Page 14 of The Woman in the Warehouse

Because the door whipped open, and a guy who hadn’t been on the damn surveillance videos came out toting a gun.

Then calling out to me.

I had no real choice in the matter.

If I ran around the corner, he would follow. And people, for better or worse, minded their own business in the city. At most, people might video my attack or shooting. I had no hope that someone would step in to save me.

The guy in the ridiculous mini pickup truck was my only real choice.

I’d clocked him on my first trip down the street. Sitting there in a suit with a newspaper spread over the steering wheel. Acting like he was waiting for someone. But clearly, the guy was casing the joint.

But, hey, the enemy of my enemy is my friend, right?

Or, at least, he was a quick ride out of the hot zone.

So I flew at the truck, rolling my eyes when the handle pulled open immediately. Like the idiot was asking to be carjacked.

I reached for one of my guns, aiming it at him as I climbed inside.

“Drive,” I growled as his gaze moved past me toward the man who was, no doubt, now running after me.

Thankfully, the driver started the engine and threw the car into drive before the Czech guy could get any decent shots off, seeming to only manage to hit the bumper as we drove off.

As he drove out of the darkened street and onto the crossroad with more lights, his face was no longer cast mostly in shadow.

And, damn, he was kind of hot.

Fine.

There was no ‘kind of’ about it.

The man’s jaw was cut from granite.

And he had one of those, you know, broody brows.

I couldn’t see his eyes very well, but I got the impression they weren’t brown. His hair was a dark brown that hinted at black, but didn’t quite get there.

There were several butterfly strips holding together the skin on his forehead. Which was hotter than it had a right to be.

What can I say? I’d always been into guys with scars.

“Am I just driving endlessly, or are you gonna give me a direction?” he asked as my feet fought against a cooler in the footwell while I kept the gun trained on him even though he hadn’t made a move for a weapon yet.

“Head toward Harlem,” I demanded, feeling my pulse start to even out now that we were far enough away from the row houses.

“Care to tell me why you were staking out a heavily armed group of Czechs?” he asked after a few silent moments.

“Depends.”

“On?”

“If you’re gonna tell me why you were staking them out,” I said.

Stuck at a light, his gaze cut to mine, trying to bore into me, but I knew the hoodie was keeping me mostly in shadow.

“Quid pro quo?” he asked.

“What is this, a movie?” I asked, rolling my eyes.

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