Hostage At Hawk's Landing. Rita Herron
had been right.
Like it or not, he had to follow his gut.
And that gut told him something was wrong.
* * *
MELISSA RUBBED HER hand over her bleary eyes as she sipped her morning coffee. Nightmares of the break-in and shooting had plagued her all night. The feel of the gun against her head...the blood spattering...Smith’s shocked face as he stared at her afterward, pain and regret and worry in his expression.
When she’d finally drifted back to sleep, she’d woken up an hour later because she’d thought she’d heard a sound outside. She’d imagined someone breaking into her house. This time she’d been shot and was dying.
A wariness spread over her like a gloomy fog. She was going to turn thirty this year. She was too young to die, especially alone.
Maybe she did want more than work and saving others. Maybe she wanted to carve out a little bit of a life for herself. She’d just been afraid of getting hurt again the way she had with Dex.
She finished her coffee and poured another cup, then phoned April. April offered to contact the volunteers about the center being closed.
“I’ll call the detective and see if he’ll release the shelter for us to go in and clean up today,” Melissa promised. “Then I’ll let you know.”
She ended the call, then punched the detective’s number. The call went straight to voice mail, so she left a message. A knock sounded on her front door just as she finished.
Maybe the detective had come to update her? Or interrogate her again? She hoped it wasn’t bad news about Jim Smith, that some overeager cop hadn’t gunned him down.
Another knock sounded, and she headed toward the front door to answer it. She checked the peephole, always wary that a stranger might come knocking thinking she was the drug dealer they were searching for. There were at least two on the street that she was aware of.
Her breath caught. Not the detective or a stranger. Dex.
For a moment, she drank in the sight of his handsome face. He wore his cowboy hat, jeans and boots, and the brooding expression that made him look even more mysterious and sexy.
She took a deep breath and opened the door, her heart stuttering as their gazes locked.
“You didn’t sleep, did you?” he asked in a gruff voice.
Awareness of his sexuality jolted her nerves. He’d always been intuitive and been able to read her. Maybe that was the reason he’d walked away. He’d sensed she was getting too close, starting to imagine a lifetime with him.
“Not much,” she admitted as she motioned for him to come in.
“I’m sorry.” He stopped in front of her, his breath huffing out. His six-two frame towered over her. He had big broad shoulders and muscles that had probably made every woman’s mouth water when they met him.
She didn’t want to think about how many there’d been.
“It’s not your fault,” she said softly. “But I couldn’t stop thinking about Jim and if he was okay. That detective talked like they’d shoot first, then ask questions later.”
“You really thought he was a good guy?”
Melissa bit her lip. “Yes. Sure he had secrets. But not everyone who does has a criminal past. Some have just suffered life, and are trying to manage the best they can.”
“Like my father,” he said, a trace of bitterness to his voice.
Sympathy filled her. “I don’t know, Dex. I’m really sorry you didn’t have a chance to talk to him and sort things out.”
“Me, too.” He closed his eyes for a moment, and she realized he was still wrestling with pain and guilt.
She wanted to comfort him. But she clenched her hands by her sides instead. She’d run him off once by becoming too emotional.
She wouldn’t do it again.
* * *
DEXTER PROMISED HIMSELF he wouldn’t make this visit about him and his father, but Melissa had a way of getting to the heart of the matter.
And into his heart.
Focus, man.
“I should have stayed last night,” he said.
Melissa shook her head. “Don’t be silly, Dex. I’m fine. Now why did you come? Did you hear something from the detective?”
Dexter shook his head. “Afraid not. I’m on my way to McTruitt’s office to see if someone there can explain why he was hunting Smith.”
“You’re investigating this for Detective Lamar?”
“No, but I like mysteries.” Or rather, he couldn’t let them go until they were solved. He’d always been that way. Always would.
He removed a card from his pocket and offered it to her. “I wanted you to have my number in case you needed something.”
Melissa took the card, their hands brushing. She immediately jerked back as if she felt the same tingle he had.
Then she lifted her chin and reached for her purse. “I’m going with you.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
She pressed her hand to his arm. “Yes, I do. I want answers, too, Dex. I can’t get into the shelter right now anyway, and I’m going crazy sitting around.”
He conceded with a brief nod. No use arguing with Melissa. She might be tenderhearted, but she was also stubborn as hell.
Loud, arguing angry voices from a neighbor drifted their way as they walked to his SUV. Dammit, he didn’t like this street or Melissa living here alone.
They rode in silence to McTruitt’s office, a faded brick structure in a strip center outside of Austin. Except for a tattoo shop and fertilizer store, the other spaces were deserted, the exteriors run-down.
He parked in front of the building, scanning the property. A black sedan sat in the back parking lot. No one inside. It was too early for the tattoo parlor and the fertilizer store to be open.
A light glowed through the window, indicating that someone was inside. Maybe a secretary? Or McTruitt could have a partner? Damn. He should have done some research on him the night before.
But thoughts of wanting Melissa had distracted him.
He reached for the door to get out. “Wait in the car.”
“No, maybe I can help.” The silence thickened as they walked up to the building. The door was closed, but Dex saw a flashlight beam moving in the back.
Not a secretary. A man was tossing the place.
He pushed his hand in front of Melissa and murmured for her to go back to the car. But before he could, a bullet shattered the front window and sailed past his head.
Melissa screamed and ducked. He pulled his gun and shouted for her to get down.
Melissa ducked to the side of the window, glass spraying as it shattered.
“Stay down!” Dex shouted.
She pressed herself against the front wall, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Dex pulled a gun from his back pocket and fired through the hole in the window.
Inside, footsteps pounded and noises echoed as if someone was turning over furniture. Dex motioned for her to stay where she was, and he inched closer to the window and looked inside. Banging, then a man’s voice, and another bullet whizzed by Dex’s