Page 9 of Blade’s Edge (L.A.S.T. Defense #1)

Jasper

“That’ll be fifty-five thirty-four, sir,” the pretty young clerk at the grocery store says. Am I imagining the judgement in her tone? Or does she recognize me? After all, every week, I’m in here buyin’ the same damn things.

Three cases of Shiner Bock, a couple frozen lasagnas, and a bag of cheddar cheese popcorn. I hate cooking and bein’ at the stove for long periods ain’t easy on my hip or leg. But I ain’t bothered with a vegetable in months. If not longer.

The fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as the scents of jasmine and vanilla tickle my nose. Emi. She’s only one register over, her phone pressed to her ear as she loads a handful of items onto the belt.

“Kyle, you don’t have to explain. This story’s blown up.

I don’t think the threats are serious, but you have a family.

If you—or they—are even the slightest bit uncomfortable, you should move to midday until things blow over.

I hate to lose you. Shit. I don’t want to work with anyone else.

But your wife and kids shouldn’t be scared because of something I did. ”

I set the last case of beer in my cart. Emi’s in full makeup, a light blue blouse, and a tight pencil skirt that barely reaches her knees. She still looks perfect, even at close to 9:00 p.m., and I catch myself before my stare heads into stalker territory.

Hold up. What threats?

I’m about ready to march over there and demand she explain when our gazes lock. The power behind her eyes—or maybe that’s my dick remembering the quick kiss on the cheek she gave me the other night—makes me forget everything I was about to say.

A flash of green draws my attention. “Emi, your…err…parsley?…is about to fall off the belt.”

Arching a brow, she snags the leafy bunch right before it loses its precarious balance and tumbles to the floor. “You mean the kale?”

“Kale?” Chuckling, I shake my head. “Ain’t never heard of the stuff.”

“Sorry, Kyle. I’m at the store.” She gives me a shrug and mouths, “Work thing,” as she pulls a small bag of fruit from her basket.

She obviously didn’t expect to see me here, and since she’s still on the phone, I tip my Stetson to her. “Enjoy your night, Emi. I still hope you call me one of these days.”

With her free hand, she traces an X over her heart with a smile. It’s enough. For now.

“Gotta run, Kyle. But come see me tomorrow when you get in. We’ll talk some more. And take advantage of the security Nelson offered, okay?” Ending the call, she meets the clerk’s gave. “I’m sorry. Work emergency. Can I also get a book of stamps?”

“Sure, hon.”

With one last glance at her small assortment of fruits and vegetables—along with a bag of the same cheddar cheese popcorn I favor—I head for my truck.

I just made a fool of myself in front of a woman I’d love to take out on a date.

How the hell was I supposed to know that was kale?

Vegetables and I don’t have much to say to one another.

I stow my groceries in the lockbox spanning the truck bed and run a hand through my hair.

There’s a reason I don’t get out much—or try to talk to women.

And as much as I hope to hear from Emi soon, it’s probably better if she loses my number permanently.

She deserves someone who isn’t so broken he can’t even cook her a proper meal.

Something flickers in the corner of my right eye. Movement. Odd. I lost half the vision in that eye after the blast. Probably just a phantom. A misfire from my optic nerve. The doc said those were possible—likely even. But when it happens again, I turn.

A man in a black sweatshirt and dark Wranglers rises from the far side of Emi’s powder-blue Mustang.

His black ball cap is pulled low over his eyes.

Something about the way he moves doesn’t sit right with me, and I take two steps toward the car before he sprints away and disappears behind the back of the grocery store.

You spend long enough on the job, you start to trust your instincts as much or more than your eyes and ears, and my gut says that asshole was up to no good.

I can’t let Emi drive away without checkin’ out the whole damn car. And hearin’ about the threats she mentioned.

Emi’s heels click along the asphalt. A single bag is balanced on her hip.

Her keys are already in her hand, held like a weapon.

