Straight Flushed (Hot Pursuit #1)(40)

“I understand.” Detective Kent nodded while jotting down notes. “Can you think of anything suspicious, or out of the ordinary that’s happened lately? Odd characters lurking around, strange phone calls, anything you can think of that would explain why someone might be after you? The smallest detail can lead to something.”

“Actually,” I said, “two men who said they were detectives working a case questioned me yesterday morning close to my apartment.”

“Really?” Detective Kent said and both men perked up. I told them the general descriptions of the imposters and the names they’d given me. “What did they ask?”

I relayed the questions the men had asked about my vacation and about the picture they’d shown me and later taped to my door.

“Do you know why they were asking you about the man you met in Florida, whose name was?” Detective Kent asked with raised brows.

“He said his name was Stephen Tate.” That could have been a boldfaced lie for all I knew.

“Okay,” he said, writing his name down. “Any ideas why they asked about him?”

“Not one.” I shook my head. “But the person on the footage wasn’t him, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“How can you be sure? There wasn’t a clear shot of his face.”

“Stephen was taller and had a larger frame than the person on tape. It wasn’t him. I’m sure.”

“Do you have any contact information for Stephen? We’d love to ask him a few questions.”

“No, I never got anything, other than he said he was from New York.” A rush of heat rose to my cheeks, and I looked down at the sidewalk.

Detective Kent finished scribbling his notes then looked over to his partner. “Okay, Miss Cain,” Detective Kent said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a card. “Here’s my information. If you think of anything else, or if those men turn up again, give us a call. But to be safe, call us first and keep your distance.” He winked.

“I will,” I said with a small laugh. I could have wrestled either man standing in front of me to the ground in less than two seconds. I wasn’t intimidated or scared by the two phony detectives. In fact, I hoped they would show up at my door again. Hell hath no fury. “I’ll let you know if anyone resurfaces,” I said, slipping his card into my back pocket.

“You be careful now.” Detective Tillman chimed in and flashed me a tight smile.

I nodded and proceeded down the street to get my coffee.



. . .



After I got home from work, I plopped down on my couch and zipped out of my boots. I put on some shorts and a tank top then poked through my pantry and fridge. My food rations had reached a critical level. Unless I wanted a bowl of dry Kashi cereal or stale oyster crackers, I needed to do the one thing I hated almost more than laundry—I had to go grocery shopping.

I slipped my gun inside my purse and headed to the local grocery store a block away. I’d been looking over my shoulder all day waiting for Detectives Smith and Jones to reappear. They didn’t. I walked down the steps and looked out to the street. There was nothing out of the ordinary.

I approached the short row of bushes lining the front of the apartment building when my hairs stood on end. A hand covered my mouth, and I was pulled backward. My adrenaline surged and my blood rushed to feed extra strength into my muscles. I reached for my weapon, but my purse had fallen into the crook of my arm. I looked down at a set of hairy knuckles clutching my shoulder as I was coaxed backward.

“Shh, shh, don’t scream,” he hushed.

He continued to pull me toward the dark alcove outside of the laundry room. I thrust all my energy back and planned to push him until he fell, or until I introduced him to the wall about six paces back. I grabbed his arm and assessed his strength. He was a worthy opponent, and it was game on.

I continued to push him—one step, two steps, three steps then he stumbled. Three more steps and he met the wall next to the laundry room door. His head thudded against the stone. I pulled his hand off my mouth and drove my elbow into his ribs. He grunted, and I twisted his forearm, rotating his body, and turned him to face the wall. I shoved all one hundred and twenty pounds of force I had into his body, smashing his cheek against the concrete barrier. I smiled when I heard the air leave his lungs.

I reached for my gun, but in doing so I gave him leverage. He turned before I had him completely subdued. I staggered one step back but froze when I met his blue eyes.

“Stephen?” I said. My heart pounded in my throat, punching down the other words that wouldn’t escape. My amber fury raged. His hands were raised, admitting defeat, which was usually my favorite moment. I would normally have had a cocky remark but I was too stunned to say anything. I envisioned shooting him for the way he’d made me feel, but instead I stepped up to him and looked deep into his eyes. The faintest hint of a smile tugged the corners of his mouth. In one quick thrust, I buried my knee in his groin.

He cried out and sunk his head back into his shoulders then hunched over. His free hand shot out against the neighboring wall for support.

Bastard. Served him right.

“What the hell?” he said through a coughing groan.

“You’re lucky I didn’t rip them off your body, you son of a bitch,” I said, listening with pleasure to the pained sounds he made. “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming here.”