Strong and Sexy (Sky High Air #2)(20)

“Okay.” Watching her as if she was a spitting cobra, he nudged it aside. “Which is infinitely better than saying ‘I’m going to use it on you, Shayne.’”

“You thought I—Ohmigod.”

With the same slow care he’d have given the snake, he reached out and took it from her, then let out a long breath. “That’s better.”

“I wasn’t going to—Is it real?”

“Oh yeah.” He was staring at the gun in his fingers. “Definitely real.”

“Oh God.” She couldn’t even wrap her mind around it. “How did a gun get in my pocket?”

“Yeah, now see, I was kinda hoping you were going to tell me that story.” He held the gun with just his thumb and first finger, clearly trying not to get any more fingerprints than absolutely necessary on it now that he understood it wasn’t hers.

And thank God he understood. She had to give it to him for his composed, relaxed nature. He hadn’t freaked.

Which was good because she was freaking enough for the both of them. “It isn’t mine,” she whispered. “I swear it.”

Leaning past her, he opened his glove box and pulled out a small towel, which he used to hold the gun. Then he did something to it, and a part of it clicked open.

He was checking to see if it was loaded, she realized, and leaning in, she caught a flash of a bullet.

Oh, God. She covered her mouth with a shaking hand.

It was loaded.

Their eyes met, Shayne’s grim and determined as he wrapped up the gun.

“It was loaded,” she said very softly.

“Yes.”

“I could have shot off my own foot with it in my pocket like that.”

“Yeah.”

She swallowed hard. “I could have—”

“But you didn’t.”

Right. She’d focus on that. But she had to swallow again. “Do you think it’s the same gun that I saw someone use tonight? At Sky High?”

He closed his eyes briefly and rubbed his forehead. “What does it say about the way the night has gone that I actually forgot about that part of the evening?”

“That it’s been a long one?”

He opened his eyes and shook his head. “If it’s the same gun, and it’s not yours—”

“It’s not!”

“Then someone wanted it to look like yours.”

She just stared at him.

Swearing softly, he shifted in his seat to more fully face her. He put his hands on her arms, and she could tell by the look on his face that she wasn’t going to like what he said next.

“Dani, my brother is a cop, a detective, high up in the ranks—”

“Shayne—”

“No, listen to me. There’s something going on. What you saw tonight at Sky High, whatever happened in your apartment, and now this. It’s time for help.”

Staring into his face, she saw the concern there. Not for himself, but for her. And somehow that reached her. “I really did try to convince myself I imagined it all.”

“Well, you didn’t imagine the gun.”

“No.”

“Dani, we have to call the cops. It might as well be Patrick, who can—”

“Yes.” Her hands went to his chest, because he was solid. He was a solid piece of ground beneath her as she balanced on a spinning, out-of-control world. “I…” She closed her eyes. “I need help. Your help.”

Silently agreeing, he pulled out his cell phone and hit a number. “Patrick. Yeah, it’s Shayne. I have a problem.” He listened, then rolled his eyes. “No, I didn’t call you to take care of a speeding ticket—Look, it’s complicated. You available? Good.” His eyes cut to Dani. “I’m on the 134, between Victory and Zoo Drive, and there’s a gun—That’s right, a gun. It was found in the coat pocket of…”

A crazy woman, Dani silently finished for him.

But that’s not what he said. “A friend.”

Dani let out the breath she’d been holding and resisted the urge to hug him. He wasn’t a friend friend. He wasn’t someone…someone she could call for help. And yet that’s exactly what she’d done, and he’d come through.

“She’s never seen it before,” Shayne was saying. “And just a little while ago, she thought someone might be inside her place—Yes, we’ll wait here for you.” He gave his brother the address, then slipped the phone back into his pocket and looked at her.

She tried to smile, but couldn’t, so she gave up. “Now we wait?”

He nodded, still holding her gaze in that way he had that convinced her that not only could he read her mind, but he could see right through her.

Inside her.

To the real Dani Peterson, the one who felt more comfortable in pj’s than a fancy dress, the one who scooped elephant poop for a job and wouldn’t know a Prada item if it bit her on the ass.

The most surprising part of that was he seemed to be okay with that woman, as okay as he’d been with the one who’d kissed him in a closet. That felt lovely, so lovely, which was bad because she couldn’t do this with him. Not without getting hurt. “I’m not a good waiter.”

“It won’t be long.”