Guns and the Girl Next Door. HelenKay DimonЧитать онлайн книгу.
“I meant before you came sailing through the window.”
“Not exactly.”
“But you’re saying there’s a person out there who needs help.” He had some training, the usual military survival stuff but not much more. If the injuries were serious, he’d need help.
“No.” Her voice sounded far away, almost dreamy.
“Mia?”
“He’s dead.” Her eyes focused, looking clear for the first time. “I killed him.”
Holden had no idea who the “he” was or what was happening, but the lady seemed to need soothing and no one else was there to do it, so he tried. “I’m sure that’s not true.”
She stared him down. “I hope it is.”
Chapter Three
Mia sat there, looking into a pair of ice-blue eyes and wondering why the guy just happened to be holding a gun when she drove through his wall.
“You’re not making sense,” the mystery man said.
That probably had something to do with being terrified. If her body shook any harder, her brain might start rattling. It was bad enough her back teeth kept knocking together. She also had to deal with the pain above her eyes and bones that had turned to jelly.
First, she got attacked by her usually boring boss. That one still didn’t make sense. Now a guy with a scowl harsh enough to make her swallow her tongue in panic sat just inches away. With his coal-black hair and broad shoulders, he reminded her of some of the secret-service teams that walked through the Rayburn House Office Building where she worked.
This guy had an air of danger to him. The muscles straining under the sleeves of his black T-shirt should have scared her, but he didn’t give off that serial-killer vibe. Not that she knew how killers acted in these situations.
Right now, the only confirmed killer in the room was her. “He attacked me. Wouldn’t stop.”
“Who?”
The scene ran through her mind. Crazed eyes. Mumbled accusations. “He wanted me dead.”
“Let me try this again—who?” The mystery man moved his hand to her arm.
She stared down at his long fingers and tried not to flinch. If he was dangerous, she didn’t want to tick him off. She’d had enough of that for one evening. “What’s your name?”
This time he didn’t answer a question with one of his own. “Holden Price.”
Nothing about that name gave her insight into who he was or how much he might want to hurt her. A solid name. Of course, so was Ted Bundy.
She needed a phone and reinforcements, preferably the type that wore badges and carried bigger guns than Holden. Knowing she was finally safe also would be a relief.
“Now,” he said. “Let’s skip to the part where you tell me about this other person.”
She was more concerned with knowing everything about the potential threat in front of her. “You live here?”
Holden exhaled with just enough exasperation to let her know his patience was wearing thin. “I did until your recent redecorating, but I’m not the issue here. You are.”
“I need to call the police.”
Holden didn’t move. “Tell me who you think you killed. Give me his name.”
No harm in sharing that information. Everyone would know soon anyway. You couldn’t kill someone of her boss’s stature without making the news.
“Bram Walters,” she said.
Holden’s face fell. He actually went from looking frustrated to looking confused. “As in Congressman Bram Walters?”
“Same one.”
Holden’s gaze roamed over her face. “I don’t recognize you.”
Maybe the headache was the cause, but that was a comment that didn’t fit. “Why would you?”
“I know Walters.”
Not possible. She’d remember Holden. A guy who looked like him didn’t walk into the congressional office without every single girl fluffing her hair and practicing her smile. Put a suit on this man and he’d still have the Tall, Dark and Devastating thing down.
“I’m one of Congressman Walters’s legislative assistants,” she said.
“In the D.C. office?”
She didn’t understand Holden’s obsession with her employment. His questions swam around in her head until she thought her skull would explode. “I’ve been there about two months.”
“And now you think you killed the man you work for.” Holden said the words nice and slow, hovering over each one.
“I ran him over.”
“With your car.” That comment took even longer for Holden to get out.
“Well, yeah.”
“You’re saying Walters was at my house.”
She pressed a hand against her head to keep it from falling forward into her lap. “In the area.”
Holden blew out a long breath. “Interesting.”
“If I didn’t kill him it wasn’t for a lack of trying.”
This time the corner of Holden’s mouth kicked up in a smile. “I’d recommend you phrase that differently when you talk with the police.”
Police. Trials. The press. This was all bad. The head spinning picked up speed. “I can’t believe this.”
“Me either.”
It wasn’t all that difficult to pick up on the shock in Holden’s voice. Crossing him off the serial-killer list had proved a bit easier in the past few minutes. If he wanted to hurt her, he would have done it by now. Maybe he was the reclusive type, but he didn’t strike her as a threat.
That realization slowed the runaway drumming of her heart. Well, it did until he got up and she got a close-up view of the gun balanced in the waistband of his pants.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
He shot her an expression that suggested she wasn’t too bright. “To look for Walters.”
“Why?”
Holden’s eyes widened at that. “In case he’s still alive and needs help.”
“You can’t.” She jumped up and grabbed Holden’s arm, ignoring the tossing and turning in her stomach.
“Why is that?”
“My boss is dangerous.” And the last thing she needed was a second round with him.
Guilt washed over her every time the image of the Congressman falling under her car replayed in her mind. Not that she’d had a choice. In a contest between them over who would live, she’d rather think of her boss as dead.
“Walters wears a suit and sits behind a desk all day making decisions without regard to the facts.” Holden removed her fingers. “Trust me, I’m not afraid of him.”
She focused in on Holden’s comment. Blocked out everything else. “That’s a pretty specific impression.”
“I know politicians.”
She didn’t buy that explanation. Headache or not, this was something else. Something deeper and more personal. “I’m getting the sense you know this congressman.”
“If you’re right about killing him, we should be using the past tense.”
She