Hard As It Gets

Chapter 4

Light reflecting off steel.

That was all the notice Rixey had that something sharp and bladed was coming his way.

He holstered his gun with his right hand and reared back as he caught her striking wrist in his left. He forced her hand backward over her shoulder, the position bending her over the sink. The pressure on her joints loosened her grip, and he whipped the knife from her fingers and clamped a hand down on her mouth, his body holding hers in place.

“Sshh, Becca, it’s Nick Rixey. Someone’s in your house,” he whispered, lips against her ear. Her pulse beat against his skin everywhere they touched. “I’m gonna let you go, but stay quiet.”

She nodded, her breath puffing fast over his knuckles.

Dropping his hands, he eased off her. Her eyes were wide blue saucers in her face, and her pulse visibly jumped on the side of her throat. Distrust poured from her gaze as it raked over his face, but then she pointed a shaking finger toward the arch that led to the next room and mouthed, On the steps.

“Stay here,” he whispered, pushing the knife back into her palm to give her a sense of security. He was going to do his best to make sure she didn’t need it. Gun in hand, he sidled up to the wall where the kitchen met the dining room. In a smooth set of motions, he swept his gaze and his gun over the room, clearing it.

A snick sounded ahead of him, followed by a rattle. The door.

Leading with his gun, Rixey followed the sound in time to see someone jet out the front door. He bolted in pursuit. He reached the stoop just as a body dove into the back of a dark-colored sedan sans lights. Tires squealing, the car sped down the one-way street, ignored the stop sign, and careened around the corner.

Sonofabitch.

Rixey secured the front door, eyeballed the dark stairs, and hustled back to the kitchen. “It’s Nick,” he said before he turned the corner. Didn’t want to have to dodge that butcher knife again.

Air whooshed out of her as she lowered her hands, her knuckles white around the hilt of the weapon. “Gone?” she said, her voice little more than breath.

“Someone left out the front door, but I haven’t cleared the rest of the house.” She smoothed back wisps of hair that had fallen loose from her ponytail. The movement drew his gaze to a mark on her temple, and ice crawled down his spine. “What happened to your face?”

She fingered the angry red scrape, barely touching it, as if it was as tender as it looked. “Long story.”

Later. Becca would tell him that story later. Along with the rest of it. Everything he hadn’t let her say when she’d first come to him at Hard Ink yesterday. Guilt flooded acid into his gut. Jeremy’s assessment was right. He was a dick. And worse. Had he given Becca a chance, she wouldn’t have been standing there hurt, scared, and clutching a knife like it was the only thing that stood between her and the great white beyond.

She blew out another breath, and her muscles went all loose. She turned, dropped the blade, and bent her toned body over the counter, elbows on the laminate surface and shaking hands holding her head. “Holy shit,” she rasped. “Okay. Okay.”

His gaze skated down the arch of her back and landed on the round swell of her ass, jutting out toward him. The thin material of the green scrubs left little of her curves to the imagination. His fingers twitched and his cock stirred with interest.

Which was wrong on about forty-seven levels.

“How is it that you arrived to my house right when the intruder was here?” she asked, looking over her shoulder.

Rixey didn’t blame her for the distrust he saw in her still-wide gaze. “I should’ve listened yesterday, and I’m sorry I didn’t. I decided to keep an eye out for a day or two. Make sure you were safe.” Which, of course, she wasn’t. Had something happened, that would’ve been on him.

A series of emotions flitted over her expression. “So, you’ve been . . . watching me?”

Aw shit, in for a pound . . . “Basic surveillance. But, generally, yeah.”

For a long moment, she didn’t say anything, just seemed to study his face. Would be perfectly within her rights to come at him with all kinds of accusations, and he’d have to take that shit lying down. “You were on my dad’s Special Forces team?”

Rixey schooled his expression. “For five years.”

After another moment, she nodded. “Well, thank you. I’m glad you’re here.”

Twin reactions coursed through him. Admiration that she’d taken the high road when no one would’ve begrudged her a bitch fit, including him. And irritation that she’d apparently just used her father as a way of measuring his trustworthiness. The fucking irony. “Look, I should clear the house. The way he bugged out, probably no one else here, but I should make sure.”

She stood, hands braced on the counter, and nodded. “Okay. What do you want me to do? I have a gun, but it’s up in my bedroom.”

Sweet, innocent-looking Becca had a gun?

Sirens echoed off the buildings in the distance. Becca’s eyes went wide, and she shot to the other counter and grabbed the phone receiver lying beside its base. “Hello? Hello?” She sagged and lowered it to its cradle. A shrill screech sounded right out front, and red lights flickered off the dim dining room walls. “I called nine-one-one. When I first realized someone else was here.”

“That’s good.” Rixey holstered his weapon and zipped his jacket.

