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Authors: Taylor Lee

BOOK: Playing With Fire
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“Great shoes.”

The words slipped out before she could stop them. She felt
the heat flood her cheeks.

“I… I’m sorry. It is just that I’ve never seen a pair of
Ecco Biom A’s on a real person. Just in my running magazines.”

He laughed, a warm pleasant sound.

“Well they are an extravagance, but as much as I run, I feel
they are a justified luxury.”

“Are they really made from the leather of Yaks?” she asked
with a shy smile.

“Fraid so. Straight from the Himalayas, or why would I pay
such an exorbitant price?”

To her surprise, Erin found his unabashed pride in his
distinctly yuppie gear charming, not off-putting.

As he continued to gaze at her, Erin began to feel
uncomfortable, shy.

“I… I should be going. I’m really sorry I was so careless.”

He put up his hand to stop her.

“Wait. At least tell me your name. I feel like I’ve seen you
before.”

Even though Erin recognized it as one of the oldest of
pick-up lines, she felt she owed him a response.

“I run here often,” she said, searching her memory. She
couldn’t remember seeing him on the trail. Not surprising, considering how
zoned-out she was when she ran.

He snapped his fingers with an excited grin. He seemed eager,
pleased that he’d remembered.

“I know! I’ve seen you at the fitness center on Charles.
You’re the yogi, right?”

Erin was surprised.

He gave her an embarrassed grin.

“I guess I could make it worse and confess that it would be
hard not to notice you. I think I can speak for all the men in the gym that
watching you stretch is a treat. And, my God, how do you get your body into
some of those postures? It’s amazing.”

Erin flushed again.

Before she could respond, he broke in.

“My name is Blake Richards.”

When he waited and held out his hand she hesitated, then
reached out and shook his hand.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Erin. Erin McFadden.”

He smiled again and she couldn’t help but smile back. He
seemed so easygoing, so different than she was. She should have expected his
next words.

“Any chance I can buy you a cup of coffee? I’m from out of
town and don’t know where all the good coffee shops are… but I’m open to
suggestion.”

Erin’s guard quickly went up.

“No, no. I really must be going.”

He nodded as if he’d expected her response.

“I understand. But wait. I can’t just let a gorgeous woman
who l literally ran down get away so easy. How about lunch or dinner?”

Erin suddenly became acutely aware that the two of them were
very much alone. When she held up her hand and inched away from him, he dug in
his pocket and pulled out his thin runner’s wallet.

“I know, I know. ‘Down tiger.’ Right? Look, here’s my card.
I promise you even though I admit to ogling you in the gym along with every
other red-blooded man there, I’m safe. Damn, I’m even a lawyer. I’m here from
Seattle. Consulting with the head of Indian Affairs on some tribal issues.
Honest injun.”

Erin nodded politely at his attempt at humor, and tried to
back away.

He smiled again, that pleasant smile that made her feel
safe, comfortable.

“I’ll make one more stab at it, then I promise I’ll let you
go. My phone number is on the card. Check me out and then if you’re up to
having dinner with an admirer who is about to go stir crazy in this town, give
me a call on Thursday. We can have a quiet dinner on Friday night. Deal?”

“O… Okay.” Erin tucked the card in her pocket and jogged
off, surprised that she’d agreed to even consider his invitation. After she’d
gone a block, she looked over her shoulder and saw him watching her. He waved.
When she waved back he turned and headed in the direction he’d been running. An
intriguing thought flittered across her brain. Maybe ‘normal’ was an option.

 

Chapter 6

Nate drove up in front of Erin’s house and shook his head.
It was even worse than he remembered. It made the $1,200 a month Erin was
shelling out for rent and utilities a crime. Damn absentee landlords! And the
utility companies weren’t much better. While no one would admit to it, it was
understood that the utilities added a “ghetto tax” just for the privilege of
using their services in a crap neighborhood. Supposedly this covered all the
people who didn’t pay their bills or didn’t report a leaky faucet or hell even
a broken pipe. And there wasn’t a house in the area that had decent insulation.
All of which at least explained why Erin had a $375 utility bill for a
six-hundred-square-foot shack.

