there before the LAPD.
No such luck.
The police arrived in record time. Most local cops knew her, or at least knew of her. She was even friends with some of the Special Sections homicide detectives. But these detectives were unfamiliar, and that did little to steady her nerves. Being the daughter of a serial killer made Allie and her sister uncomfortably famous. Not only was their mother a murderer, she was a black magic witch, and in their culture, witchcraft was evil. The question, “Are you a good witch or a bad witch?” didn’t apply. But at least Mom was in prison now, paying her debt to society on death row.
A detective named Bell interviewed Allie. He was tall and blond and purposely expressionless. They went into her bedroom and stood amid the mess.
“Who’s Daniel?” he asked, scribbling on a notepad and glancing up at the message on the wall. His partner did other investigative-type things, like interviewing neighbors, taking photographs of the vandalism, checking for signs of forced entry and dusting for prints.
“He’s a friend,” she responded, wishing that Daniel didn’t make her ache. Allie had always dreamed of falling in love, but not with a man whose lack of memory robbed her of a future with him. “He’s on his way. He should be here soon.”
Bell merely nodded. “Does anyone else live here?”
“Not anymore. My sister used to, but she just got married. She’s in Europe on her honeymoon. Her husband is a special agent. You know. FBI.”
No visible reaction, aside from another nod.
Allie fidgeted with the silver beads around her neck. She favored Native jewelry and wore it often. She was a full-blood from the Oglala Lakota Sioux and Chiricahua Apache Nations.
“He saved my life,” she heard herself say. Her mind was moving in what seemed like a zillion different directions. She hadn’t meant to offer unsolicited information.
“The special agent?”
She shook her head. “Daniel.”
That got Bell’s attention. He exhibited a genuinely interested expression. “How?”
“He stepped in front of a loaded gun that was aimed at me.” Just in case the officer presumed that the message on the wall was related to the shooting, she explained that the shooter, an admirer of her mother’s, was in prison now and was no longer a threat.
“How badly was Daniel hit?”
“Bad enough to need surgery, to slip into a coma and lose most of his memory.”
“Which means what? That he won’t be able to provide answers as to who might’ve done this and why?”
“Probably not. But he’ll do his damnedest to try.” Daniel Deer Runner belonged to a Warrior Society, a group of former military men who excelled at close quarter combat and fought for Native causes. He wouldn’t let something like this go. He wouldn’t let someone torment Allie in his name.
Anxious to see him, she fidgeted with her jewelry again. Daniel consumed her mind far more often than he should.
He arrived a few minutes later, cradling Samantha. Sam was Allie’s cat, a fussy black stray that shunned almost everyone except Allie. Sam adored Daniel, but he’d worked on wooing her.
“I found her outside,” he said. “She was hiding under the stoop. The vandal must have scared her.”
He handed Allie the cat, and when she took Samantha, their hands connected. Touching him was almost more than she could bear. She wanted to wrap her arms around him, to take comfort in his strength.
Daniel stood tall and broad, with medium-length, slightly messy black hair and killer cheekbones. He used to iron his jeans, slick back his hair and sport horn-rimmed glasses. But he’d changed since the coma. He’d ditched his ironing board, traded his glasses for contact lenses and tossed out the Brylcreem.
Today he wore dark blue scrubs. He was a veterinary technician at the zoo, and although he struggled to recall people from his past, he clearly remembered how to do his job.
“I’m sorry this is happening to you,” he said. “That someone…” He frowned at his name on the wall.
Allie couldn’t seem to find her voice. Detective Bell stood back, watching her and Daniel. Did the cop suspect how she felt about her “friend?” Did the person who’d vandalized Allie’s room suspect it, too? Was that a key point? Was the vandal another woman who had designs on Daniel?
He reached out and skimmed the side of her arm, and the long, gentle stroke from his fingers gave her soft, sexy chills.
“You’re so quiet,” he said.
She tightened her hold on the squirming cat. Apparently Sam wanted to bolt, to hide under the stoop again. Or maybe she wanted to climb back into Daniel’s protective arms. Allie certainly understood that.
Since he was waiting for a response, she said, “I should be used to creepy things by now. But coming home to this was shocking.” Mostly because it was related to him. The creepiness from the past had involved her mother.
Daniel frowned at the wall again, and Detective Bell led him away from Allie to interview him. She remained off to the side, noticing that Bell was more cordial with Daniel than he had been with her.
The boy’s club, she thought. It made her feel like a third wheel. But she supposed that sweetening the loft with cookie-scented candles made her seem like a girly-girl, which she was, most of the time. Sometimes she even got lost in her own dreams. Allie was a fantasy artist who painted sensual mermaids, fire-breathing dragons and castles in the sky. For her day job, she gave art lessons at a bustling senior citizen community center.
Not that Allie wasn’t trained in self defense or couldn’t hold her own. Of course the last time she was in danger, Daniel had taken a bullet for her. She hadn’t done a very good job of protecting herself.
Bell ended the interview, and Daniel returned to her.
“I want you to come home with me,” he said. “To stay at my house until this is over.”
She looked into his eyes and noticed that the light caught a corner of his contact lenses. Two months had passed since he’d lost his memory, since Daniel had morphed into a harder-edged man, and she was still getting used to the alpha he’d become. Although he’d always been tall and muscular with striking features, he’d also been a bit of a nerd, even to the Warrior Society. Years ago, they’d nicknamed him “Fearless” derived from Fearless Fly, a goofy vintage cartoon character that obtained superpowers from his glasses.
Sometimes Allie missed Daniel’s glasses. Sometimes she missed who he used to be. But the new Daniel was wildly compelling, and she couldn’t help but love him, too. He was Fearless either way. The nickname still fit.
A scowl bracketed his mouth. “Why aren’t you talking to me, Allie?”
Oh, damn. She’d done it again. She’d kept quiet. “I’m not sure about going home with you.”
The scowl deepened. “Why not?”
Because sleeping
