She's No Angel. Leslie Kelly

in mind. Her naturally full lips would never need that crap women used to make themselves look like injected-to-death movie stars.

      She wasn’t too young—probably right around his age, or maybe even older. There was a maturity in the strength of her profile, in the confident way she carried herself.

      He liked what he saw. A lot. This was the first time in ages that he’d liked the looks of a woman so much he’d actually begun to wonder whether he owned any unexpired condoms.

      And she was staring at him with pure malice.

      “Bad day, huh?”

      “You could say that.”

      “So, uh, why do you need a gun?”

      “To shoot someone,” she snapped, looking at him as if he were stupid. “Two someones, actually.”

      He quickly scanned the woman’s features, looking for her true intent. He’d met a lot of criminals in his seven years on the force, and he knew angry, frustrated threats from legitimate ones. This one, judging by the resigned irritation in her tone—rather than rage—was all bark and no bite. At least, he hoped. But he still thought about his service weapon, and wondered if he was going to have to use it to stop her from following through on her threats.

      Wouldn’t be the first time he’d stepped between a murderous woman and her intended target. Just the thought of that incident made the scar in his right shoulder ache…and the one around his heart grow a little harder.

      “Dumb question.” Glancing at the object in her hand, he tried again. “Why are you carrying a tire iron?”

      She frowned, appearing puzzled by the ridiculousness of the query. Tilting her head to the side until her long hair brushed her arm, she explained, “Because I don’t have a gun, of course.”

      Well, color him stupid for not knowing that. “Is there someone in particular you plan to kill or would anybody do?”

      “Don’t worry. You’re quite safe,” she said, that jaw still tense but some of the stiffness easing out of her shoulders. “However, two little old ladies from hell better have gone into the witness protection program before I get back into town.”

      “Killing little old ladies.” He tsked and shook his head, growing even less alarmed. But he didn’t let his guard down completely. “That’s not very polite.”

      “You don’t know these particular old ladies.”

      Something that felt like a smile began to tug at his mouth. “I know it’s against the law to kill them.”

      He quickly squashed the smile. Mike wasn’t used to smiling…. He didn’t have a lot to be happy about on the job, and his personal life was almost nonexistent. Having lived for his work for the past few years, he hadn’t developed more than a nodding relationship with anyone outside the force. With his brothers living busy lives, he seldom got together with them these days. He hadn’t laid eyes on Max or Morgan since Max’s wedding in December. And now that his grandfather, Mortimer, had taken up residence in a shoddy town that looked like the setting of a Stephen King story, he never saw him, either. Other than the drooly dog in his Jeep, he was about as unencumbered, serious and solitary as a twenty-seven-year-old New Yorker could be.

      “Believe me, it’d be justifiable homicide.”

      “You a lawyer?” He tensed, as any cop did at the thought of a defense attorney…almost always an enemy in the courtroom.

      “No. I just play one on TV.”

      At first he thought she meant she was an actress—because she could be. Not only because she was so attractive, but because she had definite character. Then she rolled her eyes and huffed out an annoyed breath that he hadn’t immediately caught her sarcasm. “I watch Law and Order, the original and all ninety of its spin-offs, okay? Now, unless you have a spare pair of women’s size eight Nikes in your car, I really need to say goodbye.”

      As if assessing the chances, her eyes dropped to his feet, and for the first time, Mike realized, she really looked at him. She was finally seeing him. She’d been too ticked off, too frustrated to even spare him a real glance until now.

      Now she glanced. Oh, she definitely glanced.

      Her unusual eyes darkened to almost charcoal-gray and her lips parted as she drew in a few more deep breaths. He could see the way her pulse fluttered in her neck as she cast a leisurely stare from his boot-clad feet, up his faded jeans, his Yankees T-shirt, then his face. She stopped there, a flick of her tongue to moisten her lips indicating she’d seen the guy women spent a lot of time coming on to until they realized he was interested in nothing more than the few hours he could kill with them.

      “Sorry, no spare footwear,” he finally said. He waited for a flirtatious comment, a come-on, a request for a lift.

      He got none of those. Just a shrug, a sigh and a frown. Without warning, she swung around and started striding away, saying over her shoulder, “Okay. Have a nice—”

      “Wait,” he said, jogging to catch up to her. He put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her in her tracks. But the moment his hand landed on her warm skin he realized his mistake. Looking at her had affected him. Touching her nearly stopped his heart.

      Her skin was smooth. Silky. Warm and supple under the sun’s strong summer rays. And though she probably should have smacked his hand away, given that he was a complete stranger, she didn’t. She simply watched him, her eyes leaning more toward blue now, slowly shifting colors like one of those old-fashioned mood rings girls had been so crazy about when he was a kid.

      “Yes?” she asked, her voice sounding thick, more throaty than it had before, which was when he knew what mood her blue eyes indicated: Awareness. Interest. Heat.

      Definite heat. It was instantaneous. It was mutual. And it was also entirely unexpected considering the woman was a complete stranger…a stranger in need.

      Finally, after a long, thick moment, Mike pulled his hand away, noting the whiteness his touch had left against her sunpinkened skin. Her pale, creamy complexion wouldn’t do well for much longer in this heat. He cleared his throat, wondering why his mouth had gone so dry. “Can I give you a ride somewhere?”

      She hesitated, as if still affected by his touch, before replying, “Thanks, but I’m not that desperate. I don’t get into cars with total strangers.”

      Smart. He didn’t blame her at all, especially considering some of the stuff he’d seen on the job. Still, he didn’t want the woman to keep stubbornly walking down the road until her feet blistered and her soft skin turned apple-red. “Do you want to use my cell phone to call for help?”

      She paused, pursing her lips as she thought about it. Then, with a sigh, admitted, “There’s nobody to call. AAA wouldn’t come out unless my car was actually here. And the only family I have in town are the ones who stranded me.”

      “The old ladies.”

      “My aunts.” Still frowning, she added, “I don’t think I’d want the police to come help me out considering I am planning to kill those two when I get back to town.”

      That startled a one-syllable laugh out of him, which he immediately halted. He also made a mental note not to tell her he was a cop. “Don’t you know anybody else in Trouble?”

      “Nobody I could call, except maybe just an elderly friend of my aunts’, who we ran into at the store yesterday. I can’t even remember his whole name. It’s Ports, Potter…something like that.”

      “Potts. Mortimer Potts.”

      “You know him?” she asked, sounding surprised—and hopeful.

      “I’m on my way to his house.”

      A relieved smile finally appeared on her pretty face. “Are you, by any chance, one of his grandsons?”

      “Yeah.” He put out his hand. “Mike Taylor.”