Piper Sinclair knew a bad thing when she saw it, and right
now she was seeing it. A dozen ladies, all in various
colors and styles of spandex, sat on bamboo mats staring
with undisguised adoration at a woman whose banal smile
set Piper's teeth on edge. A whiteboard at the front of
the room stated the purpose of the meeting — "Love
Yourself to Weight Loss." On either side of the
whiteboard, long candle-laden tables sent up a steady
stream of vanilla-scented air.
"Forget it. I've changed my mind." Piper did a U-turn and
tried to exit the room, but Gabriella Webber blocked her
retreat, her sweet, wouldn't-hurt-a-fly face set in
mutinous lines.
"You can't change your mind. You promised."
"I wouldn't have if you'd told me what this seminar was
about."
"I did tell you what it was about."
"You said a weight-loss meeting. You didn't say New Age
mumbo jumbo." The words were a quiet hiss, but from the
look on Gabby's face, Piper might as well have shouted.
"Shhhhh! Dr. Lillian will hear you."
"I'm barely whispering."
But the slim, smiling woman was hurrying across the room
as if she had heard the exchange. "Welcome, ladies. I'm
Dr. Sydney Lillian. Please, have a seat. We'll be ready to
begin in just a few minutes."
Piper wanted to tell the doctor she wouldn't be staying,
but Gabby was staring at her with such hopeful pleading
she didn't have the heart to walk out.
"Thank you, Dr. Lillian. Come on, Gabby. Let's find a
seat." Piper chose a mat close to the back of the room and
sat down.
Gabby lowered herself onto a mat a few feet away, then
leaned over and grabbed Piper's arm, her dark eyes
brimming with excitement. "I can't believe we're really
doing this. If this class works as well as it's supposed
to, I'll be slim and trim by Christmas. Just in time to
find a New Year's date."
"Gabby..." But what could Piper say? That losing weight
wouldn't help Gabby find Mr. Right? That Mr. Right didn't
exist? That all Piper had ever found were a lot of Mr.
Wrongs, all gussied up to look like what they
weren't? "You'll have a New Year's date whether you lose
the weight or not. You always do."
"I know. I just want this year to be different." Meaning
Gabby wanted commitment, love, marriage. All the things
women approaching thirty typically wanted. All the things
Piper had decided she could do without. She smiled anyway,
patting Gabby's arm. "It will be."
"I hope you're right." Gabby sighed and settled back onto
her mat.
Piper's bamboo mat was uncomfortable, and the strange
affirmations the class was forced to say made her feel
even more so. I love my belly. I love my hips. Since when
did one need to affirm affection for each and every body
part in order to lose weight? By the time the forty-minute
session wound to an end, Piper was ready to ask for a
refund on her money and her time.
"Are there any questions before we adjourn?" Dr. Lillian's
voice was like warm honey, but her eyes were cold.
Piper started to raise her hand and got an elbow to the
ribs for her effort.
"Don't you dare." Gabby hissed the warning, her eyes
shooting daggers.
Piper grinned, shrugged and let her hand drop. Another
woman — a plump blonde with a pretty face and striking
blue eyes — raised her hand. "Dr. Lillian?"
"Yes, Piper?"
Despite her gut-level dislike of the woman, Piper felt a
twinge of sympathy for Dr. Lillian as the blonde's cheeks
stained pink and a frown line appeared between her
brows. "I'm not —"
She never had the chance to finish. One minute scented
candles and soft music created an atmosphere of gentle
serenity, the next, a dark blur raced into sight. A man.
Medium height, wearing jeans, a faded T-shirt and a mask.
Carrying a gun. A gun!
He grabbed the blonde who'd moments before been pink with
embarrassment or anger. Now she was pale as paper, her
eyes wide with fear.
Someone screamed. Others took up the chorus. "Enough!" The
gunman shouted the order, the silence that followed
immediate and pulsing with terror.
"That's better. Now everyone just stay put and you won't
get hurt." He inched toward the door, his arm locked
around the blonde's neck, his pale yellow-green eyes
staring out from behind the ski mask. Crocodile eyes. And
like a crocodile, he had no intention of letting his prey
escape alive.
The thoughts flashed through Piper's mind, demanding
action. She took a step toward the man. "Let her go."
A mouse could have made more noise.
She tried again. "Let her go. Before you make more trouble
for yourself."
His reptilian gaze raked over Piper and dismissed her as
no threat. Still, the gun he held never wavered. He kept
it pointed toward the group as he took one step after
another, slowly, inexorably pulling his victim to the
door. Ten steps and he'd be there. Nine.
