Gemma looked out the window, then saw the Voodoo Doughnut sign, and grinned. The store was painted signature hot pink and well-lit. Beside her, Atlas stirred.
“This place started in Oregon, and they have a bunch of stores across the country. They make artisan doughnuts, like the Vicious Hibiscus, Mango Tango, and the Bacon Maple Bar, to name a few.”
“I’m starting to feel nervous.”
She laughed, and felt some of the tension in her shoulders ease. “I’ll get a mixed dozen and we can try a bunch of flavors.”
Boone parked and gave Atlas a brisk rub. “You stay here.” He opened the window for the dog. “We’ll be back soon.”
She looked up and down the street, anxiety tickling her chest. She couldn’t easily shake the knowledge she was being hunted.
Boone took her hand and squeezed it. She felt some of that tension melt away.
Despite the late hour, Voodoo Doughnut had a decent crowd. Gemma smiled, taking in the pink walls and the display cases filled with brightly decorated doughnuts.
“I’ll get the takeout and come back to you,” Boone said. “Do not leave the store.”
She saluted.
He shook his head. “That’s a terrible salute. I’ll have to show you how to do it properly.”
She watched him leave. The man sure was built and knew how to make a pair of jeans look amazing. She saw a few other women in the bakery watching him, too.
She nibbled her lip. There was something she was starting to like almost as much as she liked sugar—Boone Hendrix.
After all this was over, maybe she could convince him to spend some time together.
Without the bad guys hunting them.
Gemma ordered her doughnuts. There were so many fun combinations. She vowed to try making a few unexpected things of her own when she got back to her baking. Mix things up a bit.
And she was going to open her own bakery. A jittery shiver ran through her and she grinned. She’d survived an abduction and several gun fights. Starting a bakery should be a breeze. She was also going to ask her dad to help with her business plan.
Like Boone had said, life was far too short to keep putting things off.
“Here you go.” The man behind the counter handed her a pink box of doughnuts with a wide smile.
“Thanks.”
“Enjoy the sugar overload.”
“Oh, I plan to.”
She stood by the door, and through the glass window, she saw Boone coming back toward her, a takeout bag in one hand. He was scanning the street and looked tense and alert.
She met him at the door. “Everything okay?”
“I thought I spotted someone watching us.”
Gemma stiffened and glanced down the sidewalk.
“The guy moved on,” Boone said. “Maybe it was nothing.”
But clearly this guy had set off Boone’s radar. Her chest tightened.
“Let’s go.” He pressed a hand to her lower back, and they headed toward the truck.
Gemma moved quickly. The sooner they were in the mountains, the better. She felt so exposed right now.
She was so glad she had Boone with her.
They passed the mouth of an alley, and the rotting scent from a dumpster made her wrinkle her nose.
Suddenly, a shadow detached from the wall and charged at Boone.
She cried out. Boone shoved her out of the way, and she dropped the box of doughnuts. It hit the pavement with a slap. The takeout bag hit the ground as well.
She swiveled and watched a tall man take a swing at Boone.
Oh, God.
Boone blocked the man’s hit, then rammed his fist into the man’s midsection. Next, his elbow snapped up and connected with the man’s jaw.
The attacker staggered. Boone didn’t stop. He moved so fast she could barely make out all the blows.
Punch. Hit. Elbow.
With a groan, the man collapsed on the dirty concrete. Boone stood over him, hands clenched into tight fists.
Boone had done it so easily. He’d taken the man down without even breaking a sweat.
“Come on.” He swiveled and gripped her upper arm.
“My doughnuts—”
“Leave them.” Then he stiffened.
Gemma turned her head. Two men were striding toward them. She looked in the other direction. Another man, with a hard, blank face, was closing in.
How had these assholes found them? Fear coalesced into a hard ball in her stomach.
Boone pulled her back a step. “Gemma, run.”
“What?”
“Run. Down the alley. Find a way out, then contact Declan at Treasure Hunter Security.”
Leave him behind? Outnumbered with dangerous men? “Boone—”
He shoved her. “Go! Or we’ll both be in danger.”
Spinning, Gemma sprinted into the dark alley. Behind her, she heard a sharp whistle, then the sound of fighting.
Choking back a sob, she kept running.
They came at him fast.
Boone punched the first attacker, gripped the man’s shirt, then spun. He slammed the man headfirst into the brick wall of the nearby building.
He sensed a second attacker launching at him, and Boone swiveled and dodged. He narrowly avoided a slashing knife.
Boone’s focus narrowed. He’d always enjoyed hand-to-hand combat. Looking his opponent in the eye.
He met the gaze of his attacker and bared his teeth. Bring it, asshole.
Boone pushed his worry for Gemma aside. Protecting her. That was all that mattered.
The next man rushed him. Boone threw his arm up and blocked the man’s hit. He followed through with a palm to the face. The guy let out a choked sound and Boone hit him again. Then he rammed a kick into the man’s gut.
The guy dropped to his knees. Boone lifted his boot and kicked the man over.
Heaving in air, he heard the scrape of a boot on concrete.
He was already whirling and caught a glimpse of another guy swinging a baton at him.
Without a sound, Atlas sailed through the air and leaped on the man. He’d heard Boone’s whistle and gotten out of the truck.
“Fuck!” The guy dropped the baton, throwing his arms to protect himself from the snap of Atlas’ jaws.
With a growl, the dog clamped onto the man’s leg.
Boone punched him—once, twice. The man fell backward and hit the concrete.
They were all down.
“Atlas, release.”
Then he heard Gemma’s scream echo from deeper in the alley.
Adrenaline punched through him. No.
He took off at a sprint. He passed a reeking dumpster, then ahead, saw two shadowed silhouettes grappling in the dim light.
He whipped up his Glock.
There was enough light for him to see a tall man with a beard holding Gemma. He had a knife pressed against her throat.
The man saw Boone. “Stop there, or she’s dead.” He had a thick Romanian accent.
“We both know you need her alive, Radu.”
“Drop your weapon.” The man’s tone was like ice. He pressed his knife to her cheek. “I may not kill her, but I can hurt her, leave her far less pretty.”
Beside Boone, Atlas stood, alert and focused on Gemma’s attacker.
The fear on her face was stark, and it cut at Boone. He was not letting her get hurt. He’d failed a lot of people in his life.
Not Gemma. Not today.
She met his gaze, and he barely controlled his jolt. She was scared, but she looked at him with pure trust in her eyes.