--

Getting out of his car, careful not to be observed, he stealthily made his way to the perimeter of the house. To be safe, he checked the potential entrances of the home. One could never be too cautious in his line of work.

 

He wanted no surprises. After validating all areas were secure, he moved back to the front door, reaching it at the same time as a delivery guy. It was a perfect opportunity for an easy entry. Taking the long white box, careful not to crush it, he tipped him, and then knocked on the door.

No one answered.

Trying the knob, he found it locked. “So much for the simple approach,” he mumbled.
Tucking the box under his arm, he pulled out his tools, and let himself in.

“Knock, knock. Anybody home?” Clearing his throat loudly, he tried again. “Hello?
Delivery.”

No answer.

He stepped further into the house. Shutting the door behind him, he listened. A shower
was running. He started toward its source then heard a thunderous thud, some swearing, and a
scream.

His heart raced. His weapon unholstered, he gripped the black Glock and the white box
firmly. Without pausing to knock politely, he burst into the bathroom with enough force and
intensity to splinter the door.

The scream rent the air with its shrillness.

His weapon in the ready position, he was unprepared for the vision in front of him,
almost tripping over the figure that lay in a heap on the floor. Frozen in his tracks, he saw the
cause for the entire racket. A naked blonde, with arms and legs flailing, a towel twisted around
her feet. She swore like a sailor.

Her heart was going to burst from her chest and shatter like the door. The man dressed in
black that came through it slowly brought up a hand, exposing a gun. A big one. Holy shit! What
was she going to do? Frantic, she looked around, searched for a weapon. Anything.
Clumsily, she tried to get to her feet. Tangled in the towel, she kept slipping on the wet
tile floor. Her fear interfered with her efforts and attempt at modesty.

“Who. . .who are you? What do you want?”

The gigantic guy started toward her. When he bent down, she gave a swift kick in his gut.
The cowboy's hat went flying. Grunting in pain, his eyes drew together in an agonized
expression. Good, she thought. Then she scrambled away, like a crab on her hands and feet.

“It's okay,” he said in a hoarse voice. “I'm not-”

“Stay away from me! Don't come any closer or I'll really hurt you.”

Amusement flickered in the pale green eyes that met hers. Shaking, she got to her feet,
and stumbled against the counter. Making contact with her hip, she yelped in pain.
“Ruby, please-”

He knew her name. She whirled around to face him. A curling iron in one hand, blow
dryer in the other, Ruby backed away from the danger that threatened her.

“Move one inch and you'll be singing soprano.” Her voice was shakier than she would
have wanted, but she thought she pulled off the threat.

“Little lady, if I wanted to kill you, you'd be dead. See.” He raised his shiny black gun
for her view then placed it in his shoulder holster. A wave of relief swept through her, although
questions still remained.

“My philosophy is, never bring a hair appliance to a gun fight.”

His sarcastic southern drawl both annoyed and comforted.

“I‟m not the enemy. I even come bearing gifts.” He extended the semi-crushed, white box
with the big red bow to her. “He must be a really special guy to send long stem roses. You want
it?”

Michael? Would he send flowers after sneaking out in the middle of the night? “No. You
open it.”

The green-eyed giant shrugged in mock resignation, then tugged at the red bow. She
watched him warily as he untied the ribbon with his big hands. Lifting the lid from the package,
he opened it, revealing its contents to her.

Ruby took one glimpse, terror seized her like a vice gripping at her heart.
“Ruby?”

Reaching for the box with trembling hands, she managed to pull the blue note out. It read,
"Dying flowers for a dying love."

She choked back a cry, the paper silently drifted to the floor. Looking up at the pale green
eyes on the tall chestnut haired man, shock and fear, like she'd never known, coursed through
her. Something clicked in her mind.

Not Michael. Thomas, she thought with fearful clarity. Did Thomas send this guy for
her? And what was he going to do? She shivered in her skin.

Determined to find a way out, she imposed an iron control on her panic, and gathered the
courage of a condemned man.