Read Online Exchange of Fire by P. A. DePaul - Free Book Online Page B

belonged; quite a few were missing, but the owners were probably on vacation.
    She slid her purse around to sit on her lap and rummaged through the contents. Man, she needed to clean this thing out. Where the hell had her . . . There it was. She pulled out a tactical Bowie knife and removed the etched handle from its leather sheath. Her fingers slid into the silver knuckles crafted as part of the handle and held the blade up. The stainless steel caught the faint light from the street lamp, showing the smooth blade on one side and the serrated edge on the other. Beautiful and wicked. Just like the man who had given it to her.
    Her heart thumped at the memory of his emerald eyes twinkling as he presented her with a brightly wrapped package.
Happy Birthday, Wrai—
    A twig snapped behind her. Sandra whirled and held out the knife. She leaned her back against the Porta-Potty for balance and squinted into the dark park. Outlines of pine trees edged the open expanse of land. Dotted throughout were soccer goals and chain-link backdrops. Metal bleachers sat empty beneath the full moon and told her squat about the new threat.
    Knowing all too well how to still her body, she lowered the knife and waited the newcomer out. Three minutes later, a large form appeared closer than she had originally estimated—at the concession stand just twenty feet to her right, to be exact. Shit, she was going soft already.
    The distinct outline of a handgun at his side caught her attention first as the newcomer slowly approached. Her heart sped up and she disentangled her fingers. With the custom knuckles, the knife wasn’t weighted the best for throwing, but she had practiced enough to make it count. Just a few steps closer and she’d have the perfect distance to take the bastard out.
Come on, come on, come on,
her mind chanted to the walking dead man.
    She lifted the knife.
One more step . . .
She drew her arm back—shit! She barely stopped her hand from releasing when her brain finally registered the familiar shape. “Grady?” she hissed as he stepped closer.
    “Sandra?” he asked in return, closing the distance and crouching beside her. “What the hell?” His eyes fell upon her Bowie knife. “Holy fuck.”
    She couldn’t help puffing a little with pride. “Sweet, isn’t it?”
    His gaze jumped to hers. “Sweet? I haven’t seen one of those since the military.” His eyes landed on the knife again. “Scratch that. I’ve never seen one like that before. Are those silver knuckles embedded into the handle?”
    “Yeah. It’s a custom jobby.” She stood and tucked it back into the sheath, then hooked the leather onto the side of her pants.
    He slowly rose, his face a mixture of confused determination. Her heart thumped. She had hoped he would never see this side of her and wished she had gone with left-brain’s choice and hopped on the first train out of town.
    “What are you doing here?” she barked, probably a little too forcefully due to the guilt.
    “I’ve been searching for you for hours.”
    “Why? I told you I didn’t need or want your help.”
    He rubbed his temple. “Oh, I got your message loud and clear.”
    Her respect raised despite herself at his waspish comeback.
    “Then why am I staring at your face?”
    “I figured you would’ve learned by now: I don’t abandon someone who’s in trouble.” He thrust his jaw out. “So fill me in. What’s going on?”
    “I can’t do that. I appreciate the chivalrous gesture, but you’ve got to go.” Her mouth said the words, but her traitorous heart hoped he’d stay.
Idiot.
    He didn’t budge an inch.
    “Damn it, Grady. This isn’t a game.”
    “I noticed.” His eyes slid to her knife, then back. “Tell me about the key chain and why the hell you knocked me out. We’ll start with those. Take your pick which to answer first.”
    She let out a disgusted sound. “If I do, will you go?”
    “Maybe.”
    “Not good enough.”
    He stayed silent for too long,