Last Chance (5 page)

halfway shoot a gun and had no conscience, they'd filled his qualifications.

She had been one of the few people who had ever worked with him more

than once.

But still, an elegant Briton with billions in the bank and aristocracy

stamped on his face should have had a bit more trouble than he'd had. He'd

been shot and yet that hadn't stopped him from taking out the shooter.

McKenna had been shot before...hard as hell to think with a bullet hole

burning into your skin.

"You handled them quite well. Where did you train?"

It was the first personal question either of them had asked. She chose

to go first. He would have his own questions. She would answer what she

could. And expected the same from him.

"I took some private training." He grimaced. "Getting pulled out of

bed in the middle of the night was a bit of a surprise."

Heading to the sofa he'd pointed to earlier, she asked, "What

happened?"

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He dropped into a chair across from her in an effortless, graceful way

that was somehow all masculine. Her gazed zeroed in on the slight curve of

his mouth. A man's mouth had never even drawn her attention before, but

she wanted to stare at his. It was masculine but also well shaped, almost

beautiful. It had been years since she'd willingly kissed a man. How odd that

she wanted to kiss him.

She jerked back from her fantasy when he said, "I was in bed with

food poisoning."

"I'm guessing that's not a euphemism for a nasty-tasting woman?"

Another twitch of that beautiful mouth. "No, the real gut-wrenching,

vomit-inducing kind."

"What happened?"

"Victor's friends gave me food poisoning."

Stupid, really, but that was about the funniest thing she'd heard in

months. She tried to disguise her amusement, but he must have seen it in her

face because his eyes twinkled with laughter.

"I'm sure waking up to Victor's ugly face didn't help."

"I hoped I was hallucinating."

She could see that his noble, masculine nose had been set to rights.

"How's your shoulder?"

"Fine...just a twinge now and then. You did save my life."

McKenna shrugged. Gratitude wasn't something she was comfortable

with. One of the reasons she never stayed with a rescued victim. After she'd

secured the rescue, someone else took over their care and she would

disappear. That was how she preferred it. Last Chance Rescue and Noah

gave her the opportunity to help without personal involvement. Having even

a hint of interaction with the victim would be more than she could handle.

Personal involvement had to be avoided at all cost.

"You're more than capable of taking care of yourself. I'm assuming

you had a plan for escape?"

He shrugged. "I had a plan...didn't know if it would have worked. I

managed to loosen one of the wooden posts on the bed. If you hadn't come

along, it would have become my weapon."

"He didn't intend to kill you." She grinned slightly and added,

"Although your little comment about tongue might have changed his mind."

Humor glinted in his eyes, turning them to gleaming silver. "I've been

known to be a bit of a wiseass at inconvenient times." His expression went

solemn. "He deserved to die."

McKenna slammed the door on the memory. Regretting Victor's death

would do no good. Lucas was right. Victor had deserved to die. Not only for

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what he had done to Lucas and Skylar, Gabe Maddox's wife, but for what

he'd done to countless others through the years. Just because he hadn't

intended to kill Lucas didn't mean he wouldn't kill. There had to be true evil

in Victor. What he had done to her while she'd been pretending to be his

employee was something she didn't bother to regret. Rescuing the victims

would always come before her own personal comforts. That decision had

been made years ago.

"I was disappointed that you disappeared," Lucas said.

She had been disappointed, too. Leaving Lucas lying on the sidewalk

had been difficult. Though Dylan had been there and an ambulance was on

its way, she'd wanted to linger. Had wanted to see him wake up, hear him

talk to her. That had scared the hell out of her, so she'd run away, faster than

she'd run in years.

So what the hell am I doing here now?

McKenna shut down the voice, but it would be back. That was the

damnedest and most irritating thing about a conscience. It could only be

ignored for so long.

"Can I ask you some questions?"

She nodded but went on high alert. Questions were expected, but she

couldn't be distracted when she answered them. Having Lucas know her was

one thing; having Lucas know about her was something altogether different.

"Where do you live?"

Odd question to start with, especially since she had no definitive

answer. "Wherever the job takes me. I don't have a permanent address."

"And what is your job?"

She shrugged. Hell, she hated sounding evasive, but there was no real

answer for that one, either. "Whatever happens to be available when I need

the money."

"So were you working with Victor after all?"

That was something she couldn't lie about. For many reasons, she

didn't want him to know very much about her, but damned if she'd let him

think she really was one of Victor's employees. "No. I was working

undercover."

"For whom?"

"Victor had another woman, just a few miles from where he'd stashed

you. He was holding her for ransom. I helped her escape and heard that you

had been taken, too." She shrugged. "Thought I'd see if I could assist you,

too."

"How did you know about my abduction?"

Now that was something she couldn't talk about. Her underground

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contacts would shut off all communication if she revealed anything but the

most basic information. "I heard some chatter."

He looked briefly frustrated, then changed tactics. "How old are you?"

That she had expected. And one of the few questions she didn't mind

giving the full truth about. For some reason, people were always intrigued

with her age. She knew she looked younger than she was, but even if she

was the nineteen that they sometimes assumed, what was the big deal?

"Twenty-six," she said.

"How long have you been in the business?"

She wrinkled her brow in a deliberate frown of confusion. "What

business is that?"

A slight flare of temper in his eyes told her he hadn't liked her answer.

Tough. There were only certain things she could tell him.

