Terms Of Engagement

A hand touched her shoulder and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Jack stood next to her, his figure solid and reassuring. He bent his head, pitching his voice loud enough to be heard over the din. “Where have you been? Jolie was getting worried.”

“A woman needs help outside.”

He shook his head, an expression of puzzlement on his face. The jukebox was blaring out the latest Dixie Chicks tune at ear-deafening levels. “What?”

“Come with me!” He may not have understood her words, but he couldn’t misunderstand her hand on his arm, tugging him in her wake.

Bursting outside again, she halted, scanning the area. Her stomach plummeted when she didn’t see anyone in the vicinity. “I don’t see them.”

“What, my reindeer? I have them parked out front.”

Lindsay headed deeper into the alley, calling over her shoulder, “There was a man out here trying to force himself on a woman. When I tried to stop him he shoved me down. I’m afraid he might have taken her somewhere no one will find them.”

“He touched you?” Jack’s tone changed from affable to threatening with a swiftness that might have alarmed her if she weren’t already so distracted. “What’d he look like?”

But Lindsay was running ahead, the pain in her knees from the scrapes she’d gotten barely registering. The alley ended in a T. She rounded the corner to her right. If it hadn’t been for the sound of the woman’s muffled sobs, she would have missed the couple hidden in a doorway.

She hefted her purse as she ran toward them. The two rolls of quarters she always carried in it seemed woefully inadequate. But they were all she had since she’d left her gun back at the apartment.

“You like games, Sheila?” She could barely make out the man’s panted words. He had a forearm across the woman’s throat, his free hand pulling up her skirt. “Let’s play some games.”

His choice of words arrowed deep into her subconscious. Summoned an echo of a voice she’d thought buried for good. You think this is a game? Well, maybe it is. But it isn’t one you’re going to win.

A quick shudder snaked down Lindsay’s spine as she shook off the memory. She closed the distance between them at a run. The man looked over his shoulder, a snarl on his lips when he saw Lindsay. She swung her purse with all her might and nailed him squarely in the face.

There was a sickening crack. He howled, cursing, turning around to make a grab for her. She felt her shirt rip and struggled wildly to free herself, but he maintained his grasp. When he hit the ground, so did she.

He was on her in an instant, flipping her over and rolling atop her. She raised her knee up sharply into his crotch, her fingernails going for his face, heard him yelp.

“Goddammit!” He reared an arm back and struck her across the cheek with enough force to send lights wheeling beneath her eyelids. A moment later, he was gone.

Dazed, she tried to sit, the movement making her nauseous. She became dimly aware of the sounds around her. Grunts and curses. A soft sobbing. The instantly recognizable sound of flesh hitting flesh.

Without grace she stood up, swaying. It was a moment before she could stagger over to the woman—Sheila—who was huddled in the doorway. Lindsay went on her knees next to her, slipping an arm around her shoulder. “It’s all right. It’s over.”

She craned her neck to see what was happening several yards away. Jack had the man against the wall and was hammering him with methodical punishing blows.

A moment later she realized the stranger’s struggles had grown feeble, and she left the woman’s side to lurch across the distance and grab Jack’s arm. “Stop.”

She could feel the ice-cold fury emanating from him. The iron muscles in his arm quivered like a racehorse at the starting gate. “Jack,” she said softly. Something in her voice must have reached him and he looked at her. She watched the sheen of rage slowly dissipate from his eyes, and then he released the man, who crumpled in a heap.

“You’re bleeding,” he observed tersely, his gaze raking her form.

Surprised, she looked down. Her shirt was in tatters, and there was blood soaking it. She gathered the remnants of the garment around her. “It’s not mine.”

He reached out a finger and tipped her chin up so he could study her. Whatever he saw in her face must have reassured him, because something in his expression eased. He looked past her then. “Give Jolie or Dace a call. Get them out here.” He walked by her to go to the aid of the woman who was even now struggling to her feet. “And if that scumbag back there so much as moves, let me know.”

With shaking fingers, Lindsay punched in Jolie’s number, relayed Jack’s message and interrupted her friend’s questions with a terse, “Just get out here. Bring Dace.”

