Her heels made a clip-clop noise on the cement. The station was so deserted, it was spooky. A few of the lights were out as well, and she hurried to the back parking lot as fast as her stilettos would carry her. In hindsight, it was probably a dumb idea to come back so late, but she had been having so much fun she couldn’t bring herself to leave. She thumbed through her contacts on her phone to text her friends that she’d gotten home all right.
A shadow uncoiled from the side of the building, and before she could react, her purse was tugged off her shoulder. Her phone tumbled out of her hands and landed on the concrete with a crack.
“Shit.” Lucy yanked back reflexively on her purse handle, stumbling on her heels.
She let go when her attacker moved in with a knife. He was skinny and wore a ski mask with and ratty black gloves. The knife looked like something that would give Crocodile Dundee a hard-on.
“Take it,” Lucy said, raising her hands in surrender. She backed away, even as the man came closer. She should have had her keys in her hand, or even Mace. Instead she’d gotten caught texting like a teenager.
“I would have just taken it. But you had to fight me.” His smile was cruel. “That’s going to cost you, bitch.”
“Help!” she screamed, turning to run for her car. Maybe he’d just take her purse and leave her alone.
No such luck. He caught her by the arm and pulled her back.
“Asshole,” she raged, kicking him. The heel of her expensive shoe snapped. Lucy struggled as he tried to twist her arm behind her back. She kicked him with the other foot, but the only damage she did was to the strap on her shoe.
Just then two headlights flashed to life, one on each side of them. The loud roar of big piped motorcycles started up, sounding like dueling lions.
“Shit,” her mugger said, and took off running with her purse, hopping over barriers and weaving in and out of parked cars.
One of the motorcycles followed him. Lucy hobbled to her car as fast as her ruined shoes would carry her. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw that the other bike was slowly rolling toward her. The rider was a big man, his features hidden by his helmet.
“Help,” she yelled again, but there wasn’t anyone else around. She got to her car and tried the handle. Of course it was locked. The keys were in her purse. And that was fleeing with her mugger, who was being chased down a side street by someone from a motorcycle gang.
Pressing herself flat against her car door, she faced the biker head-on. Lucy kicked off her shoes. She wouldn’t be able to outrun the motorcycle, but maybe she could put up enough of a fight that it wouldn’t be worth it for him to bother with her. Her heart pounded as adrenaline fired through her system.
When the bike rolled to a stop alongside her, the light from the lamppost nearby gave her a good look at the bearded thug. He was all denim, leather, and muscles. She let out a frightened gasp. She didn’t have a chance.
As he reached up to take off his helmet, Lucy flinched and pressed closer against her car.
“You’re out late, Counselor.”
The familiar gravelly voice turned her knees to Jell-O in relief. Now that she recognized his face, she sagged against the car.
“Evan, what are you doing here?”
He tossed his helmet on the back of the bike. His honey-brown hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, and a few strands hung in his eyes. He smiled at her, and she could swear that her knees wobbled again, but for a much different reason.
“The night’s just getting started for me.” Evan Villiers was an ex-cop who’d retired young to live the good life. For him, that meant opening a bar that specialized in cheap drinks and hot women. The Blue Line had the best happy hour on the Island.
“You scared the shit out of me,” she said, wheezing in air. Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes. She would not cry in front of him. That was all she needed, for it to get back to his old precinct that she’d been in tears. The detectives would never let her hear the end of it.
“Want to go for a ride?” He revved the bike.
“I want to call the cops,” Lucy said, her hands on her hips. “I can’t believe I got mugged. This used to be a nice neighborhood.”
“Still is.” He looked her up and down. “Seems a shame to waste that dress. Let me buy you a drink.”
That wasn’t the first time he’d asked her that question.
When he had been a cop and they’d faced off in court, her job had been to nail his procedures to the wall. She didn’t like letting assholes get off on technicalities any more than he had, but she hated when cops allowed that to happen due to sloppy casework. Evan would take it personally when one of his perps walked. He had cornered her in the elevator after one trial and banged his fist against the door in frustration.
“You know that asshole is going right back to selling drugs to kids. You have to know that.” He had whirled on her, his custom-made suit and his freshly shaven face doing nothing to civilize him. Evan was six-five and solid muscle. Looming over her in the small elevator car, he had oozed testosterone.
But she hadn’t been about to back down from a big guy, especially not in her courthouse. Lucy had jammed her finger into his chest and said, “Then you go out there and do it right next time, so that there won’t be a shadow of a damn doubt.”
“You know he’s guilty.”