"The rescuing business."

"I'm not in the rescuing business. Whatever gave you that idea?"

"You rescued me, for one. Helped the young woman you mentioned.

You obviously know the head of Last Chance Rescue, since barely an hour

after I leave Noah McCall's office, asking for his help in finding you, you

appear before me."

"I know many people. That doesn't mean I'm in their line of business.

I'm acquainted with Mr. McCall and I've assisted his organization on a few

occasions. However, I'm not in the rescue business and am not employed by

LCR."

There. She'd told him a version of the truth.

He looked at her for the longest time without speaking. McKenna

once again felt those nerves she really didn't know she still had. This man

made her feel way too much. Emotions and feelings she hadn't been aware

of in years, if ever, were surfacing. Maybe coming here had been a bigger

mistake than she'd thought.

"No. Don't leave. I won't ask anything more personal. I promise."

Shit. That was scary
. She hadn't moved, hadn't changed her

expression, yet somehow he'd guessed. His ability to read her thoughts put

her on even higher alert.

The promise not to ask anything more personal was also a surprise.

Not the words themselves, but his attitude. He seemed nervous, almost

vulnerable. Her stupid, irresponsible, unwise heart thumped harder in her

chest. Stiffening her body, she forced herself to ignore the urge to go to him

and soothe him. Just how dangerous would that be?

"I don't mind questions...I just don't like certain questions."

"Fair enough. I'll ask one more and then you can question me."

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"All right." She tensed. Would it be the one to make her get up and

leave this insanity?

"What's your name?"

Laughter burst from her before she could control it. After all that had

happened, she realized, that was one thing she hadn't told him. She could

give him one of the names she had on her passports, or even make up a new

one. She could, but she wouldn't. Having him say her name in his beautiful,

crisp British accent was an indulgence, but one she desperately wanted.

"McKenna."

"McKenna." He said it like a caress, and warmth flooded her again.

"It's a beautiful name. I'm assuming you're not going to give me a last

name?"

When she just looked at him without answering, he nodded his

agreement. "Okay. Your turn. Ask away."

She stared at him for several seconds more. If this were the last

chance she'd ever have to get to know a man who had fascinated her from

the moment she'd heard of him, then she would take advantage of his

openness as much as possible.

"You're British, but you seem to have some very American

mannerisms and language."

He nodded. "Two of my stepmothers were from the States. They were

with me during my most impressionable years."

"Two stepmothers?"

"All totaled, six."

"Wow."

"Exactly."

"Do you have siblings?"

"No. Closest I came were step-pets."

"And your parents?"

"My father died a few years back. My mother died only a few weeks

after I was born."

"So your father was always trying to replace her?"

"Doubtful. The photos of her look nothing like the exceedingly

attractive and, shall we say, voluptuous women my father married."

"Oh."

He smiled then, and McKenna caught her breath before she could

sigh. His smile was like sunshine. Not only was it beautiful, it created a

warmth that permeated her entire body. Only a deeper, more intense warmth

went to certain areas and heated them even more. Something fluttered deep

inside her.
Oh, my
.

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"Are you okay?"

She shook herself, suddenly becoming aware not only of his

concerned gaze but that she was almost lying on the couch. Maybe she was

hungry. Her croissant and coffee had been hours ago.

"I'm hungry. Can we have lunch?"

He laughed, but McKenna cringed. Blurting out her thoughts was a

side effect of being alone too much. Social skills eroded quickly.

He stood and walked over to a table that held a phone. "What would

you like to eat? Any preferences or things you dislike?"

"Anything is fine."

Lucas picked up the phone and gave an order that sounded large

enough to feed ten people. Either he was very hungry or he was under the

impression that she could eat like a linebacker. And that bothered her again,

because she did indeed have an extraordinarily large appetite.

Lucas returned to his chair. "It'll be here in about fifteen minutes.

While we wait, tell me all of your favorite things."

"Why?"

"Because you won't tell me anything personal about yourself, but I

still want to know you. Just tell me the things you don't mind me knowing."

She didn't know why the question made her uncomfortable. He was

asking for innocuous things that meant nothing to her, yet somehow she felt

that if she told him anything at all, he could see everything.

"Okay, let's see..." Her mind searched for something that was

insignificant but didn't sound completely lame.

Apparently understanding her difficulty, he asked, "What's your

favorite food?"

"Cheeseburgers."

"Good, since that's one of the meals I ordered."

He seemed so approving, McKenna suddenly felt stupid for not

wanting to tell him trivial things. What would it hurt? So, one by one, she

began to name her favorites, from flowers to movies, from songs to books.

Lucas settled against the cushions of the sofa and watched a wonder

unfold before him. McKenna's eyes gleamed and her face became animated,

beyond beautiful. She looked like an angel...as he'd often thought of her. He

felt as if he were being given a gift. There was no trickery involved; she

didn't seem to realize that naming these favorites of hers gave him a

tremendous amount of information.

His mind formed a profile of McKenna, and while he enjoyed learning

these things about her, he acknowledged it also made him want to know

more. Such as why would someone so young seem to have no family, no one

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to care for them? She was clearly American. Her mannerisms and speech

pattern gave that away. When he'd first met her, he'd thought midwestern,

and he hadn't changed his mind.

She had an artful innocence about her. If he hadn't witnessed it

himself, he would never have believed that she could swat a fly, much less