Star Witness

chapter Nine

Harte heard Dani’s terrified scream, cut off by thunder, but he couldn’t tell where she was. He’d been retracing his steps ever since he lost hold of her hand. She should have been only a few feet behind him, if she’d stayed put. She must have gotten turned around and been moving away from him all this time.

He heard another short cry. Had they found her? He pushed forward, praying that the shriek he’d heard had just been her startled reaction to the thunder and lightning.

Then he saw it. A big black shadow, rising out of the mist. The car. He slowed down, cautiously keeping an eye on it. Then he detected another difference in the constant gray of rain and wind. He wiped his face, then blinked. He saw movement. Something large and brown and vaguely human shaped. It had to be one of Yeoman’s men.

Did he have Dani? Harte couldn’t tell. He moved slowly and steadily toward the man, hoping not to attract notice. But then he caught a splash of red—her shirt. Adrenaline burned through him like flaming jet fuel.

The man did have her. He was dragging her toward the car.

Harte had only one chance and it was a slim one. Balancing himself on his right foot, he dove, aiming at the man’s knees. He hit what felt like solid rock. The impact rattled his teeth and echoed in his head, but the man fell like a dead tree, slamming into the pavement.

Harte ducked and rolled out of his way. He came to rest not ten inches from the front fender of the car. It was smashed and the headlights were broken—damaged, no doubt, from ramming Dani’s front porch. Glancing over his shoulder, Harte saw the big man flip over onto his stomach. He waved his arms and legs like a turtle, trying to get his hands underneath him. Too soon, the man managed to get to his hands and knees. He shook his massive head and made a noise that echoed through the pounding rain like a lion’s roar. Then he propelled himself forward.

Harte scrambled to his feet. The goon had brute strength going for him, but he was about as graceful as a bull elephant. Harte heard his sawing breaths coming closer and closer.

Harte waited until the last possible second, hoping that the other man was as disoriented by the rain as he was, before diving out of the way. Luckily, the brute had built up enough momentum that he couldn’t stop. He obviously counted on Harte to break his fall. He hit the ground, hard.

Harte regained his balance and looked inside the attacker’s car. It was empty. Dani wasn’t there. Hot fear pulsed through him. Where was she? Did one of the other men have her?

And where were the other three men?

Were they on foot, sneaking around to ambush him, or had they taken Dani somewhere? As he turned, he caught a glimpse of a dark figure rising from behind a trash receptacle. Another man rose right beside him. Before he could react, both men lifted their arms and he heard the unmistakable crack of gunfire muffled by the rain. Before the shots faded, he heard Dani scream behind him.

“Dani!” he yelled, whirling and spotting a splash of red through the gray curtain of rain. It was Dani! She was on the ground, several feet away from the car. His gut clenched. Had she been hit?

He sprang toward her, wrapping his fingers around her upper arm and yanking her upright, quickly scanning her clothes for blood. He didn’t see any. “Are you hit?” he yelled.

“No!” She shook her head. “Are you?”

Behind them, he heard car doors opening and closing. He tried to count, but the sounds were too muffled by the storm. Maybe two, maybe three. The men had gotten back into the car.

“They’re in the car. Run!” he shouted before pumping his legs, pulling her with him. Behind them, more gunshots rang out and he heard men shouting. He pulled her behind a parked van.

“Get that shirt off!” he cried.

“What? My shirt?”

He turned her around and grabbed the collar, jerking it over her head. “It’s too bright.”

After tossing it over a nearby parking meter, Harte pointed toward a narrow alleyway in front of them and yelled in her ear, “Through there!” Grabbing her arm, he tightened his grip. He wasn’t going to lose her again.

Dani half ran, half stumbled alongside Harte. The only thing that kept her from collapsing onto the drenched pavement was the painful grasp of his hand on her arm—the same arm the thug had bruised when he’d grabbed her.

She could hear the pop-pop-pop of gunfire behind them, and her shoulders tightened reflexively. Then she heard the deep revving of a car engine. Harte had stunned her attacker enough to make him let go of her, but they were in their car now, and it would be no time until they caught up with them again. She could barely catch her breath in the rain, and in only her white tank top, the chill had long since seeped under her skin. She gritted her teeth and concentrated on staying on her feet. As Harte led her into the dark recesses of the alley, she glanced around in trepidation. She hoped he knew where he was going.

The overhanging roofs gave a bit of protection from the rain. Once they were safely underneath, Harte slowed to a walk, then to a stop.

