Night Falls on the Wicked (8 page)

Shaking her head, she reached for the phone to call the diner. Sam would be faster than any cops.

Her fingers closed around the phone. She’d just finished dialing when the apartment’s single window shattered, the legs of the lawn chair that sat on her porch sticking in through the blinds.

Ned wrestled with the chair, pulling it free with a grunt. Then his arms were there, tearing through the blinds. It wouldn’t be long before the lunatic was inside the apartment.

Sam’s voice came to her through the phone. “Hello?”

“Sam! It’s Darby—” Her voice died abruptly as
Ned suddenly vanished, his wildly groping hands and arms gone. Everything was silent save for Sam’s voice in her ear.

Phone pressed against her face, her boss’s urgent demands faded away as she took several halting steps closer to the window, her boots crunching over shards of glass.

“Darby? Darby! You there? Answer me!”

“Yeah, I’m here.” She finally answered Sam. “It’s Ned, the guy from earlier tonight. He’s here.” Or he was here. “He busted into my apartment.”

Sam spit out a quick “On the way.”

Darby let the phone drop and covered the last few steps to the window. She peered through the ruined blinds, her chest tight with shallow breaths at what she feared she might find—the very thing that was terrorizing this community.

No one stood on the porch, but a distant sound floated on the winter stillness.
Thunk. Thunk
. Like a hammer pounding into meat. Then a heavy grunt followed.

She stood on tiptoes, trying to see into the back lot. She could only see a panorama of snow-coated trees. And she had to see. Had to know what Sam might be rushing into right now on her behalf.

Unlocking the door, she stepped outside and peered down off the porch, ready to bolt back inside her apartment.

Her heart stopped at the sight that met her eyes.

It was the stranger. The fact that she didn’t know his name, or anything about him, seemed almost ridiculous at this point.

But it was him.

He was here, with his fathomless deep eyes and tall, solid form. A ribbon of sensation rippled through her. She fought back a smile.

He stood over an unconscious Ned. He flexed his hands open and shut at his sides, as if he weren’t finished … as if he still wanted to reach down and choke the last breath of life from the hapless man.

Sam arrived then, skidding to a halt, a dirty frying pan clutched in his hand, grease dripping onto the snow. He scanned the scene, from Darby on the porch to Ned on the ground to the stranger standing so tightly wound above him. The tension ebbed from him.

“Guess you took care of ol’ Ned,” he muttered, then scowled as his gaze narrowed on the broken window. “Aw, damnit.” Lowering the pan, he turned and headed back to the diner. “I’ll call the RC. Doubt I’ll get a cent for that window out of him though, law or no law.”

The stranger’s gaze remained fixed on Darby.

She descended the porch, approaching him slowly. “Thanks,” she murmured, crossing her
arms. Suddenly she was cold. Colder than usual even in this relentless winter.

She scuffed her shoe against the ground, feeling inexplicably nervous. Or maybe embarrassed was more accurate a description. She didn’t relish the idea of his having to come to her defense. He probably thought she was one of those weak females who couldn’t handle herself. Little did he know just how tough she could be. How resilient she was. How she’d had to be. She’d been on her own for three years. Just herself, staying one step ahead of the demons that would claim her if she dropped her guard and let them.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice gruffer than the last time she heard him speak.

Nodding, she rubbed her scraped palms against her pant legs and winced, having forgotten the injury.

His gaze followed the action and he stepped forward. Without asking, he picked up one of her hands and carefully prodded the abrasions, his touch far gentler than she would have expected.

She glanced down at the still body of her attacker. His barrel chest lifted with easy breaths. At least he was alive.

“Who are you?” She couldn’t continue to think of him as “handsome stranger” in her head. Well, she probably
would
, but it’d be nice to have a name, too.

“Niklas,” he responded.

“Niklas,” she repeated slowly, liking the taste of his name on her lips. It was … exotic. Like him.

His thumb moved slowly over her tender palm. Her chest tightened and her stomach knotted and grew queasy all at once. She snatched her hand away. The air around them crackled. She shifted on her feet uncomfortably, achingly aware of him and this attraction that was just …
bad
. Wrong. It couldn’t happen.

