30 Seconds Read Free Page B

wheel and was satisfied that she hit a nerve.
    The rest of the way to wherever-in-the-hell-he-was-taking-her was shrouded in complete silence, except for the scream of rock.
    Thank God for rockers . But when she realized the car was traveling down a snowy road, her hands went cold. She looked about anxiously as she played out dreadful scenarios in her head. A few houses were spread far apart on the road. Snow blanketed the roofs and covered the driveways, because all the husbands were still in bed, snug and warm with their wives.
    Blake drove the car deeper and deeper until no other houses were in the area.
    Her heart punched her chest, like an angry boxer. He’s taking you down here to kill you .
    Blake’s not a cop. He’s one of those lowlifes who pretend to be police officers so they can coax stupid women into their cars to rape and kill them. And she couldn’t believe she was one of those stupid women.
    It was probably all a set up. I bet the men who raided my apartment are his friends. Why, oh, why didn’t I put on the defenseless face of a damsel in distress and beg the big, black man for help?
    He pulled the car up a snowy driveway, and she eyed the white house with dark green trim the exact color of Blake’s eyes. The house looked inviting as though it wanted to leap off its concrete base and hug her with its shutters, but that didn’t stop all the blood from rushing from her face.
    “This is your place, isn’t it?”
    “Yes.”
    Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit .
    “But I’d prefer if you’d call it protective custody.”
    “I am not going in there,” she objected and crossed her arms defiantly.
    “Well, you can live out your protective custody in my car if you’d prefer, but you’ll have to do it without heat.” He turned off the engine.
    She felt Jack Frost nip her skin instantly. “How long do I have to stay here?”
    “Hopefully not long. My boys will be hunting down the men who are—”
    “Hunting me?”
    He looked at her. “I swear I won’t hurt you. I want you to believe that.”
    She met his eyes. They were demanding but gentle.
    He got out of the car and opened the back door, but she didn’t move. Then he took his gun out of its holster.
    This is it . I’m going to die. Or maybe I’ll be one of those miraculous cases where the victim gets shot in the head and lives to tell the tale.
    “Here.” He put the gun on the seat next to her. “You can hold onto that.”
    Now that she did not expect. A police officer never gives his gun to a civilian. Never! And yet Blake told her to take his.
    “Go on.” His eyes told her it was okay. “I don’t want you looking at me out of the corner of your eye every minute you’re here, so I’m letting you hold on to it for reassurance.” He took two steps in retreat. “Take your time.”
    She scrutinized the gun lying on the beige seat. Outside, Blake rocked on his feet, whistling. The bastard was actually whistling. And what was worse was the fact he was good enough she could recognize the song—“Stairway to Heaven.”
    Muttering between her teeth, she picked up the gun and slid out. She sent Blake a steely look. “I don’t intend on using this,” she informed him, “but if I have to, I know how to cut a twelve inch incision with perfect precision.”
    “Glad to hear, but that’s not a scalpel you’re holding. That’s a gun.”
    “I know,” she growled. “I meant if I have to use this thing I have a steady hand and excellent aim.”
    “Thanks for the warning.”
    “It’s not a warning. It’s a fact.”
    “Mmm.” He walked around her and she followed him to the door reluctantly.
    Inside, the air was toasty and smelled like firewood and musk. The living room was spacious and cozy with a big, white couch and a brick fireplace. The curtains were green, the walls a pretty beige with subtle hints of peach.
    Blake went to the fireplace, tossed in a few logs, and started the fire. She sat next to the flames to absorb the warmth.
    After