Page 62 of Her Reluctant Hero
Alex watched the play of emotions over her face, none of them the gratitude he thought he’d see. Hell, she looked scared, and pissed because of it. He opened his mouth to ask her what the hell was wrong when his phone rang.
He swore and dove for it, digging it out of his discarded pants. Bella took advantage of his distraction to head toward the bathroom, but her curiosity must’ve got the better of her, because she hesitated in the doorway and watched as he answered.
“Yeah?”
“Get your rocks off?”
Alex scowled. Who the hell? While he was working on who it was on the other end, the voice continued.
“Turn on your TV.”
Danes. Christ. “What the hell, Lionel? You scared the shit out of me.” He reached over and turned on the TV, aware Isabella had walked back into the room, her attention on the TV.
There, on the news, was video of a fire. Alex couldn’t place it at first, though it was familiar.
“Jorge’s club,” Isabella murmured, clutching her dress in front of her. “We were just there.”
“And just missed the shit,” Lionel said. “You two left, some guys came in with guns, looking for Isabella. Chased out most of the people, put some bullets in anyone who tried to stop them, including the bartender who drew on them. Not sure if they meant to set the place on fire, but it damn sure went up fast.”
“Christ. Are you hurt? Julian? Dave?”
“All got out by playing perverts instead of heroes.”
Alex could hear the disgust in the sergeant major’s voice. “Who died?”
“Don’t know. I stayed outside till the ambulances started carrying out bodies. Jorge was one. Looked like the fire got him, along with any of his men who rushed to his aid. One of the girls.”
Alex’s stomach rolled. It could have been Isabella. He studied the screen, looking for any familiar face. Isabella slipped on her dress and sat beside him, leaning forward, doing the same.
“Did you get a look at them?” Alex asked, reaching behind him for his boxers.
“Big Hispanics carrying cannons,” Lionel said dismissively. “Not out of the ordinary. Except—shit.”
The screen flickered for an instant to show Alex and Isabella in the elevator, in the hall, him pressed up against her, his hands all over her. Alex sat forward.
“What the hell? Where are you?”
“Security,” Lionel said. “I was entertaining myself waiting for the two of you to finish. I gave you enough time, I hope?”
“Why are you in security?” How had he wired it to the TV in their room? Hell, how did he know which room was theirs? Which hotel they were in?
“Watching for these guys.” The screen flipped again as three big Hispanics who looked like they were carrying came through the lobby doors.
Alex swore. “Get dressed,” he ordered Isabella quietly. “They’re not on tape too, are they?” he demanded into the phone when Isabella burst into action, yanking open drawers before turning to pick up the room phone. He was about to yell at her when he heard her ask for the valet to bring his truck around. Smart girl.
“Not on tape. You better hurry. Call me when you get out.”
Alex stood and pulled on his boxers with one hand while folding his phone closed with the other. He watched as Isabella shrugged the loose dress off and tugged on her underwear as she dashed to the closet.
“Something you can run in,” Alex said, kicking aside the heels she’d been wearing earlier.
She ripped jeans off a hanger and stumbled into them while he whipped his shirt over his head and started throwing clothes into his duffel. She twisted her way into the jeans and a snug T-shirt, then grabbed clothes from the hook, tossed them at him and ran into the bathroom.
“No time for your makeup,” he muttered.
She threw their toothbrushes into her purse and scowled. She shoved her feet into some wedge-heeled things and grabbed her purse and the key card.
“Are you kidding me?” Alex finished lacing his own shoes and stood, looking pointedly at her feet.
