Chapter 4

“Lock it,” he spat. "They have to think it’s locked! They can't know we're here."

"I'm doing that!" Her body was hot against his, familiar. Pressed into him as she struggled to add her weight to his.

He felt her strain, brace her boots on the worn hardwood, struggle for purchase. But her feet were slipping, even though he tried to take the load off her. What damn fool wore high-heeled leather boots into an area of drug addicts?

The pressure on the door mounted. Two large men, had to be. And Tish couldn’t push the bar into the holder on the other side of the frame.

Something in him hardened. If it was about protecting Tish, he'd have no scruples. He’d been honed to be a protector in his military service, and he knew how to inflict all kinds of damage—if necessary.

His gaze skimmed over the workings of the door. Yeah. One fast, abrupt move. That's all it would take, if he could manage it.

His breath came in short spurts as he hissed the words to her. "I'll count to three, then push damn hard, with all you've got."

She grunted agreement. At the count of three, he bounced off his side of the door, slammed all his weight to where she was holding it, and click! The door moved imperceptibly into the position it had resisted before. He pushed the knob on top of the sliding mechanism down, and suddenly, the lock held.

A few more shoves against the door from the other side, and the door rattled in its frame. But it held tight.

Swear words erupted from outside. Flew. Harsh curses.

But relief flowed through him. The door was solid, now that the wayward lock had actually engaged. They were safe—for the moment.

"Is the window in front secure?" He whispered in Tish's ear, her hair brushing his nose, his cheek. Her scent close. "Because..."

She shook her head. "They're leaving. Look." And indeed, beside the door, through the narrow pane of semi-frosted glass, he saw what she'd seen. The glare of headlights from the car they'd left running, a few more bodies milling beside it, and a number more on the porch of the house directly across the street.

And he saw the two, large forms exiting the rickety porch. Thank god.

She slumped against the door.

He lifted a corner of the curtain, peeked out the window at the top of the door, strained to see despite a bush in the way, crowding one of the porch posts. Heard car doors slam and saw the old vehicle squeal away from the curb.

"Finally." She shuttered her eyes for a moment, then exhaled slowly. "Another crisis averted."

"You okay?"

Her look held an open note of recrimination. "I'd be better if you'd closed the door properly in the first place."

"I..." But the truth was, she was right. “Hell. I’m sorry. It’s a tough old door. Probably weather-beaten, out of shape. But they're gone now."

She pushed herself upright then rubbed her hands, going over the knuckles and the rest of her fingers to ease the strain. "Yeah, that worked. And you, uh, being here, didn't suck. Thanks."

A tiny bit of hope trickled through him. It was scant praise, but right now he'd take it. He cupped his hand under her elbow, intent on getting her away from the troublesome entryway. "Into the living room."

But she shook his hand off. "Thanks for helping. But you still need to leave."

"You sure?"

"Very."

"Okay. I'll..." But he heard the telltale noises outside and knew she wasn't going to get her wish. Not just yet.

Tension circled in him. He had a bit of time, but not endless amounts. He needed to be on the road in a couple of hours. Without fail.

But he absolutely had to make sure she was safe. He couldn’t leave now, suddenly, now that she’d shown up in his life once again, without knowing she was safe.

"I'd be happy to leave, but there's one problem."

"What?" Defiance flashed through her eyes but he also saw a flash of something raw.

After all this time, that couldn't be for him, could it? For crap's sake, she'd moved on. Gotten married. Married well. She was a woman with means, which was another reason he wanted to know what the hell she was doing here in this part of town, alone, without any protection. Where was her jerk-off husband?

All he could come up with was that it was some film thing. Maybe he was financing some documentary she was playing with, something like that. But if he'd let her come alone here, to this neighborhood, he was an ass.

Rattled, he glanced out the tiny window to the left, just above the postage-stamp landing at the base of the hallway staircase. There it was, one step up, protected but handy, to get a clear view.

Reconnaissance. Dumbed down for sure, but his Special Ops training kicked in. He needed to know what they were up against. The smallest situations could explode.

They’d exploded all too often in Afghanistan. Gone FUBAR.

And hell. He’d been right to check. They had to deal with something else, right now.

He motioned her over to window. "Take a look. But be careful."

She went, peeked her nose into the tiny window casement from the side. Looked out, sprang back fast, collided into him. She recovered quickly, though, and it seemed like she’d barely noticed him, the contact.

Though even with everything going on, he’d certainly noticed.

But he could tell she'd heard the noise of the engine running, seen the very tip of the beat-up vehicle parked just out of sight, as he had.

He scrutinized her, saw the unhappy look on her face. The real deeply held desire to have him gone. But forged ahead anyway. It was the truth, and it would buy him time to make sure he left her safe.

"You see why I can't go anywhere. Until that car stops monitoring us and those losers leave, I'm sticking to you like white on rice."