Читать книгу Under the Gun - ХеленКей Даймон, HelenKay Dimon - Страница 7

A half hour later Claire heard Luke hiss as he shrugged out of his suit jacket and got the material caught on his watch. He sat on his kitchen table with his legs dangling and his dress shirt unbuttoned down to his stomach. The only blemish on his bare skin came from the dark red stain spreading across the white material.

Slumped shoulders and face drawn tight with pain, Luke looked ready to drop. Claire half hoped he would. If he fell over she could run. Well, she could if she somehow managed to knock out Luke’s friend. Mr. Blond, Big and Ticked Off. Yeah, that guy looked ready to kill someone, namely her.

Both men had chests and shoulders broad enough to make football players jealous. Luke’s light brown hair with bangs that brushed his eyebrows gave a boyish quality to his handsomeness. But in the two years since they were together he had changed. He now possessed a lethal air, making him more like his tough friend than the charming man she once thought would be her future.

Neither man gave off the upper-crust snootiness she expected from guys who supposedly spent their days locating precious works of art. She doubted Luke could tell a Chagall from a cartoon. The comfortable gunplay made her think his work was something more along the lines of law enforcement, but he lacked the clean-cut government-man look she associated with FBI agents. Now that she had experienced the great misfortune of being questioned by a few, she recognized the beast.

One thing was for sure. Luke, the man she followed from a distance and tracked to the office building—the same one who ran her down in the alley and kept a gun in his waistband—did not spend much time behind a desk. She’d bet her life on that. In fact, that’s exactly what she was doing.

She needed Luke’s help and cooperation, wanted to get him interested in her case and set him loose to find the truth. She just had the tiny problem of earning his trust first. With their history that was going to take some time, and probably some begging, which was not her strongest skill.

Luke focused on his friend. “You can get me the whiskey. The rest of the supplies are in the bathroom.”

“You’re thirsty?” she asked. “Now?”

Luke ignored her and kept talking to his friend or partner or whatever the other man was. “Then you’ve got to get back to the scene and help clean up the mess with the police.”

The guy shot Claire a blank stare. “I’m not leaving you alone with her.”

“My name is Claire.”

The man made a face as if he’d tasted something sour. “I know who you are.”

“Adam, meet Claire, and vice versa.” Luke peeled off his shirt, gasping when the blood-soaked material caught on his skin. “The supplies? And now would be good.”

Adam nodded, then headed down the hall.

The second they were alone Luke pinned her with the same green-eyed gaze that used to make her forget what she was saying.

“If you even try to move out of this room, I’ll stop you,” he said.

“You only have one good arm.”

“I can do a lot with that.”

Which was exactly why she hadn’t yet made a run for the door. “I’m not leaving.”

“That’s not my experience,” he muttered under his breath.

Adam stalked back into the room and dumped a small box on the table, along with gauze, some medicine, a knife and a bottle. “What are we looking at in terms of injuries here?”

Luke tried to lift his arm but groaned, instead. “It’s a through and through. Not serious. Just bloody and stings like a son of a bitch.”

She eyed the whiskey. “Which is cause for a celebratory drink?”

Both men stared at her but only Luke answered. “I’m going to use it to clean the wound.”

She noticed his husky voice had cleared and his swaying had stopped. Still … “Shouldn’t you be at a hospital? I mean, how bad is this?”

Luke picked up a bandage packet and put the edge between his teeth and ripped it open. “It’s a gunshot, so it doesn’t feel good. But unfortunately for you, I’m not going to die.”

She forgot how dizzying his stubbornness could be. “You are if you don’t stop with the attitude.”

He peeked up at her through his mop of hair. “I’d like to remind you how I got shot.”

That was an easy one. He refused to stick with the mental plan she had worked out for him. He might hate her, but his rescue tendencies hadn’t dulled.

“Have we figured out who it was you two killed?” Adam asked.

Luke nodded in her direction. “Ask her.”

They both stared at her, but she ignored it. Her mind wandered back to that alley. The acrid mix of blood and sweat filled her nose. For a second there Claire had forgotten this death was on her. She actually had killed a man this time. It was in self-defense and in an effort to save Luke, but someone was still dead.

She swallowed hard to keep from gagging on the bile that rushed up the back of her throat. “He was following me. I don’t know who he was.”

“Your partner?” Luke crumpled the empty packet in his fist. “I’m betting you weren’t really the victim out there today.”

If she thought for one minute Luke intended to save her when she walked into that alley … yeah, not the case. He hunted her down for one reason only—to turn her over to the police. She could see it in the intensity of his eyes.

He had been in that building for a job of some sort. Hung out on every floor until the security cameras finally flared to life. She showed up hoping to get his attention, but she’d miscalculated. She expected he would catch a glimpse and get the bug to start digging into her story. She hadn’t been prepared for a multifloor rundown that ended with a shoot-out.

The entire situation made her want to scream. Phil did this. He set her up, pretended to be dead and now had someone on her tail. Marrying him had been the worst decision of her life.

Adam spilled the alcohol on Luke’s wound, earning an impressive string of yelled profanity in return.

Men. “You’re going to kill him. Here, let me.” She pushed Adam out of the way. Kind of felt good to surprise the guy with a shove.

Then she stepped between Luke’s open legs, resting her thigh against his. The reality of being separated by only two thin pieces of material made her freeze in place. An accidental brush against him shouldn’t mean anything. Certainly shouldn’t send her stomach into flip-flop mode.

“What are you doing?” Luke asked.

“Helping.” She sucked in a few deep breaths as she struggled for control. Even after all this time he had the power to shatter her into a thousand useless pieces.

