“And what way is that?”
God… even though this was definitely not the place, and completely not the time, he wanted her—and part of the attraction was the power in her. There was no come-hither bullshit, no flirtatious eyelash batting or that awful pet-the-hair-and-preen stuff. Nope, this woman was like a water cannon, hitting him with the force of her intelligence, her try-me-if-you-dare, her confidence. And what do you know, she blew him out of his boots.
“So how do you know them?” she repeated.
Yup, she was going to make him answer that—and his explanation, that he’d read a man’s mind and saw that he’d hurt his girlfriend, was not going to make her happy. Oh, and then there was the fun fact that he had cocaine in his jacket, unregistered guns under both arms, and a matched set of steel poke-and-tickles strapped to his chest.
But hey, as penetrating as that stare of hers was, at least he knew it didn’t detect metal. Important tip.
“From the street,” he said. “That’s how.”
When she rose to her full height, he did the same—and she had to tilt her head up to look at his face. “You’re a hard man to find, you know that.”
She mostly kept the grimace of pain to herself, and he wished he could tell her to please, please, stop probing those memories he’d buried.
“If I’d known you were looking for me,” he said, “I’d have made myself easier to locate.”
She blinked at that. “Do you mind telling me your name?”
“Balthazar, no last name. I’m like Cher. Madonna. Bono. Guess those references date me, huh.”
“Will you come down to the station and answer…”
Her voice drifted off, and for an egotistical split second, he entertained the fantasy that she was so captivated by him, she’d literally lost the ability to speak. But then a trembling came over her, her hands shaking so badly that she raised them in confusion and alarm. With a stumble backward, she arched as if she couldn’t control her balance—
Balz jumped over the body and caught her just as the whites of her eyes flashed and she went limp. “Erika? Erika—”
With an abruptness that made no sense, her face turned to his, and that sightless stare met his own as if she could see him.
In a guttural, unreal voice, she said, “You are in danger. I need to save you.”
CHAPTER TEN
Rural Route 149
Nate, adopted son of the Black Dagger Brother Murhder, was desperate… just really, really fucking desperate… for his best friend, Shuli, to finally stop talking about—
“—and then she took my shirt off. Listen, naked is all well and good, but I didn’t give a crap about my top half. I wanted the pants gone. But it was like she read my mind. All of a sudden, I feel her hands on my belt buckle and—”
“That’s enough,” Nate cut in with a wince. “I’m good with the details stopping here. I’m so totally good with closing the curtain now.”
Shuli looked over from the driver’s seat of his white-on-white Tesla like someone had insulted his taste in cars. The male was an aristocrat all the way, diamond studs the size of bowling balls in his earlobes, some kind of big, heavy rose-gold watch on his wrist, the air of someone who had gotten what he wanted all his life as golden a halo as anybody could get. And yet in spite of all that, he wasn’t a bad guy.
“But the details are the best part,” he said. “Besides, don’t you want to know what it’s like before you and your female bang—”
“Whoa. Hold up.” Nate put both his palms out. “There is no me and any female. And if I wanted to go the porn route, it’s not going to be hearing a blow-by-blow about you and some human woman you picked up in a club two nights ago—”
“There was only one blow, actually. The other three times were straight sex.”
Closing his eyes, Nate wanted to plug his ears. “Like I was saying—”
“I’m going to pay her back for that, though—”
“Stop.”
“Fiiiiinnnnne. But I knew she was going to call me. I knew it.”
“Why, because you slipped her a hundy along with your number?”
“No, it’s ’cuz I’m fucking hot.”
Nate rubbed his aching eyes. “You know, the only thing worse than you talking about your sex life, is you talking about how much you love yourself.”
“Okay. So how much do you love me?” As a death-glare came his way, Shuli shrugged. “What. You wanted to change the subject.”
The pair of them had just left a job site in a part of town where the houses were huge, the lots were measured in acres not feet, and the garages had spaces for four cars at least. The owner was finishing his basement by putting in a workout room, a sauna, and a movie theater, and the both of them had been called in to help with the drywall. Nate was the only one who’d been on time. When Shuli had finally arrived, he’d smelled like perfume and been wearing a wrinkled silk shirt and a set of slacks that should have had a belt, but did not. His hair had likewise been a mess—and, not that anybody had needed the confirmation, the hickey on the side of his throat had neon-lighted the virgin-no-longer vibe he was clearly dying to talk about.