Читать книгу Navy Seal To The Rescue - Tawny Weber - Страница 12

Lila could only stare in shock as the dapper little cop strode away, his steps as rigid as his attitude.

He thought she’d made it up.

He thought she was lying.

The sexy beach bum with the lousy attitude thought that, too.

Years of being disregarded, of being dismissed or shunted off to the side as unimportant, exploded in her head. She wanted to scream. More, she wanted to grab something—the stapler off the desk, the rolling chair, the computer—and throw it to get him to pay attention to her.

She’d taken only one step, the red haze of fury blurring her vision, when someone laid a hand on her shoulder. Just one hand, but the simple touch calmed her.

Even as the frustration ebbed in her gut, her gaze shifted to meet Hawkins’s. In those dark eyes, she saw the same irritation that she felt. Then again, he’d seemed irritated since she met him, so maybe that was simply his go-to expression.

Regardless, Lila took comfort in his steady gaze.

“I did not imagine it, and I’m not making it up.” Her knees shook, but she forced herself to take three steps toward the office so she could point through the doorway. “I saw Chef Rodriguez killed. Right there.”

“Okay.” It wasn’t agreement, it wasn’t doubt. Lila knew the word was simply acknowledging what she thought she saw. It was enough to steel her spine, though.

So she wet her lips and took a hesitant step toward the office. Hawkins followed, so the next one was easier. Still, when she reached the door, even with Hawkins at her shoulder, she had to force herself to shift her gaze. To look around the office. To check the floor.

The policeman had said the room was clean.

He hadn’t lied.

Rodriguez was nowhere to be seen. The room was tidy, the floor bare.

She pressed her fingers to her lips to stop their trembling.

“Lila.”

The voice came as if from far away, its rumble soothing some of the tension in her belly. It didn’t explain the room, though.

“But...”

Her head doing a long, slow spin, Lila took two deep breaths, then stepped all the way into the office.

It was one thing that the body was gone. But where was the blood? The mess?

“They shot him. He fell. There.” She pointed at the doorway. At the bleached pine planks underfoot. “Blood. It was all over the floor. It smeared on the wall.”

But the floor was spotless. The wall clean.

Lila rubbed her knuckles over the pain throbbing in her forehead, trying to hold back a moan.

“I didn’t imagine it.” She turned to face the beach bum, her voice insistent. “I wouldn’t make something like that up.”

“I didn’t say you did.”

“That policeman, Montoya, he thinks I made it up.”

Hawkins shrugged.

“He does have a point. There’s no body here.”

“I didn’t make this up.”

“Besides a body hitting the floor, what do you think you saw? Who shot him? What’d they look like? Sound like?”

“I only saw a hand. A man’s hand, holding the gun as it shot the chef.” Lila rubbed two fingers over her temple, trying to remember more. “He wore a long-sleeved jacket. Dark. The voices were low. Two men, at least, two, but they spoke too quietly for me to make out what they were saying.”

“That’s not a lot to go on.” His words as casual as his stance, the beach bum crossed his legs at the ankle, propped one shoulder against the door frame and shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. The black tee gripped his shoulders like a tight hug, molded that broad chest.

Despite the confusion, beyond the misery in her gut, Lila couldn’t stop her gaze from taking in the perfect example of male beauty standing there. She’d admired it on the beach earlier today, but now all that perfection was a little irritating. Or maybe it was the look on his face: arrogant amusement and a hint of condescending impatience.

“A lot or not, Montoya still should have done more,” she stated, her frown sliding into a scowl.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.” She threw her arms in the air. “Something. Anything. He’s a policeman. He should do police work, shouldn’t he?”

“The cops didn’t see anything.”

“The police are wrong.” Lila shot him a sideways glance that was as close as she could get to a sneer. “And you’re wrong, too.”

“I’m wrong. The police are wrong. Everyone’s wrong but you. Sweetheart, you take the cake.”

She wanted to tell him where to shove the cake, but she managed to smile instead.

“I didn’t imagine seeing a man killed.”

“Okay.”

That agreeably sarcastic tone was different, and the single word wasn’t what she was used to hearing. But the subtext? Oh, Lila knew every word. She was an expert on arrogance and well-versed in patronizing disdain.

Her fists clenched so tight her hands shook. She knew it was pointless. There was no reasoning with that subtext. Nothing she said would matter. But she still couldn’t keep herself from snapping.

“How can you guys blow this off? What kind of men just dismiss murder? Just shrug off a man being shot and killed? Somebody took Chef Rodriguez’s life and you just stand there, giving me that I’m so perfect sneer. What the hell is your problem?”

“If I’m perfect, I doubt I’d have any problems.”

“I didn’t say you were perfect,” she corrected meticulously, ignoring the tickle in her belly that argued that if looks were anything to go by, he had perfection down pat. “I said you think that you’re perfect. And some might say that you think incorrectly.”

“Is that any way to talk to the man who gave up his quiet evening to ride to your rescue?”

“You were swinging in a hammock.”

“Yet another example of my perfection. With no preparation or warning, I was able to effect a clean op, mount a rescue and end the mission without incident.” He grinned. “Besides, I was swinging pretty damned quietly.”

“Who the hell are you?” she snapped, squeezing the fingers of her left hand, releasing, and squeezing again.

“Me?” He shrugged, the movement making the muscles of his chest and shoulder ripple. “Just a guy on vacation.”

“No. That policeman called you a hotshot. What he’d said about you thinking you can handle things better than the cops, what’d that mean?”

“Civilians sometimes get pissy when dealing with guys with Special Ops training.”

Special Ops training?

“What branch?” she choked out.

“SEALs,” he said, giving her a curious look.

Lila could only shake her head.

