Rebecca Zanetti - Sweet Revenge

The knife… the blade. Her brain flashed back to his wounds. There had been no gravel or dirt in the gashes… and they were straight. Somebody had cut him. “You weren’t in a motorcycle accident.” She backed into the wall.

He surveyed her, no expression on his face. “No.”

“I, ah, think you should leave.” She should run into the other apartment and slam the door.

“Listen, Laney”—his voice dropped to smooth and soothing—“it looks like somebody might have broken into your apartment, and they might still be there. How about I check, and afterward I’ll leave?”

“Who are you?” Her voice trembled, while her mind listed the items she needed to pick up on the way out of town.

“Exactly who I said.” He waited patiently, not making any threatening moves.

The man appeared more than trained, more than capable of dealing with an intruder. If she heard one wit of a fight, she was heading for her car and speeding for the next state. She slowly nodded and was rewarded with a charming smile that didn’t come close to lightening his alert eyes.

He turned. “Stay here,” he whispered.

Right. Two choices. Stay in the hall and let a strange man wander her apartment, or go into her apartment with the strange man. No way. There was no choice. She sidled back toward the empty apartment in case she needed to jump inside and lock the door. A tiny voice whispered in the back of her head that a locked door wouldn’t stop a man like Matt Dean. So she’d head for the window the second after she locked the door. There wasn’t an escape rope in the guest apartment like she had in her place. Jumping two stories would be difficult, but she could do it.

He emerged from her place minutes later with a bouquet of red roses and an unopened card. “I think these are for you.”

Relief filled her so quickly she sagged. “Oh.” Ripping open the card, she shook her head. The script was short and sweet. Laney, I’m sorry our date didn’t work out. Please give me another chance. Greg. “You’re kidding me.”

“Problem?” Matt frowned.

“Not really.” Laney blew out a breath and took the flowers. Her hands shook as the adrenaline fled her body. “Just a guy who doesn’t understand we don’t mesh.” The mild-mannered pharmacist had been a complete bore the night they’d gone to dinner. “He probably thinks this is romantic.”

Matt eyed the roses. “That is creepy. He had to have keys in order to have navigated the lock and two dead bolts.”

“Unbelievable.” How had the creep gotten her keys? Her mind reeled. She was usually so careful. Suddenly, she felt small and vulnerable. “I guess I’ll need new locks.”

“How about as part of my rent I replace your locks as well as mine?” Matt leaned back against the door, arms crossed.

God, he was big. She swallowed. “Who stabbed you?”

He studied her until she wanted to squirm. So she lifted her chin. “Well?”

“I don’t know.” He lifted one muscled shoulder. “I was in a bar fight in Colorado that got out of control. A guy pulled a knife and stabbed me.”

“What about him?” she asked quietly.

“He may have been knocked out.” The flash of teeth was quick. “But he’s still alive, if that’s what you’re asking.”

She shuffled her feet. Her problems were apparently getting worse, and having an ex-marine in her corner would be a huge bonus. What if Matt was the dangerous one? Her instincts weren’t the best, but she wanted to trust him. At least, her suddenly raging libido wanted to trust him. Plus, she really needed him in the bar for the next two weeks. During that time, she’d make enough money that maybe she’d move on. It was probably time.

He waited, not moving, his endless patience intriguing.

Finally, she nodded. “You can stay. But lie to me again, and you’re out on your butt.”

“Fair enough.” He slipped toward his doorway. “Do you want me to have a discussion with this Greg person?”

She couldn’t stop the quick laugh. “Ah, no. He’d probably die of a heart attack if you threatened him. I can handle it.”

Matt pivoted at his door. “If you say so.” He paused in shutting it. “If you have any other problems, you call me.” Not waiting for a reply, he shut the door.

Laney stared at the silent door. Her heart rate kept galloping. “Yeah. Right.”

Matt leaned against his door and waited until Laney had shut and locked her door. The three locks were impressive and meant business. The woman was smart, so how had she lost her keys?

His brief tour of her apartment had taught him quite a lot about his new boss. She was meticulous, liked bold colors, and had created a bedroom made for passion. Sprawling bed with a sensual sapphire-colored bedspread. There were several bookshelves scattered throughout the small home shelving books ranging from classics to modern romance novels.

Different digital cameras had been lined up on a bookshelf along with a few scrapbooks. Black-and-white photos of buildings, rivers, and stormy skies had decorated the walls—pictures he’d bet had been taken by Laney.

She’d also taken many pictures of her brother, whom she’d apparently loved. The young marine had been featured in several pictures throughout.

Matt should feel guilty about how easily he’d manipulated her into giving him the job and the apartment. Yet he was exactly where he needed to be right now in order to complete his mission and find the damn female doctor who’d guaranteed his death.

Time to get down to business and forget the appealing woman next door. Matt pulled his laptop out of his pack and followed his nightly ritual of pressing play on a well-worn DVD. They’d discovered it in a raid of an off-grid training facility a month ago.

The scene came up, the one that gave him nightmares. Even though it hurt like a hot poker to the spine, he tuned in all his senses, hoping this once, he’d see something different. A clue as to what had really happened to his youngest brother, and more importantly, where to find him. Dead or alive, but most likely dead.

On the DVD, two years ago, Jory sat, hands tied, bloody and battered. Fire was in his gray eyes, showing a rare but deadly temper. Then the silhouette of a woman had showed right before several shots were fired into Jory. He’d fallen, gray eyes wide in death.

The screen went blank.

No clues, nothing new pierced Matt’s brain. Failure and raw agony swamped him. He’d left his baby brother to die alone. Tears he’d never allow anybody to see spiked his eyes like acid. He’d lived with fear, he’d lived with pain, but failure was just too much. Now, with Jory’s face in front of him, his hands shook and his vision clouded. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice raw and hoarse.

He wanted to rail at the fates and lose himself in the process. But despair was a luxury he couldn’t afford until he saved his two remaining brothers. He’d promised them as children that they’d survive their captors and find freedom.

A month ago, his other brother, Shane, was sure he’d seen another DVD where Jory had moved after being shot. But Shane had fought with a head injury, with amnesia, and the other DVD had never been found. Shane thought he remembered seeing Jory blink after being shot, but he couldn’t be sure. Even now, with his memories returned, he didn’t know if Jory blinked or if it had been a trick of the lighting.

Matt swallowed and fought down rage. The recording didn’t lie. Jory was gone. He repeated the mantra, trying to shove down desperate hope that he was wrong.

Taking a deep breath, Matt tugged a worn postcard out of his back pocket. He’d stolen the card from a woman in Texas, the grandmother of a nurse who had supposedly befriended Dr. Peters, the woman he now sought, at least according to what Shane had been able to discover from the few medical personnel they’d tracked down.