Star Witness Page 14

  His own hair-trigger climax had blown his mind.

  Both of them had collapsed afterward, drained. He’d felt sapped, and had basked in the afterglow with Dani’s soft hair against his shoulder and chest as her soft breaths echoed in his ear. He’d thought she was basking too. But despite her seeming boneless as she’d collapsed against him when he’d pulled her close and rested her head on his shoulder, she’d acted embarrassed and escaped as soon as she could.

  She didn’t strike him as one of those women who was embarrassed about her body. Shy maybe. He shrugged. That could be it, he supposed.

  Now that she had run to the back of the store, he came back around the counter and looked for the long-sleeved T-shirt she’d found for him. Then he remembered. It was in the storeroom. He’d dropped it when she’d screamed.

  Not wanting to disturb her, he headed toward the racks of T-shirts to find another one. Just as he got to the rack, she opened the storeroom door and came out. She was dressed in the scrub pants, the Big Easy T-shirt, the pink hoodie and her wet sneakers. She stopped short when she saw him. Her gaze skittered down his torso to the drawstring on the scrub pants, then back up.

  She blinked. “Here—here’s your T-shirt.” She held it out for him.

  “Great, thanks,” he said. He took the shirt by the tail, shook it out once, then pulled it over his head and down. A slight shiver went through him. He ran his palms down each sleeve, then down his torso. “That feels good,” he said, meeting her gaze.

  She looked away. “These wet shoes don’t.”

  “Yeah,” he said, looking down at his own wet loafers. “I know.” He patted the pockets of the scrubs. “Where’s my phone?” he muttered. “I must have left it in my jeans.”

  She moved out of the way of the storeroom door. “Your jeans are on the floor,” she said, then headed toward the front of the store.

  Harte quickly retrieved his phone and followed her. “Damn it,” he said when he checked the display. “No reception.”

  Dani pulled her phone from her purse. “Oh, I have a voice message,” she cried.

  Harte moved to where he could look over her shoulder. “From Lucas?” he asked.

  “Don’t know. I’ll put it on Speaker.” She pressed a button on the phone and they listened.

  “We’re sorry, you cannot access voice mail at this time. Please try again later.”

  “Great,” Harte said, checking his display again. “Yep. Zero bars. I thought maybe since the storm had passed over, we’d be able to call for help.”

  Dani dropped the phone back into her big purse. She raised her head, then suddenly moved away from him. It was as if she’d just realized how close he was standing to her. She still hadn’t looked directly at him.

  For once, he was sure he understood this woman perfectly. She regretted sleeping with him.

  “Listen, Dani—”

  “So, what now?” she interrupted, and immediately bit her lip. Her cheeks turned pink. “I mean, now that the storm is over, should we get out of here? Try to get to a police station or something?”

  Harte turned to look out the front windows. “Yeah. The sun’s going to come up soon. I’m going to go out and scout around.”

  “Then I’m going with you,” she said.

  “No. It’s too dangerous. We could run into those men any second.”

  Dani propped her hands on her hips. “Exactly. Or a utility truck or a policeman. You’d have to come back and get me. That’s just dumb.”

  Harte winced. She was right and she knew it. He could tell, because she gave a little nod of her head. Not much, just enough to say So there.

  “Get ready to go,” he said, then pointed his finger at her. “But I’m checking around the building first. You’re not stepping one foot out of here until I’m sure the coast is clear.”

  “You’re not going out there unarmed.”

  “What do you suggest I use? Your lock picks? Or maybe a water gun from the toy aisle?” he shot back.

  With a look designed to wither him where he stood, she dug into her purse and pulled out—

  “What the hell is that?” he snapped, staring at her hand.

  She gave a short laugh. “It’s a gun,” she said with mock patience. “A SIG Sauer, to be specific.”

  “Where’d you get that?” he demanded. “Have you had it this whole time? Banging around in that—” He gestured. “Do you know how dangerous that is?”

  She flushed, but not with embarrassment. She was angry. He could tell by the fire in her eyes and the lift of her chin.