Sam returned then with a groggy-eyed Royal Canadian Mountie who took one look at Ned unconscious in the snow and muttered a profanity. “Ah, hell. Him again?”

“He attacked Darby here.” Sam waved at her.

“That so?” The RC scratched his jaw. “That should keep him locked up for a while this time.” He looked at Darby. “I’ll need a statement.”

She nodded.

He sighed as he moved toward the passed-out logger. “Guess we can do it in the morning though. It’s late and ass-cold out here. I’ll get him in a cell.” He glanced at Sam and Niklas. “Mind helping getting him in my car?”

Niklas nodded and hefted the big man into his arms, seemingly with little effort. Darby felt her mouth sag.

The officer gawked for a moment before leading
the way around the building. Darby stood there, watching them disappear, still feeling the touch of his hand on hers. Tingles rippled up her arm.

“Hey, Darby. I’ll get some cardboard for that window.”

She started at Sam’s voice. She almost forgot he was still standing next to her.

He continued, “It’ll have to do until tomorrow. You’re welcome to stay the night with me and Vera—”

“No, thanks,” she replied automatically. Staying overnight with two other souls, potentially endangering them … it was out of the question. Especially Sam and his wife. They were good people and had been nothing but kind to her.

“Suit yourself.” Sam left and returned moments later with some broken-down boxes. Together they taped them over her window. She looked over her shoulder every now and then, half expecting, half hoping for Niklas to return. Perhaps even dreading it a little bit. Because she shouldn’t want him to come back. She was grateful for his help, but really, he should just stay away.

“That should do it.” Sam stepped back to inspect their handiwork. “Sure you’ll be okay? There’ll still be a draft.”

“Got the electric blanket.”

Sam nodded. “Well, g’night.”

He clomped down the wooden steps and she shut the door, not bothering to remove her coat. The room wasn’t much warmer than the air outside. She might have to sleep in her heavy parka.

She put the kettle on to boil and found herself pacing the small space of her kitchen, rubbing the back of her neck with anxious fingers.

Suddenly, she felt wired. Sucking in her breath, she undressed and slipped into a pair of flannel pajamas, donning the thickest pair of fuzzy socks she owned. She moved to the sink and turned on the warm water to rinse her palms, sighing with pleasure.

A knock sounded as she was patting her hands dry. Her heart jumped. She knew who it was before she looked through the peephole.

Opening the door to a blast of cold air, she trained her expression into one of cool reserve as she prepared to face her knight in shining armor for the night.

The last thing she expected to see was the cold fury gleaming in his indigo eyes. “What in hell do you think you’re doing?” he growled.

Behind her, the whistle to the kettle blew.

D
arby gaped at him. “Excuse me?”

Niklas looked particularly displeased as he stared down at her. “What do you think you are doing?”

“Um.” She glanced over her shoulder at the rattling kettle. “Making some hot chocolate.”

“Why are you even here?” He glanced disgustedly at the window covered in cardboard, apparently unbothered by the screeching kettle. “You can’t mean to stay the night here. You’ll freeze.”

She moved into the kitchen and removed the kettle from the burner. “I have an electric blanket.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. Your boss expects you to—”

“No. Sam invited me to stay the night with him and his wife.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Because I’m fine,” she snapped, getting annoyed. She couldn’t explain that she couldn’t fall asleep with others nearby—that she was a
danger to them. And what business was it of his anyway? “It’s just for one night. He’ll repair the window tomorrow.”

“One night is all it takes to freeze to death. And can you make it any easier for …”

“For what?” she pressed, her eyes scanning him intently. Was this it? Would he say what he knew? Would he admit to possessing knowledge that matched her own suspicions?

“Can you make it any easier for danger to find you?” he finished, his eyes glowing again.

She pulled back, her gaze narrowing. “What are you talking about? Truly? Stop being vague.” She spoke quietly, almost as if she didn’t want the night to overhear her words.

