Tactical Force. Elle James

       Chapter Two

      “How…” Anne tried to swing her leg over the bike, but her A-line skirt hampered her maneuver. Finally, she pulled the skirt up high enough to allow her to mount the cycle and settle behind him. “No judging,” she mumbled.

      He grinned. “Great legs. Sorry, couldn’t help it.” Jack handed her a helmet and helped her to adjust the strap beneath her chin. Then he pulled his own helmet over his head and cinched the strap. “Hold on around my waist.”

      She placed her hands on his hips, barely squeezing, amazed at how firm they were. A rush of awareness rocked through her.

      “Seriously?” He took her hands and pulled them around his middle. “Now hold on tight. This beast has a powerful takeoff.”

      As if to prove his point, Jack cranked the engine and twisted the throttle. The motorcycle sprang forward.

      Anne clenched her arms around him in a death grip so tight she was certain Jack could barely breathe. He slowed the bike a little and drove down the street at a more sedate pace.

      He looked back with a grin.

      Most likely, he was happy to have startled her.

      The grin disappeared and a frown replaced it in that split second he’d turned to look back at her.

      Anne swiveled her helmet-heavy head and took note of headlights glaring at them. A dark sedan raced toward them at a high speed. Her heart leaped into her throat. “Go!” she yelled.

      “Hold on!” Jack shouted. He made an abrupt turn, leaning hard into it.

      Anne leaned the opposite direction.

      Jack seemed to struggle with navigating the corner and he slowed.

      “Lean with me!” he yelled, twisting his right hand on the handle. The motorcycle shot forward, putting distance between them and the vehicle turning at the corner behind them.

      If Anne had any doubts they were being followed, she was certain now that the car behind them wasn’t on a sightseeing trip in the night.

      With the bike being more agile and maneuverable, Jack managed to weave in and out of streets, down back alleys and eventually onto the main road leading out of the city.

      Anne held on, leaning when Jack leaned and in the same direction as him, making turns easier.

      When she was sure they’d lost the dark sedan. Anne released a sigh of relief.

      Jack settled into a smooth drive, following the altered directions on Anne’s cell phone.

      When they were only a block away from her apartment complex, he slowed almost to a crawl.

      “Third building on the left,” Anne called out as he neared the parking lot.

      He drove to the location and brought the bike to a rolling stop.

      Anne clambered off, her legs shaking. She smoothed her skirt down and hiked her purse strap onto her shoulder. “Thank you for getting me to my apartment. Tell Mrs. Halv—”

      Jack adjusted the kickstand and dismounted.

      “Where are you going?” Anne asked, her brow furrowing.

      “To see you to your door and make sure you get inside safely.” He cupped her elbow and walked her toward the entrance. “And to find out what this is all about.”

      She ground to a halt and pulled her elbow free. “I’ll be fine.” Already hyperaware of the man after holding him around his middle for the past thirty minutes, Anne just wanted to be free of him, and settle in with a cup of her favorite tea to soothe her fractured nerves. “Be sure to thank Mrs. Halverson for me.”

      “She likes to be called Charlie.”

      “Thank Charlie for me,” Anne said and turned to walk into the building.

      Jack’s footsteps sounded behind her.

      Anne spun to face him. “Seriously, you don’t have to go up with me. I can manage on my own now.”

      “I’ve been given a mission to see you safely somewhere.” He shrugged. “Although the somewhere was vague.” He gave a nod toward the building. “I’ll assume it was to your apartment.”

      “I’m here. You can go.” She waved her hand as if shooing a pesky animal or child away.

      “I’m not leaving until I know you’re safely inside your apartment. Remember, we were followed not all that long ago.”

      “Yes, but you lost the trailing vehicle quite efficiently, though you scared the bejesus out of me in the process.” She tipped her head toward his motorcycle. “And you quite convinced me that I don’t like riding motorcycles. But thank you for delivering me to my apartment in one piece.” With that parting comment, she turned and strode toward the door.

      Again, Jack followed.

      Anne gritted her teeth and kept going. If he wanted to follow her all the way up to her apartment…fine. As long as he didn’t cup her elbow, sending crazy bursts of electrical current all the way through her body.

      At her door, she fumbled for the key in her purse. Finally wrapping her fingers around it, she started to fit it into the doorknob.

      Before she could, Jack grabbed her arm again.

      And like before, that jolt of electricity traveled up her arm and down to her belly. She started to turn to tell him not to touch her when he gently pushed her to one side of the door and pressed a finger to his lips. He wasn’t even looking at her, but at her door.

      Then he released her arm and gave her door a slight nudge.

      It opened without resistance. The doorjamb appeared splintered, as if someone had forced his way into her apartment.

      Her heart thudding against her chest, Anne started to step inside.

      Jack put out his arm and shook his head, mouthing the word Stay.

      Too shocked to argue, Anne remained rooted to the floor outside her apartment, while Jack slipped inside.

      She counted to ten, her stomach knotting and her breathing unsteady. How long could it take to look for bad guys? Just when Anne had decided she couldn’t wait another moment, Jack appeared in the entryway, his mouth set in a grim line. He opened the door wider, flipped the light switch on and stood back. “I take it you didn’t leave your place like this when you left for work this morning?”

      Anne stepped across the threshold and gasped. “What the h—?”

      Her home looked like something from a warzone. The sofa had been flipped on its back. The seat cushions had been flung across the room after they’d been ripped open and the stuffing pulled out. The artwork she’d painstakingly chosen and positioned on the walls had been slashed or painted over with a garish red spray paint.

      Every drawer in her kitchen had been dumped on the floor. Knives stuck into the walls as if they’d been thrown one by one.

      The