Stolen Fury Read online

  Lisa tried to do the same, but her pulse was racing, making it hard to feel anything other than mind-numbing fear. Pain finally registered—in her back, in her legs, in her arm. If it hadn’t been for Rafe, she’d have gone up in flames right along with that car.

  He stretched out his long legs, groaned. The backpack landed with a thud near her feet.

  And that’s when it hit her.

  Holy crap. He’d saved her life.

  Not only that, but he’d pulled her pack from the vehicle before the explosion. He’d gone back for it knowing he could have been caught in a raging inferno. He’d gone back for it not knowing what was inside.

  A wave of unease rolled through her as she glanced toward her feet.

  If he’d known what was in that backpack, he’d have grabbed it and run. And she had a pretty strong hunch he wouldn’t have bothered to pull her to safety first.

  ***

  Rafe waited while Lisa unlocked the door to her brother’s third-floor apartment. Her hands were shaking. She was having trouble getting the key in the latch.

  The adrenaline was starting to go. He knew the signs all too well. She was about to crash, and from the look of her, she was going to hit hard.

  He slipped the key from her hand and turned the lock himself. She didn’t protest, confirming his suspicions, and the door gave with a pop. He pushed it open and let Lisa go in first, then watched to make sure she didn’t lose it right there in the doorway.

  She hadn’t said anything in the cab on the way over, which meant she was still processing everything that had just happened. Better for him. When it all finally hit her, he had a feeling the heat from that fire would barely register on the Celsius scale in comparison. The woman had a mean-ass temper. He’d already seen it in living color.

  She stopped in the middle of the living room. Rafe stepped around her, dropped the dirty backpack on the floor near the couch and headed for the kitchen. He flipped a switch on the wall. Three small triangular lights over the granite island flickered on, illuminating the stainless-steel appliances in the adjacent room.

  He moved to the cupboards and opened them one by one, searching for any kind of alcohol to deaden her senses before reality settled in.

  “Oh, my God. Someone was shooting at us!”

  Too late. He needed to work faster.

  He flipped open another cupboard, swore under his breath when all he found was canned food.

  “What the hell did you do to make someone try to kill us?”

  Temper sizzled just under his skin. “You automatically think that was about me?” He pulled open another cabinet, a jolt of relief rushing through him when he spotted a bottle of Jameson.

  “You’re damn right. No one’s ever tried to kill me in downtown Chicago before!”

  He found glasses, poured a generous shot in each and pushed a tumbler into her hands. “Drink.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Drink it,” he said louder.

  She studied him a second as if judging his mood, then downed the shot in one long swallow, her fight-ready eyes never wavering from his.

  “Again.” He refilled her glass before she could protest.

  She glared at him but drank the second without argument.

  He swallowed his shot, set the glass on the counter and braced both hands on the granite as he tried to settle his own nerves. “Contrary to what you might think,” he said as calmly as he could, “I don’t like guns. I don’t like people who use guns, and I make it a point not to get too chummy with anyone who does.”

  “So why was someone shooting at you?”

  “I don’t know.” He took the glass from her fingers and set it on the island before she got smart and cracked it over his skull.

  “Bullshit.”

  Her eyes were still blazing, but some of the fight had slipped from her voice.

  “I’m not kidding.”

  She laughed—a smug, disbelieving sound that only jacked him up more—as she stepped away from him.

  “Look, lady. In the last two days since you showed up at my door, my house has been trashed and I’ve been very nearly roasted like a Thanksgiving turkey. Neither one is an everyday occurrence for me. So why don’t you tell me who the hell you pissed off, and we’ll see if it gets us anywhere.”

  She turned to face him again. “That’s rich. Blame this on me. You’re the thief!”

  Adrenaline rush or not, the woman was bordering on hysterical. He moved around the counter toward her, pausing only when her words finally registered.

  Maria’s warning ran through his mind: Treasure hunters will pour out of the woodwork to beat you to the last goddess. You could lose everything.

  “Who have you told about the Furies?”

  “What?” she asked, like it was the stupidest question ever.

  “Who did you tell?”

  “I don’t know.” When he only stared at her, she frowned. “Shane.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “No, Slick,” she mocked. “I didn’t go around advertising the fact I was looking for Alecto.”

  “Neither did I, but you weren’t exactly careful about your Internet searches. I traced you. Someone else might have, too. Anyone see you in Jamaica with the relief?”

  “The guide I was using. But he didn’t know what it was.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  He ran a hand across his chin, thinking. “You tell anyone you were headed to Florida to find me?”

  “You think someone followed us from the Keys?”

  “If you really didn’t trash my house? Then yeah, maybe.”

  He took his first good look at her since they had gotten to the apartment. City lights twinkled behind her in the picture window. Her face was hidden in shadows, but her eyes were wide with understanding and just a hint of fear. He could practically see the cogs turning in her brain, the realization that whoever had chased them earlier might have been following her and not him.

  And looking closer, his gaze darting over her tense shoulders and body held rigid, he finally noticed the gash in the upper right arm of her jacket.

  “Mierda.” He crossed and tugged the suede jacket down her shoulders.

