Oh, God. Where am I?
I wake in a bed that isn’t mine, in a room I don’t recognize. Panic rips through me as I take in the strange surroundings.
Memories flood back. The pub. The alley. Kean’s crew. Flynn.
He saved me, or did he? Did he overtake Kean’s men only to take me for himself?
I move to rise from the bed when a sharp pain grips my arm. I look at it, noting the bandage covering a wound. I remember the knife. And then later, blood.
The sound of movement from another room sends fresh adrenaline coursing through my system. I scan for weapons, exits, anything I can use to defend myself. I stand, looking out the window to find a four-story drop to the street below. Not an option. A heavy lamp on the bedside table might work as a makeshift weapon.
My fingers close around the lamp’s base just as footsteps approach the bedroom door.
The door opens and Flynn’s tall frame fills the doorway. “You’re awake.”
I have a strange sense of relief at seeing him, even as I’m terrified I’m still in trouble. I don’t know this man. Yes, I find him attractive, but Ted Bundy was a good-looking guy too.
Through the bedroom door, I can see a slice of what looks like a living room and the front door. I wonder if I can nonchalantly thank him for helping me and leave.
He crosses the room in three long strides, keeping his distance as if he can tell I’m skittish. ‘How’s the arm?’
I glance at the bandage. The wrapping is neat, almost professional. ‘You did this?’
‘Better than letting you bleed out in an alley.’ His blue eyes lock with mine. ‘Though maybe next time, don’t follow strange men into dark corners?’
Heat creeps up my neck. ‘I was following a lead.’
‘You were following trouble.’ He moves to the window, adjusting the blinds. The moonlight catches his profile, highlighting a fresh bruise along his jaw. ‘And finding it.’
I’m filled with conflicting emotions. This stranger saved me, patched me up, gave me his bed. But he’s also an unknown variable in a city full of dangerous men. The journalist in me can’t ignore the questions piling up. Why was he watching me? How did he take down four Kean men without breaking a sweat? Why bring me to his place instead of a hospital?
‘Thank you,’ I manage. ‘For stepping in. Hope you weren’t hurt too.”
He shrugs. ‘Like I said, I enjoy a good fight.’
That seems odd to me. Who goes around seeking a fight? ‘Right.’ I shift on the bed, wincing as the movement pulls at my injury. ‘And bringing me to your apartment?’
His jaw tightens. ‘You passed out.’
“You could have called 9-1-1 or taken me to a hospital.”
His lips quirk up almost as if he’s amused. “You didn’t need a doctor. You fainted. Another reason you shouldn’t go hunting for trouble. There’s a lot of blood in the Keans’ world. If you faint at the sight of it, you’ll be passed out more often than you’re awake.”
I take offense at that. “I don’t pass out at the sight of blood.”
He arches a brow.
I blow out a breath. “Okay, maybe my blood. Other people, I don’t.” Sure, I might get a little queasy, but I don’t faint.
“Sure, okay. Do you want some water or whiskey?”
Both, actually. “Water would be nice.”
“Feel like getting up?” He holds out his hand.
I hesitate but then take his hand, letting him help me stand. His hand is callused but warm. Once I’m standing, he releases my hand and leads me out of his bedroom.
His apartment is small. I can see just about every area from the living room. He moves to the tiny kitchenette to get me a glass of water. I watch him, my mind cataloging details. The fluid grace of a fighter. The way his eyes keep darting to the windows, the door, then back to me, like he’s mapping escape routes.
Everything about him screams danger. And yet…
There’s something magnetic about him, something that draws me in, even at the bar before everything went sideways. The way he’d warned me off with that hint of possession in his voice. How he’d appeared in that alley like some dark guardian angel.
But that’s the problem, isn’t it? He’d been watching me. Following me. The kind of behavior that should send me running, not sitting here admiring how his muscles flex as he fills my glass with water.
‘You’re staring,’ he says, those blue eyes piercing.
Heat floods my cheeks. ‘I’m trying to figure you out.’
‘Don’t.’ The word comes out rough, almost like a growl.
