Read Online Striking Distance by Pamela Clare - Free Book Online Page B

not with three of his men dead and his business in bankruptcy. She owed him.
    She held out her keys and clicked the remote, and the hazard lights on her car flashed—revealing to Derek exactly which car was hers.
    He moved quickly, silently, opening her passenger-side door and sliding into the passenger seat beside her just as she slipped behind the wheel. “Ms. Nilsson.”
    She screamed, reached for the door handle, but he had already locked the doors.
    He grabbed her coat, forced her to face him. “We need to talk.”
    She swore in a language he didn’t understand, the fear in her eyes flashing into anger. “What the hell are you doing following me?”
    “It’s just business.” He glanced around the parking lot to make sure no one was witnessing this little drama, then turned back to Ms. Nilsson, only to find himself looking down the barrel of a SIG Mosquito.
    Damn.
    He hadn’t been expecting that.
    He released her, gave her some room.
    She glared at him, her aim rock steady. “Falsely accusing someone of wrongdoing is slander. Following me to my car is harassment and stalking.”
    “Put the pistol away before you hurt yourself.” He reached for it but froze when her finger curled around the trigger.
    The woman was serious.
    She glared at him, the ferocity on her feminine face pissing him off—and turning him on. “Get the hell out of my car right now, and don’t come near me again!”
    “I lost three men that day, Ms. Nilsson—three good men, men with families, men who’d been my friends since—”
    “Nico, Cody, and Tim were
my
friends, too!”
    Cold rage had him leaning closer, the pistol now a mere inch from his throat. “I served with them for a decade in Special Forces. You can’t
begin
to understand what that means. Now they’re dead, and I want answers.”
    “Try Ask.com.”
    “Oh, you’re a cold bitch, aren’t you?” Beautiful, but cold.
    “Or go talk to the State Department.
They
did the investigation. In case you’ve forgotten,
I
was the target.”
    “I remember. Except you lived, and everyone
else
died.”
    Her eyes narrowed. “What are you implying?”
    “I’ve spent the better part of three years trying to piece together how this happened. My sources in Islamabad say that Al-Nassar’s men were tipped off by an
American
who said he’d heard from you exactly where you’d be that day.”
    She glared at him. “That’s impossible.”
    “Is it? How many nights did you hang out with all the other reporters at that ex-pat bar in the hotel? Maybe you got a little tipsy and said more than you should have. Maybe you picked some guy up and let him fuck the intel out of you. Either way, my men paid with their lives. My company probably won’t recover from the loss of reputation caused by your disappearance—”
    “Loss of reputation? Your
company
?” Her voice quavered. “I spent eighteen months of my life trapped in a living hell!”
    “You don’t look any worse for wear.” He knew what had happened to her, but she had survived, hadn’t she? “My men are
dead
. I want answers from you, and I’m going to get them. Now,
put the pistol away
.”
    She tightened her grip, fear and rage in her eyes. “You’re insane! Get out, and stay away from me, or I’ll get a restraining order!”
    As if that would stop him.
    Tired of the bullshit, he grabbed her wrist, angled the barrel away from his body, and wrenched the weapon from her grasp. He held the little pistol for a moment, let her sweat it out. “Nice bit a steel. SIG makes a good pistol, but it won’t do you a damned bit of good if you’re not willing to fire. Don’t draw if you don’t plan to kill.”
    She rubbed her wrist, defiance on her face, only her rapid breathing betraying her fear. “That was assault.”
    He removed the magazine and racked the slide to expel the round from the chamber, then tossed the firearm in her lap. “You told someone, Laura. Who was it?”
    She stared warily at him, still rubbing her