“Stay,” he said in the softest, most dangerous voice she’d ever heard, and with his free hand to her belly, pushed her back around the corner, out of sight. “Stay,” he said again, and stared at her for a beat.
“Staying,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around her middle as she began to shake.
Chapter 2
Will quickly scoped out the small apartment’s living room as he moved through, adrenaline pumping through him. Empty. There was no one in the hallway either, and as he burst into the only bedroom, taking in the entire room with one sweeping gaze, he knew he was alone.
He should have nabbed Mario when he’d had the chance this morning at the antique shop, but instead, when he’d realized Mario was being followed, he’d decided to sit back until he knew what was going on. Now he figured Mario had pissed someone off, and that someone thought this woman knew something—which didn’t bode well for her.
He toed the pile of shattered porcelain in front of the dresser. Someone had swept everything off the top of it to the floor, and the last little piece falling had been what they’d heard.
“My collection,” came a distressed voice behind him, and then she was kneeling at his feet, reaching for the sharp shards.
“I told you to wait out there,” he said, and hauled her up before she could cut herself.
Her eyes were wide on his hand, and the gun in it. “I r-really hate guns.”
He stuffed the gun in his waistband, and covered it with the hem of his shirt. “What were they looking for?”
When she only stared at him in shock, this little pixie of a woman, maybe five foot two in her shoes, with choppy, shiny dark brown hair to her chin and melting brown eyes that were too large in her face, he gave her a little shake. “Tell me.”
“I . . . don’t know.”
“Damn it.” Earlier she’d had a creamy complexion that had reminded him of a china doll. Now it was waxen with shock, her eyes dilating as he swore, punching him in the gut with remorse.
“I’m sorry.” She shrank back, away from him. “Please don’t hurt me.”
Christ. He scrubbed a hand over his face as he struggled for patience. “I’m not going to hurt you.” Because that didn’t seem to soothe her, he turned away to give her a moment. He’d seen the whole story in her eyes anyway. She knew nothing.
“I don’t have any money to take. My ex already did that.”
He turned back at that. She seemed to be a contradiction of beauty and stubbornness, and a sexiness he couldn’t explain, but he saw no subterfuge. No hint of any lie.
Mario had already done her in.
Will squelched the urge to throw something and settled for stalking the length of the small room. All he’d wanted was to get the son of a bitch to a jail cell to rot. He’d been so sighted on that goal, he hadn’t thought of who might get in the way.
He turned back. She’d sunk to her knees in front of the pile from the dresser, fingering through the pieces of porcelain like she’d lost her puppy. The thought of her getting hurt because of this, possibly because of him, coiled his gut.
She picked up a single shard and let out an anguished sigh. More remorse sneaked in like a thrifty little bastard, but then he remembered Wendy, and the wave of sorrow and the need for biting revenge beat back any remorse. “You help me, and I’ll pay you five hundred.”
She lifted her head. “Dollars?”
He very nearly smiled, but not with amusement. “Five hundred thousand dollars.” Half the society’s reward, if that’s what it took.