Pin Down (Men out of Uniform Book 1) (7 page)

“For how long?”

“A couple of months.”

It was more like four, but sometimes those four months
seemed like a lifetime.

“How frequently?”

She swallowed. The clipped, cold tone of his voice was
making her nervous. ”Often.”

He frowned. “Lexi—”

“Okay. Multiple times a day. And recently? Sometimes—sometimes
up to…ten times a day.”

He was quiet, too quiet and Lexi raised her head to look at
him. His face was set in harsh lines.

“How do you know it’s a ‘he’?”

Nash hadn’t raised his voice but Lexi felt the quiet
intensity ramp up, a sharpening of a focus that made the hair on her forearms
stand on end.

She cleared her throat. “Yeah. I think it’s obvious. You
know, based on some of the things he says he’ll do with—certain parts of his
anatomy. Nash—”

But it was too late. He’d already turned and headed into the
living room. Her stomach clenched. She didn’t want anyone else to see, not the
filth she’d had to read. She’d run the gamut of being disgusted, angry and
finally scared, but embarrassment factored in there in some weird way. That there
was someone out there who thought these things about her, was targeting her,
perhaps hated her for some reason. Yeah, she didn’t necessarily want anyone
else to see that.

There was a frown between his brows when he returned, flicking
through screen after screen, pausing every so often. She was trembling so bad
she couldn’t even get mad about his high handed attitude or the invasion of her
privacy.

A nerve flexed in his temple, his jaw taut. “You really
should have a pass code on this,” he bit out.

Lexi looked away. She knew every vile, disturbing, explicit
thing he had to be reading. And that had to be just the messages from the last day
or so. She’d deleted everything else.

“Have you ever responded?” he asked.

“No.”

“Not even once? Even when they first started?”

“No. Never. I—I read you should never do that.”

Nash inclined his head. “What about—an ex?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. I really don’t know
anyone who would send me those things, ex or not.”

He flicked Lexi a glance. “Have you talked to the cops?”

“When they first started, yeah. They thought a prank. And
then…after that, they—they indicated there wasn’t much they could really do.
There’d been no specific threat, nothing physical and—”

“That’s bullshit, Lexi. You don’t call
that
a
threat?”

He turned the phone toward her and her stomach churned at
the intent spelled out in explicit detail. And all in caps.

His mouth flattened. “Change your number. I know it’s
probably inconvenient, but—”

“I have.”

His gaze flew to hers, locked on.

She swallowed. “Twice.”

“And he still continues to text you?”

She nodded.

“God
dammit
, Lexi.”

Yeah. The burn was back in her stomach. Each time she’d
tried to discount it in her mind, minimize it, but Nash’s expression said it
was serious. Dead serious. Yeah. She’d known that, deep down she’d known that.

“How long until the texts start again after you’ve changed
your number?”

Lexi swallowed. There was a hard edge to his voice she’d never
heard before. “A couple of days.”

“When was the last time you changed it?”

“A week ago,” she whispered.

“Who did you give your number to?”

“A handful of people. I was very careful this time. They’re
all close, good friends, people I trust and I—”

“You know what this means?”

Her brain shut down. She’d refused to go there. She shook
her head. “It’s not one of them. It just isn’t.”

“Maybe not. But it’s someone with access.”

She frowned. “Access?”

“It’s either someone you know, someone close to you, close
to your friends, someone you come into contact with. Someone with access. Get
dressed and get some paper.”

“What? Nash—”

“I want names, contact information, everyone you gave your
details to and I want you to list everything you did, everywhere you went since
you changed your number last. Regardless of how minor, everything.”

Lexi let out a shuddering breath. For the first time she felt
some of the weight she’d carried with this lift from her. She hadn’t realized
how isolated she’d felt but having someone else know about it made her feel as
if she wasn’t alone, not anymore. She hadn’t felt safe, not completely, since
this whole thing had started.

She frowned. “What are you going to do?”

“I have friends.”

She choked out a laugh. “No shit. Really?”

