I glanced at the gun and then at him. “Are you going to pick that thing up before they get here?” I asked. “It’s making me nervous.”
“I’ll leave it there.” He curled his fingertips toward his palm and studied his fingernails. “Don’t worry,” he said calmly. “Everything will be fine.”
I wished I had his sense of being. While he repaired an errant cuticle, my heart was thrashing against my ribs. I couldn’t decide whether to scream, cry, or ask my sexy neighbor for a mercy fuck.
“Are you always this calm?” I asked.
“Depends on the circumstances,” he replied, not bothering to look up.
“These circumstances,” I squeaked, coughing out a nervous laugh as I spoke. “A Saturday morning carjacking. Disarming a pistol wielding maniac. Choking someone half to death and then locking him in a trunk?”
He shifted his gaze from his fingernails to me. His face, which had remained rather emotionless, now seemed slightly amused.
“I spent nearly fifteen years being shot at by people I often couldn’t see.” He raked his fingers through his silver locks. “Surviving that makes this seem like a cakewalk.”
“You were a soldier?”
“A Marine,” he replied.
His fast hands and calm demeanor now made perfect sense. I wanted to thank him for his service but didn’t want to sound like the countless others who I was sure had already done so. I glanced at his feet and then looked up.
“I like your shoes,” I murmured.
Where the hell did that come from?
He laughed. “Thank you.”
Before I could continue to make a fool of myself, a fast-approaching police car screeched to a stop behind Braxton’s SUV. The driver, a young-looking officer with closely cropped red hair thrust open the door and strutted toward the driveway.
His much younger partner cautiously followed close behind.
The first officer immediately recognized my handsome neighbor. “Braxton Rourke,” the officer announced, seeming amused. “Didn’t know what he was in for when he tried to carjack you, did he?”
“It wasn’t me he was after,” Braxton replied, tilting his head in my direction as he spoke. “He was trying to steal her Mercedes.”
The officer glanced at me. “I’m officer O’Malley. Are you okay?”
“I’m just…yes, I’m fine, thank you.”
He offered a shallow smile and then looked at Braxton. He pushed the brim of his hat up with his thumb. “Do I need to call an ambulance?”
Braxton shook his head.
It appeared the police were privy of Braxton’s ability to disarm criminals. A blanket of intrigue encompassed me. I wanted to know more about the soft-spoken, suit-wearing, Range Rover driving badass.
O’Malley glanced left and then right. “Where is he?”
Braxton nodded toward my car. “He’s in the trunk.”
“Handcuffed?” the officer asked.
Braxton shrugged one shoulder. “More or less.”
O’Malley gestured toward the carjacker’s gun. “Is that his piece behind you?”
“It is,” Braxton replied dryly. “Glock .40 cal. It’s loaded.”
“Secure that weapon,” O’Malley said, directing his request to his partner. “Take pictures before you do.” He walked to the back of my car, drew his weapon, and looked at me. “Ma’am, would you mind opening the trunk?”
A police officer had his gun drawn and was waiting for me to reveal the wild-eyed tattooed lunatic that my handsome neighbor tossed into my trunk. Beyond him, his partner was carefully picking up a gun from my driveway with a pencil.
The entire event was utter madness. Nevertheless, I forced myself to smile and took hesitant steps toward the car. “Sure.”
I pulled the trunk release and quickly stepped to Braxton’s side.
O’Malley peered inside the trunk. Upon seeing the thief, he let out a laugh. “Nathan fucking Travis. How long you been out? Two weeks?” He slammed the trunk closed and shook his head. “This asshole’s been out of the joint for two weeks, tops. This’ll be his third strike. He’ll do twenty-five to life for this one.”
A mental sigh of relief escaped me.
“Listen, O’Malley.” Braxton cleared his throat. “She’s kind of shaken up by all of this. If you don’t mind, we’d like to get to breakfast. We can stop by the station and fill out the report on our way back.”
“I don’t suppose that’d hurt anything,” the officer replied. He looked at me. “Enjoy your breakfast, ma’am.”
My emotions were riding a runaway rollercoaster. In ten minutes, I’d been carjacked and saved by a handsome stranger. Now, I was accompanying him to breakfast. While I tried to process just what was happening, Braxton got my purse out of the car and handed it to me.
“May I have your keys?” he asked.
He was as polite as he was good-looking. I gave him my keys on the heels of a half-hidden smile. “Here you go.”
“Lock her car when you’re done and take the keys to the station,” Braxton said, tossing the officer the keys. “We’ll pick them up when we come in.”
O’Malley gave a sharp nod. “See you in the station, Rourke.”
Braxton moved aside and gestured toward his vehicle. “After you.”
I stepped around him. “How did you know I was going to breakfast?”
He smirked. “Good guess.”
I walked past him. A hint of his cologne tickled my nose. He smelled like he looked.
Striking.
He followed me to the SUV and opened the door. As I struggled to pull my five-foot-two frame inside, he pressed his open hand against the small of my back.
“Here,” he said. “Let me help you.”
My life had been dick-free since the vow of celibacy that followed my half-assed failed marriage. Subsequently, I hadn’t had a man touch me in years. Upon having Braxton do so, fiery desire shot through my veins.
One hand cupped my waist. Another pressed against the back of my bare thigh.
Every inch of my skin itched with want.
He lifted me effortlessly and then released me into the comfort of the fine leather seat. Feeling lightheaded, I glanced in his direction.
His hazel orbs expressed his interests with unclouded clarity.
Braxton Rourke may have been hungry, but it wasn’t breakfast he was hungry for.
Braxton
Anna buckled her seatbelt. “How did that police officer know you?”
A typical day for me might include removing crucial evidence from a crime scene, erasing surveillance footage, or manipulating a witness to give an alternate testimony. I worked for the police as much as anyone. Admitting the truth to Anna wasn’t in my best interest.
“I trained some of the officers in close quarters combat techniques. He was one of the officers that took the course.”
“Oh.” She seemed surprised. “I didn’t realize Marines trained police officers.”
“I received specialized training in the military,” I responded. “After I retired, I offered a course to teach that same training. I was approached by the police chief to train the officers. Fortunately, I was the low bid on the contract.”