Blind Justice Page 4

  “Tara!” Jeff rounded a corner and jogged toward her.

  A sigh of relief shuddered through her and she burst into tears.

  Black running shoes appeared in her blurred line of vision. “Hey.” He crouched in front of her. “Hey. It’s okay. We’re okay.”

  She nodded and wiped the stupid tears from her cheeks, probably smearing her eyeliner, but she didn’t care.

  He helped her to her feet, looking down at her with those warm brown eyes so full of concern, his strong hands gently holding her forearms. She wanted to—

  Nothing. When she got home, she’d call Jenna. Her friend would comfort and commiserate and say all the right things to make her feel better. Tara didn’t need a man for that.

  Not anymore.

  “What happened to the Unabomber twin?” she asked. Actually, Hulk might be a better moniker given how huge the attacker had been.

  Jeff’s mouth twitched as he dropped his hold. “He did have that vibe, didn’t he?” His amusement faded. “He got away. Fucker was fast. Dropped his hoodie and blended into the foot traffic on the street. The security guards called it in, so we’re waiting on the cops now.”

  “Damn.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not your fault. I’m just thankful you were here at all.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck and rolled his shoulders. “Thank my…uh, friend who called as I was getting into my car. We were on the phone when I looked into my side mirror and saw the guy holding you up.”

  Too close for comfort. “Well, if your friend is ever in town, I’ll buy you both a drink.” What was with the hesitation? Did he have a secret girlfriend? Or boyfriend? The way he sometimes looked at her, she didn’t think it was the latter, but who knew? “I owe you twice now,” she said.

  His face blanked. “You owe me nothing. Any of us would have helped you.”

  “Or any other woman under attack.”

  “Exactly.”

  It was true, and didn’t exactly make her feel special. Which was dumb. She was lucky to be alive—and she was disappointed that a man she didn’t want didn’t want her either? That was Old Tara thinking. She had no time for that crap. She was better than that now.

  “What did he want from you, anyway?” Jeff asked.

  Tara crossed her arms. Maybe if she held on tight enough, she wouldn’t fall apart. “I don’t know. He knew my name, so this wasn’t a random attack. And he wasn’t interested in my purse or car.” What had he wanted? She shivered.

  “So not a crime of opportunity,” Jeff said with a frown.

  “Especially given the phone call I got earlier,” she said, as the memory resurfaced.

  “What call?” he demanded, as if she’d been deliberately holding out on him.

  “About twenty minutes ago, someone called work and asked for me, but we had a bad connection. At the time I shrugged it off, but maybe he was checking that I was still at the office.” She pulled her pea coat tighter as if that could somehow ward off the chill. Impossible when it came from the inside. “But why would anyone want to attack me? Mars is dead, so I’m not a threat to him anymore.”

  Jeff rubbed his forehead. “Yeah, I don’t know. Maybe he hired someone before he committed suicide.”

  Tara’s blood turned arctic. “Or maybe he didn’t kill himself at all.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  JEFF HAD TO lock his arms to his sides as he and Tara rode the elevator to her high-rise condo in Arlington’s busy Courthouse area. She stood in front of the button panel, arms straight, face expressionless, and he wanted nothing more than to wrap her in his embrace and tell her things would be okay.

  But he couldn’t do that. He knew all too well that he couldn’t make those kinds of promises, and he didn’t trust himself to touch her without wanting more.

  Once the elevator doors opened on the eleventh floor, he followed her down the brightly lit hall, keeping his eyes anywhere but on her slim hips.

  Given how clean she kept her workspace at Steele, he’d expected the same when they entered her home. Instead, half-folded laundry covered the flowery couch, stacks of magazines nearly hid a glass coffee table, a pair of heels lay forgotten beneath the breakfast bar, and dirty dishes filled the sink.

  “Sorry it’s such a disaster,” she said, shutting the door behind them. Pink washed her cheeks. “It’s usually just me, so I clean when I’m in the mood.”

  “And you’re never in the mood?”