When she glanced his way, Jack looked like he had things under control with Sheila, so Lindsay edged nearer the man, who had risen to a sitting position, both hands clapped over his face.

“You broke my damn nose, you freaking whore.” His voice was muffled. “My lawyer will sue your ass. You’ll pay for butting into something that’s none of your business. Langley, too.”

“You got off easy,” she responded bluntly. “And your lawyer is going to be too busy defending you from attempted rape and assault charges to worry about me.” Hearing the sounds of footsteps running toward them, she turned to see Dace turn the corner into the alley, Jolie and a woman she didn’t recognize on his heels.

Relief coursed through her. “Look, it’s the cavalry.”

Dace stopped at her side while the two women continued down the alley to help Jack with the injured woman. Hauling the man up by one arm, Dace growled, “What the hell have you been up to now, Fallon?”

“Me?” Fallon’s voice would have sounded indignant if he weren’t speaking through a broken nose. “Sheila and I came out for a few minutes of privacy and the next thing I know that bitch over there is jumping me. And then Langley gets into the act. You tell him I’m pressing assault charges.”

“Tell him yourself.” Dace gave him a little push. “I’m parked in front. Let’s go downtown.”

“I need a doctor!” Fallon protested.

“Ava and I will take Sheila to the hospital.” Jolie strode up, eyes hard. “I’ll get her statement there, then meet you at the precinct.”

Dace nodded then led the man away. Jolie and Lindsay returned to where Jack was waiting with Sheila and Ava. Quickly Jolie introduced Lindsay to Ava, who was another member of their SWAT squad.

“I can’t thank you enough,” Sheila said shakily to Lindsay when the introductions were over. “If you hadn’t been there he would have raped me. I never wanted…I told him no.…”

“And I heard you. This isn’t your fault.”

“Jack, see Lindsay home, will you?” Jolie’s next words halted both their protests. “Sheila will be more comfortable with Ava and me right now than you. And I don’t want Lindsay to be alone.”

Sliding a glance to Lindsay, Jack nodded. “All right. We’ll be downtown as soon as she gets changed.”

The adrenaline had faded, leaving Lindsay feeling sapped and spent. She hugged her arms tight around her body and willed her knees to remain locked to support her increasingly wobbly legs. She was only half-aware that Jolie, Ava and Sheila had gone when Jack approached her again.

She strove to straighten when he surveyed her critically.

“You must have gotten a few good swings in.”

Her entire body began shaking. “I can’t take credit for that. You’re the one who stopped him.”

“You’re in shock.” He hauled her to his chest and wrapped his arms around her.

“I’m not.” She wasn’t weak. She despised weakness. But she couldn’t will away the shudders racing up and down her body.

“Okay, maybe you’re cold.” Knowing that he was merely humoring her didn’t make her feel any better. “And me without a shirt to offer you.”

For a moment, just a moment, Lindsay allowed herself to lean against him. His skin was hot despite the chilly air. She could feel his heart thudding beneath her ear, the steady sound comforting. For the briefest of moments, she felt completely, totally safe.

The sensation was foreign enough to have her stepping out of his arms. If she’d learned anything in the last three years, it was that she couldn’t depend on anyone else to protect her.

She liked her chances better on her own.

Avoiding his gaze, she folded the remains of her shirt around herself and held it in place by crossing her arms over her chest. “Since I’m not feeling particularly festive anymore, I’ll think I’ll head home.”

“Good idea. I know that lowlife’s name. Rick Fallon. He’s a dispatcher from the Eighth Precinct, I think. We’ll get you cleaned up, then we’ll join Dace downtown. Your statement will help support Sheila’s. Fallon will try to claim that what was going on out here was consensual.”

“No!” The strength of her protest surprised them both. Working to keep the panic from her voice, she forced an even tone. “I wouldn’t be much help. I didn’t see a lot.” Making statements would require ID, wouldn’t it? ID that couldn’t stand up to close scrutiny.

He frowned, studying her carefully. But rather than pushing harder, he just said mildly, “Let’s just worry about you right now. Maybe we should have a doctor check you out.”

