Fighting Dirty

That so shocked Armie that he took a step back. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say. If he tried to blame it on fight preparation, Cannon would just laugh at him again. “I don’t suppose you’d butt out?”

“Sure. If that’s what you really want.” Cannon straightened away from the wall. “But if you want to talk, if you need anything—”

“I know.” Once, a lifetime ago, Cannon had been the only person to back him. Against all odds and ugly accusations, he’d stood with Armie and never, not once, showed a single shadow of doubt. Uncomfortable with the idea of ever again being that needy, Armie flexed his shoulders and said, “Thanks, but it’s fine.”

“I know that.” Cannon squeezed his shoulder. “You just need to start believing it.”

Armie glared at his friend as he went back into the bar. He didn’t need that melodramatic crap heaped on him. Breathing hard, he looked around at the moon-washed blacktop, the frost-covered bus bench, then up at the inky, star-studded sky.

What was Merissa doing right now? Was she with another man—as he’d suggested?

It’s what he wanted, what would be best—for her—but at the same time... Jesus, it tortured him.

After the life he’d led, the background he’d overcome and the physical ability he’d gained, he wasn’t afraid of anything or anyone, except Merissa Colter’s effect on him. That scared him all right. Bone-deep, heart-sucking fear.

He glanced back, and through the big front window of the bar he saw his friends. Merissa’s friends. Only she wasn’t there—because of him.

It was past time he stopped being a coward so instead he’d face the fear. Tomorrow morning, he’d face her.

And somehow he’d make it all right.

* * *

MOST PEOPLE THOUGHT bank managers worked a perfect nine-to-five job. Ha! As Merissa looked from the impatient customers still in line to her harassed tellers and the clock, she knew it’d be another late day. What should have been five minutes more would likely turn into at least half an hour.

The phone rang, and as she went to answer it the front door opened again. Along with a gust of cold air, two male customers stepped in, bundled up in heavy winter coats and stocking hats, with thick knit scarves around their throats.

Right behind them was...Armie.

Unlike the other men, he wore only an open flannel over his thermal shirt. His cheeks were ruddy from the cold, his blond hair disheveled as usual, and he looked so good her heart skipped a beat, then went into double time.

For weeks now she’d been telling herself she was okay—better, in fact—without him. She’d almost convinced herself, too. But one look at him and she was right back to sick-in-love with him all over again.

“Hello? Are you there?”

Realizing she hadn’t said anything after lifting the phone receiver, Merissa pulled her gaze away from Armie and went into professional mode. Or at least she tried to.

The second Armie looked at her, her skin prickled and butterflies took flight in her stomach. She sank back in her padded chair, glad for the support.

The annoyed customer had overdrawn his account and wanted the bank to waive the fees. Merissa only listened with half an ear and finally, unable to concentrate anyway, she agreed and transferred the call over to one of her tellers.

Since it was now time to close she needed to lock the door, but that would mean she’d have to go past Armie. She waffled, deciding what to do, but then he took the decision from her and approached.

Jumping to her feet, she met him at the door to her office. As casually as she could, she said, “Hey, Armie.”

His gaze dipped over her. This time, being at work, she wore a button-front sweater, long skirt and flat boots, but his attention sizzled all the same. He flexed a shoulder, shifted. “Could we talk?”

Again? Hadn’t he said enough? For someone who wanted nothing to do with her, he sure liked to chat.

“Armie,” she whispered, feeling conspicuous, because seriously, no one in the bank would overlook him. He had that type of presence: big, badass, capable. And sexy.

So damned sexy.

He continued to watch her in that sharply focused way, his gaze warm and steady, and she caved. “Okay, fine. But I have to lock the front door, and then it’s going to take me some more time before I’m done here.”

“Because you’re closing, I know. No problem.” He released a breath. “I’ll wait.”

As Armie headed to the couch in the corner of the bank, one of the men who’d come in ahead of him strode toward her. Standing at her office door, ready to politely redirect him back to the teller line, Merissa smiled—and he literally pushed his way in.

Incredulous, she took an automatic step away from him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He shut the door. Hat pulled low, the scarf hiding most of his face, he withdrew a gun and said with silky menace, “Shh.”

Her mouth went dry—especially when those narrowed eyes coasted over her body.

“But—”

“You and me,” he said, shushing her again, “are going to play in here while my buddy takes care of business out there. And, honey, you better play nice.”

Fear and shock immobilized Merissa as she realized she was in the middle of a robbery—and oh dear God, Armie was on the other side of the door.

* * *

THE SECOND HER office door snapped shut, Armie knew something was wrong. He felt it in his guts. He took one step—and the dude in front of him withdrew a gun.

Son of a bitch.

“Everyone be cool,” the man shouted, stepping back to encompass all the customers and tellers in one sweep of that weapon. “Arms up, tellers. Now! My partner has your manager. Anyone hits a panic button and she’s the first to go.”

Until that last statement, Armie might have let it play out. But at the mention of Merissa being held against her will, dread and rage swirled together in a combustible mix. He went rigid, his heartbeat slowing, his focus narrowing.

“No one overreacts. Tellers, unlock your drawers, and remember, make a wrong move and you lose one of your own.”

White-faced, the tellers did as told.

“Great. Now everyone, get to this side of the room.”

Perfect, Armie thought. It put him closer to Merissa’s office. He went along with the small group, using his body to block the elderly couple in front of him and another woman clutching a five-year-old. The last customer, a college-aged guy, watched the robber with sharp-eyed wariness. Two of the tellers were forty-something women. The other was probably in her twenties.

The robber aimed his gun at the younger guy. “You.”

College boy froze.

“Go collect the money. Empty the drawers of bills and rolled quarters. Make it fast.”

The young man said nothing, just took the bag the robber handed him and jogged to the teller line. As he filled the bag, Armie saw that he also kept an eye on things, looking up often.

A noise, like someone landing up against the door, sounded in Merissa’s office. Armie’s senses sharpened further, but otherwise he didn’t move.