Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Alisa screamed as she struggled to get free.

"Keys," the man ordered in a low, gruff voice.

"I—I can't find them." She dug into her purse again.

He yanked the bag out of her hand, dumped everything on the ground, then grabbed her keys and flipped the locks.

Her breath caught in her throat. Her car didn’t matter—nothing did—except getting away. The moment he took his eyes off her, she bolted.

She didn't care about her car. He could have it.

She had barely taken two steps when he grabbed her arm and dragged her back to her car. If she got into the car, she was dead. This was her only chance to survive. She had to escape now, so she kicked and screamed as hard as she could until he put a gun to her head, and she froze.

"Get in the car," he commanded.

There was something foreign to his voice. He didn't sound like he was from LA.

"Why? Just take the car and go. You don't need me."

"Shut up."

Despite his order, she screamed again and used all her energy to push him away from her. But as she turned away, his gun came down on the back of her head, knocking her to the ground.

Her world exploded, her vision blurring, her knees buckling under her. Her thoughts scattered as pain ricocheted behind her eyes. Her knees took the brunt of her fall, but all too soon, he was hauling her to her feet.

She could barely focus, but her instinct was to fight. As he pulled her toward the car, she used her one free hand to grab for the bumper. She had just wrapped her fingers around the metal when he yanked her away so hard, that the metal cut her hand. More pain rocketed through her body.

He had the car door open now, and in another minute, he was going to shove her into the backseat.

"Please, just take the car and leave me here," she begged.

"Shut up," he repeated.

"Let her go!" someone yelled.

To her amazement, she saw a man running toward them. He was young and athletic, wearing black pants and a dark windbreaker…and he had a gun.

She gasped at that fact, and her lack of focus allowed her attacker to pull her to her feet, using her as a shield in front of him. He had one arm wrapped around her neck, the other holding a gun pressed against her throbbing temple.

"Stop. I'll kill her," her attacker warned.

The man stopped, but he didn't lower his weapon. She had no idea who he was. He wasn't wearing a uniform. He wasn't hospital security. But he was here, and that was all that mattered.

"I said let her go," the man repeated. "You're not getting out of here."

The arm around her neck tightened as her attacker debated his options.

There were more footsteps coming from the other direction. A woman appeared. She was blonde and wearing gray slacks and a black jacket. She also pulled out a weapon .

"Drop the gun," she ordered. "There's nowhere for you to go."

"Do it," the other man said forcefully. "Now."

She wasn't sure her attacker was going to let her go. If he killed her, they'd kill him. That wouldn't be good for him, but it also wouldn't be good for her. She couldn't just stand by and let him decide for both of them.

His uncertainty allowed his grip on her to ease, and she saw her opening.

She jammed her elbow into his midsection and spun free of his grip.

His gun went off.

Then another blast rocked the air as she dropped to the ground, the glass from the car window next to her shattering all over her.

She covered her head with her hands.

Someone else was yelling in pain, someone besides her.

And then the man who had come to her rescue squatted down in front of her. "You're safe," he told her, putting his hand on her arm.

Alisa blinked, still in shock. Her head pounded, her body ached, and her mind struggled to catch up with what had just happened. She stared at him in confusion. His eyes were so blue, they were almost shocking. "Who—who are you?"

"Jason Colter, FBI."

"FBI?" she stuttered. "Why are you here?"

"We heard you scream."

She licked her lips, looking over her shoulder to see the blonde woman standing over her attacker, who was now facedown on the ground, his hands tied behind his back, blood coming from his shoulder. "Did you shoot him?"

"Yes. But he'll live." As he finished speaking, security guards and police flooded the garage.

"Your hand is bleeding," he said, his sharp blue gaze sweeping across her face and body .

"I cut it on the bumper," she said dully.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"My head. He hit me with his gun. He was trying to get me in the car. He got my keys. I don't understand why he didn't just take the car and go."

The same question moved through the agent's eyes as he glanced away from her toward her assailant. "We'll figure it out. Can you stand up?"