Dani wiped her face and squeezed water out of her hair as she gulped in huge lungfuls of air. All at once, a massive shudder shook her, a delayed reaction to the brutish thug’s hand on her. Between that and the cold, she couldn’t stop shaking.

“Harte, are you shot?” she panted. She didn’t see any blood, but he hadn’t answered her when she’d asked before.

Beside her, Harte leaned against the building’s wall. He shook his head, breathing hard. After a few seconds, he straightened and looked toward the entrance of the alley, listening. “Come on,” he said. “We’ve got to keep going.”

“Where?” she asked as he grabbed her hand.

A bit of brightness behind them rose through the gray like a hazy sunrise. “It’s the car,” he said. “Move!”

But as he moved into the alley, he saw that it was a dead end. A high wooden fence stretched between the two buildings. They were trapped. Twisting back, Harte could see the headlights. They’d blocked the entrance of the alley. He saw two men climbing out, then a third.

Without waiting to see if a fourth man got out, Harte pushed Dani behind him so his body would shield her as he desperately searched for an escape. Even if they could climb the fence, they’d be sitting ducks. Then he saw a door set into a side wall. “This way,” he said. “Stay behind me.”

He rattled the doorknob, then stepped back and rammed the door with his shoulder. Nothing happened. He took two steps back, prepared to ram the door again, but Dani grabbed his arm.

“Get out of the way! I’ve got this!” Dani cried. She grabbed the lock-pick set from her purse and unsnapped the cover. Her hands were soaking wet, just like the rest of her, and shaking with cold and fear, but she managed to pick up the right tool. She shouldered her way in front of Harte, bent over the doorknob and after a shaky false start, got the pick inserted into the lock.

Harte grabbed her upper arm. “Dani, what are you doing? They’re coming. Get behind me.”

Gritting her teeth, she worked the pick.

“Dani!”

“Wait,” she snapped as the tumblers slid. “The door’s open. Let’s go.” She opened the door and grabbed his arm, pulling him inside. She kept her grip on the knob as Harte stumbled in behind her, then slammed the door shut and turned the dead bolt. They were inside and, at least for the moment, safe from the faceless men pursuing them. Collapsing back against Harte, her eyes closed, she gasped for breath. She’d done it. She’d picked the lock. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d picked all the locks in her granddad’s house, learning the feel of the tools and the faint differences between tumblers sliding apart and slipping back together. But she’d never dreamed she’d actually use her knowledge in a life-and-death situation for real.

Her pulse was racing so fast that it echoed in her ears. Harte wrapped his arms around her shoulders from behind, pulling her closer against him. His chest rose and fell against her back. His breath was cool across her wet forehead. With a sigh, she let herself relax against his long, lean body. Through their wet clothes, she felt the heat of his body envelop her. A shudder, equal parts cold, fear and desire, shook her.

“Dani?” he whispered.

She went still. Did he want her to move? She hoped not, because she didn’t want to leave the heat of his body. She was soaked, and while April in New Orleans could hardly be called cold, even in the rain, she felt chilled to the bone.

As she waited to see what he was going to say, she concentrated on the feel of him pressed against her. Warmth wasn’t all she needed from him now. She greedily soaked up the feelings of safety, comfort and a deep, rich yearning she’d never felt before.

He was silent and still for a long moment. His breath had calmed, and she could feel his heart beating fast but steadily against her back. Or at least she imagined she could.

He lowered his head and whispered in her ear, “How the hell did you do that?” She felt his lips graze the sensitive skin of her ear, and her insides quivered with longing. It took her a moment to figure out what he was talking about.

“Oh, the lock,” she muttered; then deliberately, she turned her head so that her mouth was close to his. “I picked it,” she whispered.

He made a small noise like a gasp as her mouth brushed his. “You what?”

“Picked the lock. Granddad gave me his lock-pick kit when I was ten. He said, ‘You never know when you might need to get through a door.’”

She felt his chest rumble with laughter. “That’s illegal.”

“So sue me,” she said lightly, then turned in his arms, rose on her tiptoes and kissed him. It was a tentative brushing of lips against lips, but it sent desire arrowing through her, all the way down to her toes.

Harte lifted his head slightly, and Dani moved with him, straining upward, keeping her mouth against his. For a moment that seemed suspended outside of time, he didn’t move, and then she felt him relent. It was a subtle relaxing of his tense muscles, a tiny dip of his head as he took the kiss to the next level. She felt his tongue touch her mouth, felt his arm slide from her shoulders down her back to pull her even closer...