Deep in her bones, she felt there was more to this man. A lot more. Things he knew that she knew, too. They were toeing a dangerous line, dancing around each other with their secrets.

“There are all kinds of things that could harm a woman alone. And you’re more vulnerable than most.” He motioned to the boarded-up window, but she noticed that his gaze drifted, moved to her front window, out at the sky, to the full moon hanging low on the night.

“What business is it of yours anyway?”

At this, he stared at her, a cold shutter falling over his gaze as the truth of her question drilled deep.

“What do you care?” she demanded, pushing the point, feeling she was close. Close to pushing him away. Close to running him off for good. As much as the thought of this stung her, she charged ahead, needing to drive him away. “You don’t know me. I don’t know you.”

A heavy beat of silence stretched between them, strained and uncomfortable.

He inhaled. “You’re right.” He moved toward the door.

She couldn’t make herself move or speak. She had to see him leave, had to watch him walk away even as an inexplicable ache built in her chest. She watched the broad shoulders, the rigid set of his spine and embraced that she’d never have him or any other man ever again.

She’d said the words, done everything to get him to leave her alone—even as her heart, her body willed him to stay, willed him to come closer. To touch her as he had earlier with that simple brush of his fingers. To touch her
more
than that. To fill the ache of loneliness gnawing away at her.

Weak, she knew, and foolish and selfish. But that was how she felt. Thankfully only how she
felt
. She gave nothing away, no outward sign, no indication that she wanted him to do any of those things. She was responsible, at least.

What choice do you have?

He stopped then, turned back and stared at her, pinned her with his deep gaze. She forgot how to breathe beneath that intense stare, both afraid and hopeful that he would read her want, her need.

“Go,” she whispered, inwardly cringing at the pathetic whisper of her voice. Hardly convincing.

He angled his head, the light in his eyes intensifying the longer he stared, taking her apart piece by piece, opening her up to see what it was she hid inside … who she was.

He moved before she could process it. A blur and rush of wind that bewildered her.

Before she had time to process just what happened, he was in front of her, hauling her into his arms, lifting her off her feet as he claimed her mouth. Heat. That was her first impression as he enveloped her. Encompassing heat and male strength.

Shock rippled through her at the sensation of his mouth on hers. She gasped and he took advantage, deepening the kiss, forcing her mouth open for his slanting lips.

His lips were warm like the rest of him. They moved firmly, expertly, robbing her of all will as he pushed deeper inside her apartment, backing her up against a wall.

Her hands hovered for a moment at her sides, warring with her weakening will. She should push
him away, end this insanity before it went further. And yet she failed to do any of that.

With the fleeting thought that she really should know better than to do this flashing across her mind, she seized his shoulders. She was lost. There was no going back. She clung to him, pressing against him as their mouths fused, moving feverishly, tasting and sucking.

She yanked down the zipper of his bulky coat and slid her hands inside, skimming her palms over his chest, his dark sweater warm and soft and tantalizing against her palms, only a single barrier separating her from his firm chest, and she wanted to be rid of it. His heart thudded swiftly beneath her exploring hands and she moaned into his mouth, desperate for his flesh on hers, for an answer to the ache in her belly.

His hands cupped her face and the gesture struck her as both tender and desperate. Her knees trembled. Without the wall at her back and his hard body at her front, she doubted whether she could remain standing.

He slid one hand down her throat in a fiery trail and covered her breast through her flannel top. She whimpered against his mouth and surged shamelessly against that hand.

It wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. Not after the lonely years. Not after one taste of him.

This is what she’d wanted from the first moment she ran into him outside the store. Since the instant she’d glimpsed his hand and her entire body had ignited.

He crowded her, pressing closer, overwhelming her senses. She gasped raggedly when he broke their fused lips. His lips singed her cheek, skimming toward her ear, fanning heat and moist kisses there that left her panting.

He lifted his head. Heart hammering wildly in her chest, she glanced up only to find his gaze fixed on her face, his eyes searching, scanning every nuance, missing nothing.

He looked at her strangely, his eyes feverish, intense, consuming. As though he had never seen anything quite like her before. Her chest tightened.