"I think so." He got to his feet, then held out his hand.

She put her uninjured hand in his as he helped her to her feet. She winced as more pain ran through her head, and she couldn't seem to let go of his hand. "Sorry, I'm a little shaky."

"We're going to get you to the hospital so you can be examined and treated. Did the man say anything to you?"

"He just told me to get in the car. He had an accent." She paused, looking at her attacker, who was being loaded onto a gurney. "Do you know who he is? Is he the person security was looking for earlier?"

"How do you know about that?"

"I'm a nurse. I heard they were looking for someone."

"He's not who we were looking for, but hopefully, he'll lead us to that person."

"I don't understand." She felt suddenly dizzy and tightened her grip on his hand. But the garage was spinning in front of her, and as she lost her balance, she stumbled against him.

He wrapped his arms around her. "You're okay," he said.

"I don't think I am." Her eyes closed, and the world faded away.

Alisa woke up in the ER to bright lights and the sound of her heartbeat on the monitor next to her. She squinted as she looked into the concerned face of ER nurse Georgia Fulton, who was also one of her friends and someone she'd worked alongside during her stint in the ER. Georgia had sandy brown hair and brown eyes that were filled with concern.

"It's about time, Alisa," Georgia told her, relief flooding her gaze.

"What happened?"

"Apparently, someone tried to carjack you in the garage. After you were rescued, you passed out."

Her memories came flooding back. "I hoped that was a nightmare."

"I'm sure it was a nightmare," Georgia said tersely as she checked her pulse. "Your hand needs stitches, by the way. I've cleaned the cut, but Dr. Lawson will be in shortly to take care of that. You also have a large bump on the back of your head, so I need to ask you a few questions. Do you know your name?"

"Alisa Hunt."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-eight," she said with a sigh. "I'm fine, Georgia."

Her friend ignored her. "Where do you live?"

"Santa Monica."

She squinted again as Georgia checked her eyes with a bright light. "Can you follow my finger with your eyes?" Georgia asked.

"Yes," she said as she completed the test. "I just have a terrible headache."

"You were out for about ten minutes, according to the orderly who brought you in. That's long enough for Dr. Lawson to order a CT scan."

She hated all the fuss. She was a much better nurse than patient. But her head was throbbing, and despite her desire for this to all be over, she didn't have the energy to get to her feet. She also knew the protocol for a concussion, and she would have to follow it.

"There's an FBI agent outside who wants to talk to you," Georgia added. "I told him he'd have to wait."

"Does he have gorgeous blue eyes and dark hair?" she asked, still trying to remember what was real and what was a dream. Her reality seemed very muddled at the moment.

"Yes," Georgia said, smiling for the first time. "And a very attractive face."

"He saved my life."

Georgia's expression grew more serious as she put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I'm so glad he did."

"Me, too."

Georgia cleared her throat as they shared an emotional look. "I need to get you to radiology. Do you want me to call anyone while you're having your test? I know your mom is upstairs."

"I don't want her to know anything about this. The last thing she needs is stress."

"What about your dad? Or Tim?"

She hesitated, then shook her head. Tim had been distant, unreliable, and more obsessed with his fantasy football league than with showing up when she needed him most.

And her dad…She wanted to speak to her father, but not now, and not about herself.

"I don't need you to call anyone," she said.

"All right. Then let's get you checked out."

It was almost two hours later before she was finished with tests and treatment. The CT scan had shown no signs of a concussion. The cut on her hand hadn't required too many stitches, and while still painful, it would eventually be fine. She was instructed to rest for the next forty-eight hours, hydrate, and call if she became nauseous or disoriented.

She slid off the exam table and put her sweater back on, seeing the blood on her sleeve that had come from the cut on her hand. The sight of that blood made her a little shaky, and she sat down in the chair to wait for Georgia to get a wheelchair to take her out to the lobby.

