Take It Down (5 page)

He scanned all six of the monitors, taking in the normal vista of swaying palm trees, necking couples, and water lapping against sand. Until his gaze returned to the picture of Giselle Monroe. As he watched, yet another guy drunk with rum-soaked bravado sat on the bar stool beside her. Zane could see the man’s mouth moving.

Giselle flicked her gaze to the guy for no more than half a breath before dismissing him again. She didn’t even bother wasting words, simply shook her head in response to whatever the young buck had asked her.

Zane almost felt sorry for the guy as he stood from the bar and walked back to the cluster of his friends, to be razed for the rest of the night, Zane had no doubt.

She’d been doing that all evening. What kind of woman came to a singles resort specifically designed to facilitate vacation flings and then turned down every man who made a pass at her?

One who wasn’t here for a hookup, obviously. So what was she here for? The question he desperately wanted an answer to burned inside his chest.

The lock clicked behind him, signaling that Tom had arrived to relieve him from the Nest.

Zane quickly made a decision. What could it hurt if he stopped at the bar himself just to check on things? After all, it was his job to make sure all ran smoothly.

DAMN, SHE WAS TIRED OF fending off drunk men. If one more guy came up to her with some lame pickup line and an offer to “fulfill all her fantasies” she was going to knock someone’s block off.

All around her, desperate women in skintight clothing, inch-thick makeup and sky-high heels giggled and hair tossed. Pathetic.

She could feel the presence of another male as he slid onto the empty stool beside her. It had been vacant most of the night. And that’s how she preferred it.

Without turning around, she said, “Don’t bother. I’m not interested. Try the blonde at the other end of the bar.”

That one was definitely looking for a quick lay…probably with more than one man. Possibly at one time.

“Does that mean you won’t accept my apology drink?”

Her head whipped around. The dark voice slipped down her spine as if he’d dropped an ice cube straight from the drink in front of him down her exposed nape.

He still had on the same clothes—dark black jeans and a tight black T-shirt—but somehow he looked more laid-back than he had before. Maybe it was just the change in scenery. Everything looked laid-back with a thatched roof over your head and a fruity drink in your hand. As opposed to adorned with handcuffs inside a utility closet.

“No, thank you.”

Her voice was tighter than she’d meant it to be. He was making a peace offering, after all. But it was hard to take the gesture at face value. He was up to something and she wouldn’t put it past the hard-ass she’d met earlier today to slip something into her drink. Like truth serum.

Elle deliberately turned her head away, presenting him with her back, as she’d done with every other man who’d sat beside her tonight. Unlike the rest of them, Officer Zane settled into the chair anyway, throwing his arm over the rounded edge of the back and signaling to the bartender. Magically another of the frothy pink concoctions she’d been drinking all night appeared at her elbow.

She frowned, throwing a daggered look over her shoulder. “You don’t take
no
very well, do you?”

“Not usually. And you don’t mingle very well.” He threw a hand out behind them, gesturing to the crowd of rowdy twenty- and thirtysomething singles laughing and having a good time.

“Maybe I just don’t feel like chatting right now.”

“What kind of woman comes to a resort that specializes in providing fertile hunting grounds for prowling singles, and doesn’t bother to actually prowl?”

A flush of anger and embarrassment suffused her skin and, before she could stop herself, she swung around in her chair to fully face him.

“I don’t know. The kind who had her hands unjustly handcuffed to a chair a few hours ago. Let’s just say, I’m not exactly in a partying mood.”

“Oh, we both know my actions were justified.”

“So much for that apology.”

He shrugged. “I tried.”

“Let me guess, the mystery man made you do this. I bet it galls the hell out of you that he believes me.”

Elle’s gaze strayed to his lips as they twisted momentarily into a grimace. There was something enticing about the expression, about the way his upper lip was slightly larger than the bottom and the corners pulled down even when he wasn’t frowning. Which, from what she’d seen, wasn’t very often.

“Jeez, you guys are all the same.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“The minute they tell you they don’t need you on the force anymore—you’re too old, you’re injured, you made some bonehead mistake—you all turn mean and nasty. Can’t stand to sit with your hands under your ass, useless and restless.”

He raised a single eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.

“So, what was it? My guess is you got shot, because you’re way too young to be benched at a desk, and despite the fact that you’re acting outside of orders at the moment, you’re too by the book for a bonehead mistake.”

She regretted the words almost the minute they left her mouth. She looked into his eyes and saw the pain lurking there, deep in the back. She’d hit her mark, all right and injured an already wounded man.

She didn’t want to feel guilty, not about hurting the good officer. But she couldn’t help it. She’d grown up around guys exactly like him. They were all tough as nails. Until they weren’t.

“I’m sorry.” The words were low as they left her lips. Part of her hoped the loud music and laughing crowd would drown them out. The other part knew she wouldn’t sleep tonight because of the guilt if he didn’t hear them.

“I’m sorry,” she said louder.

His eyes cut across at her from beneath smoky lashes. “I heard you the first time.”

Elle sighed. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t sure.”

“Not your fault.”