  “Hey,” she said on a bubble of laughter that briefly chased away the worry-line between her brows. “I’ve been busy.”

  “Sure.” He couldn’t resist a quick smile. Which triggered the usual guilt.

  Clearing his throat, Jeff said, “Give me a minute.”

  She sobered. “Okay. Just, uh, maybe close your eyes when you go through my bedroom.”

  He gave her a get-real look and passed through the first doorway to his left. The bathroom. Not super neat—a tattered novel and several makeup containers were scattered on the counter—but the surfaces were sparkling clean, so props there. It wasn’t like he was the world’s best housekeeper.

  Another doorway led to Tara’s room. The queen bed was unmade, showing off sheets covered with large, pink flowers that somehow seemed a fitting place for her to lay her beautiful head. He would absolutely not imagine joining her there.

  Or give more than a fleeting glance to the colorful bras hanging from a knob on her dresser.

  He swallowed hard and crouched down. The only thing under the bed was a set of long, plastic containers that held who-knew-what.

  He checked the walk-in closet. Jesus. How many shoes did one person need? There were at least thirty pairs of heels in various colors and materials, several sets of tall boots, some flip-flops, sandals, and a single pair of cross trainers. The exact opposite of his closet. Not that he had heels, but half of the six or so pairs he owned were athletic shoes, especially now that he’d tossed his old Air Force uniforms.

  He quickly riffled through her dresses and tops, but found no intruders. Her building was relatively secure, but after today’s attempt on her life, he wasn’t taking any chances with Tara’s safety. Hell, he made a living defeating “secured” buildings. Anyone determined enough could find a way around the keycard readers.

  Back in the living room, he checked the small balcony that overlooked the busy street below. Unlikely anyone could get in that way. “All clear. Does anything look out of place?”

  She’d removed her jacket, dropped her purse on the counter, and kicked off her heels. In bare feet, the top of her head barely hit him at mid-chest. “You’re wondering if I’d be able to tell, aren’t you?”

  “No judgment.”

  She retraced his steps and then returned to the living room where she caught him studying a collection of gray ceramic kittens that marched across the fireplace mantel in various playful poses. “Everything looks the way I left it.”

  “You’re an aspiring cat lady, huh?”

  She bit back a smile. “Yes, but I’m allergic. Since I can’t have a real one, my friend bought me the kitten playing with yarn for my birthday one year, and it became a thing. Now I get one every year.” On a head shake, she said, “I’m not the collector type, but I secretly adore my cats.”

  The sad note in her voice plucked a chord in him, but he suppressed it.

  “You have any pets?” she asked.

  “No.” He’d been waiting to get a dog until Evan came home. If Jeff ever found him. No. Fuck that thinking. When he found him. He’d never stop looking. “You sure you’re going to be okay here alone?”

  “I’ve been alone for years.” A note in her voice hinted that she meant more than just her living situation.

  From what he’d picked up during the last few months, Tara didn’t have much of a social life. Surprising, because she struck him as the kind of woman who got energy from being with other people. The kind who could walk into a room full of strangers and leave w
ith a dozen new friends. Or dates.

  The complete opposite of him. He liked people fine, but he was slow to make friends, slow to trust, and ultimately drained by even the most enjoyable social events.

  “I’ll be all right,” she said.

  “If you need someone to talk to about today, or—”

  “I’ll call my best friend.”

  He pressed his lips together and nodded, simultaneously annoyed and relieved. “If you’re good here, I need to go.”

  Tara’s chin pulled back at his abrupt declaration. “Okay.”

  Shit. He stretched his neck from side to side, earning a satisfying pop that made her wince. “Sorry. I have a lot on my mind.”

  “No worries,” she said, straightening her shoulders and standing tall. As tall as one could who barely hit five feet. “Just be safe.”

  His brows dropped. “From what?”

  She cocked her head and studied him, warming his blood. “Well, everything. But specifically, if someone is after me because of Mars, they might be after you too. You helped.”

