Читать книгу Her Baby's Father - Rebecca York, Rebecca York - Страница 9

Jack had spent the most enjoyable evening in recent memory, and he was thinking that it was only going to get better.

Then, in one of those terrifying moments that could change everything, a man with a gun stepped toward him. A guy about average height, with thinning dark hair.

Caught off guard, Jack grappled with the seismic shift, but Sara was already moving. From beside him, she leaped forward, swinging her purse like a bolo, using the strap that had held it on her shoulder. The heavy leather bag hit the man square in his pockmarked face, wringing a shocked exclamation from his lips.

As the purse dropped, he whirled toward Sara, his eyes fierce, his mouth bloody, and the gun pivoting in her direction. But Jack was already springing forward, plowing into the guy and knocking him backward against the fender of the car.

The man straightened and tried to retaliate with a head butt. But Jack dodged aside, making the guy lose his footing. Taking advantage of that, Jack stomped on the man’s gun hand. He screamed as the automatic went flying across the sidewalk.

A gun had made the guy brave. With the deadly weapon suddenly yards away on the sidewalk, his face became suffused with panic. In a desperate move, he reared at Jack, throwing him backward so that he landed against the exterior wall of the restaurant. With the breath knocked out of him, he struggled to stay on his feet, but his bad leg gave out from under him, and he toppled onto his butt, hitting the sidewalk with a teeth-rattling impact.

As the man dived for the gun again, Sara thrust out a foot and kicked the automatic off the curb and under a car.

“Bitch.” The man’s face was a study in anger, his hands curled into claws. Jack’s fear leaped into his throat, but as he struggled up, the man apparently decided to cut his losses. After one more angry look, he whirled away and ran, disappearing around a corner.

His own anger boiling over, Jack started after him, but Sara darted forward, grabbing his arm and holding him back.

“Don’t.”

He tried to wrench away, but she held fast.

“Let him go.”

Rage had fueled his aggressive instincts, but he knew that he had little chance of catching the guy. Not when his running speed had been cut substantially by his injury. Plus the attacker probably had mapped out an emergency escape route before the attack.

Still, he was torn between imperatives.

The door of the restaurant burst open, and Patrick stepped out, his gaze landing on them. “I heard a scuffle. What happened?”

“A guy tried to rob us,” Jack answered.

“I don’t know,” Sara mused.

Jack turned toward her, seeing the indecision on her face. “You don’t think it was a robbery? I mean, what else could it have been?”

She looked torn. “He didn’t ask for our money, did he?”

Jack laughed. “I guess he didn’t get a chance to. You hit him in the face with your purse.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s right,” she conceded.

“Fast thinking.”

“I took a self-defense course.”

“Don’t they advise you that it’s better to give up your wallet than get shot?”

“Yes. But I just…you know…” She raised one shoulder in a helpless gesture.

“I’m going to call the police,” the restaurant owner said, pulling out his cell phone and dialing 911.

Sara looked shaken.

Jack reached for her, pulling her into his arms, feeling her tremble.

She whispered his name in a way that made it sound like they’d had a whole lot more shared experiences than just what had happened today.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I am now. I was so scared.”

“But you didn’t lose your cool.”

She nodded against his shoulder, clinging to him, wrapping her arms around his back and pressing close.

Holding her in his embrace was wonderful. And he had the odd feeling that it wasn’t for the first time. There was a familiarity about her that sent a wave of contentment—and longing—through him. He wanted her, even when he knew that letting her get close to him could lead to disappointment.

He stopped worrying about that as he hugged her to him. He’d wanted to feel her body against his all evening. He hadn’t thought he’d get an excuse so quickly, although this wasn’t the kind of reason he’d have elected, if he’d had a choice.

He slid his hands up and down her back, wishing he could do more. He wanted to kiss her. More than kiss. He wanted her in a bed. Which astonished him. She’d see the scars on his body. The scars that reminded him of the worst day of his life. The scars that had shocked another woman.

But he couldn’t do the things he craved now. Not out here on the street. Not with the restaurant owner looking at them and the cops on the way.

She must have understood that, too, because she eased away from him, her gaze going to his.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said.

“Same here.”

“The gun was pointed at you.”

“You put yourself in danger.”

“I was terrified for you. I just acted instinctively.”

Patrick cleared his throat. “Both of you just had a pretty nasty experience. Come inside and sit down.”

“Yes. Thanks,” Sara answered.

She followed the restaurant owner into the building, where chairs were now upside down on the tabletops. Quickly Patrick reached for the closest group and pulled four of them down.

His wife came out of the kitchen, looking concerned when she saw two of their diners had returned, both appearing somewhat the worse for wear.

