Guns and the Girl Next Door

“On my property.” Except for a historic estate about ten miles away, he was the only one out there.

Two miles of wooded land separated him from the main road. He used to think that was enough space. Now he wasn’t so sure.

“I was…” Her eyes grew huge as her mouth fell flat. “Oh, my God.”

“What?”

“I have to—”

She tried to stand up, but he anchored her next to him on the cushions. “Whoa.”

“You don’t understand.” Her gaze darted around the room. Her hands were in constant motion as if the energy inside her had sparked to life and wanted to get moving.

He soothed a hand over her shoulder. “Explain it to me.”

“I have to call the police.”

“Why?”

“The accident.”

The last thing he wanted was a squad of police cars swarming all over his property. If he had to, then yes, but he wanted to put it off until he understood exactly who Mia was and why she was in his house.

“Did you fall asleep at the wheel?”

“No.”

She sounded as if she had her full memory back now. “Was anyone in the car with you?”

She patted the pockets of her ripped and smudged pants. “It’s here somewhere.”

Watching her move, he still couldn’t tell what was happening. “What are you looking for?”

“My cell. I have to call the police and my office.”

“Mia, listen to me—”

“Now I remember. I dropped it.”

He put one of his hands over hers. “Doesn’t matter.”

She stopped shifting and babbling and stared up at him. “Wait, what did you say?”

He could barely follow her zigzagging conversation. “Tell me what happened out there.”

She swallowed hard enough for him to see her throat move. “I hit someone.”

That’s what he feared. He had not one but two victims running around his property. “So, there was a car accident?”

She toed the pile of what used to be his coffee table and now barely qualified as kindling. “Look around you.”

“I meant before you came sailing through the window.”

“Not exactly.”

“But you’re saying there’s a person out there who needs help.” He had some training, the usual military survival stuff but not much more. If the injuries were serious, he’d need help.

“No.” Her voice sounded far away, almost dreamy.

“Mia?”

“He’s dead.” Her eyes focused, looking clear for the first time. “I killed him.”

Holden had no idea who the “he” was or what was happening, but the lady seemed to need soothing and no one else was there to do it, so he tried. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

She stared him down. “I hope it is.”

Chapter Three

Mia sat there, looking into a pair of ice-blue eyes and wondering why the guy just happened to be holding a gun when she drove through his wall.

“You’re not making sense,” the mystery man said.

That probably had something to do with being terrified. If her body shook any harder, her brain might start rattling. It was bad enough her back teeth kept knocking together. She also had to deal with the pain above her eyes and bones that had turned to jelly.

First, she got attacked by her usually boring boss. That one still didn’t make sense. Now a guy with a scowl harsh enough to make her swallow her tongue in panic sat just inches away. With his coal-black hair and broad shoulders, he reminded her of some of the secret-service teams that walked through the Rayburn House Office Building where she worked.

This guy had an air of danger to him. The muscles straining under the sleeves of his black T-shirt should have scared her, but he didn’t give off that serial-killer vibe. Not that she knew how killers acted in these situations.

Right now, the only confirmed killer in the room was her. “He attacked me. Wouldn’t stop.”

“Who?”

The scene ran through her mind. Crazed eyes. Mumbled accusations. “He wanted me dead.”

“Let me try this again—who?” The mystery man moved his hand to her arm.

She stared down at his long fingers and tried not to flinch. If he was dangerous, she didn’t want to tick him off. She’d had enough of that for one evening. “What’s your name?”

This time he didn’t answer a question with one of his own. “Holden Price.”

Nothing about that name gave her insight into who he was or how much he might want to hurt her. A solid name. Of course, so was Ted Bundy.

She needed a phone and reinforcements, preferably the type that wore badges and carried bigger guns than Holden. Knowing she was finally safe also would be a relief.

“Now,” he said. “Let’s skip to the part where you tell me about this other person.”

She was more concerned with knowing everything about the potential threat in front of her. “You live here?”