A moment later, the door opened. It wasn't Georgia; it was the man who'd rescued her, his eyes just as blue and compelling as she remembered. But now she noticed more details about his very handsome face, from his firm jaw to his beautifully sculpted features, tan skin, and sexy mouth. His brown hair was thick and wavy and a little mussed. He was tall and exuded power and confidence. She was more than a little grateful he was the one who'd heard her scream because he hadn't hesitated to jump into action, to put his own life on the line for a total stranger.

She got to her feet. "I forget your name."

"Jason Colter. And you're Alisa Hunt. How are you feeling?"

"Like someone hit me in the head with the butt of a gun; a sentence I never thought would come out of my mouth."

A small smile parted his lips. "That sounds about right. Concussion?"

"Just a nasty headache. Thank you for saving me. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't come when you did—if you hadn't shot him." As she thought about those moments in the garage, a knot grew in her throat and moisture filled her eyes. She bit down on her lip, and his gaze softened.

"Don't think about what might have happened," he said. "You're safe now. That's all that matters."

"I almost wasn't safe." She drew in a strangled breath. "I could have died tonight." She blinked back a tear. "Sorry, I suddenly feel emotional."

"That's not surprising. The adrenaline is wearing off."

"I guess." As she looked at him, she remembered being in his arms, feeling safe in his embrace. She kind of wished she was there now, feeling protected, rather than chilled and alone.

"Why don't you sit down?" he suggested, tipping his head to the chair behind her. "You look a little shaky."

She couldn't say no, because if she didn't sit, she was probably going to either throw herself into his arms or pass out again. She took a seat as he sat down in the chair next to her.

"Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?" he asked.

"No. Go ahead."

"Can you tell me what happened when you got to the garage, Alisa? "

"I didn't see anyone around when I came down the stairs. As I got close to my car, I started looking in my bag for my keys, and I got a bad feeling. Then I heard footsteps. I turned around, and the man rushed toward me. He shoved me against the car and demanded my keys. He got impatient when I couldn't locate them, and he dumped everything from my purse on the ground." She realized she had no idea where her bag was. "Where are my things?"

"Your belongings were given to the nurse at the ER desk. She said she would get your bag to you."

"Oh, okay."

"Why were you struggling with him if he just wanted your keys?"

"He didn't just want the keys. He tried to shove me into the car. I told him to take the car and go. But he insisted I get in, and I knew if I went with him, I probably wasn't going to be found alive, so I tried everything I could to stop him from putting me in the car."

His gaze filled with respect. "Good for you."

"But if you hadn't come when you did…" She shuddered again as she thought of all the horrific things that could have happened to her.

"You were very courageous to fight the way you did, Alisa."

She was touched by his words, by the admiration in his blue eyes. Another odd shiver ran down her spine as their gazes held. "I think you're giving me too much credit," she said.

"I'm not. Did he say anything to you?"

"He just told me to get in the car and shut up. It sounded like he had an accent. You must know who he is by now. Where is he? Is he in jail?"

"He's in surgery. His name is Victor Kashin. Does that name ring a bell to you?"

"No, but I don’t know why it would. I've never seen him before. Is he a…criminal?" she finished, not wanting to say predator or rapist because that just made the memories worse .

"I haven't had time to find out everything about him, but I will."

"Why do you think he was trying to take me with him?"

"I don't know. It's possible he wanted to use you as a cover. We were looking for the vehicle he drove into the parking lot earlier in the day. We didn't know who the driver was until now. He must have seen the increased security and decided to switch cars and grab someone else to make him look like part of a couple."

She thought about his answer. "Would he have let me go after he got away? If I had gotten in the car?"

Jason shrugged. "It's better not to speculate."

He was probably right, but she couldn't help herself. "If he was driving the vehicle you were looking for, then he must be connected to your person of interest?"

"Possibly."

"Can you tell me more?"

"I can't."

"You can't or you won't?" she asked.

"Both," he said bluntly. "Sorry."

She frowned. "Well, can you tell me if this other person is going to be a threat to me?"

