my shot glass and Abe’s. One minute earlier, I’d been hazy with longing, thrilled by the electricity sparking between Abe and me. Every caress of his fingers, every truth he shared, only ignited my body’s need for him.
It had dulled my senses to a fact I’d learned was always true—danger was ever-present. Peril always strikes the second you let your guard down. Curled against Abe’s suit-clad chest, I was all fury, synapses firing as I put together what it might mean: another private detective was in London, searching for Bernard, surrounded by Bernard’s closest and most trusted colleagues.
And a random bartender slips something into our drinks.
The moment I’d landed on my conclusion, the bartender had tossed his towel and was escaping through the Employees Only door.
I ran after him without a thought to asking for help from the man I’d been revealing secrets to. Beneath that drive to chase down my biggest clue since starting this case was an urge to punch the shit out of a person who’d tried to harm Abe. I didn’t have time to over-analyze these new protective feelings.
I sprinted down a long hallway and kicked open a back door.
The man I surprised in the alley wasn’t the bartender. He was enormous, tall, and powerfully strong. And the second he saw me, he attacked.
The smirk on Big Guy’s face only ratcheted up my fury. His left arm swung forward in a slow, sloppy punch.
Before he could connect, I slammed my palm directly into his nose.
“Jesus, fuck you,” he snarled, tilting forward slightly. One hand protected his bloody nose, the other tried to lash at me again.
I ducked and grabbed his shirt, using gravity to propel my pointed heel into his groin. He yelped, dropped to his knees, and I dashed around him to check for the bartender at the end of the alley, on the street.
“Goddammit,” I whispered. Where was he?
I felt his fingers tangled in my hair, yanking me backward. Big Guy returning with a vengeance.
I grabbed his hand, pain spiking across my scalp, and spun fast. My elbow cracked across his face as I kicked kicked kicked as fast as I could.
He let go, wailed again, but fear had hold of me now, wrapping around my throat and restricting my air. The rage on his face as he came at me a third time conveyed the reality that he was huge and angry and I was all by myself in a dark alley.
I opened my mouth to scream for help when a sharply dressed figure stepped between me and Big Guy.
Abe Royal. Who, while leaner, was as tall as Big Guy—and apparently much faster. Abe punched the attacker so hard he dropped to the ground immediately. I was bent over at the waist, panting, staring at my rescuer in disbelief.
Abe, to his credit, only shook out his fingers and nodded once at me. “Ms. Atwood.”
“Thanks for the save,” I said, catching my breath.
He surveyed the body on the ground. “I only did the last bit. You were magnificent with him.”
My cheeks warmed at the unexpected compliment. “I’ve had training.”
“I can see that.” He studied me with concern.
I shook out my limbs, dispersing the adrenaline. Enjoyed the sense of safety his presence gave me, which I’d never yearned for before. This, this having my back thing was nice.
“How’s your scalp?” he asked. I touched it, winced.
“Tender but fine.” I held out my elbow, which also seemed to have survived. Kicked my boots out for his perusal. “These did the trick.”
“I’m grateful for their existence.” Abe looked both ways, past me toward the street. “Any sign of our friend?”
I shook my head. “And I don’t know who in the hell this asshole—”
At my words, the asshole in question hauled himself upright and ran toward the street.
“Motherfucker,” I said and bolted after him. We needed to know details. We needed to know why we’d been targeted. I needed to know how this related to Bernard.
A vice-like grip around my arm kept me in place. Abe.
“What are you doing?” I said, tugging at his hold. “We need to go after him.”
Abe shook his head. “Chasing down goons only ends well with a calculated plan and effective weapons. Maybe some backup. Of which you have none.”
“That’s my lead,” I hissed.
Understanding flooded his features. “Talk now, chase down goons later.”
“Chase down goons now, talk later,” I argued.
He tugged me close, until our faces were inches apart. “No more secrets. No more fucking lies. You and I are talking. Now.”