felt utterly vulnerable all over again.
“Robin, stay close,” Jake said.
The security guard stepped between them. “Sir, please keep your distance.”
“She’s suffering from a head injury.”
“Hands on the car.”
Jake turned and placed his hands to the roof of his truck. “Robin, it’s okay.”
He was being patted down and was still trying to take care of her.
“What’s this?” The guard pulled a gun from inside Jake’s jacket and waved it in his face.
She shivered at the sight of the black steel. A chill started deep in her bones and permeated her entire body to her fingertips.
“I’m a private investigator. I have a permit for that.”
Robin had seen one of those before, black steel aimed at her…
She backed a few steps away from Jake and the guard as she fought back the memories.
A red stain spreading across the carpet…
Saturating a man’s crisp, white shirt.
Her pulse raced as she turned away from the sight of the gun. She looked up just as blinding headlights pinned her in place.
The squeal of tires pierced her eardrums.
She couldn’t move, couldn’t cry out.
“Robin!” Jake shouted.
FOUR
Jake lunged at Robin and yanked her out of the way of the moving car. Blood pounding in his ears, he turned his back and held his breath.
The roar of the engine bounced off the low ceiling as the car clipped another car, then sped away. Jake glanced up to catch what he could of the plate number. The guard chased after the car, probably with the same idea.
The feel of Robin clinging to his shirt snapped Jake’s attention back to the trembling woman in his arms.
“It’s okay. Shh.” He stroked her hair, held her against his chest. He couldn’t remember ever comforting a woman like this. Was he doing it right?
“He tried to hit her,” the guard said, marching up to them. “What was that about?”
“Call Detective Ethan Beck. He’ll explain it.”
Jake gave the guard Ethan’s number. While the guard made the call, Jake opened the passenger door to the truck and placed his hands on Robin’s shoulders.
“Why don’t you get in the truck?” he said.
She nodded with a look of utter devastation. Her beautiful eyes were clouded with fear.
“Hey.” He tipped her chin up with his forefinger. “You’re okay. He’s gone.”
She absently shifted into the front seat. He started to shut the door.
“Wait,” she said. “Can you…leave it open?”
“Sure, no problem.”
The guard walked around the truck to Jake and held out his cell phone. “He wants to talk to you.”
“Are we good?” Jake asked the guy.
“Yes.”
“My gun?”
The guard slipped it from his belt and handed it to him.
Jake took the phone and stepped away from the truck. “Ethan, someone just tried to—”
“I know. Listen, I’m going to text you the address of a safe house. Get her there, ASAP. My guys are waiting.”
“Are you sure you can trust them?”
“Yes. Just go with me on this, okay? I’ll fill you in later.”
“I got a partial plate on the vehicle that tried to run her down. Washington plate, starts with one-six-four. Honda Civic probably seven, eight years old.”
“Thanks. I’m depending on you, buddy,” Ethan said.
“So is Robin. She’s asked me to stay close.”
“Robin might be involved in something pretty nasty. Drop her off and drive away.”
“You keep asking me to do that, but you know I won’t.”
“Jake—”
“Talk to you later.” He ended the call and handed the phone to the security guard. “I’ve got to get her to a safe house.”
“Right. Sorry about before.”
“You were doing your job.”
Jake went to the passenger side of his truck. Robin’s eyes were closed. She leaned back against the headrest.
“Robin?”
She looked up, fear tinting her chocolate-brown eyes, and something pinched Jake’s chest.
“I’m taking you to a safe house, okay?”
She nodded, clinging to her leather briefcase.
Jake shut the door and glanced across the parking garage. The guard was halfway to the elevator, but otherwise there was no movement. His shoulders knotted with tension. He got behind the wheel of his pickup and took a deep breath.
“It’s going to be okay.” He kept saying that and yet it never was okay. Everywhere Robin went it seemed like danger was lurking in the shadows, ready to jump out and attack her.
Kill her.
He shoved the car in gear and pulled out of the garage, gripping the steering wheel with more force than necessary. Would her attacker be waiting on a nearby side street? Tail them and make another attempt on her life?
“Can you talk to me?” she said.
“About what?”
“I don’t care, you know, small talk? I’m spinning again and need to stop it.”
“Spinning?” He headed north on State Route 99 and kept a keen eye on the rearview mirror.
“I get stuck in a bad head space and spin like a top. I’m afraid I’m going to have a full-blown anxiety attack.”
“Don’t beat yourself up for that. You’ve had more threats against your life in the last thirty hours than the average person has in two lifetimes.”
She sighed and
