scream was a no-go, her terror muffled to a sore, clotted gargle low in her throat.
She couldn't breathe.
She couldn't think.
His palm firm against her mouth, he yanked the pillow from under her head. His fingers dug into her cheeks a split second before the pillow replaced his hand.
Her screams muffled, she could only kick and thrash.
The kicks found empty space. Her thrashing brought more pressure on the pillow. Fog bloomed in her head, thick and dark.
I'm going to die.
Pulling and clawing at the arm holding the pillow, the back part of her brain registered heavy material. Damp. Hard muscle. Immovable.
Going under. Going deeper. Going weaker.
* * *
Patrick tackled the slab of a man leaning over Silver's bed, who, fortunately, was so engrossed in the act of suffocating the woman, he didn't see it coming. Fortunately, because without the element of surprise, his attack would be the equivalent of a robin attacking a rhino. The guy was bull big and intent on murder. Even with Patrick's six feet of height and one hundred and eighty pounds in full assault mode, all he did was distract the thug enough that he took his hands off the pillow.
The instant he did, Silver rolled over, off the bed, out of sight. Good move.
Too bad Patrick didn't have one to match it.
El Toro straightened up, away from the bed, kind of slo-mo-like. Patrick braced for the worst. The room was too dark to see the guy's face, but he sure as hell got a picture of his girth and height—sweet Jesus, he had to be at least six-six. And just about as wide. Not a man, a fuckin' wall.
Prepare yourself for a trip to the ER, Byrne.
He figured a good headbutt to the gut was his best option. Through the blackness of the room, he tried to pinpoint where exactly the gut would be on a guy his size. But before he could put his piss-poor plan into action, Silver stood up, threw a well-aimed something that hit the hulk's head, and shouted, "Get out of here, you dumb son of a bitch."
The guy didn't flinch; what he did was look from Patrick to Silver, as if considering his options. He hesitated briefly, then headed for the bedroom's still open French doors. He disappeared so quickly, so quietly, into the wet, dark night that Patrick's headbutt plan was aborted. Which didn't trouble him in the least—nor did seeing an attempted murderer get away. Because unless he missed his guess, Miss Silver knew exactly where to find him—and the man who'd sent him to do the job. Patrick had no doubt the incredible hulk was a hired hand, and that he'd go down with his boss—if Silver cooperated.
"Are you okay?" he asked through the dense gloom.
Her answer was silence and some very heavy breathing.
* * *
Gina couldn't get her mouth to work. She was too busy trying to steady her breathing and deep-freeze her terror. She stared toward the door where Igor— she never did get his real name —had exited her bedroom. She couldn't believe she hadn't heard him come in. And how had he found her house? Coleman thought she lived in the penthouse, part of the setup provided by Tanner and Raven Force.
Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.
Coleman wanted her dead, and that added a whole new dimension to the fun house of horrors she currently inhabited. She needed to think. Figure things out. But not in the dark with a strange guy taking up space on the other side of her bedroom.
"I'm okay," she finally answered. She groped for the lamp and switched it on, adding, "You saved my—" Her eyes went saucer wide. "You!"
Patrick blinked. "This can't be happening."
They stared at each other, equally dumbstruck. Of all the trouble she didn't need right now, Patrick Byrne topped the list. The timing was even worse than the last time they'd been together.
Patrick was the first to shake off the shock. "You knew that guy," was all he said.
It wasn't a question, so it didn't need an answer. "What are you doing here?"
"Last I checked, I was saving your excuse for a life."
"I was doing
She couldn't breathe.
She couldn't think.
His palm firm against her mouth, he yanked the pillow from under her head. His fingers dug into her cheeks a split second before the pillow replaced his hand.
Her screams muffled, she could only kick and thrash.
The kicks found empty space. Her thrashing brought more pressure on the pillow. Fog bloomed in her head, thick and dark.
I'm going to die.
Pulling and clawing at the arm holding the pillow, the back part of her brain registered heavy material. Damp. Hard muscle. Immovable.
Going under. Going deeper. Going weaker.
* * *
Patrick tackled the slab of a man leaning over Silver's bed, who, fortunately, was so engrossed in the act of suffocating the woman, he didn't see it coming. Fortunately, because without the element of surprise, his attack would be the equivalent of a robin attacking a rhino. The guy was bull big and intent on murder. Even with Patrick's six feet of height and one hundred and eighty pounds in full assault mode, all he did was distract the thug enough that he took his hands off the pillow.
The instant he did, Silver rolled over, off the bed, out of sight. Good move.
Too bad Patrick didn't have one to match it.
El Toro straightened up, away from the bed, kind of slo-mo-like. Patrick braced for the worst. The room was too dark to see the guy's face, but he sure as hell got a picture of his girth and height—sweet Jesus, he had to be at least six-six. And just about as wide. Not a man, a fuckin' wall.
Prepare yourself for a trip to the ER, Byrne.
He figured a good headbutt to the gut was his best option. Through the blackness of the room, he tried to pinpoint where exactly the gut would be on a guy his size. But before he could put his piss-poor plan into action, Silver stood up, threw a well-aimed something that hit the hulk's head, and shouted, "Get out of here, you dumb son of a bitch."
The guy didn't flinch; what he did was look from Patrick to Silver, as if considering his options. He hesitated briefly, then headed for the bedroom's still open French doors. He disappeared so quickly, so quietly, into the wet, dark night that Patrick's headbutt plan was aborted. Which didn't trouble him in the least—nor did seeing an attempted murderer get away. Because unless he missed his guess, Miss Silver knew exactly where to find him—and the man who'd sent him to do the job. Patrick had no doubt the incredible hulk was a hired hand, and that he'd go down with his boss—if Silver cooperated.
"Are you okay?" he asked through the dense gloom.
Her answer was silence and some very heavy breathing.
* * *
Gina couldn't get her mouth to work. She was too busy trying to steady her breathing and deep-freeze her terror. She stared toward the door where Igor— she never did get his real name —had exited her bedroom. She couldn't believe she hadn't heard him come in. And how had he found her house? Coleman thought she lived in the penthouse, part of the setup provided by Tanner and Raven Force.
Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.
Coleman wanted her dead, and that added a whole new dimension to the fun house of horrors she currently inhabited. She needed to think. Figure things out. But not in the dark with a strange guy taking up space on the other side of her bedroom.
"I'm okay," she finally answered. She groped for the lamp and switched it on, adding, "You saved my—" Her eyes went saucer wide. "You!"
Patrick blinked. "This can't be happening."
They stared at each other, equally dumbstruck. Of all the trouble she didn't need right now, Patrick Byrne topped the list. The timing was even worse than the last time they'd been together.
Patrick was the first to shake off the shock. "You knew that guy," was all he said.
It wasn't a question, so it didn't need an answer. "What are you doing here?"
"Last I checked, I was saving your excuse for a life."
"I was doing
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