Dangerous Comforts (The Ruby Danger Series Book 3) Read online

  Dangerous Comforts

  The Ruby Danger Series: Book 3

  Rickie Blair

  Contents

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Rickie Blair

  Copyright © 2015 by Rickie Blair. All rights reserved.

  Published in Canada in 2015 by Barkley Books.

  Cover design by Alex Saskalidis aka 187designz.

  The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise stored in a retrieval system, without the express written consent of the publisher, is an infringement of the copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  ISBN: 78-0-9936417-3-2

  Prologue

  Under Las Vegas

  Norris Havelock pounded through the storm drain, his sneakers kicking up water that muffled the shouts echoing off the walls behind him. His heart raced as he negotiated the slippery concrete surface, dodging food wrappers, startled rats, and sodden cardboard. Light from behind him shone off the walls at first, but faded into pitch black as he ran deeper into the drain system. Eventually he staggered to a halt, leaning against the curved wall with his chest heaving, craning his head to listen. The only sound was a steady dripping overhead. Breathing raggedly, Norris pulled a penlight from his pocket and pushed off from the damp wall. He couldn’t afford to rest, not yet.

  It wasn’t the first time he’d sneaked into the Starlight casino. He’d been caught before, too, and tossed out. But never with the fury displayed by today’s pursuer. Norris shook his head as he trotted along the drain, patting the paper voucher in his shirt pocket. Surely the Starlight could afford to give up a little loose change.

  He had spotted the voucher in the payout tray of a slot machine where a scrawny man in an aqua velour track suit sat sullenly, staring at nothing. Norris had slid onto a stool two seats over, pretending to study his own machine while watching the paper token out of the corner of his eye. With any luck, the player would forget all about it and walk away.

  Norris had just settled in when he was jerked upright by a loud Scottish burr behind him.

  “What the hell are ye doing here?”

  He twisted his head, ready to run. But the wiry man striding up to the slot machine was headed for aqua velour guy, not Norris. The Scot stopped in front of the slots player with a scowl, a burly hotel guard on either side. Norris hunched over his own machine, swiveling his eyes to watch. He recognized one of the hotel’s head-office managers who came over from London every so often to throw his weight around.

  The slots player smirked, held up both hands and swiveled on his stool to face them.

  “Just trying to raise the tone of this establishment.”

  With clenched teeth, the Scot nodded at the guards, who each took an arm and yanked the man off his stool. As the guards headed to the exit with their charge, Norris slid off his own stool and swept the voucher out of his neighbor’s payout tray in a single seamless move.

  The Scot turned to face him as Norris tucked the chit into his shirt pocket. Their eyes locked.

  Next thing he knew, Norris was racing down the stairs, through the fire exit and into the parking garage under the hotel. His pursuer puffed and panted, screaming at the guards who ran behind him. Norris’s chest heaved and burned as he sprinted through the garage. Bounding over a mound of flattened cardboard boxes, he darted into the eight-foot wide storm drain. He knew from past experience that the guards wouldn’t follow him into the foul-smelling blackness.

  Today though, urged on by the Scot’s shouts, they had trailed him for hundreds of yards, until Norris thought his lungs would burst. Even when he was sure they had given up, he rested for only a second before resuming his flight, trotting along for nearly a mile until, finally, he was home. Dark, dank and perilous—but home.

  He collapsed onto a shabby mattress raised on packing pallets, where a woman with matted blonde hair lay on her side. Twenty feet above their heads, sunlight shimmered in the 100-degree temperature of a Mojave Desert afternoon, but here the air was almost bracing.

  With a sigh, Norris rose to grab a tattered plastic bag filled with empty pop cans. He arranged them across the tunnel, one by one. The woman pushed up on one arm to watch him. She had told Norris her name was Kimberly. Later, she said it was Patricia and, another time, Zoë. Norris had stopped asking.

  “Whatcha doing?” she asked.

  “Early warning system.”

  “You said nobody’s drowned here for years.”

  “So? Could happen.” With a shrug, he sat down again and pulled the chit from his pocket to study it. Fifty-three dollars and forty-five cents. Not bad for a half hour of silver mining, but hardly worth a full-scale pursuit. Folding the chit in half, he noticed scrawled letters on the back. He peered at them under his penlight beam, frowning. He could make out only one word, onion. A shopping list, maybe? Didn’t matter. The voucher would still pay out.

  Norris tucked the folded coupon back into his shirt pocket and flipped open a rusty tin box. There was a single creased photo on the top. Turning the picture over, he ran a finger across the familiar inscription on its back. Norris and Mom, Grand Canyon, 1990. With a twinge of guilt, he laid it to one side. The only other photo, of Norris wearing his army uniform, he pushed to the bottom.

