To Love, Honor and Defend

She was alone. On her own.

She could head for the lobby instead of the garage, but the night watchman’s desk was down several long corridors.

No. She’d parked right across from the stairs. Much closer.

If she could just reach her car and get inside…

His footsteps sounded closer. Oh God, no!

Move faster! Panic hovered in her chest.

She had to keep her head.

Turning at the third floor, her heel snagged. She stumbled. Her hip smacked the steel bar. Pain snaked down her leg, and she yelped. The misstep cost her valuable seconds. Ignoring the throb in her hip, she plowed on.

He was gaining on her.

Breathing raggedly, Libby bolted down the next set of stairs. It was him—the crazy who’d sent threats on blue paper. Her gut told her so.

Terror clambered up her throat, choking her. The heat of his breath scorched her neck, but when she turned, no one was there.

Don’t look. Just run.

Second floor. First. Faster!

Libby slammed through the door at garage level. Steel bands of terror strangled her lungs. A white-hot sting speared her hip as she sprinted across the deserted parking area. Gasping in pain and panic, she frantically mashed the remote to unlock her Camry. The headlights flashed on, blinding her briefly as she neared the driver’s side.

Her fingers fumbled with the ignition key. Cursing the shadows that cast the parking lot in darkness, she groped for the door. She jerked the handle of her Camry. The door didn’t budge. Her head swam dizzily, and her hands shook as she tried the remote again.

Metal screeched, followed by an echoing boom. The stairwell door. He’d reached the garage. She sensed her stalker zeroing in on her, heard the shuffle of feet on concrete….

Please, please! Finally her door lock clicked off with a snick. Her knees wobbled with relief. Snatching the door open, she threw her briefcase inside.

She smelled him first.

The unmistakable scents of male sweat, deodorant soap and pine. An instant later, a large hand closed around her arm.

“Lib—”

She gasped and jerked against the man’s grip. Spun. Raised the can of pepper spray.

With lightning speed, he knocked the vial from her hand. She screamed. Fought. Flailed at him with her fists.

He clamped a hand over her mouth. His long, hard body pinned her against the side of her car.

Still, she struggled, but her captor was an immovable wall of muscle.

The prosecutor in her cut through the haze of fear. Look at his face. Make a mental picture so you can give a description.

Assuming she got away.

Her stubborn will rejected the voice of doubt. She would get away. No way would she become a statistic.

Fighting his hold on her mouth, she angled her head. The light from her Camry spilled through the open door and illuminated his chiseled jaw, raven hair and laser-blue eyes.

A face she knew. Intimately.

“Hello, Libby,” Cal drawled. “Long time no see.”

Libby’s face, already pale with fright, blanched a shade whiter. Cal frowned and eased his grip on her arm. Something had her spooked. Badly. She’d bolted through the door from the stairs as if she had the hounds of hell on her heels.

“Are you all right, Lib?”

The bedroom-brown eyes he remembered were now bright with fear and glanced nervously around the empty parking garage. But was she looking for someone to help her or searching for whatever demon had had her racing for her car?

The idea that she could be afraid of him gnawed his gut. No matter how much he hated what she’d done to his life, the years she’d stolen from him, the job he’d lost, he wasn’t the kind of man who’d harm a woman. In all the months they’d spent together, hadn’t she at least learned that about him?

“Mmmr wwrm,” she mumbled from under his hand.

His scowl deepened, and he nailed her with a no-nonsense glare. “I’ll let go of your mouth if you promise not to scream again. That last screech busted my ears.”

Her dark eyes flashed indignantly.

Oh, yes, he remembered her stubborn pride. A steel will ran through her, equal to her passion. And her compassion.

He needed to reach her tender heart and her inordinate sense of responsibility today. She was his last hope, his only hope. Besides, she owed him.

Slowly he pulled his hand away, keeping a wary eye on her.

“How dare you scare me like that! What were you thinking? You deserve a face full of pepper spray for that stunt! Of all the—”

She swung at him.

But twenty-four months in prison had sharpened his reflexes, taught him to be quick on his feet and have eyes in the back of his head. He easily blocked her fist and pinned her wrist to the car. “Whoa! Settle down. What stunt are you talking about?”

She rolled her eyes then turned an icy glare on him. “On the stairs? The ‘I’m gonna get you, bitch’ crack? Following me, hiding from me, purposely freaking me out?”

The stairs? He thought about the terror that had filled her face when she’d burst through the garage door and run for her car. Unease jerked a knot in his gut. He cut a sharp glance to the stairs then back to Libby. “Someone followed you on the stairs? Did they hurt you?”

What had she said about a comment using the term bitch? His disquiet ratcheted up a notch.

She yanked her arm from his grip and righted her silk blouse. The soft fabric clung to her curves and made no secret of the feminine body beneath. “You’re not funny. What were you trying to prove?”

“It wasn’t me.”

“Yeah, right.” As she moved to climb into her Camry, he grabbed her arm and brought her dark eyes back to his. She pressed her lips in a thin line of irritation.

“I’ve been over there in my truck waiting for you for over an hour.” With a hitch of his head, he directed her gaze to his dilapidated Chevy.