Free Walking The Edge: A Romantic Suspense/Espionage Thriller (Corpus Brides Trilogy Book 1) by Zee Monodee

quite identify. Engulfing warmth? Affection? A tug inside her existed for him.
    He’d been with her before; this much she knew. Why didn’t he acknowledge it? Unless her vision had been a figment of a drugged mind. Yet, how had she conjured him up so easily? The details on the planes of his face matched those of her dream. Hell, even his voice had the same low tone, with that husky, raspy accent teasing his English vowels.
    She closed her eyes. How could she recall all that if she didn’t know him?
    He still owed her an explanation. Assault also being no way to treat a woman, he owed her an apology, as well.
    With determination straightening her spine, she picked up her handbag, which lay at her feet, and stepped out of the alley. People walked about, yet no one gave her a second look. She glanced to the left and spotted a lone figure walking off into the dark. The denim jacket moved with the man’s easy swagger.
    He disappeared around a corner, and she set out after him. She’d follow him until she could catch up.
    As she left the golden glow of the streetlamps and moved into the dark back streets where he led, her steps slowed. Without realizing why, she stuck close to the walls, in the shadows, moving with a careful tread to make no sound on the pavement despite her hard boot heels.
    He walked on for what seemed like ages, before stopping in front of the large, grey door of what looked like a garage. He reached into his jacket pocket, probably to retrieve a key, then he suddenly froze, his back going stiff.
    He turned in her direction. She pressed herself against the wall, letting the shadows cloak her. Did he know she followed him?
    *
    Gerard took a step away from the door. He could swear he’d heard a sound, like the crunch of a foot accidentally landing on a pebble. He paused, letting his senses tune in to his surroundings. The area he lived in formed part of the beaux quartiers , one of the most affluent arrondissements of Marseille, but no one said crime couldn’t come here. One always had to be on the lookout for anything unusual.
    Tonight is too quiet . Something hung in the air, a sort of expectancy that made the hairs on his nape stand up. Not a good sign , his cop’s instincts screamed. He reached for the gun he kept in the shoulder holster on his left side, pulled out his Sig Sauer, and kept the firearm close to him, finger on the trigger.
    As he turned to scan the other side of the road, something—or someone—lunged at him and knocked him into the solid garage door. Reflex kicking in, he took a deep breath to fortify himself against the stinging pain in his body. Honing his senses, he lashed out on the side from which his opponent had assaulted him.
    His fist connected with a jaw and he heard a grunt. Male. So not the woman from the bistro. Could she have sent someone after him? He had no time to ponder—a heavy booted foot collided smack into his stomach and sent him to his knees. The gun dropped from his hand. He could barely see the man kick the Sig away. Now’s the time to hit him.
    But he wasn’t fast enough. The thug smashed a hard blow to Gerard’s temple. Black dots danced before his eyes.
    It would take more than this to knock him out, though. He looked up and staggered an exhale—he’d be no match against the gun his assailant yanked from inside his jacket. A weapon with a silencer screwed on. Definitely a man out for a kill.
    Time stood still while he tried to breathe and remain conscious.
    And then something happened so quickly he had trouble grasping it. The guy howled and went down, his free hand clutching his neck as Gerard caught sight of a cherry-red flash.
    The thug lifted and aimed his gun. Another red burst haloed the first.
    Two shots rang, and the man slumped.
    Gerard moved his gaze to where the flashes had appeared. His Sig lay in the hands of the one who’d saved him.
    Legs braced, back straight, she held the gun in both hands, the left cupping the right. Wisps of smoke