Page 2 of Forbidden Confessions, Volume 2 (The Forbidden Volumes #1)

Rand

T he moment I hear the first gunshot, I grab Sophie Larsen and tug her off the platform, shielding her with my body.

Around me, people scream. I draw my weapon.

Pandemonium ensues. Parents grab their children.

People run everywhere. Others, especially those less mobile, either drop to the pavement or scramble for the nearest doorframe, looking for some semblance of protection.

That’s all moving in my periphery, but what I’m really aware of is finding the asshole with the gun—and the beautiful blonde behind me, breasts rising and falling at my back with every rapid breath she takes.

“Are you hurt?” I shout over the noise.

“No.”

Her reply is faint, but I hear it. That’s enough for now.

Another shot rings out, so close I hear the bullet whiz past my temple.

It’s not my first rodeo with this kind of shit, but if I don’t move, it might be my last. Still, I’m under no illusions.

I’m not the target of whoever’s pulling the trigger.

Since his first shot went way over my head, to Sophie’s platform above, I know he’s aiming for her.

“We’ve got to move!” With a curse, I hop off the float, then pluck her off behind me. To her credit, she lands on her feet, despite those ridiculously impractical, totally sexy heels. Even more impressive, she actually manages to run.

Still, I’m twitchy. It’s the screaming. And the suggestive music filled with Sophie’s smoky voice singing about sex that’s unsettling me. The adrenaline isn’t helping, either. But the back of my neck starts to itch.

The next shot is coming.

Abruptly, I swerve into a nearby doorframe, jerking Sophie with me, again shielding her with my body as the next shot hits a window frame inches from us, splintering the wood. She starts in fear. I yank on the doorknob to the right to try and dive inside. It’s locked.

Fuck.

I’m hyperaware that my back is vulnerable and that she’s pressed against my chest, looking up at me with those hypnotic eyes she’s so well known for, a tumultuous shade between blue and gray.

Only now, they’re panicked. I see past the stage makeup and the false lashes to the terrified woman underneath.

“Breathe.”

She shakes her head. “We can’t stay here.”

“No. C’mon.”

I tug on her arm again and sprint down the sidewalk.

Another shot whizzes through the narrow space between our shoulders.

From the timing and position of the shots, I suspect there’s one shooter across the street, probably on an upper level or roof.

And if I can’t hustle Sophie around the next corner before he fires again, at least one of us stands a good chance of being dead.

Air burns my lungs as I sprint toward the corner of the big building on my right. Sophie does her best to keep up. She’s got a death grip on my hand.

Another bullet zings between us, this one near our hands.

The screams of the spectators grow even more shrill.

Sophie gasps. She’s unnerved. I don’t blame her.

Dodging a killer isn’t exactly in her wheelhouse.

Worse, we’ve still got fifteen feet before we reach any semblance of safety, and this asshole is going to get off another shot before we can make it.

I’d love to turn and off him, but he’s probably a few hundred feet away.

The shot isn’t impossible with my Glock, just unlikely.

And in the time it would take me to find him, set, aim, and fire, he’d probably tag and bag me.

And if something happens to me, what happens to Sophie?

I’m not waiting around to find out.

“Run!” I pick up speed and yank on her wrist.

She stumbles in the ridiculously high-heeled shoes. “Wait!”

No time for that. I wrap my arm around her waist, lift her against my side, and haul ass for safety. Another bullet whizzes by, where Sophie stood just moments ago.

Then we’re around the corner. We’re safe—for now. We can’t stay long, but we can regroup and strategize for a minute or two. Hopefully, it’s enough.

Panting, I lower her to her feet and press her back to the wall, blocking her from any possible threat. “You okay?”

More screaming fills the streets. Sirens roar closer to the scene. She presses a hand to her chest, struggling to catch her breath. “I-I’m not hurt.”

She doesn’t try to claim that she isn’t terrified out of her mind. I know she is.

“Are you familiar with this area?”

“Not really. I’m from DFW, but never spent much time in Arlington.”

Damn. I’m only slightly familiar with this chunk of the city.

We’ve got to get out of this alley—and this fucking vicinity—fast. Then we need a safe location without anyone knowing where Sophie is hiding. Only then can I figure out who wants her dead and why.

