The second Armie looked at her, her skin prickled and butterflies took flight in her stomach. She sank back in her padded chair, glad for the support.
The annoyed customer had overdrawn his account and wanted the bank to waive the fees. Merissa only listened with half an ear and finally, unable to concentrate anyway, she agreed and transferred the call over to one of her tellers.
Since it was now time to close she needed to lock the door, but that would mean she’d have to go past Armie. She waffled, deciding what to do, but then he took the decision from her and approached.
Jumping to her feet, she met him at the door to her office. As casually as she could, she said, “Hey, Armie.”
His gaze dipped over her. This time, being at work, she wore a button-front sweater, long skirt and flat boots, but his attention sizzled all the same. He flexed a shoulder, shifted. “Could we talk?”
Again? Hadn’t he said enough? For someone who wanted nothing to do with her, he sure liked to chat.
“Armie,” she whispered, feeling conspicuous, because seriously, no one in the bank would overlook him. He had that type of presence: big, badass, capable. And sexy.
So damned sexy.
He continued to watch her in that sharply focused way, his gaze warm and steady, and she caved. “Okay, fine. But I have to lock the front door, and then it’s going to take me some more time before I’m done here.”
“Because you’re closing, I know. No problem.” He released a breath. “I’ll wait.”
As Armie headed to the couch in the corner of the bank, one of the men who’d come in ahead of him strode toward her. Standing at her office door, ready to politely redirect him back to the teller line, Merissa smiled—and he literally pushed his way in.
Incredulous, she took an automatic step away from him. “What do you think you’re doing?”
He shut the door. Hat pulled low, the scarf hiding most of his face, he withdrew a gun and said with silky menace, “Shh.”
Her mouth went dry—especially when those narrowed eyes coasted over her body.
“But—”
“You and me,” he said, shushing her again, “are going to play in here while my buddy takes care of business out there. And, honey, you better play nice.”
Fear and shock immobilized Merissa as she realized she was in the middle of a robbery—and oh dear God, Armie was on the other side of the door.
* * *
THE SECOND HER office door snapped shut, Armie knew something was wrong. He felt it in his guts. He took one step—and the dude in front of him withdrew a gun.
Son of a bitch.
“Everyone be cool,” the man shouted, stepping back to encompass all the customers and tellers in one sweep of that weapon. “Arms up, tellers. Now! My partner has your manager. Anyone hits a panic button and she’s the first to go.”
Until that last statement, Armie might have let it play out. But at the mention of Merissa being held against her will, dread and rage swirled together in a combustible mix. He went rigid, his heartbeat slowing, his focus narrowing.
“No one overreacts. Tellers, unlock your drawers, and remember, make a wrong move and you lose one of your own.”
White-faced, the tellers did as told.
“Great. Now everyone, get to this side of the room.”
Perfect, Armie thought. It put him closer to Merissa’s office. He went along with the small group, using his body to block the elderly couple in front of him and another woman clutching a five-year-old. The last customer, a college-aged guy, watched the robber with sharp-eyed wariness. Two of the tellers were forty-something women. The other was probably in her twenties.
The robber aimed his gun at the younger guy. “You.”
College boy froze.
“Go collect the money. Empty the drawers of bills and rolled quarters. Make it fast.”
The young man said nothing, just took the bag the robber handed him and jogged to the teller line. As he filled the bag, Armie saw that he also kept an eye on things, looking up often.
A noise, like someone landing up against the door, sounded in Merissa’s office. Armie’s senses sharpened further, but otherwise he didn’t move.
The idiot robber laughed, as if amused by whatever he thought might be going down in that small office.
The five-year-old started to cry, drawing the robber’s attention. Armie stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the boy. Surprised, the robber looked into his eyes, and whatever he saw there clearly alarmed him.
“Don’t try it,” the robber warned.
Armie held up his hands—but he didn’t look away.
“Give me the damn money,” the thug shouted, and the college guy came back, holding the bag out to him.
“Set it there,” he said, indicating a kiosk filled with deposit and withdrawal slips. “Then get your ass over there with the others.”
“Okay, sure.”
