Dangerous to Know by Dawn Ryder

because her underwear was still lying on the tile. But she threaded her feet into her pants while Mercer stole her breath with a tiny bite. He lifted her hips so she could finish pulling her pants up but he didn’t back off to allow her off the counter. “Is that some kind of promise that I’ll see you again? Because your performance record isn’t very exemplary to date.”
    â€œIf that window had been open, your neighbors would be able to testify as to just how good my performance record is—”
    The kitchen window shattered with a pop. A second later she was facedown on the floor, Mercer’s weight heavy on her back as he pressed her down.
    â€œWho’s shooting, Zoe?”
    His tone had gone razor-sharp and as cold as a glacier. His knee was in the center of her back and his hand on the back of her neck.
    â€œWhat the hell are you talking about? Some kid likely threw a rock because he saw us.” She kept her voice even because newly returned servicemen were often a bit jumpy. “It wasn’t a gunshot.”
    She expected him to ease up; instead, he ground his knee into her back. Pain shot down her spine and she began to struggle. Post-traumatic stress disorder was no laughing matter. She had to get his mind back in the present, fast.
    â€œGet off me. This isn’t … wherever you just got back from.” She pushed against the floor but he remained unmovable. “My neighbors don’t have guns, Mercer.”
    But he did.
    She froze when a turn of her head brought her nose-to-muzzle with a handgun. The thing was coal black and wrapped securely in Mercer’s hand.
    â€œWhere in the hell did you have that?” she demanded.
    â€œWhat? Did you think I was going to be an easy kill?” He pressed the muzzle of that weapon against her skull with a confidence that chilled her. “Don’t move.”
    Shock held her still, the muzzle of the gun too real to dismiss. In a detached, this-can’t-really-be-happening way she was slightly curious, having watched scenes like this on television, but the cold tile beneath her cheek made her shiver because it confirmed that no commercial break was going to show up to save her.
    Mercer flipped open a cell phone. “My cover’s blown. Someone just took a shot at me through the kitchen window.”
    â€œWhat do you mean your cover?” she demanded.
    Another pop sounded, followed by several more. The window past the cabinets shattered in a wall of falling glass.
    â€œStill want to tell me no one’s shooting at me?” Mercer accused.
    The sounds were echoing in her ears while she stared dumbfounded at the broken glass coating her kitchen title. It fell from the countertop in little, tinkling waterfalls while the horrible reality sank in.
    â€œThey’re shooting at both of us.”
    Someone kicked in her front door but Mercer wasn’t waiting for their assistance. He yanked her up and sent her rolling through the kitchen doorway. He came up on one knee, his gun level, and fired off three rounds without hesitating.
    He looked like a complete stranger.
    Harley was screaming. Whoever had come through the door ran past him and on to the kitchen. There was suddenly a second man crouching on her tile and firing a gun. She scooted away, full of disbelief. She banged her knees on the hard floor but it wasn’t enough to keep her from getting to her feet and running out the opposite door of the kitchen. Her thoughts were jumbled, racing too fast to make sense of, but Harley was still screaming so she went to his cage and opened the door.
    The parrot jumped at her, digging his talons into the soft jersey of her top.
    â€œWhere the hell do you think you’re going?”
    Mercer grabbed her biceps and jerked her around to face him.
    â€œSomeplace where there isn’t gunfire,” she snarled. His grip was painful and the confidence with which he held the handgun scared the crap out