Too Many Brothers

The T-shirt plopped at Daphne’s feet. Her throat tightened and her hammering heart battered her ribs. Feeling the stranger’s Delft-blue eyes making a thorough examination of her, she grabbed the first clown suit she could reach and covered herself as best she could with the slithery material. She opened her mouth to scream, but suddenly found her breath driven from her lungs by the agile intruder, who vaulted the bed in a single bound. He covered her mouth with a strong hand. A no-nonsense pistol caressed her ear before she could force air, let alone a scream, past her numb lips.

Her brother Kieran would’ve said only a fool would fight against those odds, but Daphne wasn’t about to die without putting up a fight. She tried jabbing an elbow into her captor’s midriff, but hit rock-hard abs. Next she attempted to disable him by stomping on his foot. Except that she was barefoot and he wore boots, as she quickly discovered. And the more she struggled, the more tenuous became her hold on the clown suit.

“Chill out,” he growled, jerking her tighter against his own heaving chest. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded in a gruff stage whisper.

“Mmmmf…mmfff,” Daphne mumbled against his sweating fingers. He smelled sweaty, anyway, and rough whiskers scraped her neck, although his longish, sun-streaked blond hair was soft where it brushed her cheek. What a funny thing to notice at a time like this.

As her initial shock receded, Daphne tried to store her impressions—for the police—supposing she got out of this alive. He was tall. A rangy build like her brother Perry. She was five foot eight; the man was taller. And stronger by far, she was learning. She couldn’t budge him, and twisting only tightened his grip on her.

Her legs felt every quiver of his taut muscles hidden under threadbare blue jeans. A once-black sweat-stained T-shirt hugged a muscled torso. Iron-hard biceps indicated her captor probably kept fit working out or doing manual labor.

For all she knew, he could be April Ross’s pool guy.

Although probably not. He seemed inordinately interested in what might be happening on the street in front of the house. Bingo! How close was the Ross home to the area cordoned off by the police? It’d be due east of April’s backyard. Quite close. Too close. Daphne began to shake uncontrollably as her mind revolved faster. He could be a hardened criminal. Maybe even a murderer.

That thought came when he forcefully dragged her to the far side of the front window, where he used the barrel of his gun to tip aside the blind. Apparently he didn’t like what he saw. He swore ripely under his breath and flattened them both against the wall, fast.

It wasn’t that Daphne hadn’t heard such language before. Her older brothers, Dane, Kieran and Perry, were a firefighter, a cop and a long-haul trucker, respectively. Even though she frequently complained about having too many bossy brothers, oh boy, did she wish any one of them would burst through that door right now. If she ever got out of this predicament, she vowed she’d pay strict attention to every one of her mom’s lectures, too.

“Where’s April?” her captor asked right beside her ear. “Are you keeping her company because Mike deployed again?” Ever so slowly, he slid his fingers off Daphne’s mouth. But as she geared up to bellow for help, he waved the mean-looking pistol in her face. The cry froze on her lips.

“Get dressed,” he hissed, sounding almost angry. Her fingers felt all thumbs, and there was no way Daphne could comply.

Muttering, he gave her a shake and repeated his demand.

Logan Grant found that he was beginning to be affected by the armful of half-naked woman he’d surprised when he slipped in through April’s back door. At first he was too shocked over seeing anyone—let alone a partially clad anyone—in a room he’d counted on being empty. That, coupled with the fact that he was positive his cover had been blown in a big narcotics buy gone sour, meant Logan wasn’t having the best day of his life.

Special Agent Grant had spent ten months working his way into a position of power in an organization his agency had been trying to bring down for two years. He’d been minutes from meeting the next big fish in the scummy pond, which would’ve been another step up the slippery, slimy ladder of crime. Then all hell had broken loose. Cop cars had roared down side streets from all directions. And when push came to shove, Logan had been forced to take sides.

Billy Holt, his superior in the local heroin import ring, had seen him knock out another ring member and steal a pistol from him. Now Holt had more interest in tracking down Logan than in staying to fight local law enforcement, one or more of whom had to be on the take. Only an insider could’ve made Logan and brought in the cops.

Logan knew too much about the next big shipment due to land on California shores. It made him dangerous to the organization. Dangerous and expendable. Even now, two cars filled with Holt’s trusted henchmen were combing the streets, hunting for him.

Under other circumstances, Logan thought he might work up a red-hot interest in this big-eyed, leggy woman—in close proximity to a large, soft bed. Unfortunately, at the moment, saving his skin and hers took precedence over baser instincts.

He’d come here because his sister’s home presented his only chance of escape. Though taller than Mike Ross, Logan thought he could borrow Mike’s razor and fit into one of his shirts. A change of clothes, use April’s cell phone to contact his office, and poof, he’d be scooped up by his associates, leaving Holt to wonder how he’d managed to pull a disappearing act.

Things rarely went according to plan in a special agent’s life. This day had gone to hell more rapidly than most, however. Billy’s goons cruised the streets, alleys and backyards, leaving Logan—what? With a hysterical, nearly nude female threatening to scream her head off, that’s what.

To make matters worse, he’d stayed too long. He’d already put everyone in this house in jeopardy. He let loose another stream of colorful invective. Under current circumstances, it was all he could do.

Daphne’s addled brain took in his second barked order—get dressed—and that was what she was trying desperately to do, even though it meant peeling the clown suit away from where she had it plastered to her front. Even though it meant revealing her scanty Victoria’s Secret finery to a crazed gunman.

