Chloe immediately wiggled out from beneath the staircase. Trace followed her, moving more slowly. She was pacing back and forth across the living room by the time he got to his feet. He watched her for a moment, then he walked toward the telephone.
“Wait,” she cried, reaching out to stop him.
He turned to face her. “Chloe, I know you’re upset. I know you don’t want to face the facts about your brother. But shielding him won’t help him. Ramon will just dig himself deeper and deeper into trouble.” He took a step closer to her. “I’m furious with Ramon for knocking me out, but I could probably deal with him one-on-one and leave the police out of it.”
He steeled himself against the way her brown eyes filled with hope. “But the diamonds are another matter. We’re talking about a possible felony. We don’t have any choice but to turn him in to the authorities.”
“You’re right.”
He blinked, surprised at her easy capitulation. He turned toward the telephone once again.
Chloe whirled in front of him, effectively blocking his path to the phone. “But we don’t have to turn him in yet. I still don’t believe Ramon hit you, but…” Her voice trailed off and a spark of anger flashed in her eyes.
“You do believe he stole the diamonds?”
“Yes.” She threw her hands up in the air. “Why couldn’t he have started small? A gold bracelet here, a semiprecious stone there? Instead he steals enough diamonds to land him in prison for a lifetime!”
“Wait a minute,” he interjected, slightly confused. “Did Ramon tell you he planned to rob a jewelry store?”
“Not in so many words. But I could see the warning signs.” She looked up at Trace. “Why didn’t I try harder to stop him?”
“You can’t blame yourself.”
“Yes, I can,” she countered. “I promised my mother I’d look after him the first time she went to prison. And I’ve tried to keep that promise ever since.”
His gut clenched at her words. She’d only been twelve years old and already taken on the responsibilities of an adult. “Ramon is a man now, not a little boy. You’re not responsible for his actions anymore.”
“He’s still a little boy inside. Sensitive and impulsive.” She laid her hand on his chest. “Let me find him. Let me try to convince Ramon to turn himself in. They’ll go easier on him then.”
He shook his head. “The police could be on his trail right now. I’ll bet they’re definitely on the trail of the diamonds. If they find them here, you could be considered as an accomplice.”
She tipped up her chin. “I can take care of myself.”
Trace knew it wasn’t a bluff. From the sound of it, she’d been taking care of herself since she was a child. But this was serious. Still…he couldn’t quite resist the raw appeal in her eyes.
“Twenty-four hours,” he clipped. “I’ll give you twenty-four hours to find your brother. Then we go to the police.”
She threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you! You won’t regret it—I promise.”
He didn’t regret it. Not at this very moment, with Chloe warm and pliant in his arms. He lowered his head and captured her mouth with his, hearing her tiny gasp of surprise. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her closer, relishing the way her body molded so easily against his own. Seeking an answer to the question that had plagued him ever since she’d tried to give him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Now he knew for certain.
It hadn’t been a fluke.
The same strange current arced between them—making him feel almost as if their souls were connecting as well as their lips and their bodies. It exhilarated him—and terrified him.
He broke the kiss, pressing his cheek momentarily against her hair while he regained control of his equilibrium and his breathing. “This is quite a date.”
She laughed, sounding a little breathless herself. Then she stepped out of his arms. “Short but memorable.”
He frowned. “Does that mean it’s over?”
She nodded. “If I only have twenty-four hours to find Ramon, I need to begin looking right now.”
“Do you even know where to start?”
She picked up her purse off the coffee table.
“Ducky’s Bar on Benton Street. That’s one of Ramon’s favorite hangouts.”
“Benton Street?” he echoed in disbelief. “You can’t go down to that part of town alone at night. It’s bad enough in daylight.”
She slung the purse strap over her shoulder.
“I’ll be all right.”
“I’m going with you.” He pulled his car keys out of his pocket and headed toward the door. “I’ll drive.”
She stood her ground. “I think I should handle this on my own.”
“You’re wrong.”
Her eyes widened. “I’m wrong? Just like that?”
“It’s nothing personal,” he assured her. “Many women don’t realize what’s best for them. I’ve been to Ducky’s a time or two and it’s no place for a lady. I think it’s best if I go along for protection.”
She stared at him for a long moment. “Do you know what year this is?”
“Two thousand,” he replied without any hesitation. “I already told you, I’m fine. A blow to the head can’t stop Trace Callahan.”
“Too bad,” she muttered, as she watched him walk out the door.
DUCKY’S BAR sat nestled between Eve’s Tattoo Emporium and Barney’s Bail Bonds at the far end of Benton Street. Peeling yellow paint adorned the cinder-block wall on the outside of the bar. Black paint concealed the windows and the plate-glass door, giving the building an ominous appearance.
Humidity hung heavy in the air and swollen gray clouds stretched across the sky. Trace glanced at Chloe as they walked along the litter-strewn sidewalk. She looked grim, determined, and too damn sexy.
“Hold it,” he said, stopping in front of the door. “I’ve changed my mind. You can’t go in there.”
She looked up at him. “Excuse me?”
“Go back and wait for me in the car. I’ll check out the place and see if Ramon’s made an appearance.”
Annoyance flashed in her eyes. “I’m not waiting in the car. I can’t believe you’d even suggest such a thing.”
“And I can’t believe you’d even consider going into a place like Ducky’s Bar in that outfit.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “You don’t like the way I look?”
“You want my honest opinion?” He took a step closer to her. “I love the way you look. The problem is that every hoodlum in the bar is going to love it, too. I can’t help you find Ramon if I’m too busy fighting off all your admirers.”
“In the first place,” she said, her voice low and tight, “I never asked you to fight anyone. You’re barely able to walk, much less defend my honor. And in the second place, it may surprise you to learn that not every man looks at a woman as a sex object.”
His jaw tightened. “This has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with that blouse you’re wearing. Or should I say, barely wearing.” He frowned at the way the red peasant blouse exposed her creamy white shoulders and generous cleavage. “Don’t you have a sweater or something you can put on?”
“A