Not a very effective one. Most women—hell, even a lot of guys—don’t have enough strength behind their punches to do serious damage with only a car key. But it’s better than nothin’.

She clicks the key fob, and the car’s lights flicker. But they’re too dim. Something’s very wrong.

“Emi?” I call as I take off at a run. “Wait.”

A second later, the Mustang explodes with a whoosh of flames and enough force to drive us to the ground and slam Emi’s head into the pavement.

My ears are ringing like someone locked me in a bell tower, but everything else around me is muffled as fuck.

Dragging my hand over my eyes, I wipe away a thick smear of blood.

Emi is unnaturally still a few feet away.

Crimson stains her cheek, and her whole face looks like she came down with a bad case of windburn. Or got dragged behind an angry bull.

I roll onto my side, a few deep breaths tamping down the dizziness.

Threats. She was being threatened. Someone named Nelson was offering security. Fuck me.

This wasn’t an accident. That skinny sombitch in the black ball cap had something—or everything—to do with it. Flames crackle inside the wreckage, and a hubcap rattles at the far end of the parking lot as it rolls and finally hits a light pole.

“Emi?” Crawling as quickly as my aching leg allows, I make it to her side and check for a pulse. Thank God. She’s alive. “Open your eyes, sweetheart.” Her brows pinch together, and she tries to raise her head, but I press down on her shoulders. “Stay still.”

“I…I can’t…hear…what…?”

Leaning closer, I force strength into my tone. “Stay. Still. Someone blew up your car. Can you tell me what hurts?”

“My…car? Jasper?”

She’s too confused to answer me properly, so I start a standard field assessment. The young clerk who rang up my groceries races out of the store and skids to a stop when she sees the burning car. “Oh my God. I’ll call 911.”

“Get an ambulance too!” I shout. “But don’t say a word about who she is. You understand?”

“Huh?” The clerk clearly doesn’t watch TV news. Too young. Probably sticks to the internet.

“Never mind. Call!”

Returning my focus to Emi, I shift my hold to her arms as she tries to sit up again. “Emmylou, keep still. That’s an order.”

“I’m not a soldier. You don’t get to order me around.” Slapping at my arms, she pushes up on an elbow. “Shit. The world isn’t supposed to spin like that.”

“I told you to stay down.” I hate not being armed. That asshole could still be around. Watching to make sure he was successful. I have a concealed carry permit, but I was just going to the fucking grocery store.

My vision isn’t totally clear. Vague shapes move at the other end of the parking lot—in the direction Baseball Cap guy headed.

But one look at Emi and I know I can’t leave her side.

Not until the EMTs take a look at her. She lets me ease her back down to the ground, and thankfully, doesn’t try to sit up again.

“Why are you here?” she asks, a wobble to her voice. “I keep running into you…”

“I was out shoppin’. Same as you. I only live a couple miles away. You’re safe with me, sweetheart. I promise.”

She blinks hard, then turns her head. Her eyes widen as she sees the still burning vehicle. “My car. Oh, God. My car’s…”

“Replaceable. It might have been a pretty little thing, but it was just a thing. The ambulance is on its way. Cops too, I reckon. I’m gonna find your key fob. I want to see it before they take it into evidence. But you need to lie still, okay?”

I’m not sure she understands me. But she manages a little “uh-huh” and presses the heel of her hand to her forehead. Moving slowly, carefully, I search the few feet around us until I find the hunk of black plastic. Looks completely normal. No strange scratches or evidence anyone tampered with it.

The sirens are getting closer now, and I sink down onto my ass next to Emi. “So, you gonna tell me who’s threatenin’ you and why they want you dead?”

She rolls onto her side and curls inward. “It was probably an electrical fault.” She doesn’t sound convinced, but it’s damn clear she doesn’t want to talk to me about it.

“Whoa there. You could have a spinal cord injury. Or a concussion.” Up close, her makeup half-blasted off by the explosion, she’s so real .