  “Yes,” she snapped. “I know exactly how dangerous it is. Granddad gave it to me and taught me how to use it and care for it. You don’t think for one minute that he would be so careless as to give me a weapon without making sure I could handle it?”

  “How would I know what your grandfather would do?” Harte said irritably. “I do know this. Apparently, he skipped some basic precautions—like having enough respect for your partner to inform him that you’re packing sometime within, say, the first eight hours or so of running for your lives.”

  Dani’s face drained of color.

  He realized immediately what he’d said. “Dani—I wasn’t trying to insult your granddad—”

  “You go to hell,” she grated, then turned and stomped away. Her slender shoulders in the too-big hoodie were stiff and straight; her walk was regal.

  Harte sighed in frustration and wiped a hand across his stubbled cheeks and chin. He’d crossed the line with his rude comment about her grandfather.

  Hell, he’d crossed more lines in the past few hours than he ever had in his life. Insulting Freeman Canto wasn’t the worst thing he’d done by far. No, the worst was forgetting his vow to keep Dani safe. He’d given in to the explosive attraction between them and taken advantage of her.

  And now they were back to square one. Just like the day they’d faced off in court. Rivals, even enemies, in every sense of the word. The fragile trust he’d built with her by vowing to keep her safe had been strained by their lovemaking, but now he’d shattered that trust. And it could get Dani killed. Because they were going to have to make a run for it.

  He glanced at his watch. Almost six o’clock in the morning. Any minute now the sun would start lightening the sky. That was good and bad. They’d be able to see street signs and landmarks, but it also meant they’d be visible. Reluctantly, he had to admit that he was relieved that they had a weapon. But they needed more than one.

  What kind of weapon could he find in a drugstore? Pepper spray or a knife? He hoped like hell the men chasing them would not get close enough that Dani or he would need either of those.

  “Harte!” Dani cried.

  He rushed toward the front of the store and saw Dani crouched down behind the counter. “What is it?” he hissed.

  She gestured at him. “Down! Get down! I saw something moving out there. I think it’s them,” she whispered urgently. “What are we going to do?”

  “You saw them? What did you see?”

  “I noticed the three-way flashlight was still on. I reached across the counter to turn it off and I saw dark shapes moving across the street.”

  The flashlight. It had been on the soft setting, but still. What a stupid, potentially fatal mistake. From the street, the faint light probably looked like a beacon—the only speck of brightness in the unrelenting gray. He’d led their pursuers straight to them, because he’d let himself get distracted by his desire for Dani.

  “At least you got it turned off.”

  “They must have seen it,” she said shakily. “They know where we are.”

  “Not for certain. And we don’t know for sure it’s them.” He laid his hand on her forearm. “But if it is, it won’t take them five minutes to find the back door. Follow me and stay down.”

  They headed to the back, keeping low. When Harte opened the storeroom door, he saw that part of the roof had blown off and several pieces of rafters and broken plywood boards had fallen.
He was glad they hadn’t stayed back there.

  “Stay here. I’m going to check and see if the coast is clear.”

  “Take the gun,” Dani said, pressing it into his hand.

  “No,” he protested. “I’m not that good a shot.”

  “We know they have guns,” she countered. “If they’re already back here, this gun may be our only chance. If you won’t take it, then move. I’ll go out and see if the coast is clear.”

  He took it reluctantly, felt for the safety and thumbed it off. “What size magazine do you have in it?”

  “Seventeen shots.”

  He nodded, then, bracing himself, pushed the door open—or tried to. It felt stuck. What the hell? His pulse hammered. Had they already made it around back and blocked the door? He pushed harder and heard a scraping sound. Through the tiny crack he saw a purple glow. Early dawn. The sky was just bright enough to make the shadows darker.

  He slid the door open a bit more, grimacing at the noise made by whatever was blocking it. He was pretty sure he knew what it was. It was big, and had a distinctive hollow sound as it scraped on the ground. It was a plastic trash can—the thick, industrial size.

