Cunningham, Pat - Legacy [Sequel to Belonging] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (8 page)

It’s over. Stop thinking about him, Colleen ordered herself.

He had a life with his stalker-killing partner, and she needed to get back to her own. To persist in obsessing about him would only prolong her agony.

Easier said than done. Jeremy kept bursting into her thoughts at the worst possible times. A storm cloud would billow at the edge of the sky and remind her of his eyes. She’d catch a whiff of Norelle’s spiced coffee in the lunchroom and think of him. Shayla would run shrieking across the playground, and Colleen would remember how Jeremy had swept her up with that broad, loving smile.

Oddly, during all these flashes, she never heard Jeremy’s voice. She kept hearing the other one’s deep, rough tones. Special Agent Wallace, the murderer.

Norelle’s hand waved in front of her eyes. “Hey. Horny girl. You got a thing going with the construction paper now?”

Colleen started and nearly dropped the rainbow-colored sheets she held. Cripes, how long had she been zoned out in front of the supply closet? “Sorry. My mind wandered.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet. Why don’t you just end the suspense, Col? Bang the guy, and get it over with.”

“I can’t. He’s married. We all got together last week and talked it out. I told you that already.”

“So why does he keep turning up here? He’s gotta be interested.”

“It isn’t like that. We’re friends, kind of. Can we drop this?”

“I will if you will, and it doesn’t look like you want to. You look like you got it bad.” Norelle studied her thoughtfully. “What you need is a serious girls’ night out. I’ll get hold of Heidi and Suzette and we’ll go out and burn down the town. Heidi’s on one of her health kicks again, so she can be designated driver.”

“No karaoke bars,” Colleen said at once. “Suzette and ‘My Heart Will Go On’ need to be kept on separate continents.”

“Agreed. We can work out details later.” She took the armload of construction paper from Colleen. “Arts and crafts ain’t gonna do themselves.”

A night out. Colleen’s tension melted at the thought. She wasn’t a full-on party girl like Suzette or even the pre-Nathan Norelle, but she enjoyed a good bar crawl every now and then. Nothing lifted the spirits like piling on the war paint, squeezing into a too-tight dress and stilettos, and wedging herself onto a crowded dance floor. For a few hours, she could put sensible, tennis-shoe-wearing Miss Colly aside and pretend to be sexy and dangerous.

Now would be perfect. In the wake of the stalker incident, she’d spent the last week’s worth of evenings holed up in her apartment. Screw that. It was time to get out and start living again. Maybe a couple of drinks and some smolderingly sexy stranger would drive Jeremy out of her mind.

Emboldened by the idea, she decided to go for a test run. Instead of heading straight home after work, Colleen drove to her favorite Chinese restaurant, then out to Hermosa Beach’s biggest mall. For the next three glorious hours, she indulged in some serious shopping. She came away with a smokin’ blue dress, black spike heels, and a lipstick labeled Midnight Seduction. By the time she finally trundled the Ford into her parking space, night had taken full hold on the world.

For the first time in a week, she got out of her car without first looking around. Norelle was right. She’d needed to get out. She pulled out the bags with the dress and the shoes in them. That blue was going to make her stand out like a neon come-get-me. She wondered, just for a second, what Jeremy would think of it, what his favorite color was.

Forget him. He didn’t figure into her life anymore. Her first priority now was to get upstairs and take a photo of herself in her new outfit and send it to Norelle. She’d brew some coffee to sip while she waited for Norelle’s return squee.

Only after she locked the car did Colleen become aware of her psychic prickle’s frantic alarm and the cold sensation of a predator’s eyes watching her every move.

She bolted for the door to the stairwell. Her hand landed on the knob. A body as hard as stone slammed against her and crushed her to the door while a frigid male hand clamped over her mouth.

“Don’t,” an icy voice hissed in her ear. “Don’t scream, don’t struggle. Don’t give me grief. I’ve been told to take you alive with a minimum of damage. Cooperate and we’ll both be much happier, eh?”

Shock held her rigid and silent. All the preschool’s workers had taken a self-defense course. Vengeful exes sometimes tried to snatch their kids. Those lessons now deserted her, driven out by the man’s iron grip and the absolute deadness in his voice. Her overwhelming thought was, I don’t want to die.

Her lack of reaction brought a satisfied growl from the man. He nodded against her cheek. His touch was as cold as ice and made her skin crawl. “Good girl. Don’t try to fight me, and we’ll get along fine.” He paused with his nose pressed to her throat. She heard no rapid panting breaths other than her own. “You smell so tasty,” he murmured. His tongue washed across the pulse in her throat in a leisurely, lingering swath.

Revulsion broke her paralysis. Colleen rammed her elbow into his chest and her heel onto his toes. His grip loosened just enough for her to thrust herself free. Without even thinking, she whirled and swung her fist at his face. The punch rocked him backward. She grabbed the bag with the shoebox in it and began to pummel him with it.

Any second now common sense would rear up and she’d run from the parking lot screaming for help. Until then, however, she intended to take out a week’s worth of fear and frustration on this sick son of a bastard.

Her attacker wrecked her plans with a single backhand blow. She lost her grip on the bag, but not her footing. The man thrust his face at hers and smiled.

“You’re everything Lebec promised,” he said. “Or you will be, once we’re done with you.”

His teeth. Oh God. He had a set of fangs that would look right at home on a Rottweiler. She lost track of the fangs when his fist crashed into her jaw. Colleen was hurled into the brick side of the apartment building. Her vision filled up with a burst of light, and pain exploded at the back of her head.

