Amazingly enough, he found nothing but a slight scratch, and lots of warm, creamy skin with soft, satiny light brown hair that had escaped its confines.
“You okay?” he pressed, needing to hear her, his voice rough with concern and rushing adrenaline.
Again she blinked those big, dark brown eyes, then squinted. “I…can’t see very well. Everything is fuzzy.”
His heart wedged in his throat. Had she hit her head? Damn it, despite everything, had she gotten hurt?
It had been every off-duty cop’s greatest nightmare as he’d stood in line watching the at tempted robbery take place. He’d had no backup, no radio, nothing but the comforting weight of his own gun at his back.
And too many possible victims to count.
He’d been forced to wait until the punk with the knife had turned away, knowing if he moved too soon the woman would die right in front of his eyes.
So he’d held his breath while she’d been cruelly shaken and manhandled, biding his time so that he didn’t get her killed.
Finally he’d had his moment and he’d fired.
The bad guy was now bleeding, unconscious on the floor, and this wide-eyed beauty in his arms appeared to be going into shock.
“Get an ambulance,” he barked to the growing crowd, but he could hear the siren in the distance. “Good. Okay,” he said, squeezing the woman’s arm. “They’re on their way, you’re going to be fine.”
“I’m not hurt. I just can’t see well. Is he…dead?”
Sam glanced over, saw the chest rising and falling on the perp. “No.”
Using Sam’s shoulder for leverage, she sat up and pushed at the hair falling in her face. She reached down to pull at her torn sweater, then patted her hands on the floor, searching while still wrapped securely in his embrace.
“What are you doing?”
“I need my glasses.”
Sam glanced around him as police stormed the building. The customers seemed to be still shell-shocked and only started moving when the police ordered them to walk single file out of the bank.
“Do you see them?” she asked, her voice full of worry that was probably not related in the slightest to her lost glasses, but more to shock.
Inches away, next to the body sprawled out and now moaning as he was being worked on by paramedics who just arrived, were the glasses. Crushed.
She let out a soft sigh when he handed them to her, then she leaned back to rest against his strong, sturdy frame. “This is turning out to be a really bad day,” she said, looking calm, too calm. In-shock calm.
“You were nearly killed.” He remained sitting on the floor, the fragile beauty in his arms and gestured to a paramedic, who held up a finger to indicate he’d be right there. “It’s okay to fall apart a little.”
“I don’t fall apart.” And yet her voice wobbled in the growing din around them. “My glasses…”
“Can be replaced. Your life sure as hell can’t.”
“Yes. Yes, you’re right. You saved my life. I can’t thank you enough for what you did.”
“It’s okay,” he said, not giving a damn about a thank-you.
“But I have no idea what would have happened if you hadn’t jumped right in. You were wonderful, so brave.”
Obviously she was completely unaware he was a cop and, as such, paid to be brave.
“In fact, let me—” She shifted against him and fumbled for her purse, which by some miracle was still hanging off her arm. “I want to give you…”
Was she for real? She wanted to pay him?
But the tremor that racked her was very real and she went suddenly, absolutely still. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, clutching her purse to her chest with a heart breaking expression. In her fist she held something that she smoothed out.
A paycheck for 198.00 made out to Angie Rivers.
“I never got to make my deposit.” She squinted at it. “I have my tips, but they’re not much.”
She looked as though maybe she didn’t ever have much, but he held his tongue as an unwelcome wave of emotion washed over him.
He hated this, he really did. All he’d wanted to do was to shift some money to his checking account, then head over to his partner and best friend Luke’s house for pizza and beer.
Instead he’d stopped a bank robbery, and now he sat on the floor, holding the most amazing woman, feeling everything he’d trained himself not to feel.
Finally the paramedics descended on them, taking the still shell-shocked woman from his arms. Sam rose to his feet, thankful to be free of the victim.
Even if his arms felt empty.
He had no idea why he followed her. She was sweetly arguing with the medics that she was fine, that she needed to hurry up and deposit her check and get back to work, she had tables to wait.
The on-duty officers stopped her. They needed her statement, which she gave. Then it was his turn, and they pulled him aside from where he’d been standing, watching over her.
When it was done, in front of all the wit nesses and far too many blood sucking reporters that had come out of the wood works, Angie reached out for him and hugged him. “I just wanted to thank you again,” she said, pulling him close, nearly squeezing the very life out of him with her nervous, awkward embrace.
His arms wrapped around her before he could stop himself, and when she placed a loud, smacking kiss on his cheek, he sucked in a hard breath, shocked. He, Sam O’Brien, shrewd detective and hardened, cynical cop, who was never shocked by anything.
She swiped at what he could only assume was lip gloss, which smelled like a bowl of peaches and cream. “Sorry,” she whispered, then beamed at him, her fingers still on his cheek, and because she was so close, he couldn’t help but feel her fingers tremble, see her smile wobble.
Ah, hell. “You’re not okay.”
“Yes, I am. Really.” But her smile was definitely shaky around the edges. “You were my hero today. I wish I could say I hadn’t needed one, but I did, and thank God you were here. I only hope someday I can somehow return the favor and do some thing this big for you.”
Before he could so much as blink, she was walking away.
Only to be mobbed by the press.
Sam watched them deluge her with questions, shoving their microphones in her face.
Just walk away, he told himself.
But Angie’s expression went from shock to lost, and he let out one pithy oath before striding over
