it. Even with this limp, I’ll catch you.”
“Maybe not.”
Blu was staring at her mouth, recycling Maland’s name through his memory bank another time when she decided to bolt. Swearing, he raced after her, determined to stop her before she made it out the door. Too late, she was in the hall racing for the stairs before he knew it. Her hair was flying behind her like a wild mane, and he reached out to snare a hunk. Netting nothing but air, he swore again, then watched her leap onto the banister sidesaddle and slide to the bottom. Shocked, Blu roared out his protest, knowing that he’d seen the last of her.
She swung open the door and started through it. A moment later she darted back inside, slamming the door shut behind her. When she turned to face him, her cheeks were chalk-white and her brown eyes had grown to the size of silver dollars. “Please,” she pleaded, “you’ve got to hide me. Please, you can’t let him take me!”
She started to shake. Then she wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to control her growing panic—at least that’s what it looked like to Blu. Her eyes pleaded with him for understanding, but that was the problem; he didn’t understand. But he damn well would, he vowed, as soon as he got rid of whoever was at the door.
He headed down the stairs and brushed past her to peer out the narrow window that aligned the door. Seeing Jackson Ward strolling up the sidewalk, Blu pulled back, shoved the derringer into his waistband, and reached for the doorknob.
“Please.” She gripped his arm. “He might be looking for me. Please don’t open that door.”
Her words painted a little clearer picture, but not nearly enough. He said, “Jackson’s a detective at the NOPD. He’s here to see me, not you.”
“The police!”
Instead of setting her mind at ease, she looked as if she was about to faint. “Oh, God! Oh-hh…!”
Blu glanced down to where her small hand clutched his forearm. Her tiny fingers were so small, her wrist as fragile as a twig.
The knock on the door gave her a jolt and she nearly jumped into his arms.
“I’ll do anything.” She was almost in tears. “Please, I promise. Just don’t mention me to him. Please!”
Blu reached out, wrapped his arm around her waist and hauled her up against him. “I’m not sure what’s going on, Angel, but until I get some answers, I don’t plan on sharing you with Jackson or anybody else. So as soon as I get rid of him, you better be prepared to carry through on that promise you just made.” That said, and ignoring how tense her body was in his arms, Blu lifted her off her feet and tucked her beneath the stairs. “Don’t move. Not an inch.”
In the middle of the second knock, Blu opened the door and faced Jackson Ward. “You look like hell.”
“So does this place,” Jackson answered back. “Still haven’t started to fix it up yet, I see.”
“No. But my excuse is money. What’s yours?”
Jackson flicked his cigarette to the step, then ground it beneath his shoe. “The chief just told me Ry is six months away from a promotion. If he takes the desk job, I’ll be looking for a new partner.”
Ry had been the only partner Jackson had been able to keep in the three years he’d worked for the NOPD. It wouldn’t be easy to find another, maybe impossible. Blu was sympathetic, and still had his head on another matter. He looked out the door and saw Jackson’s aging green pickup sitting on the street. He checked to make sure no one else was hanging around, then took a step back to let his brother-in-law’s partner inside.
Jackson stepped through the door and glanced around the old foyer. “This place looks like the last gang hideout I busted.”
Blu eyed the peeling wallpaper climbing the wall along the stairway. “She looks tough,” he agreed. “But she’s solid brick on the outside, worth the investment once I fix her up.”
The two men stood side by side. Both tall and dark, they could have easily been mistaken for brothers, except for the fact that Jackson had cat-green eyes and a Chicago accent. But they were perfectly matched at six feet, three inches, both quick thinkers with rebellious natures, and enough nerve and grit to carry through on anything they felt was worth the trouble.
“So you’re serious about moving in here?”
“Eventually. Margo says I’ve been portable long enough.”
Jackson leaned against the door jamb and shoved his hand into the back pocket of his jeans. “A permanent home wouldn’t be so bad if you had someone to share it with.”
“Still looking for a wife?” Blu chuckled.
“Or a dog,” Jackson joked, “that might be easier to live with. I talked to Ry after you left the precinct this morning. Ran those names for you.”
“And?”
“And nothing. Want me to keep digging?”
It was clear his little nun was on the run—the look on her face when Blu had mentioned Jackson was a cop had confirmed that much. Questioning his next move, he gestured to the cut on his temple. “I woke up with a headache this morning. Before I cooled down, I went to see Ry. The more I think about it, the fille must have mistaken me for someone else.”
“You think?”
“Yeah, I think. No sense you wasting your time on a dead end.”
Blu opened the door and followed Jackson outside. Over the hood of the pickup, Jackson hollered, “Let me know when you want to start cleaning this place up. I’ll give you a hand. I used to work construction for a few years back in Chicago before I turned stupid and decided to be a cop.”
Once Jackson had driven off, Blu headed back inside. He’d barely gotten the door closed when he came face-to-face with his little nun. “You went to the police about me? Why?”
“Why? You pulled a gun on me yesterday,” Blu pointed out. “Damn near put my boot through my skull. My brother-in-law’s a cop. I asked him to run those two names you gave me through the computer to see what he could find out. But as I’m sure you heard, they weren’t able to get anything on either name.”
“Why didn’t you turn me in? As you said, I pulled a gun on you yesterday.”
“Want me to call Jackson back?”
“No!”
“Then start talking,” Blu demanded, leaning against the wall and blocking the only exit available to her. “I think being up all night with a headache entitles me to an explanation.”
“I’m sorry,” she repented. “I—I’m Kristen Harris… That is, I think I’m Kristen Harris.”
“You think?” Blu frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”
She jutted her chin out stubbornly. “It means that I think it’s my name, but I’m not sure. I’ve lost track of some time.”
“Just how much time are we talking?”
