“The Black Widow?” A whistle. “Yeah, I’ve heard about her. Never had the pleasure of meeting her in person, probably a lucky thing for me because guys who get too close to her tend to…” His words trailed off. “No.”
“No…what?”
“Tell me you aren’t close to her,” Memphis pleaded.
He scanned the area. Old-fashioned streetlamps still burned even as the sun began its struggle to rise. “Technically, right now, I’m several miles away from her.”
“Funny, jackass. Real funny. Tell me that you are not involved with Alice Shephard.”
He thought of the way her body felt against his. The way her mouth felt when it opened for him. “Define involved.”
“Oh, Christ.”
“That’s not a very thorough definition,” Saint pointed out. “Want to try again?”
“Tell me you’re not fucking the Black Widow.”
“I’m not fucking the Black Widow.” Yet. “I’m just trying to find out if she’s guilty or not. Though it certainly seems that you have already formed an opinion about a woman you haven’t met. A woman who was never charged by cops.” Holy fuck. I’m defending her.
“I have a file on Alice.”
Surprise rocked through Saint. “Since when?”
“Since the second guy disappeared. The stories came up in my news feed. Caught my interest. So I started keeping tabs.” A long sigh. “She’s trouble. I don’t like what I’ve learned.”
“I want your file.”
“Aren’t you doing your own research? You’re damn thorough, you—”
“Not thorough enough. I want to see what you’ve got.” It was always good to look at something from a different perspective. “And I need your help.”
“Oh, sorry, we must have a bad connection. I missed what you said,” Memphis drawled, and the prick sounded almost gleeful. “Can you repeat that part again?” Nope, there was no almost about it. Memphis was definitely gleeful.
“I need your help,” Saint gritted out.
“Hold up. Let me put you on speaker. Maybe that will work better. Hey—hey, Eliza,” he called.
Saint closed his eyes. Wonderful. Now Memphis was bringing Eliza into the mix. Though he wasn’t particularly surprised. These days, Memphis tended to stick very, very close to Eliza.
“Eliza, I think I’m mishearing my brother,” Memphis continued.
“Such an asshole,” Saint muttered.
“He said you’re an asshole,” Eliza said in her careful, cultured tone.
Saint found himself smiling. Ah, so he was already on speaker. He liked Eliza, even if the woman had tazed him the first time they’d met. In her defense, she had been desperately trying to get to Memphis and she hadn’t known that Saint was on her side. She’d thought he was the bad guy.
Not an entirely wrong assumption.
“That’s hardly the way one asks for help.” Memphis sniffed. “And I’m sure he was asking—”
“Cut the BS. I need your help.” Saint could see the fountain now. The big centerpiece of Forsyth Park. The towering tiers. The wading bird statues. The powerful sprays of water.
“You heard that, right?” Memphis seemed to ask Eliza for confirmation. “He clearly said—”
Enough bullshit. “I want you to use your super skills and dig up info for me on a woman named Tracy Eldridge.”
Silence.
Hmmm. Maybe Memphis really did have a bad connection?
“That’s the sister. Victim one. Donovan Eldridge.”
Nope. No bad connection. Memphis had just been clicking through his mental files. People tended to underestimate Memphis. Probably because he seemed all easy going and charming. He wasn’t. The man was a viper, always waiting to attack. “Yeah, that’s the sister.” The area around him was deserted. “She was the one who first came to me,” he added. “Told me about the case. She offered me two hundred grand to investigate Alice.”
“Damn.”
“What I didn’t realize was that she’d been harassing Alice. Caught her spray-painting Alice’s car last night, then a brick was thrown through Alice’s window. It smashed not two feet away from us when we were standing near her mantel and—”
“Back up. Where were you standing?” Memphis demanded to know.
“He said he was standing near the mantel,” Eliza responded. “You must have heard him. The connection is crystal clear.”
“Fine. I did hear him.” A grumble from Memphis. “But I want to know why he was standing inside the Black Widow’s house, all cuddled up to her and—”
“Saint!”
His head whipped around. He stared at the thick oak trees with their dripping Spanish moss. Alice stood beneath one of those trees. She wore jogging shorts and a sports bra. Tennis shoes. And abject horror was on her face. “Get out of the way!” Alice screamed even as she broke into a run and came barreling straight for him.
“What’s happening, Saint?” Memphis barked. “What are you doing?”
“Alice…” His gaze darted around. What had her so scared? What was she doing? And he—
Saw the figure in black. A figure who was raising a gun. A fucking ski mask covered the shooter’s face, and he was aiming his weapon at Saint.
Saint realized he stood right in the open. The fountain was the closest cover. Shit. He was—
Alice hit him. They both tumbled back because the woman hit him with the force of a football player coming in for the tackle. His leg slammed into the stone edge of the fountain, and they tumbled into the water even as a bullet thudded into the statue that sat so proudly just a few feet away.
Chapter Six
The water was freaking cold. Alice shivered but did not push up. The tall side of the fountain’s wall gave her a little bit of cover, and she was afraid that if she popped her head up, the jerk with the gun might decide to fire at her. Better to just stay low…and soaking wet.
Saint bobbed beneath her. His black hair had been soaked, as had his clothes. Drops of water slid down his face as he gaped at her. “Did you just save my life?” he growled.
Yes, she had. And risked her own in the process. Jeez. What in the hell had she been thinking? “I—”
Footsteps. Racing away. A very distinct thud that was a fabulously good sound to hear in that instant. Or, at least, she thought it was a good sound, but Saint’s face took on a particularly savage edge as he pushed her to the side and leapt over the fountain’s small wall.
“What are you doing?” Alice cried after him as she splashed in the water. “He has a gun!”
“So do I!”
He did? A wet one now and…she peered after him, barely poking her eyes over the edge of that wall. If Saint wanted to run off and chase after danger, that was none of her affair. She had already gone above and beyond by trying to help the man. Obviously, she should have saved herself the effort because he clearly had a death wish if he was so intent on charging after the person who’d just attempted to kill him.
And it had been very deliberate. The gun had been aimed straight at Saint. She’d burst from the trees, breathless and surging with her runner’s high, and she’d come upon the sight that had nearly sent Alice to her knees. The fear and worry she’d felt in that moment still stunned her. She didn’t get involved. Didn’t play hero—heroine—whatever. She didn’t do that bit.