She lifted her head to meet his deeper kiss, just as an odd sound broke through the steady drumbeat of the rain.

Harte stiffened—he’d heard it too.

Her heart skipped a beat. “Do I hear shouting?” she breathed.

He nodded. “Right outside the door,” Harte whispered as the noise suddenly stopped. He straightened slowly, his hand still around her waist. “Move away—without a sound.”

She opened her eyes for the first time and met a solid wall of darkness. She held out her hands in front of her, trying to keep her balance. Total darkness was so disorienting. She felt as though a single misstep would send her tumbling into a bottomless pit. She wanted to close her eyes again. She wanted to be back in Harte’s arms.

Finally, slowly, she became aware of a faint lessening of the total dark. She searched, making herself dizzy, until she found its source—small windows set high in the walls of the warehouse. At last, she had something she could look at to maintain her balance. She took one cautious step, then another. She braced herself, not wanting to crash into something.

By her fourth step, she’d nearly convinced herself that she could see vague shadows in the darkness. Whether they were real or figments of her imagination, being able to focus on something made her feel better.

Then her fingers touched something. She gasped. “There’s something here,” she whispered to Harte.

“Keep going, slowly,” he whispered back. “What does it feel like?”

“Paper?” she said, but that wasn’t quite right. It was too hard. “No. Plastic?” she guessed.

She started to take another step, but Harte laid a hand on her shoulder from behind.

“Wait,” he said, stopping.

“What is it?”

“Shh.”

She held her breath, but didn’t hear anything. “You heard them, didn’t you?” she whispered.

She felt Harte shake his head. “Not yet. But they will be here soon,” he said grimly.

“Maybe they doubled back to look at the building. We don’t know how many doors there are.” She paused. “Or if they’re all locked.”

Suddenly, the door they’d come through rattled. The men were trying to force it open. Then a ferocious pounding filled the air. They were kicking the metal door.

“Keep going,” he said. “We need to get away from there, and fast. I need to see how many other entrances there are.”

His words were cut off by a sharp, ricocheting sound. “They’re trying to shoot the lock. They gave up on forcing the metal door open.”

“The lock’s a Schlage,” Dani said. “It’ll take them forever to break it by shooting at it.”

“It’s a what?”

“A Schlage. The strongest and most reliable padlock in the world. Granddad had Schlage locks on every door. When you’ve tried to pick one, you develop a healthy respect for them.”

Several rounds fired within a few seconds. Each one ricocheted just like the first. Then they heard more shouting.

“Maybe one of them caught a ricochet,” she said hopefully.

“Maybe it’s the boss, telling them to surround the building,” Harte replied.

“Surround?” she said in surprise. “How many men do you think are out there? I only saw three.”

“I think there are four, unless there’s another vehicle. I don’t think so, though. I can’t believe these guys can still maneuver that car out there, with all the wind and rain. Come on. We need to find a place to hide.”

“Why can’t we just wait here until they give up and then sneak back out this door?”

“If I were the boss, I’d find the freight door and try to ram it with the car.” He took her hand and started forward, into the blackness.

As soon as she put out her hand, it bumped a solid, rounded surface in front of her. “Oh, wait. I’ve got a flashlight,” Dani said, fishing in her purse. “I forgot about it.”

She felt him shrug. Then he said, “You’ve got a lot of stuff in that purse, don’t you?”

She couldn’t help chuckling. “You have no idea.”

“What does that mean?” he asked.

She pulled the flashlight out and turned it on. The narrow beam shone on a massive, gaping red-and-blue mouth lined with dozens of sharp white teeth. It loomed over her, poised to rip her apart. She stared into the gaping maw, a shriek ripping its way past her tight throat.

After a moment of paralyzing fear, she whirled and grasped at Harte’s shirt as she tried to suck air into lungs that felt collapsed with terror. She held on to him with all her might.

Harte pulled her close and took the flashlight from her numb fingers. A noise like laughter rumbled up from his chest. Laughter? Carefully, she turned her head enough to peek back at the thing that had nearly attacked her.

Harte shone the flashlight’s beam over the monster’s dreadful eyes, gleaming white teeth and garish slashes of color. Her knee-jerk reaction was to bury her face in the hollow of his shoulder. But there was something familiar about the garish face. Her cheeks began to warm as she figured out what she was looking at.

Harte laughed out loud. “I’ve heard about these, but I’ve never seen one,” he said, chuckling. “We’re in a warehouse used to store Mardi Gras floats.”