“I just need to go home.” Bending down, she tried to pick up the contents of her purse, which had spilled out sometime during the altercation. It was slow going, since she couldn’t let go of her shirt.

Jack crouched down and scooped everything up and returned it to her purse, holding up the rolls of quarters with a cocked brow. “Hope you nailed him with these.”

“I did.” Not, she recalled, that it had slowed him down much. When he handed her back her purse, she pulled out her cell phone. “I’m going to call a taxi. Thanks for riding to the rescue.”

“Don’t bother calling for a cab.” He plucked the cell out of her hand, and, placing a palm on the small of her back, guided her down the alley. “You’re in luck. Like I said, I’ve got my sleigh and eight bored reindeer parked right out front.”

Chapter Two

Jack Langley was a hard man to say no to. Impossible, actually.

Within moments he had Lindsay herded into the front seat of a sporty, low-slung car and had elicited directions to her place. He’d turned on the heater, but the blast of warm air wasn’t having much effect on the shivers still skating over her skin.

Her teeth were chattering. She gripped her arms more tightly across her chest, vaguely disquieted that she had so little control over her body’s reaction.

With a clutch in her stomach, she realized her response had less to do with the attack and everything to do with the memory the stranger had unwittingly summoned.

You even think about betraying me and I’ll kill you. Are you hearing me?

She slipped farther down in the seat, battling nausea. Every time she started to believe she’d begun to put the past behind her, something happened to show her just how solid a grip it still wielded. She’d run over two thousand miles but nothing had really changed at all. Lindsay could still hear the menace in Niko Rassi’s voice, still feel the grip of his fingers around her neck.

And she still had no doubt it was only a matter of time before he caught up with her. Until she was resting at the bottom of a riverbed, just like her friends.

Her cheek throbbed and she raised a hand to it, wincing when she touched it.

“What’s wrong?” Jack’s voice was sharp with concern. And his vision must be equally sharp to have seen her expression of pain in the darkened front seat.

“I’m fine. I just need some ice. Guys like him know how to hit a woman just hard enough to avoid serious damage.” Niko had mastered the art of the backhanded slap, too. That was only the beginning of the many unpleasant discoveries she’d made about him.

“If you have that much experience with guys who hit women, you’re hanging around the wrong kind of men.”

“Tell me about it,” she muttered. There was something in his voice she couldn’t identify, but his words struck a chord. They didn’t get any more wrong than Niko Rassi. They didn’t get any deadlier.

A wave of fatalism swamped her, a sensation she usually fended off during long, sleepless nights spent staring at the ceiling. Niko might not have found her yet, but in a manner of speaking he’d already won. He’d robbed her of any sort of real life. Robbed her of any chance of family. Had her constantly watching over her shoulder. She knew him well enough to realize how much he’d enjoy that.

To distract herself from that line of thought, she asked, “What does Ava do on the squad?”

“She’s a marksman. Her nickname’s Cold Shot.” A tinge of humor entered Jack’s voice. “You’re only slightly less dangerous than she is. Fallon had a lucky escape.”

Moments later Jack slowed the car to a stop. “Looks like a nice house.”

“The house is nice. I live over the garage.” Releasing her seat belt, Lindsay opened the door. “I appreciate the ride—” she began.

But Jack was already out of the car. Slowly, Lindsay rounded the hood, mentally rehearsing a way to get rid of him. All she really wanted right now was a hot bath and a cold pack for her face. Given the contents of her apartment, she’d be making due with a tepid shower in the minuscule stall and a package of frozen peas held to her cheek.

“Like I said, thanks for everything…” Her second attempt was no more successful than the first.

“You’re not getting rid of me until I see your injuries in the light and make sure you don’t need to go to the ER. So save your breath and get your key out.” Openmouthed, Lindsay could only stare as Jack strode ahead of her to ascend the narrow exterior stairway leading to her apartment.

It wasn’t much. Jack threw a quick, all-encompassing look around the small space. The fresh paint on the walls only made the secondhand furniture look rattier. There was a sagging easy chair and a fairly comfortable-looking daybed situated around a small TV in one corner. A midget-size kitchenette was placed opposite, with a small countertop eating area and a couple doors that had to open to closets or a bathroom.