  She had earned the Team Mom moniker for a reason. “Ah, right.” He kept his expression blank, lest she see how much her concern meant. “I’m good at looking out for myself, but thanks.”

  She followed him to the door, chasing him with her enticing scent. Reaching up to his shoulder to regain his attention, she said, “Thanks again.”

  Her touch was enough to make him reconsider leaving, but the last thing he needed was more of Tara’s company. He nodded and moved out of reach. “Lock your door, turn on the alarm, and call the police if anything suspicious happens. Then call me.”

  Was her scowl because he’d pulled away, or was she insulted by his admonition?

  “Thanks, Dad,” she said, heavy on the sarcasm, but softening her response with a half-smile.

  Dad. Sorrow pierced his heart like a sword. Bridget had taken so much from him.

  “Jeff?” Tara asked, placing her hand on his biceps, her brows drawn in concern.

  Even through his parka, her touch scrambled his brain.

  He needed to get the hell out of here.

  Before he could think of a response, a fire alarm pierced the air.

  Jeff’s stoic exterior hid some serious emotional pain. Tara recognized the look. She’d seen it in Jenna’s eyes after her brother died, and in security specialist Dan Molina’s face when he thought he’d lost the love of his life.

  She wanted to soothe and comfort, and wipe the sorrow from his beautiful brown eyes. She wanted to take her own comfort over the day’s trauma.

  And sprint in the opposite direction.

  The same ice she’d seen in the gunman’s demeanor as he’d aimed his weapon at her chest—perfectly ready to end her life as if she were nothing, worthless—had invaded her body. She couldn’t stop shivering, and Jeff’s arms would be strong and warm…

  A klaxon interrupted her thoughts, loud enough to split her head.

  The white strobe on the wall next to her front door flashed in time with the squawking. A fire? Seriously?

  Instantly, Jeff turned into a cold, hard warrior, the transformation subtle but no less startling. “Let’s go,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over the obnoxious-but-effective alarm.

  Fear squeezed her ribs. Fire in a high-rise…

  It could be the attacker from before, trying to draw us out. But that was ridiculous. Wasn’t it? Didn’t matter. Either way, they had to leave.

  Grimacing against the ear-battering noise, she grabbed her purse and slipped into her shoes.

  Jeff held out her pea coat so she could slide it on quickly. “Ready?” He opened the door and reached back for her while peering up and down the corridor.

  What choice did she have? She let him take her hand, enveloping it in his own larger, rougher one. An inconvenient frisson of awareness tingled along her spine.

  With a tight grip, he urged her into the hall, which was empty except for Mrs. Shadowitz, recognizable by her long white hair as she disappeared through the door to the stairwell at the far end of the building.

  Jeff had already turned in that direction, tugging Tara behind. He’d probably memorized the exits while waiting for the elevator.

  Her heart raced, but she shoved aside the fear and focused on trying to keep up in her stupid heels. At the end of the hall, he slammed open the fire door and drew her toward the stairs. She stumbled and cried out before catching herself on the rail.

  “You okay?” He stopped and looked down at her.

  She nodded, slipping her shoes from her feet and stuffing them into her bag.

  He slid his left arm around her waist, affixing her to his side. Rather than protest, she clung to him, gripping his shoulder to make herself less of a burden.

  And maybe getting the tiniest bit of comfort from his hard, warm body. He wasn’t thick like a bodybuilder, but damn if he wasn’t all muscle under his parka. Something she didn’t want to notice, and not just because of bad timing.

  At each turn he slowed just enough to check for threats and then powered on. As they reached the lower floors and approached other people, he patted her back and loosened his grip.

  She held on until she had her balance, then dropped her hand, already missing the feel of his embrace. This is what happens when you don’t let a man touch you for four years. Maybe it wasn’t even Jeff. Maybe it was merely that he was the first guy to get this physically close to her since Colin.

  A woman pushed past, knocking Tara aside.

  Maybe she freaking needed to focus on getting out of the building safely.

