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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Someone was watching him.
He could feel the hair on the back of his neck rising while the purr of his pulse vibrated an all-too-familiar warning.
He never could relax, not really. Not even at a biker dive in the Florida Panhandle where he was trying to mind his own business.
Hunter Lawson took a sip of the club soda dripping with condensation and slowly lifted out of the chair where he sat on the deck of the Hog Wash Rib Joint.
A woman stood outside the open barn doors leading from the interior of the rickety restaurant that mostly accommodated bikers needing to wash their rides, eat some good food and get into a fight every now and then.
She was definitely not a biker chick.
But she stared at him with a determination that meant business. Harmless but lethal, all the same.
Hunter observed people. Doing so was his nature. So he took his time accessing this woman standing in this place. Didn’t match up.
She was serious and svelte. Sleek in a country girl kind of way in her jeans and tan leather jacket. Her boots looked hand-tooled. Her eyes shone a deep golden-brown and her hair—the afternoon sun loved her hair. It was a russet gold that surrounded her face like an intricate frame. The look in her eyes shouted trouble.
Being a private investigator brought him in contact with a lot of interesting people. But this one was different. His gut burned with a hot warning.
“What?” Hunter asked, his hands out.
“I... I need a word with you, Mr. Lawson.”
“Okay.” Hunter motioned to his favorite table on the deck over the Millbrook River. “Step into my office.”
Her expensive-looking boots clicked toward him and in the next instant a dark sedan zoomed by and entered the street side of the parking lot. A window came down. A gun came out.
Hunter saw the gun, glanced at the woman and then did what he had to do. He ran straight for her and tackled her to the ground.
While silenced bullets spewed all around them.
* * *
Chloe tried to find air, tried to see over the brawny shoulder that shielded her face. “Let me up,” she said, struggling.
“Stay still!”
He held her there but shifted, still covering her. She heard a motor revving and tires screeching. The car sped away, dirt and rocks flying in its wake. People came out of the restaurant, shouting and talking, pointing to where Hunter and Chloe lay. She’d barely heard the zing from the silencer, but the people inside must have seen him diving over her.
“Are they gone?”
He lifted himself up to stare down at her, his breath warm on her neck. His eyes a smoky gray that washed her in a questioning darkness. “I think so.”
He sat up and held out his hand to help her do the same. “You okay?”
Chloe wasn’t sure how to answer that. Now that she’d found Hunter Lawson, a slow panic began to set in. What if he recognized her? What if he didn’t even remember her? What if he told her to get lost? And how could she explain to him that someone was trying to kill her?
Taking her quiet for shock, he snapped his fingers in front of her eyes. “Hey, stay with me. Talk to me.”
“I’m fine,” she said, wishing she’d stayed in Oklahoma. Her friend Bridget Winston had tried to warn her that this was a bad idea. “Just a few scrapes and bruises.”
And the imprint of him becoming a human shield still on her heart. He was big and strong and smelled as fresh and earthy as the fall air around them. He looked every bit as mysterious and unapproachable as people had tried to tell her. Dark, inky hair hovered over his collar in choppy, rebellious curls. Tanned, muscular arms and jean-clad legs. Battered cowboy boots. Dark aviator shades that he’d lost somewhere when he’d dived for her. And a concealed weapon tucked against the waist of his jeans.
Chloe had heard rumors regarding this man, but none of them quite lived up to seeing him in the flesh. She rubbed her sweaty palms against her jeans, her heart going into overdrive with each breath she took. Could she convince him to help her?
Please, Lord, let him listen to me.
He stood and helped her up. “Care to explain?”
“In private, yes,” she replied.
People stood around everywhere, some with drinks in their hands. Leather moto jackets and tattoos, beat-up boots and graffiti T-shirts. Women clinging to their men, their gazes moving over her with cool curiosity while their attitudes told her to back off.
“Hunter, you all right, man?”
Hunter nodded to the bartender she’d spoken with earlier. He’d warned her, too. Explained to her that Hunter wasn’t a talker. He only came here to sit out on the deck and watch the river roll by.
Well, her arrival had certainly changed all that.
Hunter glanced at her and then turned back to the bartender. “Yeah. Just someone trying to use me for target practice.” He shrugged. “What else is new?”
“Do I need to call the police?” the burly man asked, his disapproving eyes on Chloe. He gave her a look that blamed her for all this action. And he was right.
“I’ll take care of it,” Hunter replied. Then he turned to Chloe and gave her his own harsh glare. “Just as soon as this nice lady explains to me why someone’s shooting at her.”
Reassuring herself that he wouldn’t remember her because they’d never even met, Chloe swallowed back her trepidations and tried to find her footing. She wasn’t giving up now. Not after making the agonizing decision to come across the country to find him. That shooter was proof of what she already knew.
“Can we go somewhere else and talk in private?” she asked.
He glanced at the crowd. The spectators didn’t seem fazed by gunshots. They moved as one back into the restaurant, laughing and talking. “That depends on what we need to talk about.”
“I want to hire you,” she said, blurting it out because she was afraid the shooter would return. Or that Hunter would tell her to get lost.
He guided her to another table that was hidden from the street by a big weathered fence. “Sit