  Finally, he’d managed to move the can enough so he could look around. Then he ducked back in. “I don’t see anything. We need to run while we’ve got the chance.”

  “Okay,” Dani said. “Which direction?”

  “Straight back, between the two buildings right behind here. I’ve got to find the name of that street. Then maybe I can figure out where we are.”

  She nodded.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “Ready.”

  Dani held her breath as Harte pushed open the door and went through it. She held on to the edge of the door for a couple of seconds. Once it closed, it would lock and they would have no place to hide. They could be picked off like plastic ducks at a carnival.

  Harte gestured for her to wait. He quickly surveyed the alley, then moved forward cautiously. “Now,” he whispered.

  Dani felt a prickling on the nape of her neck. It reminded her of when she was a child and had to go into a dark room. Just like back then, and in the dark Mardi Gras float warehouse, she felt as if monsters were breathing down her neck.

  In front of her, Harte’s wide shoulders gave her a measure of confidence. He believed they’d be fine, and she realized she believed him. She trusted him.

  Ten minutes before, when he’d tossed out that unkind remark about her granddad, she’d painted him with the same brush as his father and grandfather. Everything she’d ever heard about the Delanceys depicted them as ambitious, ruthless and violent. Con Delancey had died violently, and Harte’s dad, Robert, was rumored to have as violent a temper as Con.

  But every time they were in a dangerous situation, Harte had protected her, so she felt confident and, yes, safe, as she stepped off the concrete stoop into the ankle-deep water that covered the pockmarked and cracked asphalt. Immediately, the cold water seeped through her already damp sneakers to soak her feet. Grimacing, she ignored it and followed him.

  Just as they reached the center of the alley and Harte pointed to the left side of the building in front of them, Dani heard a noise. She couldn’t tell what direction it had come from.

  Harte’s head snapped to the right. He’d heard it too.

  Before she could even begin to decide how to react, he’d grabbed her upper arm and pulled her forward and down behind a stack of tires.

  A loud pop echoed in her ears as she dropped to her knees, her fall partially broken by Harte’s body. Her brain clicked into instant-replay mode and she realized that just prior to the pop, she’d heard a zinging sound near her ear—way too near.

  “Are you hit?” Harte demanded, his hand still on her arm in a punishing grip.

  “No,” she panted. “You?”

  He gave a negative jerk of his head. “Go!” he said. “Run to that alley and keep running.”

  “Not without you.”

  Another bullet whistled past them, then another.

  “Dani, go! I’m right behind you.”

  She met his gaze and saw his steely determination.

  “I swear!”

  With a horrible sense of foreboding, she ran. Behind her, Harte fired three quick shots, covering her.

  “Harte, run!” she cried. She reached the building and ducked behind it, pressing her back against the wall. If she angled her head, she could see Harte.

  He was inching up from behind the tires to check the shooter’s position. When he did, a shot rang out, but to Dani’s surprise, it ricocheted off the wall close to her head, sending shards of plaster flying. She ducked back.

  “Bastard,” she heard Harte growl; then he vaulted up and ran, firing rapidly.

  Dani backed up as Harte rounded the corner of the building and slammed back against the wall. “You okay?” he panted.

  “Yes.”

  “I know where we are. Through this alley is Tchoupitoulas Street,” he said, pressing the back of his head against the wall and angling around to fire off another couple of rounds, then ducking back. “Did you see the words painted on this building? This is the back of La Maisson Restaurant. La Maisson fronts onto Tchoupitoulas and it’s only about three blocks from my great-aunt Claire’s house.”

  Gunshots peppered the corner where he’d just leaned out.

  “Go through there. At the end of the alley, go left. Don’t look back. I’ll catch up.” He leaned out and fired again.

  Dani ran as fast as she could, her sneakers squeaking on the asphalt. She heard footsteps behind her and prayed it was Harte and not one of the goons who were trying to kill them.

