Run to You Read online

  Run to You

  By

  Lynne King

  Eternal Press

  A division of Damnation Books, LLC.

  P.O. Box 3931

  Santa Rosa, CA 95402-9998

  www.eternalpress.biz

  Run to You

  by Lynne King

  Digital ISBN: 978-1-61572-433-8

  Print ISBN: 978-1-61572-434-5

  Cover art by: Amanda Kelsey

  Edited by: Carolyn Crow

  Copyedited by: Carrie Richardson-Orosz

  Copyright 2011 Lynne King

  Printed in the United States of America

  Worldwide Electronic & Digital Rights

  1st North American, Australian and UK Print Rights

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any form, including digital and electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except for brief quotes for use in reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  Liz cast her gaze over Julie’s shoulder again. He didn’t appear to be with anyone but his manner suggested he was waiting or looking for someone or something. They were up a level in the seating area surrounded by glass and chrome and flashing lights. On the round table in front of her was an empty carton, nothing remaining of the large Hawaiian pizza with extra topping. Liz couldn’t believe how much pizza Julie could put away and still look pencil thin.

  Glancing around her, the nightclub was beginning to fill out with plenty of weird and beautiful fun-loving people out for a good time. Why is this guy holding my interest? Liz concluded it was probably because he looked out of place and not happy to be here. A feeling she could fully relate to.

  “Did your ex really steal a million bucks from his firm?” Liz returned her attention to Julie. It was the same question worded a little differently—more confirmation that her past was an open book. Secrets, you couldn’t have when working in a bank, especially a foreigner on a temporary work visa.

  “No, it was about half that and not all in one hit. He was siphoning small amounts off customers’ accounts for about a year.” Plus in between lying and cheating, he was finding time to screw my best friend. Thankfully that was left off her personnel file—a private humiliation she had no intention of sharing. Sighing, she glanced over at mystery man again. She wished he would turn and look in her direction instead of leaning up against the chrome balcony supports and watching the bar area below. What the hell was so interesting down there, some gorgeous bimbo, no doubt? She let out an even deeper sigh.

  “Hey, you okay?” said Lorraine.

  “Yes, why shouldn’t I be?” That didn’t sound very convincing. She forced out a smile.

  Lorraine immediately turned to Julie. “Stop grilling Liz about the bastard who almost ruined her life. We’re meant to be cheering her up. All you’ve done since we got here is ask question after bloody question.”

  “Will you two stop it. We’re here to have a good time so: ex-fiancé, work, and arguing are strictly off limits.” Manhattan, New York. Two months ago she was confident, reasonably happy, she thought, living with her fiancé in Shepherds Bush, London. Now look at her, self-confidence rock bottom and her new friends arguing over how best to cheer her up while she stares dreamily at a complete stranger.

  “Sorry, I simply thought it might help to talk about it.” Julie shrugged her shoulders.

  Liz lowered her lips onto the straw and sucked up the frothy pink liquid Lorraine had placed in front of her. On fire was best to describe what it felt like as it slid down her throat. “What the hell is this,” she spluttered.

  “The bartender said it was called volcano something or other. Anyway it’s guaranteed to blow your mind and by the look on your face—it worked.” Lorraine grinned back.

  “Time to party.” Julie stood up, the red body dress clinging seductively to her lithe figure. The striking short peroxide hair and ruby red lips drew plenty of admiring glances.

  Taking another mouthful of the firewater for Dutch courage, Liz smoothed down her black shift dress before standing up. Joining Lorraine and Julie by leaning against the balcony railing, her curiosity surfaced over who they were looking at.

  “I was right. One of us has an admirer. Looks pretty hot from where I’m standing. Dark and mysterious looking,” Julie purred in her New York accent.

  Following Julie’s line of vision, Liz was held by his penetrating gaze; his chiselled features added an edge of harshness to the suave appearance. She didn’t expect the smile to follow, the sexiness of it causing the edge to soften. The exchange was immediately broken when a group of people blocked her line of vision, leaving the top of his midnight hair showing.

  “What’s the betting he’s married? The good-looking ones always are,” Julie said dismissively.

  “Well, it’s never stopped you before,” Lorraine quipped. “Besides, it’s Liz he’s interested in and from that look he’s giving her, he’ll be moving in for a closer inspection.”

  “Really, well he seems to have done a quick vanishing act for someone that keen. Who says I go for married men?”

  Julie was right. The group of people had moved on and so had he. Lorraine and Julie continued bickering over who he was smiling at, among other things.

  Liz looked away up the length of the railing, feeling as if she was being watched, and she was. Finally he was looking in her direction. His casual look of cream chinos, an open-necked, blue shirt along with tousled tawny hair was his attraction, she guessed. There was nothing showy about him, an average kind of guy with nothing to prove. Now standing only several paces from her, he took a sip from the bottle of beer he was holding. Close enough for her to notice the sky blue eyes that were upon her, set in a nice-looking friendly face. She found herself smiling at him. He seemed a little surprised and started walking toward her.

  Her arm was grabbed and the next thing she knew, Lorraine was dragging her off down the stairs. She looked back to see he had stopped and was watching her from the railing.