Instead of dwelling on her weakness to a man so determined to forget her, she went to work. Grabbing the gauze out of his hand, she rubbed the swab over the jagged wound with infinite care. When his lips stayed pinched, she knew the whirling in her stomach only went one way.

Adam plunked down in the chair beside her. His gaze never left her hands. It was as if he expected her to injure Luke with a cotton ball.

“You have a problem with me?” she asked.

Adam’s eyebrow lifted. “Other than the fact you killed your husband?”

Nothing like being found guilty without a trial. “Allegedly killed.”

“Does it sound better to you when you make that distinction?”

“Answer this, Adam. Do you always judge people you don’t know?”

Luke exhaled. “Maybe you two could spar another time. Like when I’m not bleeding to death.”

“I see you’ve taken up exaggeration.” She worked on Luke’s arm, ignoring the pain that flashed in his eyes as she swiped the pad over his injury with delicate care. “Not a very attractive quality, by the way.”

“Yeah, well, it’s a hobby.” Luke leaned over and tried to grab for something from the table. The move put his head right by her cheek and close enough for his breath to tickle her ear.

As soon as his hair brushed her skin, he sat up straight. Even grunted.

The quick move broke her trance. “What now?”

“Hand me the needle and tape.” He barked out the order.

And she ignored it.

He sent her a wide-eyed surprised look. “I’m bleeding here.”

“I’ll get it.” This time Adam did the shoving. Without any fanfare he crowded Claire to the side and away from Luke. Before Luke could argue, Adam started sewing. “You need anything else right now?”

“An explanation from Claire here would be good,” Luke said.

She glanced at the syringe and bottles sitting on the table. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

Luke’s skin whitened as Adam worked. With each tug of the thread and poke through his skin, Luke’s mouth stretched flatter into a thin line. His jaw tightened to the point of breaking.

“I’ll take her to the police after this.” Adam ignored Luke’s squirming. “We should end this now and get back to work.”

She decided to focus on the latter point. “And exactly what is your work? You were clearly looking for something in that building and it wasn’t me. Wasn’t a painting, either.”

“Speaking of that.” Adam put a hand on his hip and stared her down. “How did you know we’d be at that building?”

She’d stalked Luke, of course, but admitting that was out of the question. “I got lucky.”

Adam snorted. “Right.”

“Don’t worry about Claire and her snooping. I’ve got this situation under control,” Luke said.

Situation? She assumed that was his new pet name for her. Interesting how he couldn’t use his arm and was six seconds away from passing out but still thought he was in charge. Only the Y chromosome could result in that kind of bent logic.

Luke inhaled. “Just call the office—”

“You mean your antique storefront or your real job …” She hesitated until she knew she had their joint attention. “Whatever that job actually is.”

Luke scowled in her direction before turning back to Adam. “Go back to the scene,” he said. “Claire and I are going to have a little talk.”

She noticed Luke sounded more like police and less antique expert by the minute. “I’m fine, but thanks.”

“Then?” Adam asked.

“I’ll bring her in.”

“Never going to happen.” And she meant it. Injury or not, she would knock Luke down, press against his wound. Do whatever it took to stay free.

The idea of sitting in a cell and depending on the services of a court-appointed defense attorney made her head spin with fear. She knew how the system worked—poor people lost. Despite everything she had done in the last two years to escape her past, she had somehow slipped back into a situation where she had nothing. The exact place she’d spent her entire adult life trying to avoid.

“One more thing.” Luke used his good hand to cuff Adam’s shoulder. “This all stays between us.”

“How exactly do I explain the dead guy in the alley?”

Claire shook her head. Antiques experts. Right.

“You’ll think of something. I just need a little time with Claire.”

“How much?”

“Some. Might need a cover, too.” When Adam started to argue, Luke stopped him. “This isn’t up for debate.”

Silence lingered while Adam just stood there. When he finally spoke again, he sounded anything but convinced. “You’ve got twenty-four hours.”

Luke nodded. “Agreed.”

“Not by me,” she muttered.

“Just be careful.” Adam grabbed his keys but not before shooting Claire one last warning glare.

She waited until the door closed to say anything. “I get the distinct impression your friend doesn’t like me.”

“And here I thought you weren’t good at reading people.”

She picked up a damp towel and wiped the area around Luke’s wound before taping a bandage over Adam’s surprisingly professional stitching. The process took a few minutes. Rather than haggle and argue, she used the quiet to come up with a plan to leave Luke before Adam’s twenty-four-hour deadline expired.

She saw the mess of ripped paper and blood-drenched pads on the table. “You’ve ignored this question so far, but care to tell me why a businessman keeps a syringe in his bathroom?”

He smiled in a way that was more warning than welcoming. “Why? Want to learn a new way to get rid of your next husband?”

“I see you’ve decided to be as much of a jerk as possible.” She threw the towel on the table and plunked down in the chair Adam had abandoned.

“Some people like me,” Luke said.

She didn’t doubt that one bit. From creeping around and watching him for the past few weeks, she knew about his dating life. Women came over, stayed the night, and a new one showed up a few nights later. It was an endless parade of blondes and brunettes, each one looking easier than the one before her.

But that wasn’t Claire’s business. Her focus was on clearing her name. Like it or not, she needed help for that. When the whole town judged you guilty, you had to find someone who didn’t. Luke didn’t fit in that believer category yet, but she hoped he would.

“What’s the plan now?” she asked.

“You tell me what happened to your husband.”

She hated that word because it made Phil sound special, and he wasn’t. “And then?”

“I’ll decide that after I hear what you have to say.”

“How is that fair?”

“Do you have a choice?”

She didn’t.