Rent and utility payments were easy to track. Little hacking
required. More challenging was the $1,500 check she’d been writing each month
to a P.O. Box in Nowheresville, U.S.A. — something she’d been doing since she
opened her current bank account. The problem with P.O Boxes was that you never
knew when the owner would show up to collect his mail. But $1,500 each and
every month was a hell of a big chunk out of her rookie salary. He wanted to
know who was important enough for Erin to send that money religiously. Nate put
a couple guys on it, and told them he needed an answer yesterday!

The most interesting information he gathered came right out
of her social security records. Particularly the fact that those records were
little more than a year old. Fraud was written all over the documents. They
were shoddy at best. Shouldn’t have cost her more than a couple hundred dollars
to create, but he could only imagine what some shyster charged her. It always
pissed him off when unscrupulous men took advantage of people in trouble or
down on their luck. Thinking about someone doing it to Erin made him see red.

He was angry before he’d even got to the porch, and by the
time he’d circled the house he was livid. There wasn’t even a pretense of a
lock on the front door and he could lift each and every window sash with one
hand. A blind man could enter her house in ten seconds flat. He did it in two.

Outside on the porch, anger had hit him hard… shock nearly
brought him to his knees, once he was inside.

What. The. Hell. It took him a good minute to register what
he was seeing — or not seeing. Walking from the “living room” into the
“kitchen” then on to the bedroom, he came to grips with the fact that the place
was essentially empty. After his shock began to subside he looked closer, still
not believing his eyes. The kitchen boasted a crappy stove, a refrigerator, and
nothing else. A card table and single folding chair comprised the living room
furniture. But it was the bedroom that tore at his heart. On the floor was an
air mattress covered with a makeshift bedroll. The tiny closet was empty except
for two pair of running shoes, several pairs of shorts, a couple of tank tops
and two pair of blue jeans. Some of them still had price tags. All were from
Ross, the discount department store.

Hair paraphernalia, some toiletries and a makeup bag, was
all there was on the countertop in the grungy bathroom. Poking his head around
the shower curtain that also still had a price tag on the corner, he saw a
makeshift clothesline. A couple of exercise bras, matching running shorts, and
underwear hung over the line. Voyeuristic asshole that he was, he took pleasure
in seeing that Erin’s intimate wardrobe, minimal as it was, consisted of lacy
thongs and matching bras. Without shame he flipped over the tag on one of the
white lace bras and nodded. Breast connoisseur that he was, he’d correctly
pegged her for a 34D.

Walking back through the bedroom he saw a glint of metal
under the edge of the air mattress. Kicking aside the bedroll, he saw the only
thing in the whole fuckin’ place that made him smile. (Except for her
underwear, of course.) Picking up the Rugar LCP, he checked the safety. Sure
enough: the damn thing was loaded. Yanking out his cell phone, he clicked on
one of his “research” sites. Not surprisingly, there were no weapons registered
to Erin McFadden. Tucking the gun into his boot, he headed out to the living
room.

Rubbing his hands through his hair, he stood in the center
of the empty room trying to make sense of what he was seeing. What the hell was
going on with this mysterious woman? He knew from what little he could find in
his initial diggings that she was on the run. No surprise there. He’d figured
that out in twenty minutes at the dinner table on Sunday. But, damn. This place
looked like no one lived here… or rather that the person who did was destitute.
Sure, she was sending crazy money to some P.O. Box, but who lived, day in, day
out,
this
sparsely? It didn’t make sense. On the surface she was a
beautiful rookie firefighter. From Connor’s effusive praise, a damn good one.
She was a hardcore runner, apparently self-sufficient, and might just be one of
the sexiest women he’d seen in a hell of a long time. But behind the scenes? He
rubbed at his jaw. No, it just didn’t make sense.

