The Paris Assignment by Addison Fox Page B

buggy whip extended, pointing toward a darkened path into the park as Campbell flew past him. “He went that way. And so did she!” the guy added for good measure.
    Even if his hearing wasn’t functioning optimally, Campbell couldn’t have missed the body language if he’d tried.
    Although she had the advantage of surprise and a good fifteen seconds on him, he gained on her with little effort, his six-foot-two-inch frame—most of which was legs—eating up the ground.
    Without stopping, Campbell bypassed her and used his lead to follow a distant figure who darted in and out of the shadows up ahead.
    The late hour ensured they didn’t meet too many people, but the gunman had time on his side. Every few yards, Campbell could have sworn he heard the pounding of feet, but the sounds were rapidly absorbed by the abundance of trees surrounding the path.
    New Yorkers loved their park for its capacity to drown out the sounds of the city but it was that same ability that finally had Campbell ending the foot race.
    “Is he gone?” Abby’s breathless voice assaulted him from behind as she drew up to his side.
    “Yeah.” Frustration and anger built in his chest before it burst forth at a handy target. “What the hell were you thinking?”
    “What?”
    Adrenaline added its powerful punch to the mix and he hauled her up against his side, the urge to protect overpowering the barely veiled urge to shake some sense into her. “Running off like that. After some bastard who’d just fired a damn gun on you.”
    “I told you. I’m not a victim.”
    “You’re damn well going to be if you go chasing off after armed men.”
    The absolute lack of apology in her upturned face had a renewed wave of irritation flooding his veins before it was replaced with the fleeting thought that the woman was a formidable opponent.
    And altogether too sexy for her own good.
    Awareness sparked in the dark depths of her eyes as she stepped back, the sudden shift between them heady and immediate.
    His gaze dropped to the rest of her body. The silly slippers—and who carried slippers in their purse?—still covered her feet, capping off a pair of spectacular legs.
    “Where’d you get that sort of jump? And how does a CEO get legs like those? I suppose I didn’t miss the mark earlier when I called you a runner?”
    “Three miles a day since I was fifteen. Five on Saturday and Sunday.” Pride steeped her tone, but something else hovered underneath it. Was it a light sheen of regret? No, he quickly amended as he hit on the answer. That tone held the distinct notes of sadness.
    “Well, it clearly does a body good. I knew your legs were spectacular, but watching them eat up the ground was an altogether invigorating experience.”
    “Thanks. I think.”
    “Oh, no, thank you.” He reached for her hand to pull her back along the same path they’d raced over in pursuit of their quarry. “So why does all that running make you sad?”
    The slim shoulders underneath his arm stiffened but she continued moving forward without the slightest hitch in her step. “Running gives you endorphins. You can’t be sad with endorphins.”
    “Could have fooled me.” He glanced down at her profile where she stared straight ahead, the park lamps lighting the outline of her face.
    Police lights were visible in the distance—no doubt already parked in front of the bar securing statements from witnesses—and Campbell wanted to avoid them altogether. “Were you all that fond of those stilts you wore tonight?”
    “My shoes? Of course I’m fond of them. They were part of this year’s fall collection from my favorite designer and tonight was the first time I wore them.”
    He let out a long-suffering sigh. “Deliver me from women and their shoes.”
    “You asked.”
    “I need you to give them up to the cause.”
    “What cause? Those are really fabulous shoes.”
    “Fleeing the scene of the crime. Let’s avoid the bar and exit out of the park onto Fifth in