Under Surveillance. Gayle Wilson

Now was her chance to get out of here. While they were either distracted or in too much pain to care what she did.

      The clang of the metal bar, striking and then bouncing off the concrete floor, brought her attention back to the bodies writhing on the hood of the car. She could hear the sound of blows as well as the noise their victim made as they impacted against flesh and bone.

      She couldn’t distinguish the recipient, but given the loss of the crowbar, she believed she knew who was getting the worst of the fight. No matter what happened to her, she couldn’t run away without trying to aid the man who’d stopped to help her.

      She bent down and slipped off one of her sandals, unable to think of anything else to use as a weapon. When she raised her head again, she saw that the three were no longer on the hood of the car. They were upright again, still exchanging blows.

      Gathering what fragile courage she had left and feeling like a fool, she raised the flimsy shoe over her head and ran toward the struggling figures. Before she reached them, the two slighter bodies were propelled backward.

      With room to maneuver, the driver, obvious both by his height and the breadth of his shoulders, began a series of lightning punches that drove his attackers back. His movements were so fast they were difficult to follow. She almost expected him to add a couple of martial arts kicks to the mix.

      Apparently, he didn’t need to. One of the two teens still on their feet broke away, running down the ramp with a clatter of boot heels. When the second realized he was about to have the driver’s undivided attention, he also took off. His less noisy departure identified him as the one who had leaped across the ramp to grab her.

      Having vanquished those two, the man advanced toward the first couple he’d dispatched. They weren’t inclined to wait for him to reach them.

      The one he’d kneed in the groin to take possession of the crowbar was still breathing in low, keening moans. His agony didn’t prevent him from staggering to his feet and backing down the ramp, however, his eyes never leaving the driver. The second punk had his arms wrapped around his body, possibly the victim of broken ribs. If so, they didn’t slow his retreat.

      In a matter of seconds the parking level was empty except for her and the man who had just effected her rescue. In the sudden stillness she could hear the sound of his breathing. He swayed a little, but somehow managed to give the impression that he was both ready and able to take them on again if they returned.

      Kelly realized she was simply standing, openmouthed at the speed and efficiency with which he’d detached the four attackers. She closed her mouth and started toward him.

      Either he had incredible peripheral vision or very good instincts. He turned, dropping into a fighter’s crouch. When he saw that she was the one who’d been moving behind him, he straightened.

      “Are you all right?” she asked.

      “What is that? Is that your shoe?”

      Only then did she realize that she was still holding the sandal over her head, its heel pointing toward him.

      “What the hell were you planning to do with your shoe?”

      “Hit one of them,” she answered truthfully.

      Embarrassed, she lowered the feminine, near-nothing sandal he’d just belittled. Reaction was finally setting in. Her knees were shaking so hard she was in danger of falling flat on her face. She leaned tiredly against the hood of the SUV, tears threatening for the first time since the assault had begun.

      She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The first one she’d managed in quite a while.

      It’s okay. Everything’s okay. Now isn’t the time to fall apart.

      “Are you all right?”

      She opened her eyes to find him looming over her. Because they were standing between the beams of the headlights, she still couldn’t see his face.

      He was nothing but a shape, tall and broad. And a deep voice, filled with concern for her.

      Which was ridiculous. He’d just taken a beating, and she was the one who was weak-kneed and weepy.

      “If being scared spitless counts as okay.” She hated that her voice trembled, but there didn’t seem to be much she could do about it.

      “Spitless?” he repeated, the intonation amused as he emphasized the first syllable.

      “Are they gone?” She ignored the mockery, feeling she had earned it. She looked back down the ramp, half expecting to see the attackers regrouping at its foot.

      “They won’t be back. They’re the kind who like—”

      “Easy pickings?” she supplied when he hesitated. If so, they’d come to the right place, she acknowledged bitterly.

      “Obviously, they didn’t know about the shoe.”

      The amusement was back, but she found she didn’t resent it, even if it were at her expense. He was right. The sandal was a ridiculous weapon, but there was some justification for why she’d felt it might do some good.

      “I ground my heel into his toe, and he let me go. I thought that maybe if I hit one of them with it—”

      She sounded like an idiot. Actually, she felt like one.

      “Thanks.” The deep voice had been wiped clean of mockery. “There aren’t many people who would have put themselves at risk to help.”

      “You did.”

      “Yeah, well, that’s a failing of mine.”

      “Helping people?”

      “I’m a sucker for a woman in distress.”

      For a fraction of a second she thought he’d said “a woman in a red dress.” She must be more rattled than she’d believed.

      “Why don’t we get out of here,” he suggested.

      Since he’d used the plural pronoun, she wasn’t sure if he meant individually or collectively. He didn’t start around his vehicle to open the door for her to climb in, so she supposed he must mean in their own cars.

      He took a long assessing look down the ramp and then moved toward the driver’s side of the SUV. In doing so, he passed directly in front of the beam of the left headlight.

      “You were at the auction,” she said, finally taking in the tuxedo.

      “Sorry, but I didn’t buy anything.” He bent to retrieve the iron bar that had been lost in the scuffle, so she had to strain to hear the last. “A little too rich for my blood.”

      Since the guest list had been carefully screened to ensure that their checkbooks would be equal to the task before them, she wondered if that was his idea of a joke. She’d been introduced to most of the attendees during the cocktail hour, but she couldn’t place him.

      Could he be one of the wait staff? The big SUV he was driving made that unlikely, however, so who the hell was he?

      After he retrieved the crowbar, he had continued past the driver’s side door to open the back of the vehicle. He carelessly tossed the weapon inside. Then he straightened, looking at her over the line of the roof.

      His face was still shadowed, but she couldn’t help feeling there was something familiar about it. Maybe they had been introduced. After all, there had been a huge crowd of people.

      “I’m Kelly Lockett.”

      It was a rather obvious attempt to evoke information. If he’d been there, he knew certainly who she was. She’d been paraded around that room like a sideshow for most of the evening.

      “Of the Lockett Legacy. I know.” The tone was sardonic.

      “Do I know you?” she asked, reacting to it.

      She had never been particularly self-conscious about the notoriety her family’s