She slid to the blacktop, fighting to stay conscious. She had to get up, run, fight back, do something. With a tremendous effort, she managed to lift her head.

The creep with the big teeth had his hands full with a second man. They grappled, broke, circled. Her defender had a blunt, bronze crew cut and wore a bomber jacket and jeans over a muscular body. They snarled wordlessly at each other like a couple of wolves.

Get up, Colleen ordered herself. She couldn’t just lie there like some helpless bimbo in a bad action movie. Her body flashed the finger at her brain’s exhortations and refused to rise no matter how much Colleen yelled at it. It kept her on the ground with a ringside seat to the vicious fight being waged over her fate.

The two men swung at each other so fast their limbs seemed to move in a blur. They threw each other against parked vehicles with a force that left dents in the metal but didn’t slow either a jot. The sounds that came out of Big Teeth’s mouth were nowhere close to human. The man in the bomber jacket made no noise at all. He circled and feinted and seemed to be waiting for something.

It came in a rush. Big Teeth dove at him with those Rottweiler fangs aimed for his throat. Her would-be savior whipped out a wooden stake from beneath his jacket and plunged it into her assailant’s chest.

Big Teeth went rigid. His jaws champed soundlessly. Then his body dried up and crumbled like a rotten tree trunk. The remains fluttered down to the blacktop in a man-sized pile of rancid ash.

Colleen squeezed her eyes shut. No. She hadn’t seen any of that. She’d cracked her head on the wall. Her mind was playing tricks. He hadn’t—she hadn’t—no.

This time, with the wall to back her, she managed to sit up. When she gingerly opened her eyes, the man in the bomber jacket was hunkered down right in front of her.

Whoa.

Eyes as green as a jungle cat’s caught and held her stare. Up close he looked younger than when he’d been snarling at Big Teeth, in his early thirties or so. He must have started out with a beautiful face before life got hold of it. She noted distantly that face hadn’t a bead of sweat on it. He wasn’t even breathing hard. He didn’t appear to be breathing at all.

“Colleen, right?” he said in a husky voice. “Sorry I was late to the party. Did he bite you?”

She blinked stupidly. His words made no sense. She fought to clear her head. Between the dizziness, shock, and those jungle-cat eyes, all she could think of was
whoa
.

He took her chin in his hand in a gentle but insistent grip. “C’mon, stay with me, sweetheart. Did he bite you?”

Still numb, she shook her head. Bad move. This time the dizziness brought its pal nausea along. So not helping.

Jungle Eyes sniffed her. Actually
sniffed
her, like a drug dog or something. His fingers probed the tender spot at the back of her head that had said hi to the wall. She winced and caught her breath in a hiss. He looked at his fingers and frowned.

“No blood,” he muttered. “Huh. The way you hit that wall, you shouldn’t even be conscious.”

Suddenly his voice registered. She’d heard it before. She’d been thinking about it all week. “Wallace? Are you Wallace?”

His intensity relented, and he smiled. The
whoa
factor soared upward several notches. He had the most amazing lips. They invited kisses. “Yeah, I’m Wallace. Scarecrow told you all about me, right? Of course he did. Damn. He sure does go for the pretty ones.” He swept a quick glance around the parking lot before he focused those incredible eyes on her again. “It isn’t safe for you here anymore. You’re coming home with me.”

She nodded. It never occurred to her to say no.

He slid his arm around her and lifted her without a hint of strain. Her feet barely touched the ground when he hustled her to her car.

“I’ll drive,” he said.

She handed over the keys without protest. Shock, she thought dimly. Must be shock. She didn’t react when he peeled out of the parking lot or when he patted her shoulder and assured her it would be okay, just relax and leave all this shit to the experts.

She couldn’t have seen what she’d seen. Wallace killing a man, okay. Last week had prepared her for that. But the man’s body turning to ash? No
way
.

At a red light he fished a cell phone out of his jacket pocket. “Scarecrow? It’s me. I swung by the chick’s place.” Those kissable lips formed a grimace. “All
right
.
Colleen
. Well,
Colleen
got attacked again. Yeah. Another one of our buddies. No, she’s fine. I’m bringing her home.” He returned the phone to his pocket. “That man is such a bitch,” he said, and grinned at her. “Hang in there, sweetheart. You’re with the good guys now.”

Colleen couldn’t summon a grin to give back to him. She slumped against the passenger door and stared blankly out the window. Hermosa Beach’s streets gave way to suburban housing. They passed a strip mall, a football field, and a college campus before Wallace turned her car up a street lined with vintage 1940s row homes, many with various sports team banners dangling from their windows. He pulled up to the curb.

She didn’t even see the house he parked in front of. All she saw was Jeremy standing in the doorway. She flung open the car door and ran into his welcoming arms. She voiced one panicked sob before she buried her face against his chest. The last hour’s terror receded before his urgent assurances.

“You’re all right now,” he murmured into her hair. “You’ll be safe with us. We won’t let anything happen to you.”

Wallace locked the car and ambled over to join them. Colleen jumped. She’d almost forgotten about him. He didn’t appear at all upset that she was clutching his lover in a death grip. If anything, he looked amused.

“You’ve been holding out on me,” he accused Jeremy.

“Knock it off, Wallace. She’s scared.”

“With good reason. Let’s get inside. I didn’t spot any tails, but who knows?”