gorgeous, potentially death-wish-having woman and the gun.
A few moments later, they were in front of what turned out to be a storage closet. A very narrow storage closet. The robber waved them inside. It was so tight in there that Chloe’s body pushed against Joel’s. Every lovely inch of her. And her scent—a light raspberry? Strawberry?—teased his nose.
The robber stood in the doorway, smirking. “Won’t cause any trouble in here, will you?”
Joel’s stare narrowed on him. The fellow was about average height, with drooping shoulders and a slight pudge in his stomach. A weak beard covered his equally weak chin, and his grip on the gun was far too tight.
The robber started to slam the door shut—
“Harry,” the woman sighed out the name. “You should’ve stopped while you were ahead. Had to be extra greedy, didn’t you?”
“Harry” widened his eyes. “How the hell do you know my name?”
“I know lots of things,” she replied demurely.
The gun was shaking in Harry’s hand. Joel figured they were both about to die. Getting shot in a smelly storage closet. That was his end?
Only instead of firing, Harry slammed the door shut. There was a distinct snick as the lock turned. Abso-fucking-lutely wonderful.
Darkness covered them, the only light coming in from beneath the door. Joel remembered another time. Being trapped in the dark. The stench of blood. The feel of the heat and dirt and sweat covering his body as—
Her body pressed against his. Her arm lifted and—
A light turned on.
“I pulled the cord,” she told him, again using what he was thinking of as her helpful voice. “You seemed to be suffering from some PTSD that was triggered by the dark or perhaps the close confines of the closet, so I wanted to calm you—”
“What. The. Fuck?” His heart pounded hard in his chest.
“PTSD?” Her dark brows arched. “Post-traumatic stress disorder. I can’t believe you aren’t familiar with the term.”
He sucked in a breath. Let it out slowly. Extra slowly. “I am familiar.”
A quick nod. “Oh, that’s good. I was afraid that you didn’t—”
“There is a bank robber out there with a gun.”
Did she almost smile? “I noticed him.”
“He could shoot us both at any moment.”
Those plump lips pursed for a moment. Then…“No, I don’t really think he could.”
His temples throbbed. “We’re lucky he didn’t lock us in the damn vault.” Talk about a blast straight from his nightmares. He didn’t do so well in closed spaces. Side effect of being buried alive. This closet smelled of turpentine and bleach. And strawberries—her. But at least it wasn’t some air-tight bank vault that would become his coffin.
A small laugh escaped her.
An actual laugh.
What in the hell? Who laughed after being locked up by a bank robber? Was the woman truly crazy? Such a total and complete waste. Why were the sexy ones so often also the crazy-as-hell ones?
Her hand—with the softest skin on the whole planet—patted against his cheek. “That’s so funny. You’re quite amusing.”
“Nothing about this situation is funny. Lady, are you off your meds?”
“I’m not on any medication.”
“Then why are you acting so crazy? Like this is a fun, freaking game instead of a life-and-death deal!”
“First…” A soft sigh from her. “Crazy is not a clinical term, and you shouldn’t just throw it out there like it is.”
His temples throbbed harder.
“Second. Take some breaths. I was laughing because you thought he was going to put us in the vault.”
“Yeah. How is that shit funny?”
“He’s a bank robber. That means he is here to rob the bank of its valuables. You do know that the most valuable things are kept in the vault? Why put us in there? We’d just be in his way.”
Breathe. He had to breathe. And not because she’d told him to take breaths.
“Harry is here for very specific items. He’ll get what he needs, and then dear Harry will think that he’s walking away free and clear.”
She’d done it again. Referred to the bank robber by name. As if they were old buddies. His heart rate sped up even more. “How do you know his name?”
“Uh, because I was hunting him?”
Joel shook his head.
Her hand fell away. She’d still been touching him. Part of Joel, dammit, had still been liking her touch.
“Say that again.” The pounding in his temples had gotten so loud that he must have misheard her.
“I was hunting him.” Again, that British accent of hers slithered through. Faint, but there. Perhaps a little more pronounced than it had been before because Joel thought she might be