He'd make her sorry she'd laughed at him, mocked him for being a cowboy. She'd be sorry she walked away from him.
Then he'd kill her.
Marli had to beg the alarm company to come that day, and the tears making her voice wobbly weren't forced when she told them about the attempted breakin the night before. She waited at home all day, doors locked, blinds closed. She'd had to cancel a shoot, rescheduling it for next week, and the client was not happy.
She tried to focus on work in her home office, invoicing and doing her books, the part of owning her own business that she hated. Not only was she jolted by every little noise she heard--every car that pulled up on the street, every creak, even the refrigerator motor going on and off--but thoughts of Trey kept tugging her thoughts away from her work. She recalled the humor in his eyes as they talked and laughed, the way he'd looked at her with hot desire he was keeping carefully banked because he knew she was nervous.
Was she going to go back to Cactus Jack's tonight?
He'd told her not to. He'd told her to forget about that crazy idea and let the cops deal with it. But he didn't understand. He didn't understand how the guilt was eating away at her. She couldn't even say the words out loud, admit to someone else that she was responsible for her friend's death. That was just too hard, too horrendous. It was...unspeakable.
She had to go. For Krista.
He wasn't there.
Marli found a seat at the bar, but it wasn't where she preferred to sit. She was later getting there than the other evenings and almost every stool at the bar was taken. Oh, well, she could move later.
She gazed around, sipping her Diet Coke. Trey had, no doubt, gone on to San Francisco. He wasn't willing to help her and, although they both knew they were attracted to each other, she'd made it pretty clear to him she had no intention on acting on the attraction, so he'd probably just moved on.
She had other more important things to worry about. Again, her eyes scanned the crowds, stopping on every big, blond man there to study him. Disappointment and anxiety battled within her.
With a sigh, she looked down at her drink. It was going to be a long evening.
She watched people come and go, politely refused offers of drinks and invitations to dance, sitting there by herself on her barstool. By midnight, she'd had enough. She left a tip for the bartender who'd brought her the single Diet Coke she'd drank all evening and snagged her purse from where it hung on the back of the stool.
Outside the bar, the dark chill of evening shrouded her. She hugged her purse close and wrapped her arms around herself as she walked to her car in the parking garage. The attendant on duty in his little lit-up booth read a magazine. Were there security cameras? She made sure to walk by him so he'd know she was going to her car, just in case. But her car was up two levels and she had to take the stairs to get there.
She dreaded going into the stairwell. Why was she doing this to herself? She pulled open the door and stepped in. It was well-lit, which helped a little, but even so she ran up the stairs as fast as she could, bursting out of the door into the dimly lit parking structure. There weren't many cars on this level. She headed straight to hers, her keys ready.
She heard the door behind her. Someone else had come onto this level. It's okay. It's okay. Just someone else going to his vehicle. She wanted to look, but focused on walking to her car as quickly as she could.
A hand yanked her back. Her heart leaped into her throat and she cried out as arms encircled her from behind in a lung-squeezing grip.
Chapter 5
Marli's heart galloped wildly in her chest. She gave a choked gasp, instinctively dug her fingers into the arms and tried to pry them off her. She opened her mouth, tried to scream as loud as she could, raw sound scraping over her throat as she struggled furiously against the power of his restraining arms. Oh, Jesus, no, no! She couldn't breathe. Her keys were in her hand, but she couldn't get them into position to use them. She was going to die. Or was he going to rape her? Oh, God, this could not be happening.
"Here," she squawked. "My purse..." If he wanted money, he could have money. But he knocked the purse to the ground without releasing her and dragged her toward the stairwell.
You weren't supposed to fight. You were just supposed to give them the money. But he didn't want money. Oh, God.
She was not going to die without a fight. Krista had fought.
She tried to dig her heels into the concrete, but they just scraped across it as he pulled her. A strangled cry escaped her. The man grunted as he tried to avoid her flailing arms and kicking feet, but he was stronger than she was. He said nothing, just yanked at her. Pain seared from her shoulder down her arm, and she cried out again. She fought harder, with frantic energy, crying out with pain and effort and fear.
"Hey!"
Someone else was there. Was he there to help her--or to help the mugger?
An even bigger man dragged the attacker off her, and with an impressive swing, crunched the guy's jaw. Her attacker staggered back a step, making a rough sound. The other man drew back to hit again. The mugger swung an arm up, broke the other's grip on his jacket, turned and fled, his uneven footsteps echoing in the garage.
"Marli, are you okay?" Trey stood in front of her.
She gasped for breath, standing there in stunned disbelief.
"Should I go after him?"
She shook her head. Yes. No. God. The adrenaline shooting through her veins made her weak and dizzy.
He grabbed her shoulders. "Marli? Did he hurt you?"
She just kept staring, wide-eyed, a quivering mass of nerves, everything dark and twirling around her.
"I'm..." Her knees started to buckle, and Trey caught her.
"Shit, Marli." He held her up against his big, warm body. "Where are you hurt? Should I take you to the hospital?" One handed lifted her chin to see her face. "Marli! Talk to me."
"I'm not hurt," she managed to mumble. "I'm...okay."
She wasn't okay. She was a mess. Her arm throbbed, her stomach tossed and she thought she might throw up or pass out. She put a hand to her mouth. Her stomach heaved and her mouth filled with saliva.
"Jesus." He turned her away from him, held her hips as she bent over and retched painfully, empting her stomach onto the concrete floor of the garage.
She felt him fumbling, then he had a cell phone and was calling the police.
"Don't even bother," she said weakly, eyes closed against the sight of her vomit on the floor, still bent over. "They won't do anything." She rubbed cold, sweaty palms over her face.
Yes, they will." She listened to him report the incident in a calm, professional tone. Then he handed to phone to her. "You're going to have to talk to them. They need details from you that I don't know. Your last name, address..."
She took the phone, and somehow he was handing her a crumpled tissue he'd pulled from his jacket pocket. She wiped first her eyes, wet from watering while she'd heaved her guts out, then her mouth. She spoke to the police, trying to remember her own name and address.
When she was done, she carefully flipped his phone closed and handed it back to him.
"I have to go in tomorrow to make a statement," she said. "I told you not to bother. It was the same last night."
"What happened last night?" he asked sharply.
She pushed her hair back wearily. "I want to go home," she said, her voice small and despicably quavery.
"I'll take you home." His voice was rough. "Where's your car?"
She pointed to her Sebring convertible. "I almost made it," she said sadly, letting him lead her to the car. "I was so afraid..."