Lace and Bullets(5)

Damn pixie made him stagger. She couldn’t weigh more than a hundred and twenty, but she packed a wallop in every one.

He admired that.

Too bad she had witnessed the murder and seen his face. With one arm still wrapped tight around her waist, he reached up and wrapped his free hand around her throat. Their bodies crashed into the wall and she let out a grunt.

He spun her around and pinned her body to the wood paneling. From the way she moved, she couldn’t be family. The DA lived a life of wretched excess.

Any daughter or niece of his wouldn’t raise a single manicured nail in her own defense. She would probably just blink her fake-eyelashed lids at Damien until he had squeezed the life out of her.

Staff? Maid? Damien reached up and brushed her tangled clump of hair off her face.

Whoa. Huge chocolate eyes, bright pink lips and cheeks to match. High cheekbones and a button nose. She was gorgeous. Damien blinked and tightened his grip on her neck.

Her fingers scrabbled at the back of his gloved hand.

“Who the hell are you?” His voice came out gravely and dangerous. Just the way he liked it.

The woman tried to kick him in the balls. He tightened his grip.

She puckered her lips and spit in his face. He wiped it off.

“Don’t make me squeeze your throat until your eyeballs pop out.”

Her body stilled.

“What’s your name?”

The witness opened her mouth, but he held her too tight to speak. He loosened his grip and she gulped in a huge breath of air.

“Fuck you!”

Damien tightened his grip.

Her eyes turned to saucers and her cheeks burned. He held her there, starving for oxygen, until her lips turned blue.

“I’m going to ask it again. Answer or you die, right here, right now. Who are you?”

He loosened his hold and she croaked out a response.

“M…Mia Davenport.”

Damien frowned.

“The…DA’s…daughter.”

Holy shit. Damien steeled himself so she didn’t see the shock. Any bit of leverage she got over him would cost him his life. He couldn’t afford a mistake.

He stared at her. She looked nothing like her father. Where he was bloated like a fat cat on cream, she was slender. Where he was pale and flaccid, she was tan and sexy.

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true.”

“Prove it.”

She swallowed and her throat convulsed under his hand. “How?”

Damien frowned. It should be easy. “A photo of the two of you. Something that shows you together.”

She laughed and it startled him. “You might as well kill me now, then.”

“What do you mean?”

“My father hates me. He would never have a picture of us lying around the house.”

“Then think of something else.”

The pink tip of her tongue darted out and traced a path across her lower lip. Damien thought of very wicked things. “Hurry up.”

“My name’s on my driver’s license. Would that do?”

No. “Fine. Where is it?”

“Upstairs.”

Shit. He pulled the gun from his waistband and held it to her temple. “Let’s get a move on, then.”

I should have killed her the minute I opened the closet door. With one hand on her neck and the gun digging a ditch into her scalp, Damien escorted Mia down the hall and up the stairs. He hated mansions. Everything about them said corruption and dirty money, backroom deals and ruined lives.

She motioned to a room in the hall and he nudged the door open with his foot. Sterile was the best word to describe it.

Feminine and presentable, sure, but not the room of a daughter who stayed with dear old dad more than once in a blue moon.

“This your room?”

“N-no. Dad never gave me my own room here. It’s just a guest room. My purse is on the dresser.” She pointed a trembling finger across the room.

He let her neck go. “Get it. Bring me your ID.”

She scurried away from him and reached for her purse. It fell to the ground and the contents went everywhere.

Shit. “Pick them up.”

Her hair fell in front of her face as she did his bidding. A handful at a time, the Kleenex and mints and earbuds all went back in the bag. At last, she picked up her wallet and pulled out her driver’s license. She held it out as she stood. “Here.”

Damien glanced at it without moving his gun away from his target. Mia Davenport. Just like she had said. Damn.

He opened his mouth to say something when it happened.

A flash of metal, a shriek of fury, and Damien threw the woman to the ground. She landed with a thud and he stepped on her wrist with his boot.

“Trying to stab me isn’t very lady like, is it?” He bent down and plucked the nail file from her hand.