A Cold Day in Hell by Stella Cameron Page A

all over.
    Staying here was out of the question.
    Very carefully, her gun against her shoulder, Eileen eased back out of the bushes and away from the driveway. If she approached the house from the side, she could stay out of any reflection on the front windows, just in case someone was watching from the driveway.
    A hand, clamped over her mouth, and her feet being hauled from the ground, took months off her life. Her heart seared, fluttered, and didn’t seem inclined to settle in her chest.
    Twisting violently, she kicked out at the shins behind her, bit down on the fingers over her mouth. Eileen tried to scream but only managed strangled squeaks from her throat. She scissored her legs, used her heels to bombard her assailant’s shins. And she twisted her body from side to side.
    “Eileen.” It was Angel’s voice very close to her head. “For God’s sake, stop it. I thought you were the enemy.” He set her down.
    “And you scared me sick.” She went limp, put a hand behind her to touch him and quickly withdrew it.
    “The shooter’s gone,” Angel said. “When I heard you, I thought he’d come back.”
    “I’ve never been so terrified,” she said. “I brought your jeans but I’ve dropped them.” With her back to him, she peered around in the bushes and on the ground.
    “Better not look at me,” Angel whispered. “You’re too tender for what you’d see.”
    “Smart ass.” She located the jeans, deliberately faced him and slapped the pants against his chest. “Put ’em on.”
    He held them out. She could only barely make out his face. Inside, she clenched and trembled.
    “A lady would turn her back,” he said.
    Eileen crossed her arms, settled her gun in the crook of an elbow and put most of her weight on one leg.
    Angel did foot-to-foot hops to get into his jeans, sucking in a breath as the cold wet denim must have raked over his skin. He jumped some more and grasped the waistband. She watched every move and looked down when he started to close the zipper.
    “Better be careful how you do that,” she said.
    Angel adjusted himself, grinning all the time, and finally snapped the waist closed. “When did you learn to be forward?”
    “Aren’t you going to ask why your jeans are soaked?” Eileen said.
    “They were on the floor. The bathtub’s got a hole in it.”
    “And it’s leaking water all over the place,” Eileen said, her mouth twitching. “Good job there’s a drain.”
    “I’m sorry,” Angel said. “I never wanted you frightened like that.”
    “Yes.” She curled a hand over one of his shoulders and dug in her fingers. “The bullets were meant for us.” Her stomach flipped.
    “Don’t think about it. I didn’t get a look at him, or his vehicle. He must have parked on the access road—I heard his car.”
    “Did you call the police?”
    “Not yet,” Angel said. “I want to look around first. I’m going up on the roof to look for casings.”
    “It’s so dark.”
    “I’m used to working in the dark. Can you use that gun?”
    “Yes, I can. My father—who was the local police chief—taught us.”
    Angel sighed. “Good.”
    “We can’t keep all this to ourselves any longer, Angel,” she said. “I was almost ready to believe the swamp thing was—”
    “Really an accident? But now you’re not. And neither am I, but I want you to bear with me. Give me a little more time before making me throw something to the cops. They’re going to be out of their league anyway.”
    “You’re so quick to put people down just because they aren’t big-city types.”
    “Garbage,” he said. “Come here.” He took her by the shoulders. Trying to twist away would be pointless. Angel kissed her. He broke the contact slowly, settled his lips at her temple and stroked her wet hair. “We have something to finish.”
    And right now his timing wasn’t good. “What do you think may be going on?” she asked. “Do you think those gang types or whatever they are may be involved