She unclenched her fists from his shirt and turned around. Slowly, with Harte shining the flashlight around, the nightmarish bloody beasts morphed into the familiar fiberglass, crepe paper and feather decorations she’d seen in every Mardi Gras parade.

The awful mouth with its razor-sharp teeth that had threatened to devour her belonged to a colorful Chinese dragon head mounted on the front end of a brightly painted double-decker float dripping with gold, purple and green Mardi Gras beads.

Next to the dragon was a gigantic leprechaun face topped with a kelly-green hat. She remembered seeing both floats in last year’s parade.

Similar garish and vaguely disturbing shapes stretched beyond them until they melted into the darkness. Even though she knew what they were now, the back of her throat still fluttered with fading terror and she couldn’t stop shivering. “This can’t be Mardi Gras World?”

He shook his head, still chuckling. “No. You’ve seen Mardi Gras World, right? It’s a museum. This is just a storage warehouse.”

“Stop laughing,” she snapped. “I was scared.”

“Sorry,” he responded, but the amused tone was still there. “Shh,” he said. “Listen.”

She did. The shooting and banging had stopped. “I don’t hear anything.”

“I think they’ve abandoned that door,” he said.

“You think they’re looking for the freight door?”

“It’s what I would do. If I only had four men, I’d leave one at the door we came in and the rest of us would look for the best way to break in...” As he talked, he fished his phone from his pocket and flipped it open. “I’ve still got nothing.” He pressed a couple of buttons. “Can’t call out or send a message.”

“The storm must have knocked out a bunch of cell towers.”

Harte nodded. “If we can’t call for help, they can’t either. Let’s go,” he said. “I want to see where the freight door is—and how many other doors there are. Then we can plan how we’re going to get out of here.” Glancing around, he continued. “If we’re careful, we can use the floats like a maze. There must be thirty in here, maybe forty.”

“That’s thirty or forty too many for me. They’re creepy.”

“Come on,” he said, leading the way into the darkness lit only by the flashlight’s narrow beam. She followed his winding trail through the dozens of floats, giving the huge fiberglass monster heads as wide a berth as she could while still keeping up with him.

He stopped abruptly and she almost ran into him.

“Here’s the freight door. It looks pretty sturdy and it’s on the opposite side of the building from the door we came in.” He glanced around. “They’re going to use their car to break it in, I’ll guarantee you. Come on. Let’s circle around this side of the building.” He gestured. “Stay away from both the freight door and the door you opened.”

They made their way diagonally away from the freight door. When they reached the wall, Harte slid along it, feeling for a door. Dani stayed behind him.

“Here,” he said finally. “If I haven’t totally lost my bearings, I think this door is just about halfway between the freight door and the one we came in and on the opposite wall.” He caught her hand and drew it toward him. “Feel the lock. Is it like the one you picked?”

“It feels like a Schlage. It’s got a turn bolt on the inside, just like that one. All we should have to do is turn the latch and open the door.”

“Great,” he said.

“Do you want me to open it now?”

“Hang on a minute and listen.”

Dani heard pounding and shouting and an occasional gunshot. “Won’t the police hear the gunshots?”

“In a storm like this? I’m guessing the only reason we can hear them is something about steel and echoes. That’s not my area of expertise. But outside, in the rain and the thunder? I doubt that noise they’re making will carry for twenty-five feet.”

“How long is it going to take them to break in?”

She felt his shoulders move in a shrug, and a small thrill slid through her. Now that she’d kissed him, she was reacting to his every slightest move. He was tall and graceful and rock-hard. His skin was like silk over steel. Everything about him radiated warmth and safety and a sexuality that drew her to him like a moth to a flame.

She shivered. “Will you hold me for a minute?” she asked.

For a brief, heart-stopping moment, he hesitated. Then he slid his arm around her shoulders. His wet shirt against her thinly covered breasts caused goose bumps to rise on her skin. She felt a fine trembling in his muscles.

Was he chilled in his wet clothes, or was he as affected by their closeness as she was? She hoped he was. At that instant, he bent his head and laid his cheek against hers. With a sigh, she lifted her chin slightly, so that her lips brushed his skin.

“How’s your ankle?” she whispered, looking up at him. His face was barely visible in the almost pitch-black. Light from the small windows glittered in his deep brown eyes. His breath drifted across her sensitized lips, making them tremble with the need to feel his mouth, his body, pressing against her.

