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Hunter forced his fingers to loosen their grip on his phone. “I’ll take care of it.”
He didn’t know how, but it was going to start with a discussion with Ms. Carly Wolfe.
* * *
After an unsuccessful attempt to find Carly Wolfe at her office—followed by a successful discussion with a Gothically dressed coworker of hers—two hours after Booker’s call Hunter drove through a rundown neighborhood lined with derelict warehouses. What was Carly thinking of, doing an interview here? It was far from the upscale, trendy end of Miami, and the moment he’d turned into the questionable section of town his senses had gone on alert.
Hunter pulled in front of the metal building that corresponded with the address he’d been given, parking behind a blue Mini Cooper that looked pretty new, and completely out of place. He turned off his car and spied Carly coming up the alley bisecting a pair of ramshackle warehouses. Her attention was on her cell phone conversation.
His moment of triumph was replaced by an uneasy wariness as two twenty-something males exited a warehouse door behind her, following Carly. Both looked big enough to play defensive end for a professional football team. With sweatshirt hoods covering their heads, shoulders hunched, and hands shoved into their pockets, their posture was either in defense against the unusually chilly air...or because they were hiding something.
Their steps cocky and full of purpose, the menacing-looking duo called after her, their intent clearly on Carly, and Hunter’s senses rocketed from his usual tensely cautious state straight to Defcon One: battle is imminent.
Sonofabitch.
Pushing all thoughts of confrontation with Carly aside, heart pumping with the old familiar adrenaline of a pending threat, Hunter reached for his glove compartment.
* * *
“Abby,” Carly said into her cellular, plugging her other ear as she tried to hear over the garbled reception and the city noises echoing along the graffiti-covered alley. “Slow down. I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”
“He came by the office, asking where you were.” Abby’s voice was low and ominous. “Things are about to get ugly.”
Carly grinned at the doomsday prediction. Abby, Carly’s beloved Gothic friend, colleague—and perpetual pessimist—never failed to disappoint. Despite Abby’s predictions that it would end with Carly being bound, gagged and stuffed in the trunk of a car, the interview Carly had just finished with the two graffiti artists had gone better than expected. Outwardly they might resemble your basic gangsters, but their raw artistic talent had blown her away.
“Who came by?” Carly said.
“Hunter Philips.”
Carly stumbled slightly, and her heart sputtered to a stop before resuming at twice its normal rate. Gripping her phone, she tried to focus beyond the noisy traffic and a distant call from someone, somewhere. “What did you say to him?”
“Sorry, Carly,” Abby said with a moan. “I told him where you were. It’s just, well...he caught me by surprise. And he’s so...so...”
“I know,” Carly said as she puffed out a breath, sparing her friend the impossible task.
“Exactly,” Abby said, leaving Carly relieved his beyond-description effect wasn’t just on her.
He was too edgy and guarded to be a charming playboy. Too chillingly in control to play the bad boy. Beyond the iced stare he was criminally beautiful, with a dangerous appeal that was so flippin’ fascinating Carly had had a hard time focusing on her morning’s dull assignment about a new nightclub. Another earth-shattering story to add to a gripping portfolio filled with articles on the latest club, gallery or silliest hottest trend. But who could concentrate when there was someone like the enigmatic Hunter Philips filling her thoughts?
Tonight, hopefully she could keep her mind off Hunter by slaving away on her piece about the graffiti artists. Another in-depth profile article her boss probably wouldn’t publish.
With a sigh, Carly said, “Thanks for the warning, Abby.”
“Be careful, okay?” Abby said.
Carly reassured her she would and signed off, still so caught up in her attempt not to think about Hunter Philips that she didn’t notice the man who stepped in front of her, failing to adjust her stride. She smacked into a solid chest, triggering an adrenaline surge that shot her nervous system straight to nuclear meltdown...until she looked up at Hunter Philips’s face and the whole hot mess got a gazillion times worse.
While her heart added additional force to its already impressive velocity, Hunter put an arm about her waist, pulled her around, and plastered her to his side. Carly’s senses were immediately barraged with several competing sensations at once.
