LITMIR.BIZ

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them with a stinging spray of cement.

      Chapter Three

      Using a knowledge of basic physics coupled with years of martial arts training, Julia used her legs for leverage and managed to switch places with Luke. With her heart in her throat, and wishing she wasn’t lying here protecting a civilian when she should be up and at them, weapon drawn, she cradled his face tightly to her chest. The squeal of tires faded as a vehicle sped away.

      Rearing back, she gently ran her hands along his head and scalp. Her fingers came away bloody. “You’re hit,” she choked out, anger overlaying the guilt that had started diluting her instincts. “Stay still and—”

      “Not shot, hit.” Luke replaced her probing fingers with his own. “I hit my head.” He winced, gingerly feeling for the wound. “What about you?” He scanned her face and body for injury.

      Other than coworkers and the Boteros—assuming she could think of some way to rationalize a gunshot— Julia had never had anyone give a damn one way or the other if she was plugged full of holes or not. But she’d think about it and analyze the warm fuzzy feeling later. Right now she was responsible for Luke’s injury.

      Head wounds bled. A lot. She knew that. Didn’t mean she liked knowing the blood belonged to Luke. She was trained for this. He wasn’t. “I’m fine,” she told him absently, glancing down the street the way the vehicle had peeled rubber. Gone, of course.

      “And fast,” he remarked, bringing Julia’s attention back to him. His gaze wandered over every inch of her until his jaw relaxed and his frown of concern eased from between his brows. “You flattened me. Then you flipped me like a pancake. You’re a lady of many talents. How’d you do that?”

      “Self-defense classes,” she muttered, then ripped a strip of fabric from her skirt and pressed it against his injury. There was a good amount of blood, but that was pretty standard with a head wound. Shallow but showy. By the time she and Luke untangled themselves from each other, Rafe Montoya and Jeff Walsh were racing from Weddings Your Way, guns poised.

      It was going to be hard to lie her way out of this one. And not just for the obvious reasons. This was getting really complicated, really fast.

      “Everyone okay?” Montoya asked as he held out a large hand to help her up.

      Luke ignored Walsh’s offered hand as he rose to his feet. “Let’s go back inside. I’d like to make sure that you’re really not hurt. That was a damn hard fall you took.”

      Julia gave him a small smile. “I’m fine. I have a hard head.”

      Who’d been in the car? Who was the shooter? Obviously someone who wanted her dead. Did it have anything to do with her trip to Sonya’s? Geez. She needed to make a list of her enemies. That would take awhile.

      “Not as hard as the sidewalk,” Luke said firmly, holding her arm as if he thought she’d faint at any second. Faint or run, Julia mused, feeling another spurt of guilt.

      She’d been stunned speechless when Luke had apologized for the wedding fiasco six years ago. Stunned but not about to tell him the real reason she’d run, nor why she’d refused to answer his calls. She would absolve him of his guilt, and keep her own guilt close to her chest. Better for both of them. Especially since things weren’t going to change.

      His fingers felt warm on her skin. She’d like nothing more right now than to have a moment to lean into him and absorb his solid warmth. His strength. But that wasn’t who she was.

      Luke lifted her chin with his hand. “It’s either me checking you out or a trip to the ER. Your choice.”

      Who knows what she would have done if at that very moment, Rachel hadn’t appeared. Calmly assuming control as only Rachel could. It was one of the many talents Julia admired in her boss. “Gentlemen, please help Mr. Young into the salon. I’ve already called the police and the paramedics. Julia, come with me. We’ll find something more suitable for you to wear.”

      Julia glanced down and silently thanked the panty gods for not letting her put on a thong that morning. The shredded hunk of fabric she’d yanked off to tend Luke had created a rather indecent slit in the front of her skirt.

      “Hang on,” Luke said gruffly, stubbornly refusing to be corralled by Rafe and Jeff. “What the hell happened back there?”

      “Drive-by,” Rafe easily supplied. “Happens even in the good parts of town these days.”

      “And dogs dance,” Luke responded, in no way mollified. “Wasn’t there a kidnapping here a couple of weeks ago?” His voice grew louder with each word. “What kind of place are you people running that you need bodyguards?”

      “Remember,” Julia began on a rush of breath. “There was a kidnapping here. We have a pretty high-profile clientele, so we’re overly cautious.”

      Julia watched as Rachel mouthed the instructions “Fix this” to Rafe before she hurried Julia into the building. The two women went upstairs, then through the expertly hidden doorway to the secret offices of Miami Confidential.

      Clare, Nicole and Samantha were already seated at the long, oval conference table. Laptops whirled to life as Julia went to the closet, pulled out a pair of jeans and used the partially closed door as a privacy screen while she changed.

      Rachel was already barking orders to burn copies of the exterior surveillance tapes on to disks before they turned the originals over to the local authorities. “We have to appear to be cooperating fully,” Rachel reiterated. “We’ll have a hard time making headway on the Botero kidnapping if this place is crawling with Miami PD.

      “Now give me a damage assessment on the guy you were with,” she said, her cool blue eyes trained on Julia.

      “In for a fitting for the Lopez-Mitchell wedding. He doesn’t have any connection to the kidnapping. Just a matter of wrong place, wrong time.”

      “You’re forgetting wrong man,” Rachel added. “Time’s a-wasting, Julia. I want to know what you know before the police get here.”

      “Luke Young, thirty-five,” Julia told her boss as she tucked in her shirt. Why was she feeling so protective of him? “Owns a commercial construction firm here in Miami. Carmen Lopez is his foster sister. Other than that, I don’t know much.”

      One of Rachel’s dark brows arched impatiently. She obviously expected every atom of truth.

      Julia couldn’t tell her everything. Hell, most of the time she could barely admit it to herself. “Well, except that I left him standing at the altar six years ago.”

      “Kind of an important detail.” Rachel scowled.

      Samantha, Nicole and Clare sat silently, content to be spectators. Eight small screens, stacked in two neat rows of four, lined one portion of the wall. From her vantage point, Julia could see every inch of Weddings Your Way. She also had views of the exterior. The pool and long wooden dock jutting out into Biscayne Bay were deserted.

      The street, driveway and courtyard were another matter. An ambulance came to an abrupt halt just behind Julia’s Jeep. Four blue-and-white squad cars positioned themselves on either side of the ambulance. The wail of sirens cut through the stucco walls as red and blue lights spun a bright kaleidoscope of color.

      “You’re hurt,” Rachel said.

      Julia looked down at her own body, confused. “No, I’m—”

      “Hurt. I want you in that ambulance with Mr. Young. I want to know every word he says and who he says it to. I want to know everything right down to the number of gauze pads they use to clean his wound.”

      “Rachel, the cops are going to want a statement from me,” Julia countered.

      “And you’ll give them one just as soon as you have your injuries assessed at the hospital. Samantha, I want to know everything there is to know about Mr. Young. I want proof positive that there

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