Page 12 of Point Blank

The corner of his mouth quirked. “Do all of your impulsions lead you to me?”

“I never said my impulses were smart.” She jerked her head to the side. “Now move.”

“You’re not going anywhere.” He slid his hands into his front pockets and leaned back against the door.

Don’t hit him, don’t hit him . . .

She squeezed her eyes tight and rubbed the pounding spot above her nose. “Look Milo, I can’t do this right now, okay? My nerves are on edge and we’re just going to fight.”

“Who’s fighting?”

She dropped her hand and studied the lines of his face. Interest prickled her senses. He’d changed in the last two years. Not just his hair, but his demeanor. More . . . chill. Or maybe that was because he’d stopped stealing from criminals.

“Come on. We’re barely keeping tempers in check as it is.”

The quirk at his mouth spread into a full, wide grin. “See, that’s your problem. You’ve always been so hotheaded. You’re the only one struggling with that temper.” He reached out and flicked the tip of her nose. The action should have irritated her, but instead, warmth spread through her, collecting between her thighs.

God, how could she still have it so bad? How could one touch to her nose and a playful smirk make butterflies thump against the wall of her belly?

His face turned serious and the green of his eyes reminded her of calm, open water. “Stay, Serena.” His tone was soft, pleading. “I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

Her rigid muscles relaxed. She looked around the room. To stay, or to go . . .

His hand circled her wrist, and as if they had a mind of their own, her fingers locked with his. How could he do this to her every time? Since the last time he gave her the boot, she’d had a speech—more like a damn annihilation—of curses ready to hurl at him. She’d been waiting for the moment to tear into him and then walk away with as much ease as he had.

But for the life of her, she couldn’t.

No, she didn’t want to.

“All right, Milo. What do we do from here?”

Knock, knock, knock

The window behind Milo’s head shook, and he smiled. “We eat.” He opened the door, accepted the plates of food, and kicked the door shut. “Then we call the cops and report the accident.”

How the hell had the body disappeared?

The Caesar salad sat like a ball of lead in her stomach. She curled her arms around her abdomen and pressed her back deeper into the cream-colored leather seat. If someone had told her that morning that she’d be sitting in Milo’s Range Rover, heading to his house, she’d have died laughing. But thank god for him. There was no way she would have thought to report the incident to the police. They’d found her vehicle, but not the vehicle that had hit her. She’d confessed that she stabbed her attacker, but the police had said a body hadn’t been found.

“There was so much blood. Wouldn’t they be able to tell that someone died by the amount of blood?”

Milo pulled off the interstate, and the wipers on the windshield slowed. He turned them off and shook his head. “I don’t know. It was raining at the time, so whatever blood was on the road was probably washed away.”

“He couldn’t have gotten up and walked away. I—” The image of his slack face, of his wide eyes as his body crushed against hers blinked through her mind. The moisture left her mouth. She licked her lips and tried again. “I saw his eyes . . . I’m almost positive he’s dead.”

Heavy metal hummed low through the speakers. For the dozenth time, Serena slid her gaze toward Milo. His left wrist hung loosely over the top of the steering wheel and his other arm rested on the console between them. His long legs stretched into the footwell. Despite the rainy weather, he didn’t appear the least bit cold in a T-shirt.

Jeez, he’d matured. Gone was the baby face of his teenage days, and the clean-shaven skin. Thick hair sprouted around his mouth and halfway up his cheeks, just enough to hint that he kept it neatly trimmed close to the skin. They passed under a streetlamp and the yellow glow that flashed across his face revealed the white, shiny skin of a scar on the edge of his jaw, where a tiny patch of hair hadn’t grown. That hadn’t been there when they were kids.

Milo’s hand stretched across the console and folded over her thigh, reminding her of the solid reassurance he’d emanated at the bar. It hadn’t taken much convincing for him to get her to go with him. As a matter of fact, it had been pathetically easy. The safety his large, warm hands and soothing green eyes offered had been impossible to refuse.

“Maybe someone called the paramedics and he was rushed to the ER. We’ll find out more tomorrow once the police check the hospital.”

Her leg tingled beneath his hold and her toes curled into her shoes.

“Do you think I’ll go to jail?”

His thumb moved across her leg. “No. I talked to a friend before I called the cops. He said you were acting in self-defense.” His other hand slid from the steering wheel to hit the turn signal, and he slowed at the red light. “Besides, there needs to be a body before anything like that can happen. My guess is the attacker was someone from your past. You were involved with a lot of dangerous people, Serena. People who wouldn’t want loose ends. They would have fled the scene.”