Free Rock Chick 03 Redemption by Kristen Ashley

trouble (or, in my case, more trouble), I lied.
    “Starving.”

    It was then, the smile in his eyes hit his mouth.
    Holy cow .
    My phone rang.
    “Shit!” I cried, pul ing out of his arms and lifting the phone to look at it. “Who could it be now? It has to be Indy.” I stopped talking when Hank plucked the phone out of my hand, flipped it open and put it to his ear.
    I stared at him in disbelief.
    “Yeah?” he said into the phone.
    “Whisky, you can’t just answer my phone,” I snapped, sounding a lot like Jet when she snapped at Eddie, that was to say, ful of shit. I reached to take it away from him but he jerked his head away from my reach.
    “Hel o?” he said, sounding far more serious.
    My body froze and my heart stopped.
    Bil y.
    This was not good. I thought it would be Indy, Duke, Stevie, Lee, Eddie and half dozen other people I barely knew who were al of a sudden my friends. Not Bil y.
    He took the phone from his ear and flipped it shut.
    “Who was it?” I asked, wondering if I should ask for CPR
    pre-heart attack and deciding Hank’s lips on mine (again) was not a good idea.
    “No answer.”
    The phone rang again.
    I reached for it, knowing now who it was and feeling panic spreading through my body but Hank stepped away, flipped it open and put it to his ear. “Hel o?” he said.
    I moved toward him and got in his space. “Hank,” I I moved toward him and got in his space. “Hank,” I whispered.
    “Is someone there?” Hank said into the phone.
    I closed my eyes.
    This was not happening.
    I opened my eyes again and Hank was watching me. He took the phone from his ear and flipped it shut. “No answer,” Hank informed me. He opened it and started pressing buttons.
    I knew what he was doing, looking at the received cal s.
    Normal y, I would have been angry at his nerve but I was too busy freaking out at what he might find.
    “Give me my phone, Hank.”
    He got to what he was looking for. “It says unknown cal er.”
    Shit.
    Bil y was on the road and likely his cel had run out of juice.
    “Give me the phone,” I repeated.
    It rang again.
    Without delay, he flipped it open and put it to his ear.
    “Hank!” I yel ed, making a play for it but he caught me, snatching me around the waist with his arm and he pul ed me up against his body.
    “This is Detective Hank Nightingale. Who’s cal ing?” he said in a voice that rang with so much authority, if it was me on the other side, I would have answered in a flash.
    Bil y was going to have a shit hemorrhage: a man answering my phone, a man with a deep, sexy, authoritative, no-nonsense voice and a police title.

    authoritative, no-nonsense voice and a police title.
    “Identify yourself,” Hank demanded.
    He waited. I waited.
    Hank was looking pissed off. I was holding my breath.
    He pul ed the phone from his ear, flipped it shut one-handed and looked at me.
    “No answer?” I asked.
    He nodded.
    I closed my eyes.
    His arm tightened.
    I opened them.
    “Your trouble catching up with you?” he asked.
    I bit my lip. Then I let it go.
    “Maybe.”
    “You ready to tel me about it?”
    I answered immediately. “No.”
    This made him look more pissed off.
    It might make me a freak but Hank, normal y, was seriously handsome. Hank pissed off was off-the-charts handsome.
    “You’re even better looking when you’re angry.” Now, why did I say that?
    He stared at me and, luckily, ignored my comment.
    Then he said, “I dated a girl al through high school. She was pretty, but when she walked in a room, only I noticed her, not every fuckin’ guy in the room. She wore normal clothes, not shit that looks like it comes from the pages of a fashion magazine. She never threw attitude at anyone. She never got drunk, never listened to music too loud, never stayed out after curfew, wouldn’t know trouble if it bit her in the ass and wouldn’t even know how to keep a secret.” My heart clenched, definite pre-heart-attack for sure. I should have asked for