“What happened?”

“Attempted robbery,” her husband said.

“You poor things,” she sympathized. “I’m Laura Walsh,” she said to Jack.

“Jack Morgan.” He looked from her to her husband. “Has there been a lot of crime down here?”

“Not a lot. But it happens from time to time. I’m so sorry you got into trouble right outside the restaurant.”

“Not your fault,” Jack answered.

“Can I get you some brandy?” Patrick asked.

“Yes. Thanks,” Jack answered.

Patrick stepped behind the bar and poured two glasses of Azteca de Oro and brought them over.

Jack took a sip. “Good stuff.”

“My best.”

Sara also took a small swallow. “Yes, this is good.”

“How are you doing?” Jack asked.

“Better. Thanks.”

The casual conversation stopped when the door opened and a uniformed officer stepped inside. He was young and fit, and had that confidence a uniform gave you until something bad happened. Jack knew all about that from his time in Afghanistan. He’d gone over there thinking the U.S. Army could whip the asses of the Taliban. He’d found out they didn’t give in easily. And they had no problems with fighting dirty.

“You called in an attempted robbery?” asked the officer, whose name tag said Robards.

“Yes,” the restaurant owner answered.

“We were the ones he assaulted,” Jack said, gesturing toward Sara and himself. “We’d just finished dinner and stepped outside.”

Robards looked at Sara. “You’re the woman who stages the houses, right?”

“How do you know?”

“My wife has taken me to a couple of showings. I saw you at one of them.”

Sara nodded. “I was working on a job all day. Jack and I came down here for some dinner—and to unwind.”

Jack laughed. “It didn’t turn out quite the way we expected.”

“It did until a few minutes ago,” she answered, her gaze searching his.

“Yes.”

Again, he forgot that they weren’t alone, until the police officer said, “Let me get some basic information.”

He took their names, phone numbers, addresses and email addresses. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Jack gave an account of the incident.

When he finished, Robards looked at Sara. “You were taking a chance with that purse stunt. He could have shot you.”

“I guess that’s right.” She shifted in her seat. “I just reacted when I saw the gun pointed at Jack.” Even though she told the cop the same thing she’d told Jack earlier, there was something about her expression that gave him an odd feeling, as though she were holding information back.

“What did the man look like?” the cop asked.

Jack raised one shoulder. “There wasn’t anything remarkable about him. He was medium height. His hair was thinning. But mostly I saw the gun.”

“What kind of gun?”

“An automatic.” Jack looked at Sara. “You kicked it under the car. Maybe it’s still there.”

“Show me where,” Robards said.

They all got up and went outside. Sara pointed to the spot where the weapon had disappeared. It was lying against the curb, and the officer was able to retrieve it and put it into an evidence bag.

“Good,” he said. “Anything else you can add to his description?”

She nodded. “Like Jack said, he was medium height. Thinning hair. A high forehead. A wide mouth. One of his front teeth was a little crooked.”

“You noticed that?” Jack asked.

“I was thinking he ought to get it fixed.”

“Anything else?” Robards asked.

“Bad skin. Well, you know, teenage acne scars.”

“Yeah,” Jack chimed in. “I forgot to mention that.”

Sara spoke again. “He was wearing dark slacks. A dark, long-sleeved knit shirt. His shoes were dark. I guess he was hoping to make himself inconspicuous.”

“Did you see his eye color?” the cop asked.

“They were light,” Sara said. “I don’t know exactly what color.” She thought for a moment. “Except for the scars, his skin was very pale. I don’t think he goes out much. And, uh, he didn’t sound like he was from around here. More like a New York accent.”

“He didn’t say much,” Jack answered.

“I know. Just an impression I had.”

“Had either of you seen him before?” Robards asked.

“No,” Jack answered.

Sara said the same thing, but she was a beat behind him.

“Are you willing to come in and look at some mug shots?” Robards asked.

“Yes,” they both said at the same time.

“Can you come in tomorrow morning?”

They both agreed.

By the end of the interview, Sara was looking wiped out.

“I’ll drive,” Jack said when they returned to her car.

She flopped into the passenger seat, leaned back and closed her eyes, but he saw her hands were clasped in her lap.

He started the car, pulled out of the parking space and headed toward home.

“Your quick thinking made a difference,” he said.

“Don’t give me too much credit,” she murmured. “You beat him up, and he ran away.”

“I think he’d have shot me if you hadn’t reacted.”

She nodded.

“Then you came up with a lot of details I didn’t notice.”

Her eyes snapped open. “I’ve trained myself to think about details. That’s part of my job.”

“Yeah. When the cop asked if you’d seen the guy before, you hesitated.”

