned toward the elevator area where there was more light. Apparently he spotted her bag and wallet at the same time she did.

She glanced nervously toward the outside exit to the deck, still expecting the reappearance of her assailants. When she looked back, the man who had rescued her had already picked up her belongings and was holding them out to her.

For the first time she could see his face. He was dark enough that there was already the shadow of a beard on his lean cheeks. A discoloration, which she suspected would become a very colorful bruise by morning, marred the line of his jaw.

She raised her eyes from that injury to meet his. A cut, still bleeding sluggishly, had been opened above his right brow. Under it, the eye was beginning to puff.

Despite that, a jolt like the one she’d felt as she’d met those same dark eyes while descending the runway stairs tonight seared a path like lightning through her chest.

Same eyes. Same force-field intensity. Same man.