  The next hour dragged by as they mingled with the bar crowd, the air heavy from heated compressed bodies and noisy laughing voices. The music was so loud it was impossible to hold a conversation and her head was thumping. She had forgone the clubbing scene in her teens, preferring a rather dull, quiet social life. Tonight was proving she hadn’t missed out, or was it that at twenty-five, she had lost the ability to enjoy herself. Free to date whoever she wanted and do whatever she wanted. She hadn’t wanted to come though. It had been Lorraine’s idea and she wouldn’t take no for an answer. To Lorraine, it was all a game. Her bob of fair hair and model girl looks drew leering looks and welcome attention. She enjoyed it to the full, flirting back outrageously.

  “Gosh look at the time. I’m off before darling Ben arrives home and finds out his wife isn’t where she’s supposed to be.” Lorraine giggled. “Husbands, such a pain in the arse.”

  Liz watched Lorraine sashay her way toward the exit and wished she had a similar excuse. Not that she would want a husband; she had nearly been down that path. No, she wanted an excuse to leave this place without upsetting Julie.

  Taking a lingering sip at her gin and tonic, the cocktail having been finished off by Julie, she waited for the right opportunity to arise.

  The shove came from behind and then someone definitely felt her right buttock— grabbed it more like. She swung round to confront the pervert. A group of men had their backs to her an
d were laughing amongst themselves—the one in the middle looking familiar, but she couldn’t see his face properly.

  “It was the creep in the middle, but I should let it go, sweetheart, they’re not worth it.”

  Liz felt his breath upon her neck and knew he stood right behind her. She could even smell his spicy sensual aftershave. Slowly she turned expecting their faces to be level. Disappointment was what greeted her as the broad-shouldered figure walked away. She didn’t have to see his face. She knew he was the man from the balcony.

  “I’m going to grab a taxi home?” She said to Julie who was flirting outrageously with one of the bartenders.

  “Please yourself. I think I might stick around. Joe gets off at one.” She leaned over the bar and whispered something in Joe’s ear, the bartender’s grin widening with her words.

  Liz shook her head and smiled. “I’ll see you at work Monday.”

  She made her way through the crowds and was nearing the exit when a hand shot out and grabbed hold of her forearm.

  “What have we here? Why, it’s Elizabeth Saunders. Michael’s pretty little perk out on her own. That is the English saying, isn’t it? Tell me, if I say, transfer to the London office, do I get to come back with someone like you?”

  Liz tried to shake his hold off, but his fingers tightened and dug into her bare skin. She thought the face was familiar earlier and now she knew. Obviously grabbing her arse wasn’t enough for him. The smirk grew broader across his youthful face at her show of discomfort.

  “You’re drunk, Mark, now let me go?”

  “Is that so?” Mimicking her English accent, he added, “Or am I not good enough for you, darling. You prefer them older—is that it, and loaded?”

  Humiliated and bloody angry was how she felt now. Vulgarizing the friendship and professional relationship she shared with Michael. How many others who she worked with thought this, maybe Lorraine and Julie even?

  “I think you are going to wake up and regret this. Now before I create a scene, kindly remove your hand.”

  Meeting his drunken features, it was hard to believe this was the same Mark Hunter, assistant vice president at the Manhattan Bank where she worked. His behavior over the past few weeks and now this confirmed her suspicions that he was some kind of Jekyll and Hyde character.

  His other arm went around her waist drawing her even closer. She could smell the beer on his breath and the clamminess of his hold. It was time to act. Liz was about to bring her knee up when she caught a sideways glance of a man reaching out and laying a hand on Mark’s shoulder.

  “I would let the lady go.” The Irish accent was harsh and threatening. He stepped into their vision meeting Mark’s surprised look with a challenging glare.

  With the midnight hair, the black designer jacket worn over a black T-shirt and dark trousers, he certainly created an impression. The aggression, however, made her feel uncomfortable. An ugly confrontation between Mark and him wasn’t what she wanted.

  “Who might you be?” Mark’s contemptuous laugh rang out as he glanced toward his group of well-attired friends.

  Instead of laughing back, they lowered their gazes and turned away as if embarrassed. Aware that Mark was too drunk to have taken the threat seriously and not wanting trouble, one of them called back over his shoulder as he headed toward the bar.

  “Come on, Mark, let the lady go. We’re here to have a good time, not get into a drunken brawl.”

  “Oh, what the hell! You’re not my type anyway, Elizabeth. It was simply a bit of fun.” Removing his hands, he stood aside.

  She threw Mark a look of disgust and with head held high walked smartly out of the exit into the humid night air. Her feet started forward as she put out a hand to hail a cab slowly driving past. Luckily the driver had seen her in his rearview mirror and came to a stop several paces ahead.

  “Hey, don’t run out on me. Don’t I at least get a thank you?”

  Liz turned at the sound of the Irish brogue. She had wanted to remain behind and thank him, yet something within had warned her to put a distance between herself and this man. He wasn’t like the guy with the warm blue eyes and friendly smile. This one she was strangely wary off despite his attractiveness and sexy accent.

