masculine in a decidedly carnal way. He looked like an old-fashioned gunslinger, like the loner who rode into town, risking his life to battle the bad guys and save the day. A solitary man in need of comfort who left behind a trail of broken hearts as he rode away.
This was the homeless man, she realized with a start. But he was nothing like she’d expected. He was younger—in his midthirties at most—and far more virile. He wore work boots and tattered jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt he’d pushed up to his elbows, exposing the tendons roping his arms. His hands were big and lean. He cradled the gun with lethal ease.
He was the sexiest man she’d ever seen.
Her throat suddenly dry, she managed a nod. “I’m fine.” Thanks to you.
“Well, you’re damned lucky. What the hell were you thinking, running out into the street like that? You could have been killed.”
His sudden anger took her aback. “I had to protect Lindsey. I couldn’t let them...” Suddenly remembering the pregnant teenager, she rolled aside. “Oh, God. Lindsey. Are you hurt?”
The girl lifted her head, her eyes huge in her too-pale face. “I’m okay. But...what happened? Who was that? Why were they shooting at us?”
Haley’s mouth went flat, her own anger stirring now. “The Ridgewood gang.” Based primarily in Baltimore, the gang had recently begun making inroads into nearby Washington, D.C., in an effort to control the heroin trade. And she’d be damned if they’d chase her out.
Grabbing hold of the car’s door handle, she pulled herself upright, more shaken than she cared to admit. She’d been in a lot of danger during her homeless years, but this incident ranked up there with the worst.
The man reached out his hand to the teenager and helped her to her feet. And Haley couldn’t help but blink. He towered above them, his wide shoulders heavy with muscle, his lean body whittled of any fat. And he’d materialized by magic, like some sort of avenging angel.
A very earthly angel. Her heart made another lurch.
“Who are you?” Lindsey sounded just as awed.
“Sully. Sullivan Turner.”
His deep voice rumbled through Haley like a caress. Braced for the sensual impact, she met his gaze dead-on. “Well, Sully Turner. I have to thank you. You saved our lives.”
His eyes narrowed a fraction. “So why were they shooting at you?”
“Wrong place, wrong time, I guess. They’re establishing their territory, and we got in their way.”
“I don’t think so.”
She paused. “What do you mean? You think they were targeting us specifically?”
“That’s how it looked from where I stood.”
Her belly dipped. Dread whispered through her, a memory ghosting back from the past. But that was nuts. The killer couldn’t have found her. There was no way he would know where she was—not after all these years. And even if he did, why would he want to harm her? The actual shooters were dead now. She couldn’t implicate anyone else in that long-ago crime. She had nothing to worry about. She was safe.
“That’s crazy. That shooting was random.” It had to be. Because the alternative scared her down to her bones.
“If you say so.” His eyes skeptical, Sully stuffed his pistol into the waistband of his jeans. “Come on. You need to get off the street before they come back.”
Her heart skittered a beat. “Why would they come back?”
“I hit one. I’m not sure how bad he’s bleeding, but they’re going to retaliate.”
He was right. The gang wouldn’t let a challenge like that go unanswered, especially when they were determined to rule the street. They would insist on exacting revenge.
Which meant Lindsey wasn’t safe. The other girls in her care weren’t safe. Even this homeless man wasn’t safe. He was a marked man now—because he’d rescued her.
She’d endangered the life of an innocent man.
Again.
Chapter 2
Sully limped up the sidewalk beside the woman, his hands trembling, his pulse jumping, a cold sweat beading his palms. That semi-automatic gunfire kept ricocheting through his mind in an endless loop, making it hard to distinguish his nightmares from fact.
But one thing was clear, even to his battle-fogged brain. Something was terribly wrong here. The gang gunning down two unarmed women to establish their territory didn’t make sense. It would bring the police force out in droves, giving them unwanted scrutiny, something they’d never risk. And he’d seen the doubt flitting through the woman’s eyes, that flicker of remembered fear. She was hiding something. Something important. Something to do with that ruthless gang.
Stuffing his shaking hands into his pockets, he slid her a sideways glance. She didn’t look like the type to consort with gang members. She looked too innocent, too decent with those wide, hazel eyes, that lush and tempting mouth. Her thick hair gleamed in the twilight, streaks of sorrel and mahogany mixed with the chestnut brown. But after her reckless dash into the street—defying bullets to save that kid—he could imagine her doing something foolhardy and ticking them off.
But who she was, what the gang wanted from her—none of that mattered to him. It couldn’t. He’d already interfered in her life enough. He’d just accompany her to her shelter, make sure she and the kid got inside safely and leave. He refused to get more involved.
They reached her row house a minute later, and the pregnant teenager rushed up the steps. Sully hung back, taking in the freshly painted black shutters, the pale yellow bricks of the facade. Pumpkins lined the porch. An autumn wreath hung on the door. The place was an anomaly on the rundown street, an oasis of cheerfulness and warmth. But he guessed that was the point of a shelter. The small plaque beneath the wreath read Always Home.
She paused on the step above him and turned around. “I’m sorry. I never introduced myself. I’m more rattled than I thought. I’m Haley. Haley Barnes.”
For a moment, he couldn’t answer. Her greenish-brown eyes held him spellbound, the lilt of her voice derailing his thoughts. His heart sped up, the sudden punch of adrenaline catching him off guard.
But then the door swung open behind her. She turned and hurried up the remaining steps. Stunned at his reaction, he followed more slowly, trying to wrap his head around what had occurred. What the hell was he thinking? Sure, she was pretty. And even though he deserved to be, he wasn’t exactly dead.
But this woman was beyond off-limits. She came from a different world. And the last thing she needed in her life was a man like him—a washed-up, wounded ex-soldier, an alcoholic plagued with flashbacks, a man so haunted by his failures that he could barely make it through the night, let alone take care of her.
Shaking himself back to his senses, he stepped over the threshold into the room. The shelter had the same layout as Jason’s row house, but the similarities ended there. This place had gleaming hardwood floors, a banked fire smoldering in the fireplace, the embers glowing red