As real as the other night when we had dinner at the sports bar.

But with one hundred percent more bruises and scrapes.

Her lips curve into a pout—or a grimace, I can’t quite tell—when I try to get her to stay still.

“I don’t have a spinal cord injury,” she mutters and sits up. Then…fuck. Leans into me with her head against my bicep. “A concussion…that’s a distinct possibility.” After a moment, she sighs. “You were really here shopping. Beer and lasagna and…popcorn?”

“Yes, ma’am. Lucky I was, too. I think I saw someone messin’ with your car before you came out of the store.”

“Oh, God.” She presses closer, and I wrap my arm around her slight shoulders. “I didn’t think the threats were real…I have to call Nelson.” Looking around, her eyes unfocused, she murmurs, “My purse…I have to find…”

I tighten my arm around her, keeping her where I know she’s safe—tucked against my side. “I’ll find it for you in a few minutes. As soon as the ambulance gets here.”

Before she can protest, Austin PD and the EMTs arrive. It shouldn’t feel so wrong to let the medics guide her to the ambulance while I tell one of the fresh-faced officers from the local precinct what happened, but it does.

“And you’re sure this guy was messing with her car?” the officer—Devlin—asks. He can’t be more than twenty-three, and I think this is the most excitement he’s ever had on the job.

“Yes. Get a sketch artist out here and I’ll give them a full description.”

“Um, I don’t think I’m authorized…” He turns to his partner, and the other guy shakes his head.

“Fuckin’ hell. Look, I was a Ranger for more than a decade and Austin PD before that.

I know it’s not standard procedure. But I can ID the guy.

Call your Sergeant. Tell him who I am and what I used to do for a living.

He’ll make it happen. Otherwise, he’s hearing from me first thing in the mornin’. ”

“Yes, sir,” Devlin says. “Sorry, sir.”

“Don’t call me sir. Just…make it happen.

And send someone to the hospital to keep an eye on that woman.

You hear me?” Glancing over at Emi sitting in the ambulance with a blanket around her shoulders, something stirs in my gut.

I hardly know her. But while I held her…

we shared something. A moment. A connection. One I don’t want to end.

But it does, because the ambulance doors close and the vehicle whisks her away to Austin Memorial, leaving me alone with the last of the units on scene packing up.

“Sir?” Devlin clips his radio back in place as he approaches. “You can reach out to Detective Mitchell in the morning. The sketch artist went home a few hours ago.”

Shit. Of course they did. It’s almost 10:00 p.m.

“Will do. Thanks.” What the fuck was I expecting? All hands on deck for what looks—to anyone who didn’t see the guy in the baseball cap—like a bad car fire?

I should head to the hospital to check on Emi. The EMTs cleared me and I can’t do shit here but watch as they load the remains of her car onto a tow truck for transport. So why am I leaning against my tailgate scanning the parking lot? Because my gut is screaming that the cops missed something.

As soon as the last patrol car leaves, I walk the perimeter, looking for anything out of place.

A pair of footprints are clearly visible in mud at the far corner, and I pull out my phone and snap a couple of photos.

Cops should have seen these, but even after they found out what I used to do for a living, they didn’t give my theory about the guy in the black baseball cap much more than a passing nod. Fuckers.

I’m almost back to my truck when a bright red flash of color catches my eye next to the dumpster. Emi’s purse—and her groceries. I should track down those two officers and give them a piece of my mind.

Don’t get involved, Jasper. You’ll find nothing but trouble. Bring Emi her purse, make sure she’s okay, then go home.

We’ve shared a single meal and a few stolen moments. I shouldn’t feel this much this soon. But my heart ain’t about to listen to reason. So I spend a full five minutes retrieving her apples, yogurt, and kale before stowing the grocery bag in the lockbox and tucking her purse under my arm.

I’m going to the hospital and I’m not leaving until Emi tells me exactly what’s going on.