But it wasn’t the meagerness of the space that struck him. It was the total absence of any personal items in it.

There were no pictures on the walls or on the tops of the mismatched end tables. There weren’t any of the useless things women were forever hanging up or setting around for a clumsy guy to knock into. No magazines. No books. No CDs or, for that matter, anything to play them on.

“How long have you lived here?”

“Six months or so.”

So she hadn’t just moved in. Wasn’t in the middle of unpacking her things. Lindsay Bradford didn’t have anything to unpack. His curiosity deepened.

She brushed by him and went to one of the doors and pulled it open. Looking past her, he saw a bathroom barely big enough to turn around in. She stepped inside and swung the door shut behind her. But it didn’t latch and swung open again several inches. He was honorable enough to avert his eyes, male enough to resent needing to.

Half a dozen scenarios occurred to him. Was she recently divorced? Jolie and Dace hadn’t mentioned an ex, but maybe they didn’t know about one. Or maybe she’d just gotten out of a bad relationship. Yeah, that could be it. Maybe he’d been abusive. That would explain the comment she’d made in the car.

He found he didn’t much like the idea of someone raising a hand to her. Hell, he’d still be beating on Fallon for doing so if Lindsay hadn’t stopped him.

A hard smile crossed his lips when he thought of what the man had in store for him. His bruises were going to be the least of his worries. Jack had heard rumors that the guy had a reputation for roughing up women. There might even be a misdemeanor or two in his past. Once he convinced Lindsay to make a statement backing up the woman’s complaint, Fallon’s career was in the trash heap. It was about damn time.

Second nature had him crossing to the window in the kitchenette, checking its security. Cool air seeped in at the seam where the sash met the sill. Frowning, he jiggled the window. Despite the lock, it rattled easily. A five-year-old armed with a toy screwdriver could jimmy it open in two minutes flat.

“You need to have the landlord spring for a screen. And a new lock for the window,” he called over his shoulder. “Or else I could just…” The words died in his throat.

From this angle, he could see her in profile through the opening of the bathroom door. She’d stripped off the ripped shirt and the wide pants. Once again it occurred to him that Lindsay Bradford was a study of contrasts. She dressed as sedate as a nun, but what nun wore a matching black-and-white-striped bra and panties? What nun had a silver hoop piercing her navel and a tiny tattoo of a butterfly on one smooth shoulder blade?

She turned around to reach for something, saw him watching her and froze. The oxygen abruptly backed up in his lungs.

Because a nun wouldn’t look at him with naked desire in her expression, either. Desire that he fully, achingly reciprocated.

The moment spun out. Neither of them moved. Hell, he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Could only stare like a lovesick teenager. Want like a sex-starved hermit.

An instant later she stepped closer to the door and closed it firmly.

The pent-up air in his lungs released. He turned back to the window, shaken. He needed to get out of here. Lindsay had made it pretty damn clear in the bar that she wasn’t interested in casual entanglements. And while ordinarily he might test her resolve a bit, he sure as hell wasn’t going to do it after what she’d been through tonight.

And if that left his more insistent body parts aching, it was too damn bad.

To distract himself, he crossed to the apartment door, yanked it open and jogged down the steps toward his car. The blast of cool air was welcome against his heated skin. It was time to back the hell up. His response to the woman was all out of whack.

Opening the trunk lid with his remote, he reached in for his toolbox and shut the lid again. He headed back toward the steps to her apartment. Okay. The lady had had a rough night. He’d fix her window, make sure she was steady on her feet and head in to the precinct alone. She could make her statement in the morning. Maybe if it wasn’t too late, he’d even head back to the Blue Lagoon. The bar was filled with females who would be far more interested than Lindsay had been earlier.

And sometime between now and then, he’d work on summoning a little interest in them in return. Because he wasn’t a man who welcomed complications in his life. And if there was one thing Lindsay Bradford had written all over her, it was complication, in big, bold capital letters.

He was hammering the second of two nails into her window sash when he heard her raised voice behind him. “What the heck are you doing?”

Giving the nail a final blow with the hammer, he turned. “Making sure some lowlife doesn’t decide to come in your window.”