‘Can’t help it. It’s what I do.’ I sit on his couch, sinking into a cushion deeper than expected. ‘Most guys who play hero don’t stick around to patch up the damsel.’
‘I’m not most guys.’ He hands me the glass of water. ‘And you’re hardly a damsel.’
The air between us feels charged. My heart hammers, but I’m not sure if it’s fear or attraction. Maybe both.
‘No,’ I agree, meeting his gaze. ‘I’m the fool who chases stories into dark alleys.’
His lips quirk, but the amusement doesn’t reach his eyes. ‘At least you admit it.’
I shouldn’t find his disapproval attractive, shouldn’t feel this pull toward someone who’s basically a stranger. But there’s something about him that makes me want to dig deeper, to uncover all his secrets.
Just like any good story.
‘So, were you following me? At the bar, I mean. Before the alley.’
Flynn’s shoulders tense. ‘What makes you think that?’
‘You approached me with a warning, then just happened to be there when things went south? I’m a journalist. We notice patterns.’ I sip the water, relishing the cool liquid quenching my dry mouth.
He moves to the window, glancing out like he’s expecting trouble. ‘You weren’t supposed to be part of this.’
‘Part of what?’
He turns back to me. “Nothing. I just happened to be there and noticed you not so subtly poking your nose into people’s business who don’t like that, as you’ve discovered.”
“Are we in danger now?”
“I think we’re okay.” He crosses his arms as he looks down at me. It makes me feel like I’m a child about to be reprimanded. “Whatever story you’re hoping to get from the Keans, you should stop.”
“Why were you there?”
His jaw ticks as his eyes narrow. For a minute I think he’s going to ignore my question.
“I had a mission of my own, but you put a wrench in it.”
A mission? That’s an interesting term to use. Is he an undercover cop, maybe, or a federal agent?
‘And I messed that up?”
‘By nearly getting yourself killed?’ His laugh holds no humor. ‘Yeah, you could say that.’
I remember one of the men knowing Flynn. “They knew you.”
He doesn’t respond.
My mind is going a million miles a minute to put the pieces together. “You’ve met them before. Maybe you’re trying to infiltrate them. What kind of mission requires you to befriend Kean thugs?’
His eyes flash with danger. ‘The kind you don’t want to know about.’
But that’s exactly the kind of information I need to know. Every instinct tells me this story is bigger than a simple bar fight. The way he moves, his way of taking in everything around him all at once, his careful words… he could help my story.
“I do want to know—”
‘Drop it, Lucy.’ He cuts me off, voice sharp enough to make me flinch. ‘Some questions are better left unasked.’
‘I’m sorry.’ The words slip out before I can stop them. ‘For ruining whatever you were working on. I didn’t mean to—”
‘You’re apologizing?’ Flynn’s eyebrows lift, and a hint of that earlier playfulness returns to his face. ‘That’s new.’
I cross my arms, careful of the bandage. ‘I can admit when I’ve messed up.’
He moves closer, sitting next to me, and my breath catches at his proximity. ‘In that case…’ His voice drops lower, sending warmth spreading through me. ‘You could make it up to me.’
‘How?’ My breath holds. I’ve got that same eager anticipation mixed with fear coursing through me at what he might suggest.
His blue eyes lock with mine, a dangerous glint in them. ‘Have dinner with me.’
I don’t know what I was expecting… well, actually, I do. I was thinking he wanted to invite me to his bed. I wasn’t expecting him to ask me for a date. ‘What?’
‘Dinner. You, me, food.’ His lips curve into that infuriating half-smile. ‘It’s this thing people do when they want to get to know each other.’
I should say no. This man could be a cop or perhaps he’s a rival of the Keans. Either way, danger is definitely a part of his life.
‘Are you asking me on a date?’
‘Well, you did derail my evening plans.’ He leans closer, his gaze drifting to my lips. He wants to kiss me. I think I might let him. Good golly, what is wrong with me?
‘Seems only fair that you provide alternative entertainment,” he finishes.
My thoughts go back to his bed, and my cheeks burn. “That’s… that’s not…’
‘Just dinner, Lucy.’ He tilts his head to the side. ‘Unless you’re scared?’
