No Escape From War (Trouble for Hire #1) - Cynthia Eden Page 0,55

sure you were patched up?”

He glared. This should not have happened. He’d made a mistake. Let that arrogant dick War drive him too far. He’d gone off script. Dylan knew better than to do that. He never went off script. “I need to talk to Rose.”

Lynn Slater laughed. “You are hilarious.”

He knew his rights. “I am entitled to one phone call! I want to call Rose!”

“You don’t get to call the woman you’ve been stalking. That’s not how things work.”

“I am not stalking her! I told you, that evidence was planted. The photos were mine, but not the mask, not—” His eyes widened. “You know what? I bet he did it.”

“He?” Lynn wasn’t laughing any longer. Her hands were still on her hips.

“Warren—War—Channing! He wants me out of the way. He hates that I have a relationship with Rose.”

“A relationship. Is that what you have?”

“We have a working relationship.”

Lynn shook her head. “Not according to the station manager, you don’t. She told one of my uniforms that you were not to set foot on that property again. That you’d been fired. Turns out, you didn’t report those solicitation arrests to her.”

Rage surged inside of him. “Did you tell War about that?”

“Why would I tell War something that is public knowledge? He’s a PI. I’m sure he can dig up info like that easily enough.” Her gaze raked him. “I’m sure he can dig up all kinds of things about you.”

“You know I wasn’t the one to call Rose last night! I was here with you!”

“And you’re here with me again. Look at that.”

His fists banged onto the table in front of him. “I want Rose!”

Her gaze flickered to his fisted hands. “Yes, that is abundantly apparent. But you know what else is apparent?” She strode toward him. Lightly skimmed her finger over the tape on his swollen nose. “You’re not going to get what you want.”

Because of War. Dylan hated him. “He’s a killer. A liar. She has no clue what that man is really like.”

“You know…” Her hand fell away as she propped one hip against the table. “If you really believe all of this about War, I’m surprised you keep screwing with him.”

He—

Dylan frowned up at her.

“Because I’d think that if you push him too far, you’ll get a whole lot more than a broken nose. I mean, if War is this cold-blooded, merciless killer…what do you think he’ll do to you when you go after his lady again?”

A tendril of fear curled around Dylan’s spine.

What would War do? He…he didn’t think he wanted to find out.

Chapter Fifteen

“Rose?” War pushed up and stared at Rose as she kind of flopped on the pool table.

There’s no ‘kind of’ about it. She was flopping. Her heart still thundered far too loudly and quickly in her chest, and Rose was attempting to get her breath to go from frantic-pant level to normal.

“Are you okay?’ He slid out of her.

She continued to flop, but her lips curled down as he withdrew. She’d rather enjoyed having him inside of her. When he was driving them both into oblivion, she didn’t have to think about anything but pleasure.

She could already feel the real world trying to poke its way back into her brain.

“Did I hurt you?”

Her head moved in a slow, negative motion against the table. “Did I hurt you?” she returned.

He shook his head. She thought he might be lying. Rose was about ninety percent sure she’d left scratch marks down his back, but…maybe those hadn’t hurt. She knew it took a lot to hurt big, bad War.

A lot more than just me.

She swallowed and sat up. “I need a shower.” Stat. She eased off the pool table—I’ll never be able to look at it the same way again—and hurriedly shimmied back into her panties. She caught her shirt and pulled it back on. She needed her bra, her pants—

But before she could grab the rest of her scattered clothing, War was wrapping his fingers around her wrist. “I have a shower you can use upstairs.”

She automatically glanced up.

“Told you, I’ve been working on things up there. Got a PI office and a small apartment. You can shower off. Do anything you want.”

What she wanted was a second round with War. But she knew they had things to do—or rather, one big thing. They had a killer to hunt.

War righted his own clothes—she hadn’t even taken off his shirt, just shoved it out of her way—and scooped up the rest of her things.