Killer Season. Lara Lacombe

this.”

      Nate saw the desperation in the other man’s eyes, recognized that he was close to the breaking point. Even though all his training screamed against lowering his gun, he couldn’t count on the perp to remain in control. Better to break a few rules than to risk watching Fiona die in front of him...

      “Okay, okay,” he soothed, slowly lowering his hand until the gun pointed at the floor. The man’s eyes followed the movement, his body relaxing some as the worst of the danger passed. “Let’s just talk,” Nate offered, hoping to distract the man enough that he would lower his own weapon.

      “I don’t want to talk,” said the man, vigorously shaking his head like a dog sloughing off water.

      “That’s okay,” Nate replied, careful to keep his voice friendly. “I’ll talk, and you just listen. Sound good?”

      After a slight hesitation, the man nodded uneasily. It was a start.

      “I’m Nate. What’s your name?”

      The man narrowed his eyes, as if trying to decide whether he should part with this information. “Joey,” he finally muttered.

      “Joey,” Nate repeated, nodding his head. “That’s a good name. A good name for a good guy, I’m sure.”

      Joey huffed out a laugh. “You think I’m dumb? I’m not a good guy, man. Don’t you see what I’m doing here?”

      Nate tilted his head, pretending to consider the other man’s words. “The thing is, Joey, I don’t think you really want to be doing this. I think you got yourself in some kind of trouble, and you need the money to buy your way out. I know you don’t want to hurt this lady here.” He cut his gaze to Fiona, who was staring back at him with wide eyes. She was holding herself so still she could be mistaken for a statue, and her impossibly pale face only heightened the resemblance. He wanted to give her a wink of reassurance, but to do so would only inflame Joey, a risk that wasn’t worth taking.

      “If she gets hurt, it’s on you. It’s ’cuz you made me do it.” A note of desperation rang in Joey’s voice. He was clearly in over his head. He began to inch back toward the entrance, obviously wanting to leave.

      A movement in the parking lot caught Nate’s eye, and he looked beyond Joey and Fiona to see a squad car braking just outside the store. Thank God, they hadn’t come in with sirens blazing...

      “Okay,” Nate said, taking a half step forward. He held up his free hand, trying to appear nonthreatening. “Let’s not talk about people getting hurt. As far as I’m concerned, no one has to get hurt tonight,” he continued, deliberately trying to draw Joey’s attention so the other man wouldn’t realize that backup had arrived. Keep him distracted, keep him facing forward.

      “You need to put your gun down,” Joey insisted, his eyes glued to the weapon at Nate’s side. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his skinny neck.

      Nate nodded. “Okay. I can do that. But you have to promise not to hurt this nice lady here.” When Joey didn’t respond, Nate offered a weak smile that the other man didn’t return. “You know I’m a cop. I can’t part with my gun unless I know you’re no longer a threat.”

      The two officers who had crept into the store paused at this statement, glanced at each other, then nodded. He was out of the line of fire, at least for the moment.

      “Put it down,” Joey ordered. He tightened his grip on Fiona, causing her to let out a distressed squeak.

      Nate nodded again, remembering from his days in the academy that positive feedback was important in a hostage situation. Keep the hostage taker balanced, always say yes, don’t talk about death. The main idea was to avoid antagonizing the hostage taker, in the hope that lives would be saved.

      “Okay. I’m going to set it down on the counter. How does that sound?” Nate slowly moved forward while he spoke, causing Joey to move incrementally backward. With every step, Nate was herding them right into the arms of the waiting officers, and the poor guy didn’t even know it.

      Fortunately, the cops seemed to have caught on. They maintained their position, weapons pointed at Joey, while they silently waited. He prayed they had turned off their radios before entering the store—the last thing he needed was for a call to come through and alert Joey to the fact that they were no longer alone.

      Nate placed the gun on the counter and reached out to Fiona. “Okay, Joey. I put down my gun like you asked. Now you give me the girl.”

      The other man hesitated, so Nate applied a little more pressure. “It’s only fair,” he said, maintaining his forward motion. “I gave up my weapon. You have the money. Let her go and you can leave.”

      His fingertips grazed Fiona’s arm. It was nothing more than a brush of skin against skin, but he wanted to roar with satisfaction. Close, so close.

      Joey loosened his grip on Fiona. Hardly daring to breathe, Nate eased his hand around her arm and gently tugged.

      “Just let her go,” he whispered. “You don’t want to take her with you.”

      Joey gave a jerky nod, then released Fiona with a little shove. In one swift motion, Nate pulled her against him and pivoted to the side, throwing them to the floor between the shelves of the main aisle. He covered her with his body, his whole focus on protecting her while all hell broke loose above them.

      * * *

      She couldn’t breathe.

      Hot Guy was a solid weight on top of her, pinning her to the floor and blocking her view. Not that she wanted to see, anyway. What she could hear was bad enough.

      Male voices shouting, the “pop” of what could only be a gunshot, then a high, pain-filled scream that made the fillings in her teeth ache. Squeezing her eyes shut, Fiona pressed her head against Hot Guy’s shoulder, trying in vain to block out the horrible wails now coming from somewhere nearby.

      It was all too much to process, especially when she had no idea what was going on. She was still adjusting to the fact that she no longer had a gun pressed to her temple. She wanted to reach up to touch the still-tingling spot, to rub away the chill of the metal that lingered on her skin, but her hands were trapped against her stomach.

      “Are you all right?”

      His voice was deep and soft, for her ears only. It rumbled from his chest and into hers, a strangely intimate sensation that only added to her discomfiture.

      She nodded automatically, not trusting her voice, not knowing what to say. She’d just had a gun held to her head—she couldn’t think right now, much less determine if she was fine.

      He pulled back to study her face, his green eyes taking in every detail. She fought the urge to squirm, unused to such scrutiny, especially at such close range.

      “Are you sure you’re not hurt?” He reached up to trace a finger over her temple, right where the gun had pressed into her skin. Fiona caught her breath at the gentle stroke, goose bumps popping out along her arms in the wake of his contact.

      “I’m fine,” she said, her voice breaking at the end. She winced and cleared her throat, not wanting to sound too emotional. She wasn’t going to fall apart just because some thug had held her hostage for a few minutes. She didn’t have time—she had to proctor final exams for her adviser’s classes soon, and a nervous breakdown was not in her schedule.

      But, oh, it felt so good to be pressed up against her rescuer. Hot Guy was everything she’d thought he would be and more—a potent combination of muscle and bone, wrapped up in a very nice package. And his smell—God, his smell! Warm skin, some kind of woodsy smell from his soap and a faint note of musk all mingled to create a heady combination, making her want to press her nose to his neck and inhale deeply.

      But that would be too creepy.

      He carefully extracted himself and pushed to his feet, then reached down to offer his hand. She took it and