Under the Tycoon's Protection by Anna DePalo

out-of-town clients must be running late.
    She wondered whether she had time to run out before he got back. Most of the groceries she needed could wait for tomorrow, but she’d discovered an hour ago that she was a few ingredients short for the pie she’d been planning to make for dessert.
    She glanced at her watch again and bit her lip. She could dash out to the supermarket and be back in no time. Connor wouldn’t even have to know.
    Her mind made up, she grabbed a sheet of paper and scribbled a note just in case Connor got back before she did: “Out to the supermarket. Back soon.” She used tape to attach the note to the mirror by the front door, then grabbed her purse.
    As she’d thought, it took her no time at all to get to the supermarket and through the check-out line. The rain meant the store was more empty than usual.
    When she got outside again, the rain had stopped,but the overcast sky and fog made everything look dreary and dark.
    She started across the parking lot to her car, juggling her two bags and purse.
    Spotting her car, she noticed again that the new paint job—which had cost a mint—had fortunately covered up the graffiti that had been spray-painted several weeks ago.
    Something looked strange however. Drawing closer, she realized the back of the car was tilting downward.
    Darn. Had she gotten a flat?
    Dropping her bags on the ground, she walked between her car and the one parked next to it and bent to inspect her back tire.
    A clean slice through the rubber.
    Her heart began to thud.
    Someone had slashed her tire.
    She heard a car coming toward her and automatically straightened up.
    A gunshot sounded, followed quickly by another. She ducked just as the windshield of her car cracked and splintered.
    Her mind raced frantically as she tried to figure a way out of the situation. Whoever had fired the bullets had sped past her, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be turning his car around for another pass.
    She straightened up a little, risking a glance over hercar to try to get a look at the color and model of car that the gunman was driving, but didn’t see anything.
    â€œHelp! Someone call the police!” she screamed even as she dug into her purse for her cell phone.
    At the sound of feet pounding the pavement, she crouched down.
    â€œAllison! For God’s sake, stay down!”
    It was Connor’s voice shouting to her as he seemed to run past, even as she heard a car speed out of the parking lot with a shriek of tires.
    â€œDammit!” Connor said.
    He cursed some more as Allison heard him coming back toward her.
    She straightened, pushing her hair out of her face, and stepped from between the parked cars.
    â€œI tried to get a shot at him, but he was too far away,” Connor said, breathing heavily.
    Her eyes shot downward and she gaped as she noticed the gun that Connor grasped in his hand. Where had that come from?
    When her gaze moved upward again, she focused for the first time on the expression on Connor’s face.
    He looked mad as hell.

Seven
    W hile they drove back to the townhouse, Connor kept a grip on his temper. But only because he had to.
    They’d just finished talking to the police, who’d recovered a couple of unusual-looking bullets—or slugs, in police lingo—from the scene around the parking lot. With any luck, the police would have a theory soon on the caliber and model of gun that the perpetrator had probably used in the shooting.
    Unfortunately, the parking lot—at least the part around Allison’s car—had been empty of people at the time of the shooting, probably due in no small part to the bad weather. Of the two people whom the police had interviewed who had seen the perp’s carspeed away, one had sworn the car was gray while the other had called it blue.
    In any case, Connor doubted that the gunman was stupid enough to use a vehicle with plates that could be easily traced back to him,