This time, when Jo tried to move the man in leather’s arm position, she got absolutely nowhere. She hung her entire body off his elbow, and still that gun stayed pointed at the old Civic. In a panic, she looked toward the car and could make out the profile of the driver, the man clueless that he was about to be blown sky high.
“Please . . .” Her voice cracked. “I can’t take any more death today.”
The gun lowered instantly, allowing the Civic to safely round the corner and drive out of sight.
And then it was just her and the man in leather in the damp, rushing spring air, standing in the darkness behind the CCJ newsroom.
As Jo started to shake, she dropped her bag on the pavement and put her hands to her face. “Oh, God.”
The trembling got so bad that she threw an arm out blindly, and the man with the gun was the one who caught her, pulling her against him just as her legs lost all their muscle tone and turned into pipe cleaners. His strength was such that he didn’t seem to notice the addition of her weight, and before she knew what she was doing, she put her arms around him, holding on as if he were the rope drawing her out of the cold, greedy lake she was drowning in.
As she fell into the weakness that claimed her, Jo turned her head to the side and put her ear against his heart. The strong, steady pump calmed her, and the scent of him was heaven in her nose, and the warmth emanating off of him revived her as nothing else could. So yes, even after she could feel her legs again and stand properly on her own, she didn’t step back.
It had been so long since she had felt safe.
Just a little longer.
She would stay . . . a little longer.
“Where can I take you?” he asked.
His voice vibrated through his chest, and she liked the feel of it. Hell, she liked the feel of all of him. And that cologne, dear God, the cologne.
But they couldn’t stay like this forever.
Prying her body off of his, she forced herself to step away from the warmth of him. Then with a quick tug, she pulled her jacket down and cleared her throat.
Like that would call her brain to order.
“Ah, nowhere,” she said. Because it was the right answer. “I’m good. I’m fine—”
“Have you eaten?”
Jo blinked. “Eaten?”
“Yes.” He mimed a fork going back and forth to his mouth. “Food?”
And that was when his expression registered. In spite of all his leather and his weapons, and the fact that he very calmly and deliberately had been about to shoot and kill someone with a bad muffler, he seemed . . . sheepish. Shy. Nervous.
Jo laughed in a burst. “Oh, my God. Are you asking me on a date?”
“I . . . ah . . .”
Alarm marked those hard features of his. In fact, he looked downright spooked.
“I, um, I thought you might be more comfortable in a public place,” he blurted. “You know. With public around. In a place. That serves . . . you know, dinner things.”
She started to smile. ’Cuz sometimes that was all you could do. “There’s a bar with bad fried food about two blocks from here. They also have a beer menu that’s three pages long.”
“I don’t drink.”
“Okay, like anything? Because that’s not compatible with life.”
“Alcohol.”
“Well, you can order a tap water and a straw then. How about that?” As he started to nod, she pointed at his gun. “But that stays in your pants. Or . . . yeah, that sounded dirty. But the point is, no shooting anything or anybody. I don’t care if the waiter drops a tray right behind you or a fight breaks out and you get beer splashed in your face. Agreed?”
The way the man nodded was like a Doberman who’d been schooled for piddling on the rug.
“All right,” she said. “Let me put my bag in my car—wait. One more thing. The bar is where most of the cops go to hang out. Are we going to have a problem with that?”
It was a test. Public places were one thing. But given this guy’s point-and-shoot proclivities, she wanted to go somewhere especially safe—and if he were a wanted man? A violent felon? He wasn’t going to volunteer to get ID’d. Oh, and as for herself and that helicopter from the night before? There