She’d called for help. Armed and defended herself. And held it together when help arrived. Smart fucking girl. Becca clasped her hands on top of her head, heaving another deep breath that drew his gaze to the lift and fall of her breasts. Make that woman. Jesus.

“Come on,” he said, leading the way to the door just as the knocking commenced. He glared up the steps, his nerves rankling to have uncleared spaces at his back, as Becca jogged to the door and pulled it open.

“Thank you for coming,” she said to the pair of uniforms standing on the other side. “There was an intruder, but he ran out this door just a few minutes ago.” The cops urged them outside onto the stoop as a second squad car arrived. The new uniforms went through the house to secure the scene and ensure no one else remained inside. She answered the officers’ basic questions about her identity and the incident.

Rixey eyeballed the street in both directions. Realizing they weren’t needed, the EMTs were reloading their equipment onto the back of their rig. Here and there, neighbors gawked on stoops.

“And who are you?” one of the cops asked.

He turned his attention to the conversation. “Nick Rixey. Friend of the family,” he said, managing not to choke on the word friend. Once, it had been damn true. Frank Merritt had been more than a mentor; he’d become a friend and confidant. Right before the old man had violated every principle they’d ever held dear: loyalty, trust, integrity, honor.

“Nick’s a friend of my late father’s. They fought in Afghanistan together,” Becca said, the casual familiarity of her words aggravating him. She didn’t know shit about him or what had happened in Afghanistan. The Army had made damn sure of that.

“Oh, yeah? I was there in ’06 and ’07. Marines. Reserves, now. You?” Cop was late twenties. Stocky. Hair high and tight. Shoulda guessed he was a jarhead.

“Army Special Forces. Whoever broke in picked the lock on the back door,” Nick said, steering the conversation back where it belonged.

“Crime scene techs will be here soon. They’ll give the place a full once-over,” the Marine-cop said.

“Soon” turned out to be thirty minutes later. Two more uniforms carrying briefcases of gear disappeared inside. Nick’s gut said Becca shouldn’t be standing out there in the open, but there was little they could do but wait to be readmitted to her house, which surprisingly only took another fifteen minutes.

“Okay, Miss Merritt, why don’t we walk through and see if you can tell if anything was stolen,” one of the uniforms said.

Inside, Becca made for the upstairs first. Apparently nothing was off in the bathroom at the top of the steps or in the neighboring bedroom, but her gasp in the front bedroom-turned-office brought Rixey right to her side.

Several desk drawers stood open, and papers protruded from one file cabinet drawer as if the guy hadn’t wanted to take the time to right his handiwork. So, he’d been rifling through her drawers and files. What the hell for?

“It doesn’t look like anything’s been stolen,” she said, bewilderment plain in her voice. “At least nothing valuable.” She turned to the officers who had followed her upstairs. “This can’t be a coincidence, though, can it?”

“What’s that, ma’am?” the older cop asked.

“I filed another report this afternoon. I went to my brother’s house looking for him. I haven’t heard from him for a few days. And his apartment had been completely ransacked.”

Rixey heard the words as if she’d spoken them through a tunnel. What in the everliving fuck was going on? His instincts lit up all over the place and pointed to one undeniable fact: Becca Merritt was in some sort of worst-case-scenario trouble. And so was her brother, by the sound of the story she was telling the police.

Goddamnit.

Another fifteen minutes passed with Becca answering questions and getting some damn-near useless advice from the cops. Keep your doors locked. Call a locksmith in the morning and get the locks changed. Ever consider a home-security system? Or a dog?

Man’s best friend aside, that back door had been unlocked when Nick had tried it. Knob hadn’t been damaged. Glass hadn’t been broken. And she sure as shit hadn’t left it open, not with the paranoid behavior he’d observed the previous night. Someone had picked the sonofabitch. Bad guy wanted in again, a new lock wasn’t likely to keep him out. Not unless she seriously stepped up the quality of the hardware.

And someone clearly wanted something from the Merritts.

The cops left Becca with some vague pronouncements about what would happen next. If anything. The eighth most dangerous city in America, Baltimore had fourteen hundred violent crimes and nearly nine thousand property crimes, burglaries, and thefts a year—statistics that kept Nick busy serving papers five days a week. And statistics that also meant Becca’s seemingly victimless B&E wouldn’t get a lot of attention from the authorities.

The despairing expression on her face told him she knew it, too. As she thanked the police, Rixey took stock of his late commanding officer’s daughter. Weariness had settled onto her shoulders and dampened the light in those baby blues. Wisps of hair had fallen haphazardly from her ponytail, and exhaustion painted dark circles under her eyes. But Becca Merritt was still a looker—a real sweetheart of a face, curves in all the places women were supposed to have curves, toned but real. And he found her even more appealing for the fact that some seriously stressful shit had gone down here and she’d held it together better than most civilians would.