The long sleeve of his T-shirt hiked up around his
forearm, revealing a snake tattoo that coiled around his
wrist and up toward his elbow. The deep greens and reds of
the serpent seemed to undulate, the gold eyes almost
exactly matching the eyes of the gunman. Hard. Evil.
The other women must have sensed the same. Each was frozen
in place, eyes fixed on the gun as if staring hard enough
would keep it from firing.
Eight steps. Seven. Soon he'd pull the woman out the door
and into the parking lot. He'd disappear, the woman with
him.
Six.
The smart thing to do would be to wait until the man
walked outside and then call for help. It's what Piper's
brother Jude would expect her to do. A New York City cop,
he knew the best way to respond in a crisis, and he'd
drilled her on everything from natural disasters to
hostage situations.
Five. Four.
The blonde's eyes were wide with terror, begging someone,
anyone, to stop what was happening. Piper couldn't ignore
the plea. She stepped forward again, praying for wisdom
and for help. "Hey, you're holding her too tight. She
can't breathe. She's turning blue!"
The hysteria in her voice was real, and the blonde did her
part, moaning, dropping her weight against the arm that
held her. The gunman glanced down and that was the chance
Piper needed. She leaped forward, raising her leg in a
roundhouse kick she'd been practicing for months. Hard.
Fast. To the wrist. Just the way her other brother,
Tristan, had taught her. The gun flew from the man's hand,
landing with a soft thud on the floor a few feet away.
Piper dove for it, her fingers brushing against metal just
as a hand hooked onto her arm and threw her sideways.
She slammed into a table, her head crashing against the
wall, candles spilling onto the table and floor. Stars
shot upward in hot, greedy fingers of light.
"Fire!" Gabby's scream cut through Piper's daze and she
blinked, focusing on the gauzy curtains now being consumed
by flames.
All around her the room echoed with noise — women calling
to one another, feet pounding on the floor, an alarm
screaming to life. Dr. Lillian stood amidst the chaos,
calmly speaking on a cell phone.
"Piper! Come on, we've got to get out of here." Gabby
grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the door.
"Where's the guy with the gun? The woman?"
"Gone. He let go of her when you kicked the gun out of his
hand. I think you might have broken his wrist."
The thought made Piper light-headed. Or maybe it was the
knock on the head she'd gotten. Whatever the case, she
felt dizzy and sick. "I wasn't trying to. I just wanted
him to drop the gun."
"Well, he did. But he picked it up again before he ran.
Now stop talking and move faster."
Outside, daylight had faded to blue-purple dusk, the hazy
mid-July heat humid and cloying. People hugged the curb of
the parking lot, staring at the smoke billowing from the
three-level brownstone that housed Dr. Lillian's practice.
In the distance, sirens wailed and screamed, growing
closer with each breath. Soon Lynchburg's finest would
arrive. If God was good, and Piper knew He was, Grayson
wouldn't be with them. The last thing she needed, or
wanted, was her oldest brother's raised eyebrow and
overburdened sigh.
What she needed, what she wanted, was to walk away. To
leave the burning building and the crying, gasping blonde
and shell-shocked, spandex-clad women behind, go home and
forget any of this had ever happened. But just as Jude had
taught her to be cautious and Tristan had taught her to
fight, Grayson had taught her responsibility. She was here
for the duration. No matter how fervently she wished
otherwise.
She sighed, moved into the crowd of people and waited for
help to arrive.
Cade Macalister heard the sirens as he pulled out of
Lynchburg Medical Center. He ignored them. Or tried.
"Well?" Sandy Morris didn't need to say more. Cade knew
exactly what she was thinking.
"No."
"The sirens are close. It won't take long to get the scoop
and shoot a few pictures." A reporter for the Lynchburg
Gazette, Sandy was the wife of Cade's best friend. She was
also seven months pregnant.
"No."
"Come on, Cade. What can it hurt?"
"It can hurt a lot if your husband finds out."
"Jim won't mind."
Cade snorted and pulled over as an ambulance sped by.
"They're heading toward the historic district. Something
big's going on. See those police cruisers? You know some
of the guys on the force. They'd probably —"
"You need to be home in bed, resting. Jim will never
forgive me if you go into preterm labor while he's away."
"I'm fine. The doctor just said so."
"Three hours ago you thought you were in labor."
"And I was wrong. This is my first, you know. Come on,
Cade. You've got your camera, right? We'll get the scoop.
Then you can bring me home."
"Sorry, but I'm on duty tonight. I was supposed to be in
Lakeview an hour ago."
"Why didn't you say something? I could have found someone
else to hang out at the hospital with me."
"I didn't want you to have to find someone else. Besides,
another officer is filling in for me until I get there."
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