Free Her Last Chance by Toni Anderson Page A

be either.”
    The wind blew her hair in a wild
flurry around her face. “I thought you wanted to catch this guy?”
    “I want to nail him.” His fingers
squeezed her shoulders and her gaze rose to meet his. “But not if it means you
getting hurt.” His fingers were warm through her jacket, the pressure
increasing, as if compelling her to trust him.
    Slowly, he leaned forward and
touched his forehead and nose to hers, hot flesh against cold. This was the
most intimate gesture she’d shared with anyone, this one-on-one stare with a
G-man she’d spent months hating, months fantasizing about. Flecks of gold
glinted in his hazel eyes, and the banked heat of desire glowed deep and hot.
    “I’ll hire private protection—”
    “I can pay for my own damned
protection.” She was unhappy at being vulnerable to a killer and inexplicably
disappointed Marsh wouldn’t be the one watching her. Watching her. Right .
She drew back.
    “There’s no way I can protect you
24/7. I’ll stay with you at night, but I have a job to do. And I’m hiring the
bodyguard, so get over it.”
    Frustrated, she blew out a breath
and remembered what Elizabeth had told her about Marsh’s core sense of honor
and justice. Poor deluded bastard.
    “Where are you going right now?” He
looked along the street as if suddenly noticing the throngs of tourists and
shoppers.
    “There’s an art gallery on Mercer
that sold two of my paintings last week, I was going to talk to the owner about
what they might want to replace them with.”
    He glanced at his fancy wristwatch,
as if mentally tallying up the minutes he needed to spend in her company.
Sliding her teeth against one another she narrowed her gaze at the cracks in
the sidewalk. Why was she so angry at him for doing his job? Why was she so
angry, period?
    “I’ll walk you there. Dancer can
swap with me later if I can’t get hold of a friend of mine who lives in the
city. You remember Steve Dancer, right?”
    She nodded. Hard to forget Marsh’s
sidekick with his techno-gadgets. Steve Dancer had been nice to her even when
everybody in the world, including Marsh, had hated her guts. Not even Nat
Sullivan, Elizabeth’s new husband, had wanted her around after she’d
inadvertently brought Andrew DeLattio to his remote ranch. She could hardly
blame him. Elizabeth had almost died and it had been her stupid fault.
    Her shoulders sagged as Marsh
herded her toward her appointment, already on the phone to a bodyguard whose
number he knew by heart. She wanted her life back. Her nice, safe, insular
little life that now seemed as cold and desolate as a wasteland.
    There was a hot dog vendor on the
corner of West Broadway, the aroma invading every particle of air she breathed,
reminding her she’d only had one measly piece of toast since lunchtime
yesterday.
    “You want a hotdog?” she asked
Marsh, groping for change in her purse.
    The sun flared between clouds and
light flowed over his dark hair, catching a hint of silver she hadn’t noticed
before.
    “You’re going to eat on the move?”
Disapproval in every word.
    “Yep.” She wished she didn’t find
him quite so attractive, wished she’d never discovered what she’d been missing
as a twenty-seven year old virgin. Life had been fine before that.
    “Let’s go somewhere decent—”
    “This is decent.” She shook her
head, blew the hair out of her eyes. He was such a snob.
    One hand on her elbow he pointed to
the flies hovering on the ketchup dispenser. “This is a health hazard,” he
said.
    Seriously … She rolled her
eyes at him.
    The sun broke fully through
dissolute clouds, glinting warmly off his tanned skin. He tugged her away from
the succulent aroma and reluctantly she fell into step beside him.
    “Well, it better be quick—”
    “Why, Josephine?” He stopped and
looked down at her, a hard light in his eyes. “I thought artists were Bohemian,
free spirits? Why are you always in so much of a damn rush that you don’t