“Maybe.” Picking up the glass in front of her, she threw it back and let the semimelted rum-soaked ice fill her mouth.

“You wanna make it up to me? Tell me what you were really doing this afternoon.”

She wasn’t feeling that guilty.

“I already told you.”

“And we both know that was a lie.”

This time, it was her turn to shrug.

“Then I guess you’re just going to have to add this to your long list of disappointments.”

Elle pushed up from the bar, ignoring the way it spun lazily around her. She wobbled on her low-slung heels for a moment before the world finally righted itself.

“Are you okay?”

Before she could blink, Zane was standing beside her, his hand wrapped around her elbow again. The moment felt like déjà vu in a not very pleasant way.

Jerking her arm out of his grasp, she said, “I’m fine.”

So the—one, two, four, five? Dang, she’d had more than she’d realized—fluffy drinks that had seemed rather harmless while sitting down had gone to her head. She had only a short walk to the main building and a ride in the elevator before she could crash in her own room and sleep off the alcohol haze. Maybe when she woke up, she’d have a brilliant solution to her problem.

“At least let me walk you to your room.”

“I don’t think so.” Giving him her back, she strode away.

Outside the bar, the salt-tinged air began to clear her head. It was a beautiful night, the slivered moon just barely gilding the silky sand and the crystal-clear water.

What she wouldn’t give to have a paintbrush in her hand right now. To capture the beauty of this place forever.

The loud music and bright lights of the bar faded, leaving her feeling alone in the tropical paradise. If she’d been here for any other reason, she might have enjoyed the sense of peace that stole over her. It was an unexpected gift at the end of a rather trying day.

Stopping in the middle of the deserted path, she closed her eyes and breathed in the perfectly warm air.

A burst of laughter from behind galvanized her into motion again.

The sandals she’d thrown on only because they matched her sundress clicked loudly against the concrete path. So loudly that it took her a minute to pick up the sound of the second pair of footsteps following behind her. They were quiet and, if her own overprotective father hadn’t trained her, she probably never would have picked up on them. But, living in Atlanta, her daddy had made sure she was always aware of her surroundings and could defend herself.

Her sluggish brain reacted a little slower than she would have liked, but it took her only a few moments to assess the situation. She was alone on a dark path, surrounded by thick landscaping and plenty of nooks and crannies that could be used to pull her into the shadows.

The parade of men she’d grown increasingly harsher with as the night had gone on marched through her brain. Crap, she should have been nicer.

3

ZANE TAILED ELLE. FOLLOWING her had nothing to do with suspicions and everything to do with the fact that she’d looked less than steady on her feet back at the bar. She might have regained her balance fairly quickly, but he wasn’t in the habit of letting drunk women walk home alone.

That was just asking for trouble. He’d worked enough cases with female victims who had been in the wrong place at the right time and ended up dead. And while the likelihood of that happening in this tropical paradise was fairly low—thanks to the security measures he’d implemented—he still wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight if he’d let her walk out of that bar on her own.

The path back to the main building was long, and he suddenly felt responsible for Elle. God only knew why.

He rounded a corner on the path, realizing too late that the click of her footsteps ahead of him had gone silent.

The attack came out of nowhere. If he hadn’t been preoccupied with worrying about Elle, it never would have happened. Two years ago, his brain would have noticed the lack of sound, calculated the most-likely position where she’d gone off the path and prepared for any number of things—including the possibility that she might attack him.

Tonight, he was caught off guard as she came hurdling toward him out of the bushes. Her lithe body became a projectile headed straight for his chest. He had no desire to fall over backward from the force of her attack.

Defensive moves that had long ago become instinctive kicked in. He sidestepped the motion of her body, reaching out to try to stop her forward momentum. He might have no desire to hit concrete, but then he really didn’t want her to, either. Too much paperwork involved.

His fingers slid across her dress, fighting for purchase. He could feel the angle of her body shift beneath the slippery fabric as she countered his attempt to save her. The sound of cotton rending ripped through the air, mixing with the loud expulsion of her breath close to his ear. Her shoulder glanced off of his arm, the strength of her tiny body surprising him.

Elle went off balance. He knew the second that her center of gravity overcorrected itself and couldn’t recover. He knew because he watched as her eyes, more cognizant than he’d expected, widened in panic.

He lunged for her, but it was too late. If she’d still been standing on the path, he might have been able to grasp her and roll them both so she landed on top of him, shielding her from most of the impact. But the little minx had laid her trap right next to the pool.

“Elle!” He cried out a warning she obviously didn’t need.

He probably could have saved himself the dunking if he’d pushed against her momentum, but he didn’t. Instead, he tried to pull her in close to his body so that he could find her once they disappeared beneath the surface.

Neither of them was in danger of drowning. They might have landed in the deep end of the pool, but it was only six feet. Elle was tiny, but surely she could find her way to the surface with little effort, even if she had been drunk and disoriented. And considering the dexterity she’d needed for her botched attack, he was seriously reconsidering his assessment of her ability to hold liquor.

Warm water closed over his head. Chlorine stung his eyes as he kept them open, not willing to take his gaze off of Elle until he knew she was okay.