Navy SEAL Security. Carol Ericson
the body.” He shrugged. “I’m just thinking it might look better for you if the dead ex-boyfriend didn’t still have a key to your house.”
“Okay. You know what?” She grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the kitchen. “There’s the back door. Use it.”
Instead he crouched next to the body and slid his hand into the front pocket of the man’s expensive slacks. His nostrils flared at the sweet scent emanating from his clothing. Carlos liked his cologne strong.
Nothing in that pocket except a few bills. Riley reached for the other pocket, but he didn’t have to go digging. Carlos’s keychain was on the floor by the pocket. Riley’s fingers closed around the silver ring and he dangled it from his index finger.
“Is this your key?” A removable ring was hanging from the main keychain, and he shook it in front of Amy’s face.
“It could be. What difference does it make? Now you’ve corrupted the crime scene even more. Put it back and get out, and maybe you should leave some more of your fingerprints around here so the cops can identify you… Riley…if that’s even your name.”
“I didn’t touch anything in here.” He twirled the keychain around his finger. “Except you.”
Amy’s eyes glittered, shooting gold sparks, but a soft rose color swept across her cheeks. Stepping behind him to avoid the body on the floor, she grabbed the knob to the back door. She turned quickly, her hair whipping across his chest. “What will you do for clothes?”
Still clutching the keychain, Riley adjusted the waistband of his board shorts while her gaze tracked his movements feeling like a whisper of fingertips. “We’re a mile from the beach—nothing unusual about someone walking around in swim trunks. If you give me a couple of bucks for the bus, that would make my life a lot easier.”
“Gladly.” She slipped past him and snagged her backpack from the coffee table where she’d dropped it. She groped inside a side compartment and gasped. “My wallet.”
“It’s gone?”
“It must’ve fallen out in the sand when I grabbed my pack from the tower.”
“That explains how the bad guys found you.”
“But how’d they get here so fast?” She hugged the backpack to her chest.
“The men who killed Carlos aren’t the same men who shot at us on the beach. This is an organization, not a few petty crooks.”
She swayed and he caught her. “Are you sure you don’t want to get out of here with me?” Riley asked.
“No. I want to call the police. Th-they’ll keep me safe.”
Even she didn’t sound like she believed that. If Amy expected the San Diego Sheriff’s Department to put a twenty-four-hour guard on her, she didn’t understand how police departments operated. That would happen only if they arrested her for the murder of her ex.
Riley could protect her. He knew the danger she faced, but he couldn’t drag her out of her house if she didn’t want to go. And she clearly didn’t want to go.
He brushed her knotted hair from her face. “Okay, beach girl. You call the cops and stay safe.”
“Hold on.” She spun around and rummaged through a purse on the desk by the front window. She withdrew her hand, clutching several bills between her fingers. “Take this. And you stay safe, too.”
His hand covered hers and he drew her close. She smelled like the sea, tangy and fresh. He had bent his head to brush her lips with his when a movement outside the window caught his attention.
With a grunt, Riley threw both of his arms around Amy. As they tumbled to the floor, she opened her mouth to scream. He clapped his hand across her lips for the second time that day.
Chapter Three
He’d fooled her. He planned to kill her and had just been stringing her along for his sadistic pleasure.
She was batting a thousand—a married man and now a killer.
Riley brushed her ear with a whisper. “They’re outside.”
His words sent a river of chills down her spine, and she reflexively dug her nails into his back.
“Stay low.” Riley heaved to a crouching position and tugged at the waistband of her jeans. “Let’s go out the back.”
Amy slid across the floor on her belly, twisting her head toward the front window. Adrenaline charged through her body when she saw the outline of a gun.
She wriggled faster, like a snake shedding its skin. When she reached the kitchen, she gagged at the sight of Carlos on the floor.
Riley rose to his haunches. “Get the back door.”
Turning the knob, she eased open the door, scooping in deep breaths of fresh air. Riley bumped her outside and told her to close the door behind them. He really didn’t want to leave any fingerprints in her house.
She grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the small backyard. “This way.”
They dashed across the lawn, the wet grass sticking to her feet in their flimsy flip-flops. Riley cinched her around the waist and hoisted her up the fence. She clambered over and fell into her neighbor’s yard. Riley swooped over the fence after her.
“Let’s keep running and hope we don’t meet a dog.”
She yanked on the hem of his board shorts. “Do you still have those keys you took out of Carlos’s pocket?”
He patted his own pocket. “Yep.”
“He used to park his car on the side street. We can get to it from here without going to the front of the house.”
“You’re brilliant, beach girl.” He grabbed her head with both hands and kissed her forehead.
Not exactly the kiss she’d anticipated in the house, but it would do—for now.
They crouched at the side of the house behind hers, then charged through the gate, stumbling into her neighbor’s front yard.
“This street.” She pointed to the left and they hit the sidewalk running. Two kids playing basketball with a garage hoop looked up and snickered as they jogged by.
They reached the corner and Riley held her back. “Hang on.”
He peered both ways down the street. “It’s clear. Which car is his?”
She pointed to Carlos’s black BMW parked at the curb. When they’d dated, she’d always wondered why he’d preferred to park his car on the street around the corner from her house. He’d told her there was less traffic on this street, and he’d wanted to protect his car. He’d really wanted to protect himself.
Guess that hadn’t worked out for him today.
“On the count of three, sprint for the car.” Riley held up the keys. “I won’t hit the remote until we get there…just in case they’re closer than we think.”
Amy kicked off her flip-flops and scooped them up from the sidewalk with one hand. Holding her breath, she waited for Riley’s signal. At three, she shot off as if she was heading into the ocean for a rescue.
The car alarm beeped once, and she grabbed the handle and dropped onto the leather seat. Before she closed the door, the car lurched forward and Riley careened around the corner. Panting, Amy twisted in her seat. No headlights followed them.
She snapped on her seat belt and leaned against the headrest, closing her eyes. “Where to?”
“I can drop you off at the police station or at least down the block from the police station. Then you can report everything, and they’ll come back to the house with you. Those men won’t try anything with the cops there.”
She