Skin Deep Read Free Page B

picked a fight with the wrong bunch of guys.”
    # # #
    Nate knew it would have been easier to drop Megan’s wallet by the police station and let the cops handle it. There was no need for him to deliver it in person. And yet, here he was, turning onto her street at the wheel of the damned delivery truck.
    She lived in a tidy middle-class neighborhood with minivans in the driveways and strollers and bicycles on the porches—a family neighborhood. He glanced at the houses, saw that odd addresses were on the left side of the street, even ones on the right. And there it was—two houses down.
    He pulled up in front, parked at the curb, and climbed out of the truck, her wallet tucked in his jacket pocket, some part of him wondering what the hell he was doing here. The last thing Megan would want tonight is some stranger showing up at her door.
    He started up the sidewalk, but hadn’t yet taken ten steps when he heard heavy footfalls on the ground behind him.
    “Freeze! Police!”
    What the…?
    Nate stopped and slowly raised his hands, only to find himself rushed from all sides by men with weapons drawn. He opened his mouth to tell them he wasn’t the man they were looking for, but was shouted down.
    “Down on the ground! Hands behind your head!”
    “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” He did as they demanded, rough hands forcing him to the cold concrete, patting him down
    A hand slid beneath Nate’s parka and found his empty holster. “Shoulder holster, but no weapon. Where’s the weapon, buddy? Did you leave it in the truck?”
    Nate tried to explain. “The police confiscated—”
    Another hand reached into his right jeans pocket. “He’s got her wallet.”
    “You son of a bitch!”
    “Back off, Hunter. You’re too close to this. Let us handle it.”
    “You’re making a mistake. I’m Nathaniel West. I was at the scene today. I’m the one who—”
    Strong hands grasped Nate’s wrists, bringing his arms behind his back, making the constricted muscles and tendons in his right shoulder and arm scream.
    Gritting his teeth against the pain, Nate tried again. “I’m Nathaniel West—the man who called 911. I’m the one who got that bastard Donny off her.”
    Cold plastic gripped his wrists as the cuffs were drawn tight.
    “Nathaniel West?” asked the man who had just cuffed him. “Got proof of that?”
    “Yes.” Sweat beaded on Nate’s forehead, the pain in his shoulder unrelenting. He rested his cheek on the cold sidewalk, willed his arm to relax. “My wallet is in the truck.”
    “I’m on it.” Footsteps on concrete. The squeak of the truck door’s hinges. The clank as the door was shut again. “His driver’s license says Nathaniel West. Is that the guy’s name, Hunter?”
    “Shit. Yeah, McBride. That’s his name.”
    “What are you doing here?” came the voice from the man holding him down.
    “I came to give Ms. Hunter her wallet. I got it away from that son of a bitch when he and I fought, but I forgot I had it. Now, can you get me out of these damned cuffs? You know I’m not armed.”
    “We’ve got the wrong man.” That was the voice of the cop who’d gone to the truck. “Let him up, Darcangelo.”
    Nate felt a tug on the plastic as the cuffs were cut and his wrists were freed. He pushed himself up with his left arm and got to his feet, rubbing the ache from his right shoulder. He glanced around and found himself surrounded by three men, all of them as tall as he was, a few uniforms hanging out in the background.
    Darcangelo—the one who’d held him down and cuffed him—wore a black leather jacket and jeans, his hair drawn back in a ponytail. The lack of badge and street clothes told Nate he was a detective. He looked like a man who’d spent his life on the street and knew how to fight dirty. His relaxed stance didn’t fool Nate. The man was like a cougar, ready to attack.
    Beside Darcangelo stood a clean-cut man wearing a suit and tie, a duty badge that read “Chief