An Unforgettable Lady

He came toward her, his squat body moving in a jerky way from anger.

"You've ruined me. All of you," he said, his voice intensifying, "have ruined me. You froze me out. I've lost everything. You think you can just take someone's life and crush it because you're rich and you're powerful. People are toys to you. Toys."

Grace was measuring the distance to the door when she caught sight of the knife in his hand. The blade reflected light with a flash and made her physically ill.

Fredrique's rantings got shrill. "When I was new and fresh, you needed me for your parties to make them good. You demanded me. You wanted me. And then someone else came to town and none of you knew my name. It was like I didn't exist!"

Grace glanced across the desk, searching for something to defend herself with as he got closer. She wished like hell she'd left her father's sturdy crystal bowl of peppermints out. It would have made a fine weapon.

* * *

Smith was almost at the revolving doors which led to the street when another security guy called out. "Hey! You looking for the countess? She just went upstairs to get her purse. I ordered a car for the two of us."

Smith cursed as he wheeled around and rushed for the elevators. "The police are on the way—get them to her office as soon as they arrive."

The ride to the top floor was an eternity. He was thinking that he'd give up anything he had to have her safe. Unharmed. Alive.

And that included Black Watch, his lifestyle, the whole thing.

She'd been right. He was protecting himself because loving her was the single most threatening thing he could think of. But the alternative was worse. He'd much rather be with her than without, even if the, price he paid was the bogus sense of security he'd had when he was by himself.

All he wanted was her. All he needed was her.

She'd told him she wouldn't wait. Well, he wasn't going to ask her to. He was going to stay by her side.

Oh, God. Please let her be safe.

When he leapt out of the elevator, and saw the light in her office glowing under the doors, he felt a painful surge of hope as he ran silently down the hall. She'd probably gone up to change clothes. She was probably stepping out of her high heels and sighing as her bare feet hit the carpet at this very moment. She was probably fine.

Please let her be fine.

He was about to push open the double doors when he heard a man's voice. The threat behind the words was obvious, even through the wood, and Smith went from anxious to deadly.

Silently, he pushed one side open a crack. He saw the man, the knife and the stark fear on Grace's face.

That was all Smith needed to know.

With a massive lunge, he burst through the door. There was blood lust and nothing else running through his veins as he tackled Fredrique, taking him down hard onto the floor. Smith was heavier and had the element of surprise working for him, but with all his rage, he didn't need the advantage.

The man began to fight but it was amateur stuff. Smith grabbed the knife and quickly took control. In a matter of moments, he had Fredrique dazed and flat on his back.

But Smith didn't stop there. Before he was fully aware of what he was doing, he had one hand around the man's throat and the other tight on the grip of the knife. For what the murderer had almost done to Grace, he was prepared to eviscerate him on the spot.

Smith raised his arm high over his head and angled the blade so it would hit Fredrique's chest square in the center. He felt an animal growl come out of him as he started to move.

"John! No!"

Smith froze as he heard Grace's voice. He shook his head to clear it and looked at her. Her face was an unnatural gray color and her hands were reaching out to him.

"Put the knife down," she told him gently.

He became aware of his pounding heart, the sound of the breath coming out of his mouth, the feel of the weapon in his hand. He looked back down, into Fredrique's eyes. The lids were peeled back with terror, the pupils dilated by fear.

Smith looked up again at Grace.

“Are you hurt?" he asked her hoarsely.

"No, I'm okay."

He returned his attention to the killer. The guy was beginning to choke and Smith pictured Grace's life gradually leaving her body. He tightened his grip and raised the knife higher, prepared to show Fredrique everything his victims had felt.

"John, put that down! Please, don't kill him."

The urgency of her voice snapped him back to reality. He knew damn well he was a hairbreadth away from murder so he threw the knife across the room, flipped Fredrique over, and roughly wrenched the man's hands behind his back.

Smith looked over at Grace. "Are you sure you're okay?"

She gave him a shaky smile. "Yes."

When Fredrique started to protest, Smith bared his teeth and got down real close to the man's ear.