In a couple of strides he went from the living room to the
kitchen. As he’d come to expect, the cupboards were bare. There were no dishes
of any kind except paper plates and some picnic sized silverware. Not wanting
to see, he nevertheless opened the refrigerator. The dismal scene got worse. A
half empty jar of peanut butter, a loaf of whole grain bread, several apples,
two containers of yogurt and a case of bottled water filled one shelf of the
cavernous interior. Feeling like he was taking food from a starving kid, he
snagged a bottle of water and went back in the living room. He sat on the one
chair and prepared for the worst. The footsteps he heard pounding up the
sidewalk were those of an angry woman. He’d parked his Z in front of her house,
where he could keep an eye on it. No way could Erin miss it.

 

Chapter 7

From the far end of the block Erin saw his car. At first she
convinced herself it wasn’t real. An apparition from the recesses of her
fevered imagination. But there was no mistaking the sleek black and silver
lines of the penis substitute parked in the front of her house. It was as
disorienting as it was frightening. By the time her long legs ate up the
distance between the corner and her sidewalk her emotions had plummeted from
terror to dread and then blessedly flared to fury. How dare he impose himself
on her like this? Treat her like some criminal he could investigate? Invade her
privacy? She had rights, goddammit. So help me if he is in my house….

Ready to face the devil incarnate, she threw open the front
door with such force it shuddered on its hinges. It was worse than she
imagined. He was sitting in the folding chair tipped up against the wall, his
feet crossed at his ankles. A tight black t-shirt hugged his massive chest,
showing off his bulging biceps and toned abs. His badge was unceremoniously
clipped on the belt loop of his worn jeans. His casual pose was compounded by
his impudent stare and the cocky grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He
saluted her with the half empty bottle of water he was holding as though it was
his place to welcome her into her own home.

She sucked in as much air as she could through her constricted
chest muscles and forced herself not to stammer. But it was no use. The best
she could do was spit out the angry words one at a time.

“What in
hell
are you doing here?”

He shrugged and his eyes narrowed.

“I’m testing your locks. They don’t work that well. But then
from what I can see, you don’t have any.”

Clinging to the doorknob for support, she was unable to keep
her voice from rising, to a near screech.

“I said, what… are… you… doing… here? Damn you. Get out of
here. Now!!!”

When he merely took a lazy sip of water, she grabbed for the
phone in her pocket.

“Dammit. Nate. Leave! Leave now… or I’m calling….”

Her voice trailed off as she realized how ridiculous her
threat was, given the policeman sitting in front of her.

He tipped forward, the chair legs hitting the linoleum floor
with a smack.

“You’ll do what, sweetheart? Call the cops? Hmm, somehow I
think you aren’t much on calling the police when you need help. Am I right
about that, darlin’?”

She took another deep breath, forcing her voice to calm.

“I want you to leave now. I didn’t ask you to come here. I
don’t want or need your help. I don’t want anything to do with you. Do you
understand?”

Furious that she was nearly shrieking again, she held the
door and waved outside.

“GO!!! Now!”

He took another swig of water and regarded her through those
damnable half closed eyes that prevented her from seeing what he was thinking.

He shook his head.

“Not gonna happen, sweetheart.”

He gestured at the empty room.

“I’d offer you a chair but I’m sitting on the only one
that’s here.” Nodding at the bedroom door he added, “Guess you could pull up a
pillow.”

Erin pressed her lips together, fighting the panic rising
inexorably in her throat. Knowing there was nothing she could do to make him
leave made it harder and harder for her to breathe.

“You’re not funny,” she gasped with what air she had.

“I agree. There’s not a whole lot that’s funny about this
situation, Erin.”

His eyes narrowed further as he contemplated her.

“You look older than I thought you would.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well the Erin McFadden using your social security number
just got it registered about a year ago. But you definitely are more than a
year old. Tell me Erin — I mean, whoever you are — how much did you pay for
that horseshit set of documents? For your new identity? I hope not more than a
couple hundred dollars. They’re among the worst I’ve seen.”

Erin couldn’t hide her shock. It was bad enough he knew she
had a fake I.D. but the fact that she’d drained her savings account to pay
Simon made her physically sick.

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