  Then he took out a glass pipe, a foil-wrapped package and a lighter. After filling the pipe, he held it with his finger and thumb while he flicked the lighter with his other hand. He and the woman passed it back and forth. Eventually she flopped back on the mattress, eyes closed. Norris leaned against the concrete wall and fell asleep.

  In the mountains that ring Las Vegas, raindrops spattered off waxy creosote shrubs and melted into streams that gathered strength and coursed into the valley. In Norris’s storm drain, an empty pop can tipped and hit its neighbor with a soft ping. Another can toppled. Ping. Then another. Ping. The cans floated past the shabby mattress as th
e stream rose and widened.

  Norris stirred, opening his eyes with a familiar rush of paranoia. He sat up, pressed his palms into the mattress and looked down. Water pooled around his fingers. Swearing, he scrambled to his feet. Empty spray-paint cans bobbed past and then a two-by-four, partly submerged.

  He yanked the sleepy woman upright.

  “We have to get out. Move!”

  Norris grabbed her arm and they stumbled toward the exit a hundred feet away. The surging water rapidly rose, soon reaching their shins. A shopping cart banged against the woman and knocked her off balance. She sprawled on her hands and knees, and Norris pulled her up.

  They tried to run. But as they sloshed through the stream, the water reached their knees. It splashed to their waists with every step, eventually lifting them off their feet, pulling them apart, sweeping them downstream. Pallets, shopping carts, pipes, and boxes hurtled around them.

  The torrent echoed off the walls and pounded into Norris’s head. He struggled through the water to the tunnel’s side, pushing away swirling cardboard. There was only one chance. Find the ladder rungs embedded in the outdoor channel and hold on.

  As he shot out of the opening, he closed his fingers around a metal rung. His outstretched body banged twice against the wall while the water rushed past, but he hung on, his shoulder burning. He dragged his other hand through the water to grab hold with it as well. He pulled himself up, gasping and choking, placed his feet on the lower rungs and climbed. After a half dozen steps, he stopped to wipe the water from his eyes.

  All he had to do now was to wait for the flood to subside.

  He turned and narrowed his eyes against the light. Ahead, where the water rushed into the next underground passage, the woman struggled to stay afloat. A box crashed against her head, her eyes rolled back, and she disappeared under the stream.

  Norris froze, his hands clinging to safety, his sodden feet unwilling to move. Then he released his hold and plunged back into the water.

  Chapter One

  Los Angeles

  Ruby Delaney clenched her fists and warily circled her opponent. He had at least eight inches and sixty pounds on her, but his bare feet made no sound as they gripped the floor. Lights glinted off the sweat on his powerful arms and shoulders. Ruby tried to control her jagged breaths. You can do this, she told herself. Watch for an opening—a wrong move, a foot out of place, a hint of hesitation, anything.

  Her opponent narrowed his lips and brought his arms up, ready to strike. He smiled with a cruel twist to his mouth and a cold gleam in his eyes.

  Ruby studied him, narrowing her eyes. One wrong move, just one, and you’re going down, dirtbag.

  His right arm lashed out in a line to her jaw.

  She jerked her chin back, evading the blow by a fraction of an inch, and grabbed his wrist. Then she yanked his arm forward and down, using his momentum against him. With a grunt, she hooked her other arm around his neck to throw him onto his back. Ruby bent over and, with one quick movement, twisted an arm behind his back to flip him onto his side. She straddled him, throttling him with one hand while tugging a knife from her belt with the other. It had to be quick, before—

  He turned his head to look at her, his brown eyes pleading.

  She hesitated.

  He twisted around, flipping her into the air. Ruby crashed onto her side, the wind knocked out of her. Then he was on top of her, with his hand circling her throat and his weight crushing her ribs. She gasped for breath. Sweat dripped into her eyes, but she couldn’t tell if it was hers or his.

  He pinned both her arms over her head with one hand, bending over until his face was inches away, his body pressed hard against hers. The mingled odors of sweat and aftershave stung her nostrils. She looked into his face, expecting to see the same cruel smile and cold dead gaze.

  Instead, laugh lines crinkled around his eyes.

  “What did I tell you about fighting on the ground, Rookie? Never, ever let anyone get you onto the ground. You can’t win there. Stay on your feet.”

  She winced. Dammit. Not again.

  “I know.”

  His eyes burned into hers. Locks of brown hair had fallen over his forehead, and Ruby found herself wanting to brush them back. He was leaning closer, his lips—

  She loudly cleared her throat, and he flushed.

  “Sorry.” He released her arms, springing to his feet. “Sorry.”

  For an instant, she wished he hadn’t moved. She closed her eyes, biting her lip. Why push him away? There was no reason why she… Then her eyes sprang open. Oh, no. She was not getting involved. She’d already had one relationship that failed—painfully and publicly. Never again.