Nothing was happening to her, not on his watch. And at the moment, his was all the help she was gonna get.

Wasn’t that a pisser.

She closed the front door and flipped the dead bolt, then turned to him.

Before she said a word, he gestured toward the steps. “Go pack a bag. Enough for a coupla nights, at least. I’m getting you the hell out of here. Now.”

BECCA BLINKED. NICK’S expression was dead serious, the intensity of those pale green eyes daring her to argue. God, he’d looked like her worst nightmare as he’d come through her back door earlier—tall, muscled, and armed. A lethal menace all in black. But he’d helped her. And her father must’ve trusted him if they’d fought side by side for so long. Still, she wasn’t going to be ordered around. “Where would I go? This is my home. Besides, I don’t really know you to be going anywhere with you. No offense.” She couldn’t run scared. No matter how frightened she was right now. And she was. Her joints ached from trying to hold it together.

His expression didn’t register any response to her refusal, but his tone turned frosty. “Wasting time, Becca. Go get some things together.”

Screw being scared. Somebody had invaded her space. Anger flooded in behind the fear. She planted her hands on her hips. “I’m not letting some asshole chase me out of my own damn house.”

The skin around his right eye ticked, just the littlest bit. “And what if that asshole comes back in the middle of the night? He didn’t force entry. He picked the lock. Which he can easily do again. And next time, he might not stop at digging through papers.”

She frowned, a dozen weak defenses against his logic springing up even as his words trickled ice down her spine.

Nick rushed in to fill the silence her hesitation created. “Pack a bag. Now. Everything else we can figure out later.”

We? She crossed her arms. “What, so, now you’re helping me?”

He gave a single tight nod.

Yesterday, he refused to even talk to her. Now he wanted to call the shots? What happened in twenty-four hours to bring about this one-eighty? Could she really count on him? “Why? What’s changed?”

He stepped closer, close enough that she could make out the gold flecks in his eyes. “You, being in danger.” His deep voice emphasizing the word you, combined with his intense gaze, spread warmth throughout her tired body. With a sideways nod to the stairs, he said, “Go pack a bag. Or I will.”

The image of those big hands rooting through her panty drawer sprang into her mind’s eye. Butterflies made a quick loop around her stomach. “Fine.” She couldn’t help Charlie if anything happened to her, so she walked past Nick toward the bottom step, hoping he didn’t see the pink she suspected colored her cheeks. Three steps up, she felt movement behind her. She stopped and looked over her shoulder.

He was right there.

She hadn’t heard him move. Just . . . sensed his presence. Her gaze flicked over him. The man had some damn broad shoulders under that black jacket. “We’re doing the buddy system?”

“I’m going to do a quick sweep for bugs while you’re packing.”

“Oh. As in . . . Oh.” Unease shivered over her. Becca hadn’t even thought of that. At the top, she broke left into her bedroom and turned on the lights. Her gaze scanned over the place where she’d slept the past four years—the dresser, the bed, the night tables. Had the intruder come in here? The idea made her want to strip her unmade bedclothes and throw everything in the wash. She shuddered.

“I’ll start in here,” he said, following her in. “And then you can pack while I sweep the office.”

Nodding, she watched him go to work, starting with the disassembly of the handset on her phone. Detached and methodical, he worked quickly, confidently. Though he seemed to be paying no attention to her personal things lying around the room, she couldn’t help but wonder what he thought.

The guitar Scott had prized sat on a stand in one corner. Paperback books and framed pictures of her family crowded the nightstand along with her alarm clock. A crystal dish dominated the center of her dresser, filled with seashells she’d collected over the years—one for each trip to the beach she’d ever taken going all the way back to her childhood. Pieces of jewelry she hadn’t bothered to put away lay loose on the dresser near her mother’s jewelry box—hers now. She never gave these things a second thought. Did he wonder what kind of woman they added up to?

He checked each of the lamps, then crouched next to her nightstand. Using a tool he produced from his pocket, he removed the plate from the outlet. He poked around for a moment, screwed the cover back on, then repeated this process on the only other accessible outlet and the light switch box. Competence rolled off him in oddly appealing and tangible waves that kept the threatening anxiety from washing over her.

“Just pack essentials for tonight, okay?” Nick said as he made for the hall.

She blew out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “Yeah, okay.” From the bottom of her closet, she retrieved an overnight bag and tossed it on her bed. Moving around her room, she gathered clothes, scrubs, a couple of favorite sleep shirts, and a few days’ worth of panties and bras, including her favorite pale yellow satin and white lace matching set. Just because wearing it made her feel good, and pretty. Had absolutely nothing to do with the hard-bodied warrior prowling around her house right now. Because that would just be crazy.

Right.