She was swathed in a white zip-up terry-cloth robe that covered her from throat to feet. There was nothing remotely sexy about the garment. It was recalling what lay beneath it that was giving him a bad moment. Scowling, he passed her to squat before the toolbox, replacing the hammer and locking the lid.

She eyed the window dubiously. “I don’t think there’s much danger of that. He’d need a pair of stilts at this height.”

“Or a ladder. After tonight you shouldn’t be surprised at how far stupidity and hormones take some guys.” She paled, and he mentally kicked himself. Like she needed a reminder of the altercation earlier.

Deliberately lightening the mood, he added, “Although once bad guys get a look at what you did to Fallon, I’d imagine they’d be steering clear of you.” The small smile those words elicited had heat coiling low in his belly.

“I think you inflicted the worst damage there.”

He surveyed her without trying to be obvious about it. She’d showered, and her dark, wet hair was combed straight back off her face to fall below her shoulders. There was already a mark blooming on one chiseled cheekbone. But her eyes were clear, unclouded by the shadows he’d seen there in the car. They were cat-green, unusual for her coloring.

And he was losing it completely if he was standing here mooning over the color of a woman’s eyes.

“You should get something on your face.” He went to the doll-size refrigerator and opened the freezer. The only ice was in trays, so he grabbed the bag of frozen peas and wrapped it in the kitchen towel that had been draped neatly over the faucet. He walked back and handed it to her. “I’m sure Jolie will come if you need someone to stay with you tonight.”

She was already shaking her head. “I’m fine. She’s got enough to deal with tonight. I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”

Since she seemed steady enough now, he figured it was as good a time as any to broach the subject of her statement. He backed up, propping a hip against the kitchen counter and folding his arms. “Making a statement isn’t difficult. I can walk you through the process if you—”

“I already told you, I’m not interested.”

Lindsay saw Jack’s gaze narrow and knew she was going to get an argument. She’d already learned that he didn’t take no for an answer.

But this time he’d have to. If there was one thing she’d learned, it was that cops required ID for everything. And while hers might get only cursory examination, she couldn’t afford to take that chance. She’d made sure no trace of her name showed up on any public record for the last three years. Her caution had kept her alive. She wasn’t about to start making mistakes now.

Jack crossed one foot in front of the other, and for a moment she found herself distracted by the action. He’d strayed from the Santa uniform with the boots. They were a deep brown rather than black, with richly tooled leather that screamed designer. They probably cost what she paid in six months’ rent.

“I know the guy. He’s got a reputation with women, but so far no one has taken the step to make him pay for his actions. If Sheila Jennings presses charges—and it sure sounded like she planned to—she’s going to need your statement to back hers up. Otherwise he’ll spin it that she was willing, and he’ll walk again. And then he’ll do the same thing to some other woman.”

His words had her nerves congealing in a greasy tangle in her stomach. If Jack hadn’t come outside with her, the outcome of the evening would have been far different. She would have suffered far worse injuries than a bruised cheek, and Sheila…She swallowed hard, thinking what might have happened to the woman. But she couldn’t focus on that now. And she couldn’t allow herself to be manipulated into feeling guilty about a woman she didn’t know and possible future victims.

She was already carrying all the guilt she could live with.

“Save your breath. I’ve made up my mind and you’re not going to change it.”

The frustration on his face was easy to read. “Dammit, Lindsay…”

“Dammit, Jack…” She crossed her arms to mimic his stance. Well, not exactly, since her chest wasn’t bare. And her arms weren’t bulging with all sorts of interesting muscles. But he wasn’t going to intimidate her, regardless.

He gave a curt nod. “I’ll let you sleep on it. Maybe when Jolie talks to you tomorrow you’ll change your mind.”

Although she didn’t relish the upcoming conversation, she shook her head. “I won’t.”

His jaw tightened, and the toughness she’d noted earlier was not so hidden now. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as stubborn as you.”

“Then you haven’t looked in the mirror lately.”

For a moment she thought her reckless tongue had gotten her in trouble again. His face darkened and he looked like a man struggling to leash his temper. Then he pushed away from the counter and grabbed her purse, digging inside it to take out her cell phone.