Free Against the Rules by Tori Carson Page A

nothing about Reese and quite a bit about herself. Chantel pulled the shirt tight around her and sat on the couch. Along with her morals, she had apparently tossed out the Golden Rule too. The idea of anyone going through her things made her skin crawl, yet she had done just that. And not to just anyone either. No, she had violated a man whom she was growing real feelings for. She definitely didn’t like herself very much at that moment.
    Reese had been gone much longer than she had anticipated. How long did it take to buy a box of condoms? Oh well. One more quick look around couldn’t hurt. Just to make sure she’d put everything back the way she had found it.
    What surprised her most was the complete lack of anything personal. No pictures of family or friends displayed in frames or tucked in a drawer. No memorabilia or keepsakes. It was as sterile as a hotel. The only things that remotely showed that the house was lived in were the closet full of clothes and shelves of books.
    He seemed completely alone. Her heart tightened painfully at the thought. He was such a sweet, caring man it wasn’t right that he be so alone. If given the opportunity, she would change that.
    Chantel sat on the bed in the back bedroom pondering her discovery, or lack thereof, until the handsome, mysterious and clearly pissed off Reese McCormick filled the doorway.
     
    * * * *
     
    “Nnnnoooo!” Foster yelled in vain as a fireball engulfed the chopper. The body, torn to pieces and flung like a rag doll, was much too small to belong to Sammy. Foster’s legs gave out and he crashed to the ground on his knees. Bile flooded his mouth and burned his throat.
    The occupants of the bar began to trickle outside, drawn by the thundering explosion that shook the aged building. Several young idiots ran to the bike. A few shouted the news to the remaining customers inside. Two employees used fire extinguishers to dampen the flames before they spread. Other patrons hustled to move their choppers out of harm’s way.
    Panic had Foster lying flat out in the high grass. He should have been gone by now, not hanging around like a complete amateur. Sammy, the cold bastard, stayed near the building. His eyes quartered the area, not the fire. He avoided looking directly at the flames, thus his vision remained first rate. His body language spoke volumes. A predator hunting prey. He knew it was his bike. He had undoubtedly known the victim, yet he couldn’t have cared less. All his attention was bent on finding the culprit. On finding him .
    Foster knew that the slightest movement would draw Sammy’s hawk-like attention. How long could he afford to stay there? Foster’s bike would be discovered once law enforcement arrived. With all these witnesses, they had surely been alerted. As if on cue, distant sirens joined in the clatter, another loaded gun was cocked and aimed directly at him.
    Like a rabbit frozen under the stare of a coyote, his eyes were glued on Sammy. If he moved, Sammy would spot him, and if he stayed, the police would be all over him. Shit.
     
    * * * *
     
    “Let me guess, you got lost on your way to the bathroom?” He looked around the room as if she’d stolen something.
    Chantel’s heart broke from the tone of his voice. Disappointment and resignation oozed from every syllable. There was something very telling about his body language, but there were too many missing pieces of the story for her to begin to put it all together. Somehow, he knew she’d gone through his house. He knew she’d searched through his private belongings and for what? She really had no answer that justified her breaching his privacy.
    “How’d ya guess?”
    Reese didn’t move a muscle. He looked relaxed and casual until Chantel noticed the taut vein in his neck and white knuckles crossed over his barrel chest.
    It was on the tip of her tongue to confess. She wanted to, really she did, but she got the impression that having his fears confirmed would only hurt him.