“Smart ass. Friends who are now in positions where they can
help me track down where these texts are coming from.” His mouth tightened.
“I’m calling in some favors to figure out who this shithead is.”

“How?”

The side of his mouth lifted. “Probably better if you don’t
know the details.”

“Are they the same friends who help you with an address from
a license plate number?”

His mouth lifted at one corner. “Maybe.”

She licked her dry lips. “And then what?”

He curled his hand into a fist and she shivered, this time
at the cold look in his eyes. “And then when I find this fucker I’m going to
take care of it. Personally and with great pleasure.”

*****

Nash smiled at the mess of her scrawl. He could barely read
the information she’d given him about her friends and her activities over the
past week. He frowned. Her movements were surprisingly few and she spent a lot
of time at home. She didn’t strike him as the social butterfly type, but it
gave him an insight into her he wouldn’t normally have. She had a very small
number of close friends, rarely went out, hit the gym on a regular basis, spent
minimal amounts of time shopping and liked to hang by the pool. At least it made
his job a hell of a lot easier. It should be a straightforward process to find
out who was harassing her but he wanted to know
how
the bastard was
getting her number. He could at least do that for her.

When he glanced up at her she was staring at his back. He hadn’t
bothered with a shirt since his quickie shower and he knew exactly what she was
looking at. He could pretend all he liked that she was checking out the width
of his shoulders, the size of his lats, but he knew better. Besides, her
expression didn’t exactly say she was appreciating his physique.

“Aren’t you going to ask me about them?” he said, his voice
low.

They all did. Eventually.

Her gaze met his before she turned to clear away the remains
of the pizza they’d ordered in for dinner. “No.”

He frowned. “Why not?”

Most women wanted to know the gory details as if it was some
big turn on and usually he was more than happy to oblige.

She tossed the box on the kitchen counter. “You have scars.
A lot of them. It’s not like you cut yourself shaving, right?”

“So? Most women—”

“So that’s all I need to know. You were obviously hurt and
badly, probably multiple times. And don’t compare me to other women. Not even
to think it.”

Nash reached out for her arm when she went to swing away
from him, to apologize, to make amends, who knew, but he wasn’t prepared for
her reaction. She spun around and slammed her hand up straight toward his face.

Reflex. Thank God for reflexes. He deflected the palm to his
nose just in time, but she still managed to graze his cheekbone. He wrapped his
hand around hers and twisted her arm gently against him, pulling her in close.
If not for the training that had become so ingrained, he would have been in a
world of hurt.
Shit.
Even if he wasn’t expecting an attack, he was
always ready. Always. Was he getting soft? Complacent? He hoped not because
that was a surefire way to get killed. Or was it just because he let his guard
down around her?

“Sorry,” she muttered. “But don’t grab me like that again.”

He frowned. “Where did you learn moves like that?”

She shrugged. “The way I grew up? You learn to defend yourself
pretty quickly.”

His mouth tightened. “And that was?”

“Foster care. Bounced around the system till I was
eighteen.”

Her voice said it hadn’t been a big deal. Her eyes said
otherwise.

Damn.

“I’m sorry, Lexi.”

“Nothing to do with you.”

He lifted her hand, smoothed across her palm with his thumb.
“I meant— I’m sorry for being a dumb jerk. Again.”

The smile was slight, but it was a smile. “It’s becoming a
habit.”

“Yeah.”

So was apologizing for it. What the fuck was he doing here
exactly? It wasn’t the first time he’d asked himself that question and probably
wasn’t going to be the last. He’d avoided this exact situation in the past like
the plague so why had he agreed to stay with Lexi and why the
fuck
was
he looking forward to the next few days? Not just the sex…but her. He was going
to enjoy
her
.

He’d been with a lot of hot,
do-anything-you-wanted-no-questions-asked women, so what was it about
her
that got him so wound up, turned on, out of his head with lust he could barely
think straight? He was an out of sight, out of mind kinda guy when it came to
women, but Lexi…

Man. He’d fucked her missionary style and not for the first
time. He didn’t particularly care for the position and when there were so many
other options, it flat out bored him. But he’d just folded his body down over
and on top of hers without any thought and it had felt so…natural, so familiar,
so fucking good.

