She was beautiful. He’d noticed that when he’d talked to her in the morgue. Her sleeveless navy blue dress hugged every curve. Tiny silver hoops glinted at her ears, and a small silver cat pendant hung on the slope of just a hint of cleavage. Her mouth was generous, full-lipped, and her chin was strong and fierce. He hadn’t noticed earlier, but there was a small spatter of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She wore short, black leather boots with buckles, and she looked as if she wanted to plant one of those boots where it would hurt.
As soon as that thought struck him, Heath turned sideways just a little, enough to hopefully allow him to block anything she might throw at him. He held up his hands in surrender. In his rumpled suit, one of the charcoal pinstriped numbers he wore on the job, he felt overdressed for the coming fight, but it had been enough to get him through the morgue staff.
“Who do you think you are?” Lauren reached out and grabbed him with both hands.
Pain ripped through Heath as he realized she’d grabbed shirt and chest hair, and he was pretty sure that was what she’d intended to do. “Hey, take it easy.”
“Don’t you tell me to take it easy. You just lied to me back there. Do you get off on doing that?”
Heath grabbed her wrists and tried to disengage her. “Look, I’m sorry. You don’t know what’s going on here.”
“No. And you’re going to tell me.” Lauren set herself and shook him. It wasn’t hard to do. On the stairs he was off-balance, and there was the added problem of him not wanting to hurt her.
Heath scrambled to keep his balance, but one foot slid off the step, and he had to shift quickly to stop himself from falling. The woman was prepared for that. As soon as he moved, she yanked again, pulling him into her and backing into the stairwell railing. He knew her next move was to set herself again, twist and shove him down the steps. It was what he would have done. If he’d allowed himself to get in so close to a perp.
So he did the only thing he could do under the circumstances: he let go of her wrists and wrapped his arms around her, holding on tight. Her muscular body tensed against him, and he was surprised at her strength. She was five feet eight inches tall without the boots, and the low heels pushed her up another couple inches. She smelled sweet, a hint of vanilla and something else, some kind of berry. He was pretty sure of that, but his senses were swimming.
“Hey. Hey. Hold on.”
“No.” She pushed against him, but he held on tightly. She tried to knee him, but he turned the blow aside with his thigh.
He put on his cop voice. “Miss Cooper, you need to calm down.”
“I am calm.” She pushed against him, harder. Her short-cropped hair flicked in his face as she struggled. An inarticulate scream ripped from her throat. Then she lifted her boot and drove the heel down his shin and into the top of his foot.
Pain burned the length of Heath’s shin, but he held on to her, afraid that she was going to fall down the staircase and get hurt.
Two heavyset orderlies in hospital scrubs raced down the hallway. The woman at the desk urged them on, speaking in French or Chinese for all Heath knew. He was pretty sure it wasn’t Spanish. He knew Spanish and Spanglish from the streets.
One of the orderlies grabbed Heath by the shoulders. “Let go of the woman, mon. Let her go now or I’m gonna mess you up.”
The other man grabbed Lauren Cooper and pulled her back.
Heath released the woman, then shifted his arm under the arm of the man holding him and forced the man’s grip over his head. The guy scrambled and tried for a new hold, but Heath spun around behind him, caught the guy’s hand, and twisted it into an armlock behind the man’s back. He held the orderly between him and Lauren like a shield. Pain drove the man up onto his toes.
“Okay.” Heath made himself breathe normally. “We’re all just going to take a step back. Take a minute. Think this through a little. Before somebody gets hurt.” The man he held on to tried to break free. Heath moved the arm up just enough to let his captive know he could break it if he had to.
The other orderly hesitated, standing there looking uneasy.
Lauren wrapped her arms around herself and glared at him. She blew a strand of hair out of her face. “What were you trying to do in there? Why were you asking me all those questions? How could you do that to me?”
“Miss Cooper, those are all very good questions, and I respectfully decline to answer them. In a few more minutes, members of the Jamaica Constabulary Force are going to be here, and I don’t feel like talking to them. It would be better if we could just agree that our meeting—timing and all—was a mistake.”
“A mistake? I’m the only one who didn’t know what was going on in there.”
“Yes, and for that I’m truly sorry. I wish I could have made that easier, but I couldn’t.” Heath tried to think of something to add, but Hallmark didn’t make a card for what he’d done to her. And trying to explain why he’d done what he’d done was just too involved. She didn’t need to think about what he knew.
Besides, she needed to pick up her sister and get back home. She’d be safe there.
At least, Heath hoped she’d be safe. Gibson was still out there prowling, and the man was a predator. Heath was the only one who was convinced of that. Given the man’s resources, he could disappear and strike anywhere he wanted to, then disappear again.
Losing Janet was proof of that.
Heath leaned close to his captive’s ear and spoke softly. “I’m going to let you go now, partner. You just make sure that woman doesn’t come after me. And if you come after me, I’m going to hurt you. Understand?”
Reluctantly, the man nodded.
“Good.” Heath released the orderly and backed away. Three steps later, when there was no pursuit, Heath turned and fled up the stairs. The woman didn’t come after him, and he was a little surprised at that. She didn’t seem like the type to give up.
Back at the fleabag hotel where he was staying, Heath took the hotel key card from his shirt pocket and swiped it through the reader. The lock made a thunk and the light cycled green. He put his hand on the doorknob and drew the snub-nosed .357 Magnum from a holster at his back. He’d bought the revolver off an eleven-year-old boy shortly after he’d hit Kingston four days ago. Guns were easy to get. It was answers that were hard.
For a moment, he just held on to the door handle and listened. Nothing moved inside the room. That didn’t mean anything. Neither did the electronic lock. The hotel wasn’t a security showcase. That was one of the reasons he’d checked in after he’d found it.
Cautiously, he pushed the door inward and followed it inside the room. The hinges squeaked just a little, but he liked that. Besides the thunk of the lock, he also had the squeak as an early warning system.
A quick sweep of the room revealed that no one was waiting for him. The hair trapped between the second drawer down and the frame of the chest of drawers told him no one had searched the room.
He locked the door behind him, holstered the pistol, and got down to business. He took off his jacket and threw it on the unmade bed. If maid service
