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His gaze locked on hers. With a subtle bounce, he glanced down at her arm. Then he did it again. The heavy breathing forcing her chest up and down in rapid movements slowed and she frowned. He hoped she got the hint.
“Do it now.” The attacker barked out the order.
Putting his hands in the air, Ben held up his gun. “Let’s stay calm.”
The attacker waved the knife around, getting far too close to her face. “Stop stalling.”
“My arms are going down.” Ben hoped that last attempt delivered the message to Jocelyn.
He had only seconds and a minimal window for error. With his knees bent, he lowered his body and hands toward the floor. The attacker scowled but his focus centered on Ben, right where Ben wanted it.
He set the weapon on the carpet and watched the other man shift his weight. Right when the tension eased, Ben put his palm near his foot, pretending to push up again.
“Now!” he shouted.
In one smooth move, he came up. His second gun slid out of its holder and arced through the air right as Jocelyn smashed an elbow into her attacker’s stomach.
“Humph.” The man bent over. When he came up again, he roared with a sound of fury that bounced off the walls.
Ben’s bullet struck the man’s forehead and cut off the sound.
Jocelyn was tight up against Ben with her arms wrapped around his neck before the other guy hit the floor. Ben looked over her head. The bullet hole and trail of blood told him the attacker was dead. So did the look of horror frozen on his silent face.
Still, Ben didn’t take any chances. Pushing Jocelyn behind him, he stepped over the attacker’s legs and kicked the knife away. After a quick pulse check, Ben’s heart finally stopped thundering.
“Is he dead?” Her voice shook.
When Ben turned around, he saw every one of her muscles quaking. Those eyes were wide enough to swallow her entire face. But she was on her feet and not curled up in the corner. She’d given him the assist without any training or lengthy explanation.
Man, he was impressed. “You did great.”
“I think I’m going to throw up.”
Okay, not his favorite response. “You’re probably entitled to, but I kind of wish you wouldn’t.”
“Looks like I’m too late.” Wearing jeans old enough to be faded near white and a dark beard from days without shaving, Joel stepped in the doorway.
Before Ben could make the introductions, Jocelyn bent down and grabbed the other gun. As she aimed it at Joel, the barrel bobbled from the trembling of her arm. “I will shoot you.”
Joel’s eyes widened and his hands went into the air. “Hold on there.”
“Whoa, Jocelyn.” Ben reached around her and lowered her arm with the softest touch he could manage in a crisis. “This is Joel Kidd—he’s with me.”
She glanced at Ben over her shoulder and a haze fell over her eyes. “Joel?”
She should recognize the name from the assignment Ben had been on when he met her. Joel never came to the hospital but Ben had mentioned him. He had talked about him again tonight when he spoke about a friend with a car fetish.
Joel flashed her a smile. “Ma’am.”
If she was impressed with Joel and what most women seemed to find irresistible in him, she didn’t show it. She spun around to face Ben again. All the color had drained from her face. “What is going on?”
That was exactly what he planned to find out.
Chapter Two
There were more than eight men in her apartment. Jocelyn couldn’t give an exact number because she stopped counting when Ben’s friends—he called them his team—arrived and the police showed up. Even a stray neighbor or two poked their heads in before being pushed behind the crime-scene tape.
Officers shifted in and out of her family room. A few took notes and circled every piece of anything left on the floor post-attack. They’d snapped photos and a Detective Willoughby asked her questions until her mind went blank.
Now they trampled over every inch of her floor as Ben talked with them, pointing from the door to the couch and explaining things she couldn’t hear. They must have mattered to him because he kept up a steady stream of talking while two uniformed officers listened and nodded now and then.
Ever since Ben escorted her out of the fray and to the barstool in her kitchen, she hadn’t moved. She didn’t think she could move. Her bare feet balanced on the bottom rung, frozen despite the humid night. Ben had put a sweater over her shoulders but she couldn’t feel the material against her skin.
The sirens had stopped wailing but the rumble of conversations continued all around her. She heard a clatter and creaks and looked up to see a crew in blue jackets file in with a gurney. There were evidence bags and a huge red stain under the head of the unknown man sprawled on her floor.
