I was quiet because I could tell he was listening and not to me. Then his head tilted down and I could feel his eyes on me.
I lifted my hand up between our faces, index finger and thumb held an inch apart and I said, “Maybe I’m in a little bit of trouble.”
It was then he made a noise and it sounded an awful lot like a growl.
Chapter Three
That’s Who I’m Keeping Safe
“Luke?”
“Quiet.”
He knifed off me, yanked me to my feet and wasted no time pulling me through the room, through the kitchen and out the backdoor.
I didn’t resist.
I didn’t want to be anywhere near a room that exploded with gunfire. I was more than happy to be moving away from it, swiftly, hand in hand with a tough guy, mercenary, bounty hunter, private eye type person who clearly knew what the hell he was doing.
Luke jogged through the backyard then broke into a sprint down the alley, his hand in mine, dragging me behind him (and let me tell you, it wasn’t easy sprinting in flip-flops and I was going to have to rethink my footwear on my next nail-Dom-to-the-wall assignment). I saw lights go on in houses and heard police sirens but Luke just kept going.
It took me a moment, considering the fact that I was freaking out and perhaps fleeing for my life (on flip-flops no less), to realize that he was moving in the wrong direction.
I pulled at his hand. “My car’s the other way,” I whispered loudly to his back.
He kept going, dragging me with him.
“Luke!” I hissed, tugging hard.
He didn’t stop, just kept dragging me.
We shot out of the alley and stopped next to a shiny black Porsche and he bleeped the locks. He opened the passenger side door. I had to admit, even in my current state, I was a bit impressed that he drove a Porsche.
“Get in,” he ordered, snapping me out of my thoughts about his Porsche.
“What?” I asked, confused, freaked, winded from the flip-flop getaway and wanting maybe to take a second and do a cartwheel of joy that I was still alive and not full of holes.
“Get in the fucking car,” Luke clipped.
I guessed Luke wasn’t into cartwheels of joy.
“My car is… ” I started to tell him but I stopped talking when his hand went to the top of my head and he pressed me into the car. He did this so forcefully my body had no choice but to comply. My legs just buckled and my ass, of its own accord, aimed for the seat. He slammed the door the minute my feet cleared the frame.
He was in the driver’s side before I finished blinking away my surprise.
I turned on him. “I want you to take me to my car,” I told him. My purse was in my car and I needed my purse. My cell was in my purse and, just like anyone, I felt naked without my cell phone.
He started the Porsche (incidentally, it purred like a kitten).
Maybe not thinking clearly, I turned to the door, my hand on the handle, deciding I would run to my own car.
What happened next shocked the breath right out of me.
Luke grabbed my wrist, pulled me away from the door, leaned forward and yanked a set of handcuffs out of the glove compartment, not letting me go the whole time. He snapped a bracelet on my left wrist and the other on his right. As I was staring at our wrists bound together, he put the Porsche in gear, my arm moving with his, and we rocketed from the curb.
It took a few seconds but then I stammered, “You just… you just… handcuffed me to you!”
“That’s right,” he told me as he – or more to the point we – kept shifting.
“You just handcuffed me to you,” I repeated inanely.
He didn’t answer.
“Why did you handcuff me to you?” I asked.
He remained silent.
“Luke!”
“Quiet, Ava.”
It was then I lost it. I had an excuse. I had just had a near-death experience.
“You’re nuts! You’re crazy! You’re following me. You handcuffed me. We just got shot at. I can’t believe this shit. Take me to my goddamned car!”
He pulled over, the Porsche moved sleekly under his command but this was still sudden enough for me to snap my mouth shut. When he had the car idling, he turned to me, his left hand shot out, wrapping around my neck and pulling me toward him.
Our faces an inch apart, he said, “Quiet, Ava.”
“I will not be quiet,” I screamed in his face. “I’m freaked right the hell out. We were just shot at! I think we just ran away from a crime scene. And, I repeat, you just handcuffed me to you!”
“You got the choice to be quiet or I’ll shut you up.”
“Yeah? How are you gonna do that? Gag me?” I yelled.
“I had somethin’ else in mind.”
“Fuck quiet!” I shouted, ignoring his words, totally in Freak Out La-la Land. “I need tequila. I need my car. I need to call Sissy,” I was rambling and I knew it but I had been in a room that exploded.
“Quiet,” he repeated, his voice holding a low warning.
I also ignored the warning. “Seriously, take me to my goddamned car.”