  “What are you doing?” She struggled against his grip.

  “Relax, Querida. I’m not trying to cop a feel. You’re bleeding.”

  “What?” She looked down.

  He pulled her into the kitchen, lifted her around the waist and propped her up on the counter to get a better look before she could protest. Her V-necked sweater was sliced at the arm. She had a good-sized scrape across her bicep, blood oozing steadily from the cut. “Where does your brother keep first-aid supplies?”

  “Um…” She placed a hand over the cut as her face paled. “In the bathroom, I think.” She nodded toward the hall.

  “Stay here and don’t fall.”

  The look she sent him was laced with mild irritation.

  Indignation was good. He headed for the hall. At least it meant she wasn’t going to pass out on him. He could deal with a little blood. Scraping her off the floor was another matter entirely.

  He rummaged through the bathroom cabinets until he found what he needed, and returned. Placing the items on the counter, he eased between her legs and focused on the wound.

  She stiffened when he fingered her arm, reminding him she had to be sore after everything she’d been through. He’d handled her roughly after the accident. But dammit, she hadn’t listened to him. She’d darted back into that car without even thinking, all for her stupid backpack.

  He should have let it burn. But getting it himself was the only way he’d been able to get her away from that car.

  If they had rescued anything, it should have been Stone’s research. Now they were back to square one, starting over.

  She hissed as he gently brushed the cut. He let out a breath and looked up. “You’re gonna have to take off the sweater. I can’t get to it like this.”

  She sho
t him a contemptuous look.

  “Look, Querida. I’ve already seen the goods, remember? And sex is the last thing on my mind right now. Trust me.”

  Her green eyes locked on his, held for a split second before darting away. Was that relief or regret he saw flash in those shimmering emeralds?

  He couldn’t tell. And she was wriggling out of the sweater before he could find out for himself.

  Carefully, he helped pull the garment from her injured arm. When she finally sat in front of him wearing only a peach-colored lace bra, he forced his gaze away from those tempting breasts, tried not to remember what they felt like under his hands and went to work on her wound.

  Silence settled over them. A clock ticked somewhere in the apartment. The faint sound of cars whizzing by on the road below drifted through the closed windows. She watched with cautious eyes as he cleaned the cut.

  “You’re good at this,” she finally said.

  He kept his eyes glued to the injury, dabbed alcohol on the wound. When she drew in a sharp breath, he blew cool air across her arm to take away some of the sting. “Good thing for a guy like me to know.”

  “Occupational advantage?”

  Now why would he be surprised by that comment? “No. A younger brother who was always getting himself into tight scrapes. It was either learn how to take care of him myself or stick our mother with another ER bill she couldn’t pay.”

  “You have a brother?”

  The skepticism in her voice made him bristle again. “Surprise, surprise. The thief didn’t actually crawl out from beneath a rock.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” she said softer.

  Rafe looked up into concerned eyes and faltered. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what she meant. The more he got to know her, the more he saw her as a real person, not simply his ticket to the easy life. And he’d seen a little too much of her tonight at her parents’ house, had glimpsed more of the woman she was deep inside than he’d wanted to know.

  He was starting to like her. Really like her, which was the kicker in all of this. She was kind and gentle when the mood suited her, smart and quick on her toes. She didn’t put up with crap from anyone—especially him—and he couldn’t help respecting that. He’d enjoyed spending time with her at her parents’ place, even if her family was a bunch of loons. And after that accident, he’d felt more than a frisson of guilt at her being hurt. He’d felt a tickling of fear at the thought of something happening to her.

  And that insane emotion wigged him out enough to smack him right back to reality.

  He looked back down, slapped on the bandage rougher than needed. “There. You’re done. It needs stitches, but you show up at the hospital now, they’re going to ask questions. And in your mood you’d probably spill your guts.”

  Thank God he’d registered the rental under a different name so it couldn’t be traced back to them. A run-in with the police was the last thing he needed right now.

  Lisa levered off the counter and turned away. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. You sure know how to make a girl feel better.”

  His guilt seeped back in as her voice hardened. He slipped his hands into his pockets, watched as she pulled the sweater back over her head and slid the garment on. Soft light shimmered over her short red hair and the purple smudges forming near her temple.

  He could see she was more shaken than she was letting on. Being curt just because he couldn’t get a handle on the stupid thoughts rushing through his mind wasn’t helping to settle her. And for some idiotic reason, he had an overwhelming urge to reach out and comfort her.

  She’d probably knock him on his ass if he tried, which was all the more reason not to even bother. But damn, she looked good standing there, all wasted on adrenaline, about to hit rock bottom. His own nerves were still strung tight. He knew he needed to do something to get rid of this extra energy. Cushioning her fall right there on the tile floor suited him just fine at the moment.

  She reached back and rubbed the nape of her neck. He lifted his hands before he thought better of it, ran fingers over hers and kneaded what he knew were sore and aching muscles.

  Her shoulders tensed beneath him, but she didn’t pull away. When she dropped her arm, he read that as a good sign and added his other hand, working the tension from her shoulders one muscle at a time. Her body relaxed inch by gorgeous inch until she let out a long sigh.