After piling everything on the bed, she pushed her door closed. She’d been in these scrubs so long she was about ready to burn them. As she stripped, her pulse kicked up. Nick was ten feet away in the next room. What if he barged in? Ridiculous heat rushed over her skin, like her body didn’t think that was a completely bad idea. She tugged on a pair of jeans and grabbed a yellow Henley. There. More human already.

She chucked the dirties into a basket in her closet and made for the bathroom.

Nick’s gaze landed on her the moment she opened the door. Man, those light eyes with the chocolate brown hair made a killer combination.

“Find anything?”

“Looks clean. Need more equipment to know for sure.”

Small victories. But, after the day she’d had, it was better than nothing. “Okay, well, I’m almost done,” she said, feeling like she needed to say something as she passed him in the hall. The bathroom light revealed the toll the day had taken. She leaned into the mirror. A dark red scrape filled the space between the end of her left eyebrow and her hairline, just above her temple. She soaped up a washcloth and cleaned the injury, wincing at the tender sting. Antibiotic cream went on next. The rest could wait. With Charlie missing, it hardly mattered how messy her hair was or how bad she yearned for a hot shower.

The feeling of being observed skittered over her skin, pulling her gaze to the right. Nick’s big body seemed to take up the entire landing at the top of the steps. The black jacket, cargo pants, and boots—not to mention knowing he had a holster strapped around those big shoulders—gave off a paramilitary vibe, making him look like the soldier he’d once been. He wasn’t obviously watching her, though her father had always had the ability to see out of the back of his head. No doubt Nick was the same.

Shaking off the sensation, she packed her toiletries and rushed back to her bedroom. Nothing about Nick’s demeanor made her think he was getting impatient, but there was something in his silence that made her feel she should rush. None too carefully, she stuffed everything in her bag.

“Becca, can you think of any reason why someone broke into your house? And your brother’s? What they might’ve been looking for?”

She paused with her hand on the zipper. Those questions had been driving her crazy since she’d first seen the disaster at Charlie’s place. She thought back to their fight last week, to his insistence that their dad wasn’t who she thought he was—and that he could prove it. How could that be relevant, though? “A few days ago I’d have guessed that the break-in at Charlie’s had to do with his computer security consulting work. That someone was trying to steal secrets or something. But now? With the note, and tonight? I have no freaking clue.” And her confusion about why this was all happening was giving her a grade-A headache. Becca shouldered her bag, grabbed her favorite pillow, and stepped out into the hall again.

Nick’s gaze was narrow and sharp as a blade. “Does Charlie go missing a lot? Has anything like this happened before?”

“No. He’s a bit of a homebody. Always was, even as a kid. Our mom died when we were young, and Charlie withdrew into himself and his computers. But he never just disappears like this.”

“Does he have any friends? Anywhere he might go?”

Becca shook her head. “That I know of, most of his friends have always been online. He does corporate security consulting, and even most of his business meetings are calls or Skypes he does from home. I’m not even sure which companies he works for. Apparently he has to sign nondisclosure agreements as part of his contract work, so he can’t say.”

Something dark flashed over Nick’s expression, and his jaw ticked. “We’ll figure it out,” he said, reaching for her bag. His fingers touched hers on the strap, warm and strong.

The we in his words shouldn’t have been as comforting as it was. “Oh, you don’t have to—”

“I got it.” He slipped the bag from her shoulder to his.

“Uh, okay. Look, I have to say this. I appreciate your help very much. But please don’t confuse my needing help with being helpless.” She squeezed the pillow against her stomach.

He gave her an appraising look and nodded. “Fair enough.” His gaze dropped to her flower-covered pillow.

“What? It’s essential. I hate hotel pillows.” She hugged it tighter.

“Well, you’re in luck then.” Nick gestured her toward the steps.

“Why’s that?” she asked, starting down.

“No hotels.”

“What? Where else would I go?” She paused at the bottom and watched him make his way down. Big as he was, he not only came quietly but also didn’t hit a single one of the squeaks, like he knew where they were and how to avoid them. “How’d you do that?”

“What?”

“The stairs.” God, it was like being around her father. Her heart gave a little tug. Not that the comparison was all bad. “Never mind. Back to this hotel situation.”

He shook his head. “No hotels. My place is safer.”

His place? Her stomach flip-flopped. “Uh . . .” was the sum total of her intelligent response. Where would she sleep at his place? And would she be able to sleep at all knowing he was so close? “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”

“You won’t,” he said, going from window to window and pulling all the curtains closed. “We’ll leave the lights on. Hopefully that’ll discourage anyone from another attempt tonight until we can get more serious hardware on these doors.”

A shiver raced over her skin. There was that we again. “Do you think they’ll be back?”

He paused at the last window and looked her way, his expression unreadable.

“Truth,” she said.

He closed the curtain and returned to her, his eyes softer than she’d yet seen them, but no less serious. “I think they’ll be back. But next time, we’ll be ready for them.”