Under Pressure (Body Armor #1)(53)

When he turned back to the bed, he again noticed the nightstand drawer. He waffled for only a moment, then peeked in...and saw a gun.

Frowning, he opened the drawer wider and found a .38, a box of shells, cough drops and a small key.

The gun was loaded.

At least she had some protection. Smart for a woman living alone, especially for a woman with affluent relatives who could be hit for ransom.

Thinking the key must go to a lockbox for the gun, he looked around, didn’t see it and bent to peer under the bed.

He found the security box along with a dark, midsize suitcase. Perfect.

Setting them both on the bed, he loaded the moderate suitcase—which would look a whole lot less conspicuous than the flowery tote—then took the key from the nightstand and opened the box so he could store her gun.

Well, hell.

The box wasn’t empty. Nope.

Catalina had a vibrator. And a pack of rubbers.

What type of woman left a loaded gun loose in a nightstand drawer, but locked up a vibrator and rubbers?

Catalina Nicholson, of course. He had to grin.

He was about to put the box back under the bed when he heard a noise, and knew his time was up.

Things were about to get real. Time to do some damage.

*

“SO,” CAT SAID, keeping a safe distance from Leese’s buddy. “I take it you’re a fighter too?”

As she walked to the other side of the bar, bright green eyes tracked her movement. “What gave me away?”

The ripped body, the air of confidence. “All the boo-boos.”

Grinning, he ran a hand through inky hair and laughed. “Yeah, that last fight was a bitch.”

“You lost?”

“No, ma’am. But I didn’t win as decisively as I would have liked.”

Something about him helped her relax. Could be that crooked smile, or the obvious amusement he felt at her wariness. “Did Leese tell you why I was here?”

“Bare bones.” Coming closer, he indicated a bar stool. “Mind if I sit?”

She minded that he was now much closer, but wouldn’t tell him so. “Suit yourself.”

“Thanks.” He shrugged off a coat, hung it on the back of the bar chair, then sat and braced solid forearms on the bar. “I know Leese is a bodyguard, so it stands to reason you need protection. He said you had to lay low, as in invisible, until they got things unraveled. That’s all I really know.”

What a relief. “So.” She hobbled over to the coffeemaker to prepare a fresh pot. “Tell me about the fight.”

“I’ll tell if you will.”

She glanced back in question.

“You walk like someone who went five rounds with a Muay Thai kickboxer. I walked like that once, after I’d been slammed in the thigh about a dozen times. From my knee up I was black-and-blue for days.”

Wow, such a graphic picture he’d painted. “I had a similar experience.”

“Yeah?”

Nodding, she said, “I went sixty minutes with an elliptical machine.”

He laughed, a rich, deep sound. “Pushed it a bit much, huh?”

“Probably fifty-nine minutes too much.”

“Exercise virgin?”

“Afraid so.” While the coffee perked, she studied his face. “Stitches?”

He touched the small patch under his right eye. “Caught an elbow and it swelled enough to split the skin. Seven stitches.” Standing, he lifted the edge of his T-shirt to show off colorful ribs. “These are from a kick.”

“Uh-huh.” Cat stared at some impressive abs. The bruises were bad, but the abs were badass. “You fighter types sure are ripped.”

“Not all of us.” He sat again. “Some of it is selective gene pool. Some is hard work. But I know some guys who work at it just as hard as Leese and I do, and they still have soft middles. It’s just not in their DNA. Doesn’t make them lesser fighters.”

“Probably makes them lesser studs though.”

His lips curled into another crooked smile. “I’ll take your word for that.”

When the coffee finished, she asked, “You want a cup?”

“Sure. Black, please.”

She poured both, then joined him closer to the bar. By the minute she felt more comfortable. “So why you?”

“Why me, what?” He sipped and said, “Mmm. Strong, the way I like it.”

“Why did Leese ask you to babysit me?”

He looked her over, cocked a brow and said, “You’d have rather been alone?”

She’d have rather Leese didn’t go, but clearly that hadn’t been an option. “I guess not.”

“So you needed company, not a babysitter.”

Okay, she’d buy that. “But why you specifically?”

Miles scratched his chin. “I’ve known Leese for a while now, back to when he was still a shithead with a lousy attitude. We’ve gotten close, so he trusts me.”

No way. She stood a little straighter, full of disbelief. “You mean Leese wasn’t always perfect?”

“Perfect?” That cracked him up. Miles laughed, caught her frown and laughed some more.

“Why,” Cat asked, “is that so funny?”

“Let’s just say Leese stumbled into our group by default after using some pretty poor judgment. He corrected what he could, then he stayed and now he’s one of us.”