  His blood pumped. Because she’d sounded just like that when he’d had his hands all over her back in Milan.

  He stepped closer, brushed his chest against her back and felt her draw in a quick breath that had nothing to do with pain. Arousal speared through his limbs, gathered low in his gut, shut down the rational side of his brain that said this was a really stupid move.

  “What if I hadn’t left?”

  Her head turned slightly, enough so he could see the spark of curiosity in her eyes. “You mean if you hadn’t drugged me, then robbed me blind?”

  God, she had a smart mouth on her. A mouth he wanted to explore all over again, in a variety of different ways.

  “Querida, I could have robbed you blind anytime I wanted.” His voice dropped. “I walked away before things got complicated.”

  “Now I’m supposed to be grateful for the way you left? Gee, what a gentleman you are. Thanks, Sullivan.”

  A smile curled his mouth. His breath brushed her earlobe. “I don’t remember anyone saying no as the night progressed.”

  “Bad judgment on my part,” she said with the slightest quiver in her voice.

  The woman was all about control. Some small part of him couldn’t help admiring that quality. It only heightened his desire.

  “You couldn’t stop it any more than I could.” He trailed his finger down the long, sexy line of her neck. Smiled wider as she shuddered at his touch. “Then or now.”

  “I don’t get involved with people I’m working with, Slick.”

  Her skin was soft, like silk beneath his palms. He wanted to taste that delectable neck, work his way down her body, savor every square inch of her.

  “I hate to break this to you, Querida, but I think we’re already involved.”

  She stiffened. Then turned and looked up, those emeralds shifting from soft green pools to rock-hard stones in the length of time it took for his words to register. But lurking just behind the shield, he saw the desire brewing deep inside.

  She wanted him, dammit. She couldn’t hide it any more than he could. She was just a lot better at fighting it.

  “We’re partners now, Sullivan. You made that choice all on your own. And I have strict rules about colleagues. Those rules don’t bend for anyone. Especially you.”

  He braced his hands on the counter, trapping her between his body and the cupboards as he leaned closer. She tensed. That heady scent of hers made the blood rush to his head.

  “Never?” He knew that was a lie. Hell, he’d seen it for a fact himself. His lips curled as his gaze ran over her face and hovered on that oh-so-scrumptious mouth.

  Doubt flashed in those shining green pools. She looked from his eyes to his lips, the suggestive move raising his body temperature ten degrees. Indecision ran across her face. He could see she was contemplating her options, that she was wavering.

  God, he wanted her. And he knew he could break her with one swift kiss. She was teetering on the edge of an adrenaline rush, despite all her sanctimonious words and ideas. One brush of his lips and he could rock her right to her knees. One taste and she could take him with her.

  But would that do it for him? If that was all he’d wanted, he could have had his way with her in Italy. Reality hit him as he stood there, waiting. He didn’t want to be the one doing the taking. He wanted her to come to him, to prove that after everything he’d done, she wanted him as much as she had in Milan.

  More than she had in Milan.

  That need was so strong, so overwhelming, he let go of the counter and stepped back before he changed his mind and took her right there against the cab
inets in her brother’s kitchen. Cool air washed over his skin, replacing the sultry heat radiating from her centerfold curves.

  Shimmering gems laced with more than a hint of disappointment and confusion lifted toward his.

  No. If this happened—when this happened—she’d be the one to make the first move. She’d be the one begging.

  He’d make sure of it.

  In the meantime, he’d wait. And suffer. And pray she wasn’t as stubborn as she looked.

  “Go to bed, Lisa.” He forcibly softened his voice. “It’s been a long night, and you need to sleep. I’ll take the couch.”

  ***

  She was toast.

  She sure felt like it, anyway.

  Lisa flopped onto her back and stared at the ceiling in Shane’s extra bedroom. She’d slept all of about two hours last night. Partly because she’d still been anxious over the accident, partly because she’d spent way too much time fantasizing about the sexy Puerto Rican asleep on the couch on the other side of the door.

  What the hell was she doing? She was in way over her head with this guy. She’d almost jumped him last night. Probably would have, if he hadn’t shuffled her off to bed like a recalcitrant two-year-old.

  Thank God one of them had been thinking clearly, because it sure as hell hadn’t been her. As soon as he’d touched her she’d almost gone off like a firecracker, every muscle in her body enticed and overly aware. And when he’d stood there in Shane’s kitchen looking at her like she was the only thing in the world he wanted, she’d very nearly tackled him to the floor and taken complete advantage of him.

  She ran a hand over her face, her cheeks burning at the memory. Too bad his look had had little to do with her and everything to do with the near-death experience they’d both lived through. Any woman would have had the same effect on him. Hell, any man would have had the same effect on her, right? Almost being torched would juice anybody.

  What if I hadn’t left?

  Groaning, Lisa tossed an arm over her eyes. Why did he have to ask that? It was the one question she’d intentionally been avoiding in her own idiotic thoughts, and now it was all she could think about. She didn’t want to wonder what would have happened if he hadn’t left her that night. She knew damn well where it would have gone, and she sure as hell didn’t want to ponder how amazing it would have been.