The Beautiful Thief (Stolen Hearts #2)(7)

Once again, she reminded herself that she wasn’t doing anything wrong. She was just a lost guest. If someone saw her, they wouldn’t think anything of it. She stepped closer to the stairs, where the sounds came from. The slotted window to the stairwell was narrow, only three inches wide, and the wire support obscured her view, but she could make out a few large figures in the corner. But they weren’t standing still. They were huddled over something—no, someone—and viciously kicking.

And for once Melody didn’t know what Isobel would’ve done. Walk away and use the opportunity to get the job done? But Isobel had been anything but a coward. If someone needed help, she wouldn’t have hesitated to speak up. Partly because people had an uncanny track record of doing what she said. She looked down at the handle; the door hadn’t completely latched. It would be easy to step in and threaten off the attackers. And if she screamed from here, it would be loud enough to be heard.

But then the attackers separated for a brief second; Melody saw exactly who was being attacked and the decision was made for her.





In terms of being fired, Adam could think of better ways to be let go. But as another foot connected with a rib, it was hard to be grateful for anything.

Son of a bitch. He tried to push himself up, but another blow landed right above his knee and threw him off balance and back onto the dirty floor of the stairwell.

Adam was a good fighter. In fact, he was damned sure he could take on any of these bastards one-on-one. Scratch that. He could take them two-on-one. But right now there were four of them, and all his training was shit when they were landing kick after kick.

It wasn’t even the pain that pissed him off the most. It was that the kicks were so haphazard they weren’t even thinking about where they were hitting him. Damn it, Ike, you couldn’t even train your guys to beat someone up right?

But then a shoe connected with his face and the world went black for a moment. When he opened his eyes again, there was still lots of pain but the kicks had stopped. The legs in front of his face were blurred lines of black, and slowly they came into the shape he knew they were. But there was something in the background. Slim ankles and a pair of black strappy shoes. Then there was jumbled speaking, but it wasn’t one of his former coworkers. The voice was softer... familiar....

“Or I’ll call the cops.”

His gaze traveled up the toned legs and the black fabric and the perfect cleavage until he saw the face of an angel and the barrel of a gun.

“Lady, this isn’t any of your—”

The gunshot ricocheted off the concrete walls of the stairwell. Adam flinched, waiting to see whether the telltale pain of a gunshot wound came. But wherever the bullet was, it wasn’t in him. But the false bravado of his coworkers—former coworkers—fled as fast as they did.

Lazy bastards couldn’t even unarm one woman who probably weighed less than half of their bodyweight. The clack of heels against concrete told him that the woman was approaching him. He rolled onto his side and tilted his head back just far enough to confirm his suspicions. Melody Murray stood above him like an avenging angel. But she wasn’t taking revenge on his behalf. No. One of those bullets had his name on it.

He didn’t close his eyes or beg for forgiveness. This day was bound to come sooner or later. He should feel lucky it was her doing the deed instead of the lowlifes who had just been beating the shit out of him.

Adam pushed himself over just enough until he fell onto his back, the dirt and grime beneath him so different from the angel above him. She stared down at him dispassionately while she aimed the gun at his forehead.

Taking one last deep breath, he waited for the bullet to come, once again replaying the scene in his mind that had brought him to this. He’d done a lot of shit in his days, but holding her back while her mother was murdered? That was the one sin he knew there was no coming back from. No atoning or begging for forgiveness. That was a first-class ticket to hell....

Except the gun didn’t go off again. He took one more last breath and then another.

Eventually Melody Murray lowered the gun and knelt carefully at his side. “What’s your name?”

Her voice was low and breathy and sexy as hell. He’d say she should be a radio host, but it would be a damn shame to cover that pretty face.

“Who is the man who was working with you? Who killed my mother?”

His avenging angel wanted to take on the devil himself. Poor thing didn’t stand a chance.

Adam stayed quiet. It was only a matter of time before she brought up that gun again. His mind flashed through all the ways he could disarm her: Swipe her legs out from under her. A quick blow to her throat. Break the wrist holding the gun. He deserved this, though. If anyone had the right to do him in, it was her.

“Damn it,” she muttered as she flicked the safety on the small model Bobcat Beretta and tucked it back into the clutch, which didn’t look big enough for a handgun. Then she was wrenching his arm. He half thought she was going to try to torture him, but instead she pulled his arm over her shoulders and started to pull him to his feet.

He blinked a few times as he tried to stop the room from spinning even as he worked his bruised legs to push himself up. If the attackers had any idea what they’d been doing, he’d have broken bones all over by now. Amateurs.

Melody led him out of the stairwell and down the hall. He angled his face down so that if anyone saw him, they’d think he was drunk and not on the edge of passing out again. He was playing an odd game right now. He knew that if Melody hadn’t killed him yet it was because she wanted something from him. She had her gun put away and was leading him away from danger, so she must think he was worse off than he was.