“I’m sure they’d really appreciate that,” he said dryly, trying to remember he’d matured from the days when he’d bumped chests with a high school rival for Marianne Kelly’s attention. In typical Vance Smith style, he’d brawled with the dude in the middle of biology class, instead of waiting until after school and choosing some off-campus location. They’d both been suspended for three days. For the remainder of the semester, his father had confiscated the car keys of his truck—though that didn’t stop Vance from totaling it ten months later.
Now Vance turned back around to face the ocean, while Baxter had given up all pretense of not watching the object of his affection. “Hell,” he muttered. “He’s buying all three women more drinks now. They’re smiling and laughing, even that serious one, Skye.”
“The nerve.”
“He’s whispering something in Layla’s ear.”
Shit. Vance pretended he was glued to his stool as he tried to hang on to his cool.
“Now they’re all getting up. It looks as if they’re going somewhere together, drinks in hand.” Baxter slid a sly look at Vance. “Do you think they’re going to have a ménage?”
Vance rolled his eyes. “You’re just needling me now, aren’t you?”
“Kind of. But they all look damn happy as they leave through the front exit. A first responder might not get all of them, but he could get one of them.”
And there was Layla, with her tattered heart. So lonely sometimes.
“Hell,” Vance said. He tried remembering there was Super Glue on the top surface of his stool. It wasn’t working. “I want her,” he told Baxter. “And I’m the one who’s going to get her.”
But before he could make a move, Addy was there, her green eyes anxious. “I thought I saw you guys here. You’d better come quick.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
UNDER THE BLAZING fluorescent lights in the Sunrise Pictures archives room, Layla fought to keep still. “Really, I’m fine,” she told Teague the firefighter, who was gingerly sifting through the hair at the side of her head. “No big—”
“What the hell?” Vance exploded into the room, fingers catching hold of the doorway to halt his headlong run. His gaze zeroed in on Layla, then flicked to the man tending her. At that same moment, Teague found the knot on her skin and she flinched.
In a blink, Vance had pushed his way between her and the firefighter. “Don’t touch her,” he spat over his shoulder, then took her chin between his fingers so he could gently turn her face to the side. He blew softly on her hair to part it, and she shivered. His thumb caressed her skin. “What happened?”
A cacophony of voices burst into the shocked silence brought on by Vance’s impromptu arrival. “Wait, wait.” It was Baxter speaking now. “Slow down. One at a time.”
Skye’s quiet voice started the story. “Addy wanted to show Teague and Layla the archives room. I tagged along. When Addy unlocked the door, it was dark inside. As we walked in, a dark-clothed figure burst out, pushing through us and taking off at a run.”
“I would have gone after him,” Teague said, sounding frustrated, “but I heard Layla cry out.”
“Sweetheart.” Vance blew on the sore spot again. “How’d you hit your head?”
“When the...intruder...or whatever, ran past, he knocked me into the doorjamb. It’s just a bump,” she said, though now that she’d had some time to process, she couldn’t suppress her shudder.
Vance made a sympathetic sound, low in his throat. “I’ll be careful,” he said, then probed around the spot, his fingers barely grazing the skin.
Still, Layla winced. “I’m such a wuss.”
“Nah.” He leaned close to brush a kiss on her temple. “You need an ice pack.”
“Maybe she needs a hospital,” Teague said.
Vance turned toward him, his earlier animosity dialed down a notch. He held out his hand. “I’m an army medic. Vance Smith. We’ll just head out now and I’ll take care of her.”
“Great,” the other man responded, returning a solid grip. “Some ice right away will help.”