  Ruby scrambled to her feet and brushed her own hair back from her face.

  “That’s okay,” she said, anxious to change the subject. “It’s just … I was wondering…”

  “What?”

  “Am I ever going to get this, Sam? Some days I feel as if I’m not making any progress.”

  Her sparring partner picked up a towel from the pile on a nearby bench to wipe his neck with it.

  “You’re doing great. But you can’t hesitate like that when you’re taking down the bad guy.” Grinning, he picked up another towel and threw it to her.

  “Thanks.” Ruby looped the towel around her neck, swiping it across her forehead. “It’s not my fault, though. If you hadn’t been looking at me like a lost little puppy—”

  He raised a finger to cut her off while he shook his head.

  “You can’t fall for crap like that. You have to stay focused. Forget the puppies.” His smile faded. “You’re a natural athlete and your gymnastics and dance training are a big help. You’ve done really well so far. You’ll get this last part, too.”

  “In time to film the final fight?”

  “Way before that.”

  “But Sam,” Ruby flexed her fingers, “I’m not strong enough to knock somebody out.”

  “Doesn’t matter. It’s film, remember? The person who throws the punch is not the one who sells it.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “Look,” he said, motioning for her to follow him onto the mat. “Let’s try it.” He stood two feet away, facing her. “Throw a right jab.”

  “But I’m not supposed to connect, right?”

  “I’d rather you didn’t, yes,” Sam grinned at her before he stuck out his chin, “but take your shot.”

  Ruby clenched her fist and swung, planting her feet the way he’d taught her, taking care to sweep past his face without touching him.

  Sam didn’t move.

  She leaned back on her heels, tapping her fingers against her lips.

  “That didn’t look right.”

  “No. Because I didn’t sell it. Now, try it again.”

  She swung at him once more. But this time Sam’s head and upper torso jerked back, spit flew from his open mouth, and he uttered a guttural cry.

  “Oh, my God,” Ruby said, clapping a hand to her mouth. “Did I hit you? I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m fine, don’t worry. You didn’t touch me.” He raised a hand for emphasis. “But that’s how you sell a punch. With the right camera angle and a few sound effects that swing would look like a real hit.”

  “It looked real to me,” a voice said behind them.

  They whirled to face a middle-aged man with scruffy hair and a huge grin, whose untucked black T-shirt strained over his belly. Ruby ran to meet him.

  “Philippe! No one told us you were coming.”

  “Hello, gorgeous.”

  Ruby leaned in for an air kiss. A supporting role in a Philippe Fortier action flick was a big step up for an actress whom the tabloids still mockingly called ‘Ruby Danger.’ Despite her recent appearance in a Broadway play, she was best known, even now, for being fired from a hit sitcom because of her drinking. In the first few weeks after her sister Lily’s death, everyone had been so understanding, so kind. That hadn’t lasted long. Within months, Ruby Delaney had
gone from tabloid darling to tabloid target. No matter how hard she had to work, she was determined that Philippe would not be disappointed. Ruby stepped back to beam at him.

  With a smile, he rubbed his hands together.

  “Can I see something?”

  “Of course.”

  Sam and Ruby dropped their towels and walked onto the mat where they crouched, facing each other. They performed the same routine, but this time Ruby didn’t hesitate. Throttling Sam with one hand, she plunged the knife into his back.

  “No puppy dog eyes that time,” she whispered, bending over him. Sam winked at her.

  Philippe clapped enthusiastically.

  “That was terrific.” He paused, rubbing a hand across his chin. “But it needs more. I think Ruby should be,” he widened his eyes and grinned, “airborne.”

  “Airborne?” Ruby exchanged glances with Sam as they scrambled to their feet.

  “Yes! Soaring through the air with your leg out, so you can kick Sam in the chest. Like this.” Philippe raised one leg to demonstrate and nearly toppled over. Sam pushed him upright with a hand on his back. Philippe tugged his shirt down, nodding vigorously.

  “We’ve got the green-screen stage set up for wire work anyway, so let’s use the equipment. Can you arrange it, Sam?”

  “Sure. It will take a while to work us into the studio schedule and I’ll need to choreograph it. Four or five days, maybe?”

  “Excellent.” Philippe patted Ruby’s cheek. “In the meantime, gorgeous, why don’t you take a few days off? You can come back fresh and by then Sam will have your new fights worked out.” He turned to leave.

  Ruby’s heart sank. Weeks of intense training had left her exhausted, not to mention black and blue. Now she had to learn new routines?

  “Thanks, Philippe. That sounds great,” she called after him, trying to look enthusiastic.

  Once he had left, she slumped onto a bench and looked up at Sam. He chuckled.

  “Now who’s got the puppy-dog eyes?”

  “Just when I was starting to get it, he raises the bar again.”