That snaps me out of my daze. ‘I’m not scared.’
‘Prove it.’
Before I can answer, his front door bursts open. In an instant, he’s up, ready for a fight.
Three men saunter in. Once Flynn sees them, the tension in him substantially drops.
‘What the hell were you thinking?” the one in front asks. I get the sense that he’s the leader. ‘Taking on Kean’s men? You were supposed to—”
“Is she the woman?” a second man with blond hair and a more polished appearance from the other two asks.
The tension rises in Flynn again.
‘You compromised everything.’ The first man steps forward, his face twisted in anger. ‘Months of work down the drain because you couldn’t keep your hero complex in check.’
‘They were going to kill her.’ Flynn’s voice turns to ice.
The third man scoffs. ‘That’s not our problem. The mission—”
There’s that word again. Mission. Months of work. I must be right in thinking Flynn was trying to infiltrate Kean’s crew, and now he’s an enemy because he saved me. I feel worse than I did before at messing up a plan to bring the Kean family down.
I wonder who they work for? Undercover police? FBI? DEA? Some specialized task force?
‘We need to contain this,’ the first man says, glancing at me.
Flynn steps between them and me, his shoulders rigid. ‘Touch her, and we’ll have problems.’
I watch them. Study them. Whatever’s happening here, I’ve stumbled into something much bigger than a simple undercover operation.
They’re all angry because I ruined things for them. But maybe I can help them. And by helping them, I can get an even bigger story than I initially planned.
‘I can help you,’ I blurt out. The three men turn to stare at me, but I focus on Flynn. ‘I’ve been researching the Keans for months. I have contacts, information—”
‘No.’ Flynn’s voice cuts through my enthusiasm.
‘But I’ve done lots of research, learned a great deal about them. I know they’re behind a fire that took place a decade ago—”
“What do you know about it?” the leader asks.
“She doesn’t know anything we don’t already know,” Flynn says, eying me in a way that I suspect means to keep my mouth shut.
“How do you know, Flint? Let’s ask,” the blond asks.
Flint? “I thought you were Flynn.”
“I am,” he grinds out, tossing a sideways glance to the other men.
The blond man arches a brow. “We call him Flint… like Fred Flintstone. You know, the Stone-Age guy with no sense.”
I have a vague idea of what he’s talking about, but the reference is really old. I decide to move on because I’m more interested in the story. “I can ask questions without raising suspicion—”
“Did tonight teach you nothing?” Flynn turns to face me, his blue eyes blazing. “This isn’t some story you can chase. These people don’t just rough up nosy reporters. They make them disappear.”
“Flint… Flynn.” The leader’s voice holds censure. “Don’t be an ass. You’re scaring her.”
“No, I’m not.” Flynn looks like he’s about at the end of his rope. “She had the nerve to tell me she had it under control. That was after I stopped them from violating and murdering her.’
I’m grateful to Flynn, but this story is burning in my gut. I have to get it. ‘I know the risks. I’ve been tracking their movements, their connections. I could—”
‘Could what? Get yourself killed? Do you have a death wish? Because if that’s the case, I should have just left you to them.”
I’m both struck by the intensity of Flynn’s statement and hurt by it.
“This isn’t a game, Lucy. These people, what they’re capable of…’ He shakes his head. ‘You need to stay away. Far away.’
Frustration wells up inside me. Here’s my chance to crack open the biggest story of my career, to finally expose the truth about the Keans, and he’s trying to shut me out. But beneath that frustration lies something else. Like he’s truly fearful of what could happen to me.
The blond one seems intrigued by the situation. “Maybe we should consider—’
“No. Whatever you’re thinking, it’s a hard no.”
The room goes silent. Flynn clearly isn’t going to hear anything that doesn’t suggest that I give up the story. But I have a sense his partners want to know what I’ve learned. We’re at a stalemate because I don’t plan to let go of the story. Sure, I’ll try to be safer in my investigation, but this moment has proven that this story is bigger, more explosive than I could imagine. Nothing is going to keep me from telling it.