  Looking back, Jeff grabbed her hand and tugged her into the throng of people exiting the stairwell onto the shadowed sidewalk. White puffs of air hovered around everyone’s mouths, but she was warm from adrenaline and exertion, despite the chill that slapped her cheeks.

  Tara went with the flow as the building’s occupants spilled through the doorway like grain from a silo, quickly donned her heels, and mixed with the people walking—or gawking—on the busy street. She couldn’t stop herself from looking for the man who’d attacked her in the garage, but all she knew about him was that he was tall and pale, with brown eyebrows. Like about half of the men within a hundred yards, including Jeff.

  Beyond the sidewalk, two fire trucks idled in the fire lane, several first responders in full gear herding people out of the way as others raced toward the building.

  Jeff held Tara tight to his side as he plowed through the crowd, polite but unyielding in his goal to reach the street.

  And then what?

  Bodies jostled them as they approached the edge of the crowd, loosening Jeff’s hold. He leaned close and said, “Let’s—”

  Someone jerked Tara out of his grasp, wrenching a shocked yelp from her throat as she was dragged by a heavy arm through the crush.

  Hot breath assaulted her ear. “One more sound and lover boy’s dead.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE TIP OF the knife pressed into Jeff’s lower right ribs, stopping him cold. If he took a blade to the kidney, he’d never get to Tara.

  “One move and my friend over there slits her throat.”

  Icy fear for Tara lodged in Jeff’s belly even as lava raged in his veins. These fuckers were going down.

  With his peripheral vision, he judged his attacker’s size. Tank-like. A few inches taller than his own six-four, and broader in the shoulders, wearing a fire suit and boots, just like the other man.

  Prodded by the knife and a meaty grip on his left biceps, Jeff wended his way toward the street south of the fire trucks, away from the chaos and commotion.

  Away from Tara.

  As soon as her captor was out of sight, Jeff swiveled.

  He hooked the goon’s knife arm.

  Elbow to the throat.

  Palm straight into the nose.

  The man howled, hands flying to his face.

  Jeff kicked out his foot, dropping the bigger man onto his back.

  Gotta
love physics.

  The guy’s head cracked against the sidewalk and he was out cold.

  Jeff stopped to peer around the side of the building. Down the street, the other goon shoved Tara into the backseat of a black Durango. Once she was safely inside, Jeff sprinted toward the vehicle, memorizing the license plate as he ran.

  “Hey!” he yelled as the thick Asian man charged past the truck’s front grill.

  Her abductor stopped, registered Jeff’s advance with a scowl, and then pivoted toward the driver’s side of the truck.

  Inside, Tara tried unsuccessfully to open each of the rear doors before slipping into the front seat.

  Goddammit. If her abductor reached her before he did…

  Jeff ran straight at him and slammed the man face first into the window.

  The asshole roared. He threw his head back and swung his elbows, one glancing off Jeff’s ribs. Jeff shook it off and kicked the back of the attacker’s knee. As the man wobbled, Jeff wrapped an arm around his throat and stepped back, twirling the man to the ground, face down.

  Before the guy could rise, Jeff lodged his knee against his neck and wrenched his bulky arm halfway up his back.

  “What can I do?” Tara asked from Jeff’s left, her breath coming fast.

  “We—” The man beneath him bucked. “Don’t fucking move.” Jeff pushed the guy’s wrist closer to his shoulder blades.

  The thug groaned and stilled.

  Jeff glanced at Tara. God, she was incredible. Her hair was a mess, her face was flushed, and her jacket had ripped. And despite all she’d been through today—and the fact that her hands were tied—she stood ready to help.

  He’d never wanted her more.

  That’s the adrenaline talking, asshole.

  He had one mission in life: to find Evan. That left no room for anything else. Certainly not a relationship. And Tara deserved nothing less than the real deal. Roses, candlelit dinners…or whatever guys did to land a woman of her caliber. Things he couldn’t give. Not now, maybe not ever.

  Before he could make the suggestion, Tara bent at the waist, raised her arms behind her, and slammed them down against her backside. The zip ties held.