Star Witness - By Mallory Kane Page 0,48

she could tell she was in for a long jag.

With a quick shake of her head, she bit down on her cheek and blinked away the stinging behind her eyelids.

“Does it hurt when I move it?” he asked, manipulating it tenderly.

“No,” she said. “It really doesn’t hurt any more or any less. It just aches.”

“It’s probably strained. Try getting up. See if you can put weight on it.”

She stood without a problem. “It’s fine,” she said, but when she looked up at him, she found that he’d stepped close, ready to catch her if she faltered.

“Are you sure—?” He stopped talking when their gazes met. His mouth was less than an inch from hers. She looked at his lips, then back up into his eyes. His gaze was dark, his eyes smoky. “Dani—” he started.

At that instant, the front windows rattled and something crashed into the door. Dani screamed just as Harte caught her in his arms and dove to the floor.

Chapter Twelve

A roar like a freight train filled the air, and the windows rattled more loudly. Dani lay shielded by Harte’s strong body. His hands covered her head protectively, and his cheek rested against hers. His long, rock-solid thighs were splayed across hers, his hard, heavy arousal pressing against her belly.

The wind roared and whistled, slinging trash and shingles and tree branches against buildings. She lay there, shielded by his body, as the tornado—because she knew without a doubt that it was a tornado—passed over them. Finally, the deafening noise died down.

Harte wasted no time pushing himself off her, and she knew why. She’d felt his arousal. Her cheeks grew warm. No matter how he felt about her, she knew he did desire her. He just didn’t want to.

“That was bad,” she whispered.

“Stay still,” he said. Without looking at her, he rose and looked out the windows. He whistled under his breath. “Lots of damage,” he said. “I see a couple of bicycle tires, twisted spokes.” He craned his neck. “I think that big crash was a screen door hitting the windows. There’s a huge crack in the window on the left. I’d expect the bulletproof glass to stay intact, but I’m amazed that all the windows didn’t shatter.”

“That was a tornado,” she said, wishing she could stop imagining deadly funnel clouds roaring toward them, sucking up everything in their paths. When the wind had been at its worst, it had sounded like a freight train.

He yawned exaggeratedly, popping his ears. “I think so. It’s so quiet it feels weird.”

“I don’t hear any sirens.”

Harte shook his head. “With this much debris and damage everywhere, the city will be focusing all its manpower toward clearing major thoroughfares and routes to hospitals for emergency vehicles.”

“At least we’re all right.”

He nodded as he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and checked it. “Hey! I’ve got bars!” he exclaimed. “Two bars.”

Dani’s heart leaped into her throat. “Call 911!” she exclaimed.

He paused in the act of pressing a button. “They can’t get to us. They probably can’t keep up with the injuries in the busier parts of the city. I’m calling Lucas.” He pressed a button and listened. “Oh, come on,” he muttered. Then his eyes lit up. “I’m getting through.”

Dani’s eyes stung. Finally, this awful nightmare would be over.

“Lucas!” Harte yelled. “Lucas, can you hear me?” He stepped out from behind the counter and moved toward the front of the store, checking the signal every few steps.

“Yeah, it’s Harte. I know, the connection does suck, but listen...” He paused. “Lucas? You still there?” Then he walked the line of the windows, from one side of the store to the other.

Dani held her breath, as if that would help hold together the fragile connection.

“Damn it, don’t fade on me now,” Harte said, then spoke loudly and distinctly. “Lucas, we’re at Delaughter’s Drugs, near Religious. Repeat—Delaughter’s Drugs. Pursued by armed men. Repeat—armed men.” He listened for a few seconds. “Lucas?” Then he threw his head back and growled.

“Do you think he heard you?” Dani asked.

Harte was frowning at his phone. “I don’t know.”

Dani fished down into her purse, her fingers brushing the cold steel of the SIG as she searched for her phone. She knew she needed to tell Harte about the gun, but she’d waited too long. She had no doubt how he’d react, and she dreaded the prosecutorial lecture she’d have to endure when he found out she’d been packing this whole time. She found her phone and pulled it out. It