No Chance in Hell by Jerrie Alexander Read Free Book Online Page A

 
    The woman made a soft sigh of approval.
    “Message?” An older man spoke from across the room. His cowboy boots clomped as he crossed the distance. “Looks like the paint fairy puked.”
    “Harold,” the woman whined. “Don’t be rude.”
    “It’s all right.” Swallowing back a harsh retort, DaVinci struggled to keep his cool. “Not everyone understands abstract art.”
    “That ain’t art. Looks more like chicken scratching to me.” The man socked his Western hat on his head and started toward the exit.
    “Sorry.” The customer’s face flushed red, but she hustled after him.  
    DaVinci nodded his dismissal. He hated that he hadn’t told the old bastard that his paintings were on display only to be observed and enjoyed. He’d never sell one of his favorite memories.
    “Jerk,” his assistant, Janet, muttered.
    “Exactly.” He turned to face her. “Let’s take a look around. Show me how you arranged the paintings.” He tucked her hand through his arm and allowed her to take the lead.
    He’d blessed his lucky stars the day he found this location in Dallas. A heavy-foot-traffic area with lots of high-end eateries that drew in- and out-of-town visitors. His initial investment plus the remodel had cost him a pretty penny, but he’d easily recouped his money.
    The offerings in the upcoming show came from a handful of local artists, ones he considered to be worthy of his attention. He had paintings on display for sale, but certain special works were priceless, never to be sold. His first one was particularly stunning. Angry slashes of dark hues against a background of pale blue. His mother had never looked so good.
    Janet’s voice pulled him from his deep thoughts. “You’re displeased?”
    “Not at all. The arrangement will pull the traffic through nicely, allowing the customer to pause and enjoy each piece.”
    Before she could gush and get under his skin, he insisted she leave early and get some rest. Tomorrow was a big day for Janet, as he’d given her total control of the show.  
    ****
    Someone pounded on her front door. “Chris,” Marcus shouted. “On three, I’m coming in.”
    Chris jumped out of bed, ran and opened the door. His brown leather boot was raised, and Diablo stood next to him. A low growl came from the dog, hackles raised, the scruff on his neck standing straight up.  
    “Easy, boy,” Marcus said. He took the gun from her hands. “You all right?”
    “Yeah.” She backed inside, and he followed.
    “Then why didn’t you answer your phone?” The area around his mouth relaxed, but behind his brooding gaze, Chris saw concern. Even though they were strangers, he cared.
    “For the first time in many months, I slept so soundly that I didn’t hear anything.” That statement alone frightened her. Marcus banging on her door had startled her and, hard as she tried, she couldn’t slow down her heart rate. Looking for some normalcy, she started a pot of coffee. “At first, I didn’t want to set foot in this place, but knowing you were outside made me feel safe. I didn’t wake at every little sound.”  
    “I’ll take that as a compliment. But you make a good point, maybe you shouldn’t stay here at all. Be easier to protect you in a safe house.” His gaze swept across her body, searing her with heat. Then, as if he realized he was staring, he looked away. “We’ll wait in here while you change. Come, Diablo.”
    “Be right back.” Her knees wobbled as she darted into her bedroom. How had she forgotten the fact that she wore nothing except a cami and jogging shorts? Mortified, she grabbed a pair of jeans and pulled them on. She followed with a sports bra and a T-shirt. After a splash of water on her face, a quick brush of her teeth, and pulling her hair back in a clip, she attempted to ignore the fact he’d seen her almost naked. She rejoined him and acted as if nothing had happened.  
    He’d poured the coffee by the time she slid onto one of the stools at her