“Harte?” she said, hearing the question in her voice and wondering if he would hear it and understand it. She felt odd, almost weightless, as if she were floating. She ached with wanting him, and that frightened her. Because he wasn’t interested in her at all, except as his witness. The thoughts flitted through her head in the space of a single breath.

“What is it?” he answered, his voice unsteady.

A niggling question at the edge of her brain almost brought her up short. What was she doing? Harte Delancey was the last person she should be having sexy fantasies about. Sure, she’d been fascinated by him and his good looks from the first moment she’d faced him across the courtroom, but his superior attitude had been a turnoff. She’d decided back then that she was only interested in him because of his notorious legacy and their grandfathers’ feud. That was still the only reason for her interest, right? That and the fact that he was breathtakingly handsome.

Enveloped in his arms, with the citrusy scent of his shampoo and the warmth radiating from his body, she knew she was kidding herself. She couldn’t deny how much she desired him. He was so much more than arrogance and a pretty face. He was strength and confidence and compassion. And she needed all three.

Despite the pounding rain and the men trying to kill her, all she wanted to do was to stay here, wrapped in Harte’s gentle yet sensual caress. Longing sent a shiver through her.

He pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth. “Are you cold?” he whispered, his breath tickling her skin.

“No,” she whispered on a sigh. Heat flowed like lava through her entire body. Out to her fingertips and toes and back, swirling through her to her core. She bit her cheek to keep from moaning with pleasure.

He lifted his head slightly and even in the dim light she could see that his firm, wide mouth had softened. Was he really about to kiss her right here in the middle of running from people who were trying to kill them?

She should say something. Should stop this. Because all they were doing was seeking comfort in a dangerous situation. The men outside were a danger to her, but so was Harte. And right now she wasn’t sure who frightened her most.

By the time she’d decided that it would not be in her best interest to kiss him, his lips were trailing across hers.

She reacted with a tiny gasp and he took the opportunity of her parted lips to kiss her—really kiss her. Then he dipped his head a little more and tasted her mouth. His tongue urged her lips apart and he deepened the kiss.

Her reaction was so immediate, so intense. It scared her. She had to regain control. Didn’t she? Because if she didn’t, she was going to sink into him, take his kisses and give them back. She was going to beg him to make love to her.

Harte shifted and her taut, sensitized nipples pressed into his flesh. Electricity sang along her nerve endings, centering in the most sensitive part of her. And that quickly, the desire spread through every inch of her body. The tips of her fingers and toes, the hairs on her neck, the skin on the insides of her wrists—all were now erogenous zones, waiting for his touch to ignite their fire.

“Harte—?” Her breath caught.

He froze. “Listen.”

She held her breath, but couldn’t hear anything except the rain and the quick, excited beating of her heart. After a couple of seconds she heard it. A faraway whining sound, like a car engine revving, came from the far end of the warehouse. “Is that—?” she started.

“They’re going to ram the freight door with their car.”

The engine noise grew louder and tires screeched; then the air was split by a deafening crash. Harte was still as a cat waiting for its prey. Another crash, much louder than the first, echoed through the warehouse.

“It’s working,” he said, setting her away from him. “The car’s ripping a hole in the freight door.”

Just then a third crash, louder and longer than the other two, echoed through the warehouse. As the squeal of tortured metal faded, the sound of voices became evident, echoing clearly off the metal walls.

“Son of a— What the hell is all this?”

“Hey, look! Mardi Gras floats!”

“Must be fifty of ’em—”

“It’ll take hours to search all—”

“Just torch the whole—”

“Hang on! That ain’t what Mr.—”

“Smoke ’em out, or let ’em burn up.”

Dani’s hand tightened on his arm. “They’re going to burn the warehouse down,” she whispered anxiously.

Harte pressed a finger against her lips. The men were still talking.

“How’re we—?”

“Get over here and listen—”

Then the voices died down.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Harte said. “These floats will go up like dry kindling, and fiberglass fumes are toxic.” When he stood, the dim light angled harshly off the rigid line of his jaw.

“Let’s go. Are you sure all we have to do is turn the bolt on the door?”

“I think so. It looks just like the other one,” she responded.

On the other side of the warehouse, the voices rose again and a small orange glow pierced the darkness.

“Wow! They sure burn fast—”

“Get outta the way!”

“Careful or—”

The glow steadily got brighter. Just as Harte had thought, the floats were catching fire with incredible speed. Within seconds, the glow had quadrupled in size and he could see smoke and smell the harsh fumes.