"I believe you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. He needed a vehicle, and you crossed his path."

"So, I was just unlucky."

"But lucky in the end," he reminded her.

"This man you're looking for must be dangerous if the FBI is involved. Is it possible he's still in the hospital? My mother is a patient upstairs, and if something is going on in the building, I need to get up there as soon as possible."

"There's nothing going on. The building was cleared."

"Then why are you still here?"

"I wanted to talk to you, to make sure you were all right."

She knew he was only talking to her as an FBI agent to a victim, but it still felt nice to have someone who wanted to make sure she was okay.

He reached into his pocket and handed her a business card with a handwritten phone number on it. "This is my personal cell phone, Alisa. If you remember anything else about the attack, please call me."

"I've told you everything I know."

"Sometimes minor details come back later when you've recovered." He stood up. "Take care."

"I'll try."

As Jason left, she stared down at his card, at his phone number. Of course, she'd never use it…but it was still nice to know she could. She was feeling attached to him, probably because he'd saved her life.

The door opened again, and her pulse leapt, but it was Georgia bringing in a wheelchair along with her bag.

"You got my purse. Thank you."

"No problem. I called Carrie to come and get you. She's waiting in the lobby. You can get your car tomorrow. I don't think you should drive tonight."

"I agree." She didn't want to go into the garage again or drive home with a sharp pain in her head. "I'm just sorry Carrie had to come back to get me." Carrie was a pediatric nurse and lived in her apartment building. They had been friends since they'd both started working at Wexford three years ago.

She felt strange getting into the wheelchair. She was used to being the nurse and not the patient, but it was hospital protocol.

Georgia wheeled her out to the ER lobby. Carrie, a fair-skinned, freckled redhead, was standing by the front desk, wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, her hair pulled up in a ponytail. They'd worked the day shift together, and it was now after nine. But Carrie had jumped into her car as soon as Georgia called. Carrie was a good friend.

"I heard what happened," Carrie said with concern in her gaze. "Are you all right? "

"I will be. I just want to go home. Thanks for coming to get me."

"Of course. I was happy to do it. I'm parked right outside the door."

"Great." As she got up, she smiled at Georgia. "Thanks for taking care of me."

"Rest and hydrate."

"I will. I know the drill."

Carrie stayed close as they walked out of the hospital. As she got into the car, she couldn't help looking at the big, shadowy parking structure in the distance and thinking about how close she'd come to losing her life.

"Are you really okay?" Carrie asked, shooting her a worried look.

She was happy to have her dark thoughts interrupted. "I will be."

"Do you want to talk about what happened?"

"I don't. Is that okay?"

"Of course. I'm sure you just want to forget it."

"That's exactly what I want to do."

"How about food? I'd offer to feed you, but my refrigerator is bare. Should we pick something up?"

"I'm not hungry. And I have food in my fridge, if that changes."

"All right."

The ride to their apartment building in Santa Monica took only ten minutes. She'd picked the location based on the easy commute. Traffic in LA could be bad at any time of the day.

Carrie lived with her boyfriend, Ray, in a two-bedroom apartment on the second floor, while she was on the third floor in a studio. After being with people all day, every day, she enjoyed having her own space, even if it was small. One day, she'd get a one-bedroom, but she had student loans to pay off first.

After parking in the garage, they walked to the elevator together, and she was grateful for Carrie's presence, fighting the urge to grab her friend's hand. She didn't think she was disguising her fear very well because Carrie gave her a sharp look when they got in the elevator.

"You're really spooked, aren't you?" she asked as the doors closed. "I should have parked in front of the building."

"No. I'm going to have to get over my fear at some point. I have to park at the hospital. I have to park here. I can't avoid garages forever."

"Maybe not forever, but for now. I'm going to go with you to your apartment and get you settled, and then I'll go down to my place," Carrie said. "Don't argue. Otherwise, I'll stay all night."

She gave her a weak smile. "I wasn't going to argue. Thank you."