  “Hey, do you want this cab or not?” the cabby shouted, his face stuck halfway out of the window looking back at her.

  “Thank you,” Liz called back over her shoulder as she ran toward the cab and jumped in. Glancing out the rear window, his figure was shrouded by darkness. He lit a cigarette and the glow from it threw a faint light on his face and the furrowed brow.

  Sighing, Liz leaned back in the taxi, a strange mixture of relief and regret taking over. Maybe she was afraid of all men now or that she could never trust one again, let alone start up a relationship. She would have to start somewhere though, unless she wanted to remain celibate and at twenty-five commit the rest of her life to being an embittered spinster.

  He had certainly made an impact, she thought, recalling his blue gaze upon her and that sexy voice in her ear calling her sweetheart, a little sexist but what the hell. She might not have jumped into this cab if it had been him asking her to stop.

  The taxi pulled up outside the brownstone. Handing over the fare, Liz ran the short distance up the stone steps and into the building. Reaching the second floor, she unlocked the door and stepped into the cramped apartment consisting of three rooms, living room with small kitchen recess, bedroom, and bathroom. It was clean and temporary, which was all she wanted and pretty much summed up her life at present.’

  Detective Jack Willis showed the stamp mark on the back of his hand to the doormen and motioned with two fingers. He was going out for a smoke. Instead, he popped a piece of gum in his mouth and stepped back in the shadow of a shop doorway and watched. His first night off in weeks and he was spending it staking out some guy involved in a blackmail scam. He hadn’t a clue as to whom the victim was or what he was being made to do. All he knew was the blackmailer’s identity so far and that was down to following him from Linda’s once he received her call. Strictly first-name terms only in her profession and the useless information of the creep having an Irish accent and a liking for rough sex.

  So far the night had been an expensive complete waste of time until the interesting knight-in-shining-armor act he had witnessed. O’Riley didn’t strike him as one for rescuing damsels in distress and yet this particular damsel had been under O’Riley’s watchful eyes all evening. Not that he could blame the interest, seeing he had spotted her first and had been instantly smitten. Redheads were his weakness. Another time maybe, but O’Riley’s intrigue with her was more important. This wasn’t simply a guy trying to get lucky. He had her targeted and was warming up for something, and it wasn’t romance.

  He watched as O’Riley came back in. The guy he had threatened moments earlier turned away sharply, but not before Jack had witnessed a brief exchange. It was a setup. They knew each other beforehand. Obviously it didn’t quite go to plan, seeing he was now up at the bar chatting to the friend left behind.

  Jack downed what was left in his glass and went up to the bar, close enough to the two of them without being too obvious. All he heard was O’Riley saying good-bye to the girl and then he was off, out the door again.

  That was it. Jack left the remainder of his beer and followed him out the door, but in a different direction. He was calling it a night. The thought of an empty apartment except for the four-legged lodger, a bottle of Budweiser, and a prerecorded Dodgers game was more tempting than following this creep about.

  Sipping his beer from the bottle, Jack’s focus was on the TV screen, but his thoughts were elsewhere. First thing in the morning he was going to find out more about the redhead, like where the cab dropped her off. He had a gut feeling she was an important component to whatever O’Riley had planned. He found himself grinning as he remembered the smile she threw at him on the balcony. It had nearly made him forget why he was there and dive straight in. Luckily her
friend had dragged her away when she did.

  He took another swig from the bottle, shaking his head. Redheads, they always brought him trouble.

  Chapter Two

  “Lady, you’ve got to have air-conditioning in New York, otherwise you won’t survive, and my apartments are fitted with the best.”

  A weekend spent boiling, and the only way to escape it was by the water’s edge in Central Park under the canopy of a weeping willow. It was times like this when words that had been spoken so convincingly by her landlord came to mind. He was the second name to her list of crooks and bastards. What he had failed to mention was that it didn’t work, his excuse being he was waiting for delivery of a special part for it. Michael was right about her naivety, though she was going to be the last one to admit as much.

  Stepping out of her building and being hit head-on with the oppressive humidity was making her actually begin to miss the rainy summers back home. The sidewalk was jammed solid, the subway even worse with commuters going in all directions and tourists blocking entrances. She should be used to this by now, Liz reminded herself, as someone stood on her foot in the jammed car and didn’t bother to apologize when she gave him one of her cool, hard glares. Living and working in London for six years was no different, and some days she loved the vibrant feel of city life. Today, however, she didn’t.

  The bank was situated on the West Side in Lower Manhattan and dealt more in investments and holdings. It also held a large safety deposit vault for the more secretive investors. From the outside it looked unimpressive, a small glass frontage, only four tellers ever on duty at the same time, and a small public area for form filling, etc. At the rear, though, it had the most-up-to-date security with a CCTV monitor room, tamper-proof alarms, and two full-time armed security guards. Liz knew the reputation of this bank and its counterpart in London rested on its stability and security. Numbers, calculations, data sheet upon data sheet would be waiting on her desk to go through, to summarize and do reports on. There was little passion in it—in fact none but Liz found it safe, the regimentation healing. That’s why she had grabbed the transfer with both hands. She was running away again.