On Dangerous Ground Excerpt

 

CHAPTER ONE

With the clang of the gate still ringing in his ears, Alex Doherty took a moment to orient himself toward his front door. Another swig of beer helped, but then he had to focus on figuring out which of the two moving targets was actually his door.

Of course, his house only had one door, so perhaps it wouldn’t matter which one he chose. Well, he’d find out soon enough.

He stumbled a few steps in the general direction and then frowned. He lived alone. The door to his house shouldn’t be open.

He staggered a few more paces and squinted to make sure he was seeing things right. The building was dark, but the front door hung wide open.

Not good.

One part of his brain thought the best action at this point was to call the police. All he had to do was reach into his pocket, drag out the cell phone, and let his fingers press the buttons. Yeah, that was the sensible thing to do.

But the other half of his brain—the half that had spent the best part of the evening commemorating the one-year anniversary of his friend Marcus’s death—was furious someone had broken into the house he’d shared with his buddy. The intrusion was an outrage against Marcus. Against his memory. Alex dropped the beer can on the ground and pushed open the door. He’d get the bastards.

He’d barely gotten into a fighting stance when he tripped over a large object just inside the entrance hall. Confused, he fell forward, encountered something solid, and took whatever it was down with him. He hit the floor, hard.

Every atom of air whooshed out of his lungs. He wasn’t sure, but an echoing gasp seemed to come from beside him. He thought about puzzling over that, but a more pressing issue took his attention. His palm rested on something warm and soft. If he didn’t know better, he’d think there was a woman under his hand.

He squeezed his fingers to check out his theory and a screech sounded an inch from his ear, sharp and piercing like a marmot’s call. In an effort to save his head from a repeat of the shriek, he lurched to his feet and slapped the light switch.

What on earth had he fallen over and what was making that god-awful noise?

With the light, the answers to both questions became obvious. A large black duffel bag, one he’d never seen before, lay on the tile floor inside the door. And the scream? That must have come from the pretty lady who was just now scrambling to her feet.

Alex tilted his head and stared at her. He didn’t know her. But he’d like to. Her long curly hair fell below her shoulders. Even in the harsh, artificial light, the color reminded him of the bark of a Douglas fir, brown with hints of red. Her eyes were large, slightly almond shaped, and were the blue of a mountain stream. Although, with the way she stared at him, he’d have to admit they had a bit of granite in them, too.

He frowned. Sure, she was pretty, but what the hell was she doing in his house? With the brightness of the lights and the echoes of her scream in his head, formulating the question wasn’t easy. Eventually, he got the words out.

“Hey, what are you doin’ in my house?”

She froze, and he’d swear her eyes grew even larger.

“You got pretty eyes.” He shaded his face with his palm. “Like a mountain stream.”

The woman edged toward the door, her gaze never leaving his face. “You’re drunk.”

He winced. Her voice was little more than a whisper, but it was ever so piercing. The vision of mountain streams faded, leaving only granite behind. He squinted and moved his head back and forth to make the blue come back. It didn’t, so he spoke to her. “I’m drunk as a skunk. For Marcus.”

“Marcus?” Her face paled and her eyebrows lifted. “You knew Marcus Taylor?”

Alex nodded as he admired her lips. So pretty and pink. Just right for kissing. He thought back to her question. She hadn’t asked about lips, had she? No. She’d asked about Marcus. Did he know him? He paused for a moment. What sort of question was that? Of course he knew him.

An overwhelming need to sleep dragged over him. He leaned back against the wall. Yeah, that felt good. “Marcus,” he told the ceiling. “Was my best friend.” The roof and walls seemed to be skewing sideways, so he shut his eyes. He’d think about all that later, when his head didn’t hurt so much.

 

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