When he was certain she’d noticed, when he was sure she’d gotten the message that he was bigger and stronger and easily roused, he finally edged back.
There was no need for him to place a finger on his lips. She’d gotten the message, thank you very much. And she hated that her pulse flared at that simple touch.
Stupid pulse.
He scuttled toward the door to the parking garage and flattened himself to the side of it, then peered through the grimy window. When he was certain there was no one there, he held up his palm. “Wait here,” he mouthed.
Wait here?
The fuck.
He pulled the Sig from his waistband and slipped through the door, holding the weapon high and quartering the garage with his sharp gaze. Michelle watched through the window, prickling with anticipation. She wanted to get out of here…now. She should just follow him. She should just ignore his order—pretend to misunderstand, or some shit—and follow him. She didn’t like being alone in this creepy stairwell. And for all that she couldn’t trust this guy completely, she kind of did.
The attack, when it came, was unexpected. A dark form barreled from the shadows and knocked her escort to the ground.
Michelle’s heart lodged in her throat. Her first instinct was to leap into the fray, to join the fight, and then she realized, she might just be in the way. Also, if her escort lost—and how that thought ripped into her gut—then she would need to run. She should run now—that’s what she should do—but she couldn’t look away.
The two men fought and rolled over the filthy oil-stained cement of the garage, battling for supremacy. First one was on top, then the other. They were both wearing black and through the smudged window, she couldn’t tell which was which.
A boom echoed in the cavernous space, even rattling the window. The two men stilled. The one on top slumped to the side. Fell.
The other pushed him off and stood, brushing himself off.
Oh God. Was that…? Did he…?
She couldn’t see. She couldn’t tell.
Without thought, she ran to the stairs and ducked beneath them, where the bottom flight formed a cave of sorts. She curled herself into a ball and sucked in a deep breath.
Her pulse pounded in her ears. Her lungs ached. Sweat beaded her brow.
The door opened with a clang. “Michelle?” Was that his voice? She couldn’t tell. “Michelle?”
His footsteps on the stairs. One. Two. A pause and then two more…
And then a face appeared from above.
She stared. Unable to speak. Unable to move. Unable to breathe.
It was him. Relief gushed through her.
Thank God it was him.
He came around and hunkered down and reached out a hand. It was large, she noticed. Large and strong, “Come on. It’s safe now.”
And God. Dear God.
What wonderful words. What a beautiful voice. What a magnificent man.
She had no idea why it annoyed her so much.
* * *
Benedict led Michelle to his truck, a beat up Chevy he’d rented from a discount dealer for his visit to DC. It was a far cry from the kind of vehicle he preferred to drive, but it was nondescript and dependable.
She glanced around the deserted garage; her brow wrinkled. “Where’d he go?”
He frowned at her and opened the door. “Get in the back.”
“Where’d he go?” Her gaze fixated on the red puddle on the cement.
Good God, she was stubborn. “I could hardly leave him lying there. Now come on. Get in the back.”
She made a face. “I hate sitting in the back.”
“Good. You won’t be sitting.”
He loved the look she sent him, all outraged and shit. “What do you mean?”
“Get in and lay down in the well. I’ll cover you with my bags.”
“I’m not luggage.”
“You are if you want to get out of here unspotted.”
That shut her up. Kind of. She still grumbled to herself as she levered up into the truck and settled on the floor. “It smells back here.” Her voice was muffled. He ignored her and tossed his duffel from the seat onto her. She oofed. “What’s in there?”
“Skivvies. Now, be quiet. Once we get out of town and I’m sure no one’s following us, you can sit up front.”
“Well, thank God for small favors.”
Damn, she was prickly. Benedict couldn’t help smiling as he hopped into the truck and gunned the engine. It wasn’t lost on him that he was smiling. It happened far too rarely. It made the muscles of his face ache.