A moment later, the doors opened. There were four apartments on her floor, and everything was quiet, as it usually was. A lot of nurses and medical students lived in the building and when they weren't working long shifts, they were often sleeping.

As she reached into her bag for her keys, her hand shook once more. And the keys slipped from her grasp again. "Dammit," she swore, feeling the taste of metal in her mouth as her panic increased.

"Do you want help?" Carrie asked.

"No," she said through tight lips. She finally pulled the keys out of her bag and inserted her apartment key into the door. As she did so, she couldn't help thinking about the man whose hand had held these keys just a few hours ago.

Her fingers were shaking so badly she could barely turn the key, but finally, the lock clicked. She turned the knob and practically fell into her apartment. She took several deep breaths and then set her keys and bag on the small table by her kitchenette.

As she turned around, she saw the look on Carrie's face. "He wanted my keys," she said, drawing in another hard breath. "I couldn't find them fast enough. He grabbed the bag and dumped everything on the ground and then he put his hands on the keys. "

"I'm so sorry, Alisa. You must have been terrified."

"I was, but it's over. And it feels good to be home."

She'd been thinking her apartment was way too small, but now it felt comforting to have no other rooms to wonder if someone was hiding somewhere. She could see everything, including inside her bathroom and closet because both doors were open. She needed to relax. Her attacker hadn't gotten her keys or her ID, and he was in the hospital in surgery. He wasn't coming after her. He didn't need her or her car anymore.

"Why don't you sit down, and I'll make you some tea?" Carrie suggested.

"I don't need tea. I just want to watch some mindless television. Go home, Carrie. You have to get up early for work, and I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Okay, but I'll keep my phone on. If you need anything, even if it's just someone to watch a stupid movie with, call me."

She gave Carrie a hug. "You're a good friend. Thank you." She walked her to the door, and after Carrie left, she turned the dead bolt.

Then she grabbed her phone out of her bag, trying not to look at her keys, which somehow were still disturbing to her. Taking her phone to the bed, she sat down, comforted by the pillowy softness surrounding her. Her apartment wasn't much, but her bed was a comfortable haven, and she could finally let go of her stress.

She checked her messages. There was nothing from her mother or father or anyone at the hospital regarding her mother's condition, which was good. But she still felt very much alone. She wanted to call her mother and tell her what had happened, but she couldn't do that. Her dad, however…

She impulsively punched in his number and waited for the ring, but it never came. Nor was there an option to leave a voicemail. She tried again. Same result. Her body tightened once more. She sent a text message to her dad's number. A moment later, it came back as undeliverable.

What the hell was going on? Had her father changed his number? Had his phone been disconnected?

She tried calling several more times, but nothing changed. Something was wrong, and she didn't know what to do about it.

Debating her options, she punched in Tim's number. It rang several times and went to voicemail. Instead of leaving a message, she sent him a text: Terrible night tonight. Someone tried to kidnap me from the parking garage. I'm okay but I cut my hand, and I'm really upset. Please call me. I need to talk to you.

She set her phone on the bed, waiting for him to text her back.

As the minutes ticked by, her mind turned to the man who'd saved her life. She wished he was still around. The only time she'd felt safe tonight had been with him.

But she'd probably never see him again. He was an FBI agent, and it was crazy that their paths had crossed at all. It was doubtful they'd cross again. They already had her attacker in custody, and they didn't need her to ID him. Although, she might have to talk to the FBI again when they charged him. Hopefully, he'd go to jail. And she wouldn't have to worry about him ever coming back into her life.

She picked up her phone again, wondering why Tim hadn't replied. But was it really a surprise? Things had been off with him since her mom got sick. Tim was a fun-loving guy who wasn't worth much in a crisis. She really didn't need any more information than that to know he wasn't the guy for her. But dealing with a breakup conversation was more than she could handle. Setting down the phone, she laid back and closed her eyes.

But with her eyes closed, the feeling of terror came back, and she immediately opened her eyes again. It was going to be a long night.