Impressed, Armie watched the young man set the bag down slowly and back away. College boy looked to be nineteen or twenty at the most, but he was smart, taking his time—giving Armie an opportunity to evaluate things.
The gunman looked skittish. Above the scarf, faded blue eyes repeatedly flinched left and right. The hand holding the gun trembled ever so slightly. He kept shifting his feet as if resisting the urge to run.
Rolling a shoulder, Armie loosened up. Should be a piece of cake.
Another thump sounded in the office and Merissa cried out, sending a stab of fear straight through Armie’s heart and stealing what little patience he had left. Taking a step away from the others, Armie regained the robber’s attention. The college kid, pitching in, went in the opposite direction.
“What are you doing?” Panicked, the thug swung the gun left, then right. “Stop moving. Both of you.”
Making sure the idiot focused on him and only him, Armie inched toward him. “Or what?”
“I’ll fucking shoot you, that’s what!”
Ice-cold with fury, desperate to see Merissa safe, Armie smirked. “Yeah? With the safety on?” Closer and closer.
The guy breathed fast. Even beneath the thick coat, Armie could see the bellowing of his chest. “Glocks don’t have safeties.”
“That’s not a Glock, asshole.”
The second the guy glanced down, Armie kicked out and the gun went flying. It skidded across the floor and under the kiosk. The college kid slid down to his knees, trying to retrieve the gun.
“Help!” the gunman got out a mere second before Armie’s fist met his face, sending him wheeling backward, tumbling over his own feet to wipe out on the floor. His head smacked with a thump, dazing him, keeping him from rebounding to his feet.
More noises sounded from the office.
Already charging toward it, Armie whispered, “Get down!” to the other customers, who, except for the college guy, immediately hunkered on the floor together. That put them to the side of the office door. Armie reached it just as the door flew open. He had only a split second to see Merissa locked in front of the gunman, secured with a meaty arm tight around her throat. Her makeup was smeared, her hair a mess, but her gaze was incendiary. Rage, more than fear, consumed her.
A large bruise already showed on her jaw and she clutched at the restraining arm as if struggling to get air.
The gun, thankfully, wasn’t aimed at her.
The man held it outward on a stiffened arm, giving Armie the perfect opportunity to grab the trigger well with his left hand, and strike the man’s wrist with his right. The bastard didn’t have a chance to get a shot off before Armie had control of the gun.
Cursing, the thug shoved Merissa into Armie, unbalancing them both. He caught her, and as she scrambled to regain her balance, she inadvertently knocked the gun from his hand.
Seeing a ham-sized fist aimed his way, Armie gave her yet another quick push to put her out of harm’s way and took the punch to the chin. It snapped his head back, but hell, he could take a punch. He shook it off—then went about demolishing the bastard who’d dared to touch Merissa.
Armie had always been a fast, adaptable fighter. He moved by rote, adjusting as he needed to, dodging blows while landing his own with added force. The robber was big and muscular. Armie felt the bastard’s nose crunch, saw blood spray from his mouth.
Women screamed and the five-year-old cried.
The college guy yelled something, and a second later the other gunman, who’d finally regained his wits, hefted a fifteen-pound post from a rope barrier used to keep customers in line. He brought it down across Armie’s back.
And mother-fuck, that hurt.
It knocked him to the ground, but it didn’t stop him. Hell, his ground game was as good as his stand-up.
Two to one made it a little trickier. Normally he’d consider that a piece of cake, but not with so many possible victims in the way.
The man who’d hurt Merissa tried to kick him in the ribs while he was down. Armie caught his leg and jerked him to his back. He landed awkwardly, cursed and immediately rolled to a less defenseless position.
The man wasn’t a slouch. As a fighter, Armie recognized right off that the guy had some training.
Merissa tried to assist him, but Armie barked for her to stay back. College boy tried to edge in, but with fists and legs churning fast, it wasn’t easy.
Or necessary.
Both men together were still no match for Armie. He bounced back, regaining his feet just as the second man again swung the heavy post. Armie ducked, but the post clipped him on the forehead, stunning him and sending a trickle of blood into his eyes. He swiped at it, and heard Merissa gasp.