No freaking way.

Mr. Tall, Sexy and Gorgeous was a SEAL? A Navy SEAL?

With her luck, he’d served on the same team as her brother. Probably the same squad. He’d have met her father, been honored by one of Adrian the elder’s kiss-ass dinner parties. Even, God help her, golfed at the club.

Tears—as much from fury and frustration as from self-pity—burned her eyes.

The events of the day won, she decided.

She couldn’t take any more.

Her legs were wonky. Too wonky to hold her up any longer. Uncaring that it was the same spot she’d seen a body fall, she dropped to the floor and wrapped her arms around her torso, hoping the pressure would hold in the pain.

* * *

Seriously?

She was going to fall apart now?

Right here, on the floor where she thought she’d witnessed a murder?

Striding over to the tiny refrigerator in the corner, Travis shook his head. He’d never understand women. She’d thrown herself at him, all but climbing inside his skin.

Not that he had much problem with that, he decided in retrospect. She’d fit damned nice, and all that hair of hers was a silky temptation.

He yanked open the wobbly door of the stained appliance and grabbed a water. Twisting off the cap, he walked back and held it out, waiting in silence.

Lila shifted so her head was resting against the wall instead of on her drawn-up knees. The movement threw her face into sharp relief, the flickering overhead light angling down, accenting that full mouth, with its slight overbite. The curve of her cheekbones and the deep hollows beneath. She’d closed her eyes so her thick lashes fanned out over those cheeks, giving her a look of vulnerability that tugged at his gut.

Then she pulled in one long, deep breath that made her blouse slide temptingly across her full breasts.

And he got a tug a little south of his gut.

Then she did it again.

And Travis realized that yes, indeed, bum knee or not, he was alive and well.

By her third breath, he had to suck in one of his own.

He wasn’t the kind of guy who liked to see people fall apart—especially women. But it was pure pleasure to watch her pull herself together.

Still, enough was enough.

“You got a grip on yourself yet?”

“What?” When those lashes fluttered open, her eyes were fogged with confusion and pain.

“Just checking. Are you finished with that meltdown?”

“Meltdown?” she snapped, pushing to her feet. She slammed her hands on her hips while her face curved in fury. She had a wicked glare, one he figured would cut a lesser man to the quick. But his ego was made of steel.

So he just grinned.

“Yeah. You were crying and babbling and seeing things. In my book, that reads like a meltdown.”

“I saw a man killed,” she said, each word clipped and precise. “I heard the bullet, the sound of it piercing his flesh. I watched his body fly backward, bleeding and ripped. I heard men cussing before one of them aimed that same gun at me.”

She stepped forward and poked a sharp finger into his chest.

“So if I had a meltdown according to your stupid book, then I figure I’m due.”

Damn.

Travis couldn’t stop smiling.

Well, what d’ya know, he realized with surprise, downing the water she’d ignored. As the icy liquid poured down his throat, he gave thanks.

Because, oh, yeah. He still had a libido.

“Okay,” he said after debating the merits of keeping her riled up versus being a gentleman. “Anyone who saw that sort of thing would have a right to melt on down.”

“Anyone?”

“You, in this case.” Not interested in arguing the point, he shrugged. “How much time passed between your supposed escape and mowing into me?”

“I don’t know,” Lila said, sounding a little frantic as she shook her head. “A few minutes, I suppose.”

“Factoring in the five or so minutes it took you to reach me on the beach, then to calm down and make sense—”

“You mean for you to quit bitching about being knocked over and listen to me.”

“And the five minutes it took us to walk to my place. I called the cops, we met them here within ten minutes, give or take,” Travis continued, ignoring her. “Less than a half hour, all told.”

“So?”

“So if an as yet unknown number of men killed a harmless chef, and saw you witnessing the murder first, don’t you think they’d have pursued when you ran? But, instead, you figure they cleaned up all evidence, scrubbed the place clean of blood and guts, tidying the office while they were at it. Then they hauled the body out of a busy restaurant, on a busy beach, without anyone noticing?” He waited a beat, letting that sink in, then added, “And all of that in less than thirty minutes?”

“How would I know?” She threw her hands in the air. “All I know is what I saw.”

With that, she headed out the door.

“Where are you going?”

“The cops don’t believe me. You don’t believe me.” She shot him a nasty look. “So what difference does it make?”

“I believe you are upset.” He glanced through the grimy window. “And I believe it’s a little late to be storming around town alone.”

“Oh, sure,” she said with a sneer. “Being a hero isn’t enough for you. You just have to play gentleman, too.”

Ignoring her attitude shift from lady of the manor to peasant, Travis gestured for her to precede him out the door. Despite his service as a SEAL, Travis had never wanted to play hero. But he couldn’t ignore the need to do something to fix this mess for her, to do whatever he could to make her feel better.

“C’mon,” he said, walking over and offering his hand.

She looked at it, then those mermaid eyes rose to his face before dropping to his hand again.

“What?”

“Let’s go.”

Brows furrowed, she looked around the office and gave a small shudder before tucking her hand in his. Her fingers were slender, making Travis want to be extra careful not to crush those delicate bones as he pulled her to her feet.

Upright, she swayed a little, so he left his hand in hers. Just because he didn’t want to have to scoop her off the floor, he told himself.

Her gaze, foggy with confusion and frustration, skimmed from the floor to the wall, then shifted away.

“Where are we going?” she asked, her words faint as they moved through the doorway.

He shoved the side door open, gesturing with his free hand for her to go first, then pulled her down the beach. They’d take the ocean route, give her time to decompress.

And him time to think.

“Your hotel should work.”

“Look, buddy. You’re hot and all, but there’s no way in hell I’m going to sleep with you after all this.”