Warrior Agent by Dana Marton

Author:Dana Marton [Marton, Dana]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dana Marton
Published: 2011-10-20T01:29:13+00:00

* * *

He worried about her. He didn’t like the feeling.

He more than didn’t like it. He resented it.

And while he appreciating her saving him, truth be told, Troy even resented that a little. He didn’t like the idea that he’d messed up so bad that he had to be saved by a girl.

Furthermore, he resented that he could still clearly recall her long legs, her lean figure and the bow shape of her mouth.

He ran up to her second story apartment. The staircase didn’t have enough lighting, the walls marred by graffiti. It certainly didn’t look like she was on her way to becoming a millionaire on her security guard salary.

The door to her apartment stood ajar, the lock busted. His pulse leapt as he pushed through and found himself face to face with a well-executed karate kick she pulled back at the last second. He could feel the wind of it.

“Sorry.” She stepped back. “I didn’t expect you this early.”

“What happened?” He looked around and took in the turned over furniture, pots and pans lying on the kitchen floor in a heap.

“I don’t exactly live in a high security building.” She shrugged. “They were looking for drugs. They took the microwave.”

Only that? The place was so sparse it looked like somebody had backed a truck up to the door. She must not have had much to begin with.

“Want a soda?” She stepped over to the fridge. “Sorry, I don’t keep any beer on hand. When I got back from overseas… I figured I better keep clear of alcohol. I wasn’t in a good place.”

He nodded, liking the forethought and the self-discipline, as well as the honesty, the unflinching way with which she admitted her problems. No games. “A cold soda would be great.”

She opened the fridge door, and her eyes narrowed. “They took my leftovers.” Anger flushed her cheeks. She grabbed two sodas then slammed the door. “My favorite Chinese takeout, dammit.”

He took the can she handed him. “Have you called the police?”

“This is the third time the place got tossed since I moved in. The cops never do anything. It’s the neighborhood I live in.” An odd look crossed her face.

“What is it?”

“Probably nothing, but— We had four break-ins in the last couple of months. Three times out of four, they hit my place. It’s just coincidence, right?”

“Any other coincidences you noticed lately?”

She pressed her lips together for a second. “I keep getting faulty earpieces at work. I miss a lot of what’s being said by the rest of the team.” She ran her slim fingers through her hair. “But they can’t possibly know that I’m involved in what you’re doing.”

The muscles in his jaw tightened. He drank then put the can down as he moved to the living room, which was adjacent to the kitchen. He set the furniture straight, ignoring his cracked ribs, then picked up the clothes from the floor and dumped them in the ancient reclining chair. She could hang those back up in the closet when she was ready.

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