She turned her head toward him. “I was trying to think if I had seen him.”

“And I assumed I hadn’t.”

“I guess it’s just the way we think about things.”

“Right,” he answered, still mulling that over. He hadn’t thought about his powers of observation until tonight.

Sara closed her eyes again, and he wondered if she wanted to sleep—or to avoid talking about their answers to the cop.

It was only a short ride to his house, which was a fifty-year-old rancher on a couple of acres off Route 144. The property had appealed to him because he hated the way the county was being built up with houses crammed onto tiny lots.

He shared a long driveway with several other home owners who also wanted some privacy. When he pulled up in front of the house, Sara opened her eyes and looked around. A security light had gone on, illuminating the low, rectangular front of the house, and he saw her looking at it.

“Not very impressive,” he said.

“I’m guessing you didn’t buy it to impress anyone.”

He laughed. “That’s for sure. I just wanted a place to live where I could be by myself.”

She nodded, and he wondered if he had given too much away with that answer. No use explaining that his parents had invited him to move back in to their mansion, and he hadn’t wanted the obligation of making conversation. Or having anyone comment on his physical-therapy schedule.

Jack knew that Mom and Dad were being protective of him. They hadn’t liked him joining the army. They’d been sick with worry when he’d gone off to Afghanistan. And they were still worried about his physical and mental shape.

He understood all that. Maybe he was making a dramatic improvement tonight. At least mentally.

He’d intended to tell Sara that he knew she was tired. Instead he heard himself say, “Do you want to come in?”

“Yes,” she murmured. “But I think I shouldn’t.”

“Because you decided this isn’t going anywhere?” he asked, wanting to get the disappointment over with in one fell swoop.

“Because I know it is. And if I come inside, there’s no telling what will happen. Then you’ll think I’m the kind of woman who…” She stopped and laughed. “I’d better not make suggestions, but I’m thinking we’re safe out here.”

As she spoke she reached for him across the narrow console, pulling him into her arms. “Oh, Jack,” she sighed, as she clung tightly to him.

“We both had a frightening experience,” he answered.

“It’s not just that, and you know it.” She pulled back so that her eyes could meet his.

“Yes.” He held her gaze for a long moment, then moved in closer again, lowering his head to cover her lips with his.

He was out of practice kissing. Out of practice with any kind of intimacy. But as soon as their mouths touched, he knew exactly what he was doing.

She made a small sound as his lips moved over hers, the friction setting up a vibration through his body.

He hadn’t wanted to admit it, but he knew that the two of them could have died on the street outside the restaurant. Or he could have, if she hadn’t been with him.

Would he just have handed over his wallet if he’d been alone?

Probably not.

Since he’d come home, his mood had been reckless. He hadn’t cared much about what happened to him. That had changed as they’d sat over dinner. Changed even more when the man had come at them with the gun.

“Something could have happened to you back there,” he whispered against her mouth.

“Or to you,” she answered, turning her head so that her lips rubbed against his, then settling down with a more steady pressure.

He didn’t have to ask her to open for him. She simply did it, giving him access to her sweetness.

He liked the faint taste of brandy in her mouth. He liked the way she kissed. Loved the way she was doing exactly what he wanted. Like she was reading his mind. She couldn’t be, but they’d clicked in a way that was almost magical.

He stopped trying to analyze the attraction or his reactions or anything else. He simply wanted to enjoy this moment with her—to enjoy this woman.

He loved the soft skin of her arms when he stroked them, the feel of her breasts pressed against his chest. Her scent, which wasn’t anything he could define but was unique to her.

She kissed him as though they were two lovers at the end of the world who had thought they were doomed to live out their days alone. Then they’d found each other, and everything had changed.

“Jack,” she murmured against his mouth, her tongue finding the inside of his lips, the line of his teeth, stroking him with a maddening sensuality.

They had met only today. He had to keep reminding himself of that when he wanted to pick her up in his arms and carry her into the house. Straight to his bed.

And she would have come with him. She’d as much as said she would. Or she wanted to.

He ached to slip his hand between them and cup her breast, and it took all his restraint to stop himself from doing it.

He warned himself not to go too fast. Not to do anything that would ruin things before they really got started.

Forcing himself to go slowly, he pulled away. His breath was coming hard and fast. So was hers.

She looked into his eyes for a long moment, then lowered her head to his shoulder, gripping his arms.

He could have sat here all night holding her, if she would let him. “You should go before I take this too far.”

“I know.” The broken sound of her voice tore at him.

She didn’t raise her head or let go of him, but stayed where she was.

“Jack,” she said again, his name easing out of her like a long sigh. “I never thought this would ever happen again.”

The words jolted him. “What do you mean ‘again’?”