Avenging Angel Read Free Page A

manage a hoarse moan, but a renewed pressure in her ribs with the gun barrel stifled the rest of her verbal rebellion.
    They crossed the street, keeping to the shadows of the trees and the parked cars lining both sides of Briarwood Court. Johanna had chosen the neighborhood for the quiet elegance of the older homes and the architectural charm of the apartment building. For three blocks in either direction, Briarwood Court was a haven of upper-middle-class wealth. She had always felt secure and protected—until that night.
    With a harshly voiced set of commands, Dylan directed her toward the gray sedan. “Get in on the driver’s side. Don’t mess around with me—just get in and scoot to the middle of the seat. Do not touch the passenger-side door. I’ve got it rigged to explode if it opens.”
    Her heart sank lower in her chest. There was no escaping him.
    Dylan had a mental clock going in his head, and he knew Austin and his men were probably already heading back down to the street. He had not turned around to check if anyone had seen them from her balcony, but there was a chance someone had. He had checked the line of sight himself and knew the sedan, parked far up the street, was well hidden from view—if they could only get to it.
    A commotion behind them, sounding like it came from the apartment building, had him speeding up their steps. He glanced once over his shoulder and started running, dragging her along with him. At the sedan, he shoved her into the front seat and slid in after her.
    “Get down,” he ordered, pinning her with the gun, then crawling over her as she was forced to the seat.
    Johanna stiffened as they came into contact, body to body, with her on the bottom. In the dark, close interior of the car, he was overwhelmingly male and dangerous. He wasn’t a big man, but his broad shoulders blocked all but the faintest light. His weight pressed her deep into the upholstery, paralyzing her as effectively as the gun barrel under her chin.
    He looked over the back of the seat, through the rear window. He swore softly, then inched up her body, craning his neck to look out the passenger window. Johanna didn’t move so much as a muscle fiber—until he came too close to the potentially lethal door.
    Without conscious thought, her hand shot up and pressed against his chest, causing him to wince and swear again, not so softly.
    “No,” she whispered, putting force into the word instead of volume, her voice trembling.
    When he looked down at her, she tilted her head toward the door and the trip wire of tape. He followed the gesture, and a heartbeat later the barest flicker of a smile touched his mouth, the most ironic smile she had ever seen. In that instant he looked familiar—incredibly familiar.

Two
     
    Dylan Jones . . . Dylan Jones . His name ran through her mind. She knew him. She was sure of it. The flash of memory set off by his smile was unmistakable, her intuition one hundred percent reliable. She was known for never forgetting a face. Still, she couldn’t place him, couldn’t put the name or the man into the right place, the right time.
    She searched the face above her in the dim light, noting the gentle arch of his eyebrows, the straight line of his nose, the wry sensuality of his mouth—and another, more startling memory clicked into place. She’d not only known him, she’d been attracted to him.
    The thought seemed unimaginable now, with his gun pressing on her body and him straddling her across the seat, trapping her. But she wasn’t a woman given to casual attractions or casual flirtations, and her emotional memory bank was telling her she’d experienced both with him.
    Where ? Her gaze trailed back over his face. His smile had faded, and he was watching her with an intensity that unnerved her on very basic female levels. Her pulse picked up in speed and her awareness of him heightened. She’d seen that look before, delivered from across a room. She’d had the same reaction then,