Nowhere Safe

CHAPTER 5



We need someone to do more than tail Jackson’s sister.

Famous last words.

Dawn had just cracked the horizon, with another half hour before sunrise won the battle, as Josh followed Trish Jackson. She moved cautiously through an area of south Miami he’d seen on the news more than once in past weeks. A place known for knifings, shootings and drug deals, complete with abandoned buildings and busted windows. Granted, most criminals did not work this early in the morning, but still.

There was just enough light to avoid falling over sleeping homeless.

Dark curls slipped out from beneath her white cap and feathered around her neck. It would give the impression that she was a young boy from the back, if not for nice curves filling out her jeans and the feminine shift of her hips when she walked.

Zane Jackson was known for being overprotective of his wife and females in general. What kind of brother sent a young woman down to this area before daylight to meet someone?

Maybe he hadn’t.

Nothing about Trish pinged as a criminal for Josh. In fact, after reading through her file on the flight back last night, he had his doubts about her being involved with Zane’s illegal activities. Not one thing in her background jumped out as suspicious.

If Zane was the mole, his sister could be nothing more than an innocent family member. But Josh couldn’t come up with one reason she’d be in this neighborhood if she hadn’t been sent here. It made no sense.

When Trish slowed near a rusted, three-story metal building that had seen better days as some kind of factory, Josh tucked into a shadowy corner and held his breath against the sickening urine odor. She glanced around once then disappeared to her right, into the dilapidated structure.

Josh caught up quickly. The door was missing. He took a look through the doorway. No one in the first room. He slipped inside what had once been an office, and clung to pockets of dark near the walls while he searched for Trish, who’d continued to an open warehouse area beyond the office.

If she was meeting someone, Josh had to find a better vantage point. He eased up a steel stairway that led to another destroyed office space on the second floor. A place for observing workers at one time, based on one wall facing the warehouse that had a gaping rectangular hole where jagged pieces of glass stuck out from the molding like giant teeth in an open mouth.

He picked his way through debris, careful not to step on anything that would crunch, and stopped at the right side of the window. His target stood in the center of the warehouse, the only spot not draped in deep shadow. Josh reached into the pocket of his jersey jacket and pulled out a low-light video camera just a little thicker than his smart phone, looping the cord around his neck.

He flipped out the digital screen, then zoomed in and focused, studying Zane’s sister.

She carried herself with confidence, chin up with attitude and shoulders back, prepared.

For what? Meeting a drug dealer?

Soft light filtering in from the first hint of daylight grazed the outline of her face when she turned, giving Josh a three-quarter view of soft, pale cheeks and a heart-shaped mouth.

Unnecessary information, he reminded himself.

Tell that to the part of him that noticed the way her light-gray T-shirt left no doubt that she was a woman. Nothing boyish about that body.

She tilted her head up, looking straight toward where he hid. Good instincts.

He sucked back, but held the camera so that he could see the image on the digital screen. Her eyes searched for whatever had clued her that she was being watched. Beautiful eyes, but shadowed as though she hadn’t slept much.

When she shook her head over some silent thought and turned away from him, Josh zoomed in on her fingers, where they fidgeted with the pockets of her jeans. Telling.

She was nervous.

Or afraid.

Few things bothered Josh as much as seeing a frightened woman. But he couldn’t allow himself to think that way about her, not when she might be a conduit in a sophisticated, deadly drug running operation.

When she flinched at a sound to her left, Josh tensed, pulse ratcheting up with the worry needling him.

What the hell are you doing here, Trish Jackson?

A man burst from the shadows at her right and attacked her, hooking an arm around her neck and dragging her backwards.

Josh dropped the camera and reached inside his coat for his weapon, but in the nanosecond that took, Trish had broken free of the man and turned on him. She kicked fast, but he blocked his family jewels and grabbed her arm.

She spun, breaking his hold, and tried to run.

He grabbed her shirt and yanked her backward.

Torn between intervening and doing what he’d been sent here to do, Josh aimed the weapon at the bastard, crazy with the need to jump in and save her. His heart beat hard against his chest.

In the next two seconds, Josh realized she didn’t need his help. Smaller than her attacker, who had to go two-twenty and reached six feet tall where she was five-five, Trish made quick, sharp moves, hands flying in reaction to every aggressive action the vagrant made.

Not a vagrant. He knew it as well as he knew his own name.

Curly hair corkscrewing to his shoulders, dark baggy pants and a ratty T-shirt might look like someone homeless, but none of that camouflaged the man’s skills.

He was trained. And dangerous.

And he was pulling his punches. He could have killed her at any point, but he hadn’t.

Josh moved his sights off of the man’s forehead. Something was going on here beyond what the casual observer would see on the surface.

Trish broke loose again and spun around. She was fast and passionate about every move. Determination was clear on her face when she rammed her foot into the back of the man’s knee.

Hard enough to take him down, but not inflict damage. Not as hard as the strike should’ve been. Josh would bet his favorite restored Porsche on that.

Still, her attacker hadn’t been expecting that move and tried to counter it by throwing his weight on his solid leg, hand flying around in a sweeping, outside block.

She moved in at the same time, and the heel of his hand cuffed her on the chin hard, knocking her off her feet.

F*ck that. Josh took aim again, ready to shoot the mother if he made one wrong move.

The man yelled, “Son of a bitch! Zane’s gonna f*ckin’ kill me, Trish.”

She laughed.

Laughed? Had Josh heard that right?

“Ah, shit!” her attacker shouted while extending a hand to her. She took it and he pulled her up.

When she was on her feet, she righted her cap and rubbed at her chin. “Stop your bitchin’, Arnie. Nothing’s broken and neither one of us is going to tell Zane, right?”

He grumbled something in response.

“Besides, it’s my fault for trying a new move on you.”

Arnie moved over and took her chin carefully, tilting her head as he surveyed his damage. “That’s gonna bruise, babe.”

“Makeup will cover it.”

He shook his head at her and asked with disgust dripping, “Was that real enough for you? I don’t like you down in this area even if you do have moves now.”

“I’ve trained in a contained environment long enough. You’re the one who constantly tells me it’s not the same when you’re in a true threat situation, and you’re right. I wanted a place that would put me on edge and test my skills and this showed me that I’m not as on top of it when I’m out of my element. I got distracted right before you attacked. And I let you surprise me. That’s bad.”

“Yeah, that pisses me off, too,” he growled. “And I waited for you to be distracted, but didn’t expect it, not after the way you’ve been training. What the hell were you looking at, when you knew I would show up here?”

“Zane taught me that if I felt someone watching, I should pay attention to it.”

“Well, that was me watching you, and you were looking the wrong direction. And then you fell for it when I threw a screw into the other corner. Always watch your back. Always.” He let out a long breath, said, “Ready?” and attacked again.

Josh holstered his weapon, watching as the two continued, with Arnie attacking and Trish fighting him off. She was sweaty in ten minutes, her shirt damp, dark hair clinging to her dirt-smudged face.

But sexy as hell. What was it about a woman who could kick a man’s ass that turned Josh on? He didn’t know, but there it was. Good news? He wouldn’t have to fake his interest when the time came to get close to her.

Josh stayed for the next hour while Trish and Arnie finished their training session. By the time they’d cleared out, Trish had managed to wash away any doubt Josh had about whether she could be a player in this case.

Colbert had been right when he’d called her activities suspicious. Sweet, his ass.

Trish Jackson was a woman who trained for danger.