I scan our surroundings and come up with an idea. “Take off your dress.”

“What?” A whole lot of hell no crosses her face.

Does she think I’m propositioning her right now?

Don’t get me wrong. In a less dangerous situation, if she was willing, I’d be more than game.

Sophie may have been a pretty girl who burst onto the music scene when she was still in pigtails, but she’s a hella beautiful woman now.

I certainly wouldn’t turn her down. But that’s not why I’m asking her to disrobe.

“Your red spangly dress is a bright, shiny target to this shooter.”

“Oh.” She frowns. “But I can’t run around naked.”

As much as I might like the view, she’s right. Everyone has a camera on their cell phones these days, and she doesn’t need that kind of exposure. Hell, we’re lucky that everyone is too busy running for their lives to notice us tucked into this narrow alley.

I yank my T-shirt from my waistband and jerk it over my head, leaving my torso covered in a thin tank. The T-shirt is damp with my sweat and it smells like me, but that’s all I’ve got to give her. “Put this on.”

Sophie takes the shirt from my hand, her gaze glued to mine. “Where am I supposed to change?”

But she knows the answer; it’s all over her face.

“I’ll block you.” After all, she’s tiny. I’m pretty big. We’ll make it work. “But we don’t have time for modesty.”

She hesitates an instant, then drops one strap of her low, scoop-necked dress down her arm, followed by the other. As she does, one thing becomes obvious: Sophie Larsen isn’t wearing a bra.

I start to sweat again, and this time it has nothing to do with heat or danger.

Holy shit .

Jerking my gaze back to the street, I give her what privacy I can. I’m sure weirdos and jackoffs say skeevy things to her all the time. If not, she would never need to hire a guy like me.

The protective rage that thought triggers surprises me with its intensity. Anyone who’s hurt her, anyone who’s made her feel unsafe? I’d enjoy making them pay. It’s a darker impulse than a cop should have, but Sophie brings out something primal in me.

From my peripheral vision, I watch her lower her dress to her waist and catch her lipstick in her hand.

She’s wearing some sort of nude-colored stickers over her nipples that adhere to the upper swells and lift her obviously full rack.

But I’m not staring. Really, I’m not. But…

they’re right there . I blow out a breath as she shimmies from the dress to reveal she’s wearing one of the tiniest, most transparent thongs I’ve ever seen.

A single glance—damn, I did not mean to look—and I can tell she’s a natural blonde.

Seconds later, she whisks my shirt over her head, covering everything. It swallows her small frame and hangs to the middle of her thighs. It conceals way more than the dress she had on.

“Are you attached to this?” I fist the red fabric.

She shakes her head. “It’s horrible.”

Grateful for the nearby dumpster, I toss it, glad when the bright, glittery ball of sequins clears the rim and disappears into the heap. “What about your shoes? Can you run in bare feet?”

She steps out of one stiletto. The instant her foot touches the hot asphalt, she hisses and jerks away. “No.”

“Understood. Let’s do something about your hair.” Because pale curls hanging nearly to her pretty, swaying ass definitely draws attention.

She had mine the moment I set eyes on her.

“How?”

I rummage in my pocket. I’ve got a rubber band I used to hold together a couple of boxes of ammo I loaded into their magazines on my way here. “This work?”

“Yes. Will you hold this?” She hands me her lipstick.

As I pocket it, she grabs her hair and shoves it without much care into a messy bun, then twists the rubber band around it until the pale mass stays. It’s not optimal, and I wish like hell she had a hat and athletic shoes, but this will have to do. At least she’ll be a less obvious target now.

And we’ve been in the alley too long. We’re sitting ducks.

I jerk my head to the side. “Up for running? We have to get across the street.”

She nods. “Let’s go.”

I take her hand again and slink to the edge of the building.

Pandemonium still rules the streets. With the mad dash of people and all the barricades closing off the parade route, I imagine local law enforcement is having a difficult time getting their vehicles into the area.

Instead, police are pouring in on foot, but we can’t afford to be swept up in the crowd.

It’s not safe for Sophie since I have no idea who’s behind this attempt on her life.

We can’t get separated. It’s my job to lead her to safety, and I intend to do it.