The Borrowed Ring

He couldn't help thinking of the impeccably tailored suits and casual clothing made of the finest fabrics that he'd worn at the resort last month. Few people who had seen him then would recognize him now as the same man. Which was exactly the point, of course.

As he turned a corner into a second alley, this one even darker and smellier than the last, he tried to push thoughts of the resort to the back of his mind. There were some memories that were just too painful to dwell on. That half hour when he hadn't known where B.J. was or whether she was safe was one of those memories.

Had she had any idea of how worried he had been? How frantically he had searched for her as soon as he had managed to slip out of Drake's office during the pandemonium of the raid? How relieved he had been when he'd heard she was safe?

Maybe she'd thought he hadn't cared. After all, he'd cut out immediately, hadn't even tried to contact her to tell her personally how sorry he was that Drake had dared to threaten her.

Could she possibly know that she hadn't been out of his thoughts for more than a few minutes at a time since he'd left her, even when he had done his best to think of anything else?

I just want you to know I'm in love with you.

He doubted that she would say those words so trustingly to him now, a month after he'd abandoned her at the resort. After she had returned to the family that had no trouble showing her just how much she meant to them. The family who would protect her from danger rather than leading her into it.

It hadn't really been love, he told himself, as he did every time he heard those words in his memory. Not on her part, anyway. As for himself…

He wasn't afraid of much. But even the thought of letting himself love someone—B.J., specifically—made him break out into a cold sweat.

He winced as he reached the end of the alley. His lower back ached from a well-placed kick in the kidneys earlier that day. He'd let himself be blindsided—and he hadn't even been thinking about B.J. at the time.

Maybe he was getting too old for the life he'd been leading. He sure felt like it now.

A rustle of sound from his left was the only warning he had before someone slammed into him from behind.

Daniel staggered and almost went down, but he regained his footing at the last moment. He started to turn to fight, but someone else caught him from the other side, slamming a fist into his jaw with enough force that Daniel saw stars for a moment.

Another fist hit him in the stomach. Doubling over, he drew a deep, painfully ragged breath and came up fighting, using his fists and heavy boots to put up a defense against the two thugs who had jumped him.

Daniel saw the gleam of a knife just in time to throw himself to one side, avoiding the wild slash. He used his momentum to slam his booted foot into the guy's shin. The attacker yelped and reeled backward. Unfortunately, he didn't drop the knife.

Keeping one eye on that blade, Daniel slammed his elbow into the solar plexus of the other assailant, following that with a hard kick to the side of the knee. While that man hobbled and cursed, Daniel kicked upward toward the arm of the man holding the knife, who dodged and thrust wildly in response.

Daniel felt the slash of pain on his

forearm, the hot rush of blood, but he stayed focused on the fight. He didn't allow himself to be distracted even when he heard a yell and the sound of running feet headed their way.

“It's a girl,” the guy with the knife sneered before swinging at Daniel again. “Take care of her, Mike.”

Cursing beneath his breath, Daniel dodged and kicked out again. Great. Some woman was trying to be a hero, and now he was going to have to protect her, too, when he had his hands full fighting off the two men who had caught him so off guard—and this time because he had been thinking about B.J.

The knife wielder thrust with a sudden, forceful move. Daniel caught the man's wrist from below in his left hand, then brought the outside of his right fist down solidly on top of the guy's arm. There was a satisfying crack of bone and a howl of pain.

Daniel finished the guy off with a hard kick to the kneecap, eliciting another rather high-pitched shriek, and then he threw him aside. Scooping up the knife, he turned to help whoever had foolishly run to his rescue.

He lifted his eyebrows in surprise when he saw a slender woman in blue jeans and a bright pink T-shirt bent over the man who lay on his stomach beneath her, his arm twisted behind his back, his neck immobilized beneath her sneakered right foot.

Even as Daniel watched, she exerted pressure on the guy's neck and arm at the same time, causing him to grunt and squirm. “You're breaking my freakin' arm!” he groaned, sounding both alarmed and chagrined.

“I'm going to break your freakin' neck if you move again,” the woman advised him.

Recognition slammed through Daniel with the force of another blow. “B.J.”

She glanced at him without releasing her hold on the man she held down. “Got something to tie him up with?”

Still stunned, he automatically removed his leather belt and strapped the man's wrists tightly behind his back. The other man was still nursing his injured arm, his leg twisted ominously beneath him.

“You broke my arm,” he said accusingly when Daniel reached for him. His voice was thickened by the blood that ran from his nose. “And you've done something to my knee.”

“Consider yourself lucky I didn't fillet you with your own knife.” A bit over the top, maybe, but he couldn't let B.J. sound tougher than he did.