She just had to keep out of trouble in the meantime.
That meant no more taking chances. And definitely no helping strange, beautiful men. No matter what.
SHANE SIGHED AS he positioned his truck on the street so he wouldn’t miss Crystal leave. The trip to the club hadn’t been a complete waste.
Before he’d found Crystal, Shane had managed to place listening devices at the ordering station on the bar, near the bar’s phone, and in both public restrooms. He’d also double-checked that the receiver-transmitter that Easy had wired into the exterior cable the night before was still intact. That piece was key, enabling Marz to do some sort of technical voodoo whereby he could remotely access the live feeds the mics picked up. Or something. Shane loved the man like a brother, but Marz’s technospeak had the power to put him right into a coma. They still needed eyes and ears in the private spaces of Confessions, but it was a start.
Situated among a run-down strip of restaurants, dive bars, and stores gone out of business, the club’s property dominated the whole side of the block, a hotbed of activity in the midst of the otherwise subdued street. It was one of those neighborhoods through which the cops never patrolled and taxis never drove without a call specifically bringing them there.
Shane studied the club’s points of ingress and egress, assembling a mental catalog of the building in case he needed to return. But his thoughts keep coming back to Crystal.
She was more than a survivor—which the demand to hit her had already told him. She was also a fighter. Which was good. Whether she knew it or not, they were in this thing together, and she was going to need to be smart and she was going to have to be strong. That she’d come at him with all kinds of hellfire—all the while acting like he was just another customer—was reassuring. Not to mention damn hot.
Jesus, she was a slight little thing in his arms, tall and lean and warm. Beautiful curves and smooth skin. A man could lose himself in a body like hers.
And someone had taken a hand to her.
As he sat in the cab of his truck, a big bucket of rage parked itself in the center of his chest. When he’d seen the handprint under the extra layers of her makeup, it’d taken everything he had to not react in a way that would draw attention. He’d put her in harm’s way enough. Clearly.
But one thing was for goddamn sure. Whoever’s hand matched that print wouldn’t need two gloves come winter.
Just like Shane had seen what she’d tried to hide, he’d learn who’d hurt her. In the Army, Shane had been known for seeing what others missed. Like the inked eagle sprawled across his back, he excelled at sighting his prey from far, far away and attacking with a speed and accuracy that never gave them a fighting chance.
The sonofabitch who hurt her would never know what hit him. On second thought, yeah, he would. Abusers were bullies. Cowards. And Shane wanted to see the fear in the man’s eyes when he made him pay.
About twenty-five minutes later, movement caught his attention. A red truck made its way from the back of the lot to the gate at the street. With Crystal in the driver’s seat. Bingo. She had to leave at some point, and it would be easier to talk to her away from all the eyes in the club.
Crystal turned onto the street and passed him. He let two other cars go by before pulling out behind her. Bright and big as the truck was, he didn’t need to be aggressive with the tail. He could keep track of her just fine. And the fact that she was the Mother Teresa of drivers—obeying every traffic law to a tee—helped a lot, too. He found it oddly endearing since his foot was normally an anvil of pure lead when he got behind the wheel.
Speed was a fucking awesome distraction from the shit in his head.
Fifteen minutes later, she pulled into a garden-apartment complex just outside the city line. Shane kept going straight, ditched his F-150 about a half block down the street, then hightailed it on foot, keeping to the shadows, until he saw her truck.
Crystal sat behind the wheel. Still. Head back. From this distance, it almost looked like she was sleeping. He didn’t want to scare her, but in case she lived with someone, maybe he should approach her while she was—
A strange moan caught his attention. His gaze whipped to the right, to the outdoor stairwell of the building he approached.
A girl sat on the next-to-the-bottom step. One moment, she had her arms around drawn-up knees. The next, she went rigid and started convulsing.
Shane was immediately in motion.
The seizure forced her muscles to contract, forming her into a ball that made her fall down the last two steps.
He went to his knees beside her, his medic training kicking in without a second thought. Gently, he rolled her to her side in case she vomited, then he whipped off his jacket and slid it under her head.
There was nothing else to be done until it was over. Damnit. The medical identification bracelet she wore announced her epileptic condition, so Shane held off on calling 911. If the seizure wasn’t too severe, she might be lucid within another minute and could tell him how best to help.
Aw, damn. This girl has red hair like—
“Oh, my God, what are you doing?” came a voice from behind him.
Crystal.
This was so not how he’d wanted to reveal himself. “This woman is having a seizure.”
She went to her knees beside him. “I’m here, Jenna. Hang on.” Worry poured off her as the younger woman’s muscles contracted, and her eyes rolled back. “She’s my sister.”
Yeah, he’d figured that much out. “She’ll be okay,” he said.
“I’ve been taking care of her for years. I don’t need you to tell me she’ll be okay,” she said, her tone equal parts anger and fear, beautiful green eyes flashing. “What are you, anyway?” Her gaze dragged over the holstered gun under his arm.
“Former Army medic.”
“I told you to leave me alone,” Crystal bit out in a hushed voice.
“No. You told me to leave Confessions. Which I did.”
“Yeah. And then you followed me home. Right?” She nailed him with a stare.
Shane’s gut clenched. No defense there. Instinct told him the truth was the only chance he had to keep her from shutting him out for good. “Yes. I really need your help. I thought maybe it would be easier for you to talk away from the club.”
Jenna’s muscles went slack on a groan, recapturing their attention. Her eyelids lifted sluggishly, as if they were made of five-pound weights.
“Okay, sweetie, just hang in there. I’ll get you inside,” Crystal said, sliding her hands under the other woman’s shoulders.
Shane gripped his thighs and forced himself still. “Let me help,” he said, itching to just pick Jenna up since it was pretty damn clear Crystal wasn’t going to be able to move her unconscious like this. But he sensed that doing it without her permission would bring down all sorts of shutters, and so far he wasn’t making great headway in winning her over.
The debate played out across her expression, then her gaze dropped to Jenna’s face. She stroked her sister’s cheek and sighed. “Okay. But just because I know I can’t get her up the steps like this. And she could be out of it for a good half hour.”
Nodding, Shane scooped up his coat and the woman and rose to his feet. She couldn’t weigh more than a buck twenty soaking wet. Jenna was totally out, exhaustion from a severe epileptic seizure often sent a person into a sleep state immediately afterward and left them drained for the next day or two. Crystal had a damn lot on her plate. Even more than he’d known.
For a moment, Crystal mother-henned over her sister in his arms, as if making sure he wasn’t hurting her. With a resigned expression, she finally said, “This way.”