And he’d told her about the nightmares. They never happened
when he was on a mission. Never. It was as if his subconscious knew he needed
to keep everything all under control, everything together. But when he was
down? All bets were off. Every terrifying moment, every gut-wrenching situation,
every horrible thing he’d ever had to do chased him down and wrestled him to
the ground when he closed his eyes. It was one of the reasons he stayed active
so much, why his brain refused any thought of doing anything else. No way he
wanted to have to deal with that shit on a regular basis. And he’d never told
another person. Until
her
.

God. Maybe he’d lost his fucking mind. And maybe, just maybe,
he needed to give himself the “just sex” talk.

He swiped his thumb across her palm again, over the calluses
he just now noticed. She tried to pull back, tug her hand from his, but he held
her firm.

He frowned. “What causes these?”

“My work.”

He’d wondered about that from her list. There’d been no
mention of a job. “So you’re in construction?”

“Now who’s the smartass?”

“So?” he pushed when she didn’t add anything more.

She sighed. “I’m a metal artist.”

“A what?”

She smiled. “Basically, I take junk and scrap metal from all
kinds of things and turn it into what people refer to as ‘modern sculpture’,
which basically means they’re willing to pay a shitload for it.”

“Really? You make a living doing that?”

“Yep. You’d be surprised.”

“Show me.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Show me.”

She stared at him with a frown between her eyes before finally
turning away and heading for the door Nash assumed lead to the garage. He followed
and blinked against the bright light that flooded the room when she hit the
switch.

Nash didn’t know what the hell he’d been expecting, but it
hadn’t been
this
.

She’d turned her garage into a workshop and there was crap
on every surface, including the floor. Broken, twisted, rusted bits of metal of
all sizes were everywhere he looked. At first glance it seemed chaotic,
unorganized, but there were piles of metal, clearly sorted by size and shape bordering
two sides of the garage. The side wall had a ton of equipment and tools and
looked like something you might see in a mechanic’s garage. A notice board had
a bunch of pictures of different sizes pinned to it. There was a heavy acrid
scent in the air that reminded him of places he’d prefer to forget.

And then there was the thing in the center of the room. Even
though it was only partway done, Nash knew it was a wolf, or would be.
Finished, it was going to be about the same size as your average cow.

It looked as if it had been built piece by piece, the body
assembled in layers—the frame, the musculature, the fur. Even in its present
state there was a sense of movement, of suppressed power, of danger.

He cleared his throat. “Okay, I’m no art connoisseur but—”

“You think?” She laughed.

“Well, I don’t know anything about art, so—”

“Me either.”

“Christ, Lexi you have to know what you do is amazing. I
mean,
that
,” he gestured to the wolf, “it’s… not real exactly, but… It
looks as if it’s crouching, about to pounce. It looks…alive.”

She ran a hand over the back of the wolf. It was a caress.
Loving, tender, protective and damn if his dick didn’t harden thinking about
her petting
him
like that.

“Yeah. He’s a special commission. Some rich guy from New
York is giving him to his wife for her birthday. I’ll be sorry to see him go.”

She shrugged it off as if it were nothing, as if what she
could do wasn’t anything special. Nash might know shit about art, but he knew
true skill when he saw it and hers was off the charts.

“You always do animals?”

“Mostly, but I’ve been messing around with some other stuff
lately. I just finished up a seven-foot-high wave last week for a restaurant.
It wasn’t as fun to do, but was a hell of a lot easier. Paid my rent for a
year.”

“Yeah?” Nash did a complete circuit of the wolf. “How do you
get into something like this?”

She shrugged again. “I sucked at school and I’m not really
office material. Not a lot of options, you know? Plus…me? In a customer-facing
position? Right. That wasn’t going to work. I had to find alternatives. I don’t
know. I saw a metal sculpture once at an art festival. I found it fascinating.
I just looked at it and knew I could do that, only better, so I taught myself.
Besides,” she laughed, “it’s all about the tools, baby. I love me a good arc
welder.”