  The air was filled with gunfire. Her neck prickled, her scalp burned and her lungs felt strained to the point of bursting, but she didn’t dare stop.

  She heard a short, pained groan behind her and the footsteps stumbled unevenly. She dared a glance backward in time to see Harte regain his footing. “Harte—” she gasped.

  “Don’t stop!” he shouted.

  Sirens suddenly wailed behind them, and then Harte caught up with her. He passed her, pointing at a blue building. “Through that alley,” he shouted, and slowed down. “Go!”

  She ran past him and into the alley, but she had no idea which way to turn out the other end, so she slowed to a stop.

  The siren changed to short blasts. Maybe they’d caught the men.

  Harte ran around the corner a few seconds later. He leaned against the wall, his chest heaving and sweat dripping in rivulets down his face. “Aunt Claire’s house is right behind here. White with green shutters. Come on.”

  Dani frowned at him. Something was wrong. “Harte—?”

  “Move! No time to talk.” He took off down the alley and she followed.

  Then she saw it—the blood on his shirt. “You’re bleeding!” she cried.

  He didn’t acknowledge her. He just kept on across the street, dodging tree limbs and trash and torn roofing shingles, then bounded up a set of stone steps to ornate double doors with stained-glass sidelights and transom.

  He turned the handle and pushed against the door, but it didn’t open. He hammered on the wood with the gun. “Paul!” he cried in a strained voice. “Open up! It’s Harte.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Harte pounded on the door again. “Paul!”

  Before the word was out of his mouth, the door flew open and Harte’s cousin on his grandmother Lilibelle’s side, Paul Guillame, stood there, surprise and anger on his face. “Harte? What the—? Do you know what time it is?”

  Harte pushed past Paul with Dani in tow. Paul’s strident voice penetrated the haze in his brain. “Good Lord! You’re bleeding! Is that a gun?”

  “He’s been shot,” Dani cried. “We need to get him to a doctor.”

  Paul sent her a quizzical look, then turned back to Harte. “Who is this? And what’s going on?”

  Despite the seriousness of the situation, despite the bullet wound that hurt like hel
l, Harte shook his head at Paul’s blithering. But the black at the edges of his vision was growing and he knew he’d pass out if he didn’t sit or lie down. “Shut the door, Paul. We’ve got dangerous men after us.”

  Paul’s black eyes widened, showing white all the way around the irises. “Dangerous men?” He craned his neck around the door, then pushed it closed and locked it with shaking hands. “Why did you come here?”

  While Paul was talking, Harte felt Dani’s hand on his good arm. She pulled him through the foyer and into the large, too-warm front room. A fire was blazing in the large fireplace. He was already feeling light-headed from loss of blood. The heat made him feel as though he couldn’t get a breath. He stopped for a moment, leaning against the faux-finished walls of his aunt Claire’s house, trying not to pass out.

  “Not in there!” Paul cried, hurrying toward them as Dani guided Harte toward an ornately carved sofa upholstered in ivory. “Take him to the kitchen. Through there.” He gestured in a shooing motion. “Put him in one of the kitchen chairs.”

  Harte let Dani guide him through open French doors that separated the living room and dining room and on past the huge mahogany dining table into the dark kitchen. He sank into a chair with a pained sigh. His pulse was racing and he thought he could feel blood pouring out of his wound. There was a towel on the counter and he got his feet under him and reached for it, but Dani put her hand on his chest and pushed him back into the chair.

  “You sit right there,” she ordered him. “And give me that!” She took the SIG out of his hand, thumbed the safety on and shoved it into her purse.

  She straightened and turned to Paul, who had grabbed a candelabra in his hand—a real silver candelabra sporting eight blazing tapers. “Where’s your phone?” she demanded.

  Paul set the candelabra in the middle of the wooden kitchen table. “Does it look like we have any of the conveniences?”

  Harte squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get rid of the odd haze that was enveloping his brain. He dug out his phone and flipped it open. “Still no bars,” he said, hearing the strain in his voice. “And I’m about out of battery too.”