She attempted to shake out the material, bend and slide the colorful, baggy jumpsuit over first one leg, then the other. She nearly tripped and fell flat on her face. It wasn’t humiliating enough that the gunman caught her, oh, no. Worse, he zipped the suit up from the vee in her legs all the way to her neck because her fingers were shaking so hard.

“What kind of getup is that?” he asked, eyeing her speculatively.

Fully covered now, Daphne felt a bit steadier. She smoothed back a stubborn curl that had slipped out of her clip and snapped back, “It’s a clown suit, you idiot. I’m here to perform at a birthday party. Natalie’s. Her name is Natalie. You, uh, called her mother by name. Are you…ah…a fr…riend of April’s?”

Hearing herself squeak, Daphne crossed her arms and grabbed her elbows just to have something solid to hang on to. No one, especially her brothers, would ever believe her if she told them she’d stood here trading niceties with a man holding a gun on her.

Logan noticed her wide, tawny cat eyes fixed on the 9mm Luger he’d taken from one of Billy Holt’s confederates—a much larger and more lethal weapon than the handgun he usually carried, a snub-nosed Smith & Wesson. All things considered, the party clown was holding up well. He figured that most women in her position would either be dissolved in tears by now, or they’d have fainted long ago.

“So, we’re finally making progress,” he said. “Dammit, I forgot Nat’s birthday. I’ll have to make it up to her later. Listen, can I trust you to open the door and call April back here without screaming down the house? I need to talk to her, but I’d rather Natalie didn’t see me looking like this.”

“I don’t think so,” Daphne sniffed. “You have one hostage already. I won’t be party to helping you get another. Especially not one who’s pregnant. What kind of degenerate are you?”

“Hostage?” He grinned then, showing two rows of very white, very even teeth. “I think you’ve been watching too many cop shows on TV. Just attract April’s attention, please. Then sometime, when I’m not so rushed, maybe you and I can sit down over a cold beer and talk about how I’d have done things differently if I really was making you my hostage.”

Daphne processed only about half of what he said. His killer smile had, in spite of his stubbly beard, devastated her equilibrium. That smile turned him into the most appealing bad boy she’d ever had the misfortune to meet. Big surprise. She’d always been a sucker for the wrong men.

No wonder her family thought she needed a keeper! She was actually standing in this room contemplating a date with a man who was obviously on the wrong side of the law. Kieran would have a fit, she thought as she let the intruder hustle her toward the door.

“Get April,” he said again. “And be quick about it.”

Daphne cracked the door open, praying the hall would be empty. No—April Ross was just exiting the adjacent room. From the way she adjusted her smock, she must have been in the bathroom.

“Psst!” Daphne couldn’t think of any other way to get the woman’s attention.

April turned, curiosity on her face. Daphne looked quickly at the window, ready to shout a warning, but a ray of sunlight winked through the drapes covering the sliding glass door and glinted off the gun in her captor’s hand. That completely stilled her tongue. She merely beckoned frantically, not caring if her hostess thought she was a nutcase.

April walked slowly toward the woman she’d engaged to be her party clown. “Yes? Is there something you need, Daphne? A friend of mine took the children outside to play a game. You’ll make your entrance after that winds down, okay? If you don’t mind, later on I’ll have you help me serve refreshments. Cake and ice cream. I figured the kids would like an opportunity to talk with a real clown.”

Still unable to work any comprehensible sound through her lips, Daphne simply reached out, latched onto April’s wrist and yanked her inside the room. The door slammed on its own, and Daphne clasped her hands to her breasts. “I’m honestly so sorry to do this to you, April,” she croaked.

The woman glanced up at the man who hovered close behind Daphne. Her annoyed expression turned to one of recognition. “Logan! I wasn’t expecting you. I thought you were out of town. Nat will be ecstatic.”

Daphne gaped from her hostess to the gunman and back again, while he reached around both and locked that door, too.

“April, this isn’t a social call. We can’t let Nat see me. I’m in trouble. I shouldn’t have taken refuge here—I forgot it was her birthday. Suffice it to say, I need a little assistance, and then I’ll be off.”

Daphne, exhibiting more bravery than she had up to now, insinuated herself between the man and the pregnant woman he appeared to know. “April, don’t listen. Even if he’s a friend of yours, that’s aiding and abetting,” she whispered to her hostess. “On the way in, I passed a ton of cops. Something big. Something bad went on. Between us, we can stop him.” She waved a hand toward where she’d seen the ruckus.

The man studied her with a half-amused expression. “Aren’t you forgetting I have a weapon?”

April snorted inelegantly. “Honestly, Logan. Quit scaring the poor woman to death. Just tell me what’s going on. Why do you look like a skid-row bum?”

“Sorry, you know I can’t tell you. Just get me a shirt of Mike’s and his razor. I’ve got to alter how I look enough to avoid the men who chased me here.”

As if Daphne wasn’t attempting to block her, April unlocked the door, opened it and peered down the hall. “The coast is clear. Go into our room. You can take anything in Mike’s closet. He’s out at sea with his naval unit for two weeks.”

Daphne threw her body against the door and slammed it shut. “Friend or not, he’s obviously involved in whatever just happened. He’s running from the law.”

April stared at the woman plastered against her guest room door. “Oh, Daphne, you don’t understand. Logan is the law. Logan, this is Daphne Malone. I hired her to perform for Nat’s party.”

His rough laugh rolled up from his belly. “I love it. I’ve gotten so jaded, I didn’t believe there were still people around who had the guts to stick their necks out for the good guys.”

“You’re a cop?” Daphne asked, suspicion in every tense line of her body. “What force? My brother’s LAPD. I know cops in a lot of the local precincts. I’m sure I’d remember if we’d ever met.”