Yours In Black Lace. Mia Zachary

read a One Way sign?”

      She managed to evade the oncoming cars and got off on Fourth Street. From behind them, Emelio heard the squeal of brakes followed by the crunch of metal against metal. He looked back to confirm the beige sedan was no longer behind them.

      “Hoo yah!”

      He turned at Stevie’s victory shout, not surprised to see her triumphant grin. Her cheeks were flushed, her blue eyes alive with excitement, and he imagined she’d wear that same expression after a few hours in bed. Looking at her, he wasn’t sure if the rush he felt was adrenaline or attraction. Either way he wanted to reach over and kiss her, long and hard.

      Stevie finally slowed down to the posted speed limit, but his heart beat an unsteady tattoo and his right hand still had a death grip on the door handle. He ought to flay her alive for taking ten years off his life, then have her committed to the nearest asylum.

      Instead, he answered her proud grin with a quirk of his eyebrow. “So. What other classes have you taken?”

      THE DOOR WASN’T LOCKED.

      Stevie stared at the entry to her apartment in numb confusion. Why wasn’t the door closed all the way? She was sure she’d yanked it shut this morning—the door always stuck and that was the only way to get the lock to engage.

      “Stay here.”

      Emelio nudged her aside and reached out to gently push the door wider. It swayed open enough to let him slip through. She watched him crouch down before moving along the hall to check the other rooms.

      Stevie followed as far as the living room, then jerked to a sickened halt. Everything she owned was strewn across the floor.

      The love seat and chairs had been upended; the cushions slashed open to spill fluffy white filling onto the carpet. Her framed prints had been knocked from the walls. Sunlight from the now bare windows reflected off the plastic CD cases scattered about, and her collection of romantic suspense novels and mysteries had been swept off the shelves.

      Her gaze slowly traveled over the mess to see that the dining table was on its side and all of the glassware in the kitchen lay in shards on the ceramic tile. She didn’t want to see what the bedroom and office looked like. Her hands clenched into fists even as she started to tremble. Comprehension, cold and piercing, crept along her veins until her body was frozen in place.

      Someone had been here. Some unknown menace, some malicious stranger, had been inside her home. The significance weighed on her heart and sank into the pit of her stomach like a rock. She’d come so far, only to find herself cornered again.

      Well, some people fought when cornered, and these days she was one of them. Red-hot fury melted the tendrils of fear that gripped her throat, spurring her into action. Stevie dropped to the floor and started gathering her books, stacking them in neat piles beside her.

      Her independence and self-confidence were so hard-won, and at such a great price, she wouldn’t let a little thing like a break-in get to her. No way.

      “I’m sorry, Stevie, but we have to go.”

      Emelio carefully set a broken picture frame against what was left of her glass coffee table. She ignored him and began arranging her music discs. While separating the club music from the classical, she worked on identifying her emotions.

      Frustrated. She’d have to replace all of her glasses and dishes, things she’d proudly chosen for her first apartment. Annoyed. She hated housework at the best of times, but this callous destruction went way beyond her normal sloppiness. Afraid… Her heart beat erratically, causing fine tremors that shook her hands. She’d deal with that one later. It was safer to be angry.

      “Leave that, will you? I don’t know how long ago this happened. And I don’t know if they’ll be back.”

      “I’m cleaning up, Emelio. You can help by picking up the TV set and putting it back in the entertainment center.”

      “Just leave it! We’ve got to get out of here. Now.” Emelio snatched the music from her hands and tossed it aside.

      She looked up, a protest on the tip of her tongue until he grabbed her left arm, pulling her to her feet. The instinctive part of her brain took over. He was big, he was strong, he was male. And he’d just put his hands on her.

      Stevie swung at him, landing a hard blow to his shoulder. He dropped her arm in surprise and raised both of his in front of him. She watched his hands come up, and her mind emptied of all thoughts but one—fight back.

      In a flood of emotion, she experienced the same fear and humiliation and self-loathing she’d felt the last time a man had grabbed her. He’d dislocated her shoulder that time. She’d had to suffer not only the pain but also the uncertain sympathy of the emergency room intern who treated her.

      She lashed out again and again, barely able to see through the red haze clouding her eyes. Her head was spinning with memories. She heard a grunt of pain when her knee connected with his thigh, heard the low growl issuing from her own throat, but she felt nothing….

      She felt nothing?

      Stevie slowly returned to the present. It was Emelio, not Tom. And he wasn’t attacking her. He was trying to block her punches. In a split second, he captured both of her hands to keep her from harming either one of them anymore. Stevie took comfort from his warmth and the gentle way he held her fingers, but she couldn’t meet his eyes.

      God, what must he think of her? Her gaze locked on to the dark purple bruise developing over his chin. She’d done that.

      On the one hand, she should be proud that she hadn’t hesitated to use her training. But on the other, she’d lost control and descended into violence. The realization that she hadn’t escaped her past after all brought tears to her eyes.

      “I’m sorry, Emelio. I… I’m sorry.”

      He blew out a long breath and she felt the tension leave him. “Was he the same guy who broke your nose?”

      She twisted out of his grasp, shame bringing hot color to her cheeks. “I think the slight bend gives my nose character.” Her attempt to lighten the mood fell flat when her voice cracked.

      “Tell me about him.” Emelio’s gaze was soft, understanding, however, his voice was firm. She shook her head, but he gently persisted. “Is there any possibility he did this? I need to know what we’re dealing with.”

      “Tom didn’t trash my apartment. I made sure when I left New Orleans that nobody knew where I was going.”

      “Could your family have—?”

      “The last people I’d ever tell are my family.” Stevie turned to open the French doors.

      He followed her outside to the balcony. “What happened, Stevie?”

      “I guess I owe you an explanation, don’t I?” She gave a short laugh of embarrassment and leaned one hip against the railing, her arms wrapped protectively over her waist. “There’s not much to tell. I married young. I married wrong.”

      She stared blindly across the street at the Miami-Dade Community College campus. “It started off with Tom picking my clothes, suggesting what I should do, where I should go. It was important for the wife of an aspiring politician to project a certain image. Then things changed and he started to dictate every aspect of my life.”

      All of it was for her own good, of course. She wasn’t capable of taking care of herself, wasn’t smart enough to make her own decisions. And if she dared to ignore his advice… She shivered, remembering as if it were yesterday.

      “Did you tell anyone? Try to get help?” Emelio’s face had darkened with anger but his voice remained low, soothing and, most importantly, nonjudgmental. A few of the tears blurring her vision spilled over her lashes.

      “My parents didn’t believe a ‘nice boy like Tom’ would treat me that way. He just had ‘a quick temper’ and the best thing I could do was