A horn blared and she stumbled. Headlights filled her eyes, tires screeched, but the impact never came. Quinn made it to the curb and kept running, tearing across the parking lot of the strip mall.

“Thief!” she shouted. “Somebody stop him!”

Somebody. Like there was anyone out here.

He was getting away, gaining ground. The farthest part of the strip mall was pitch-black now, dark store fronts featuring a pe-diatric dentist’s office and an eyewear shop. Beyond that, more woods. If he made it past the edge of the shops and into the trees, she’d never catch him.

“Stop, you ass**le!”

Oh, who was she kidding? She was never going to catch this guy. He was twenty feet from the curb leading to the woods. She was at least fifty and her lungs were burning.

But then, as he neared the corner, a figure stepped out of the shadowed walkway and knocked him flat. Just pow! a solid strike and the thief hit the ground. Flat on his back. She could hear him moaning from here.

“Yeah!” Quinn cried. Mr. Big Fists was getting a kiss for this.

With tongue.

But then her savior pulled out a gun. He pointed it at the thief and cocked the hammer.

Quinn skidded to a stop. “Holy shit.”

A step forward brought the gunman into the light. Short blond hair, fierce expression. Tyler.

The guy on the ground was scrambling back. “You’re crazy, man! It’s a frigging iPod! You’re—”

“Shut up.” Tyler held a lit cigarette in his free hand. He put it to his lips and inhaled, but he didn’t lower the weapon. “Give it back to her.”

The thief—thin and filthy and not much older than she was—

shoved her iPod across the concrete. He’d probably scraped the crap out of the case.

She didn’t move to take it. She couldn’t take her eyes off that gun. Her breathing felt too quick.

She should be running now, right? Saying thank you? What the hell was happening here?

Tyler jerked his head toward the road. “Get out of here, punk.” When the thief didn’t move fast enough, Tyler made a threatening move. The kid fought for his footing and ran, his feet scraping pavement.

Quinn kind of wished she could swipe the iPod and tiptoe away.

Tyler slid the gun into a holster at the small of his back and took a long drag from his cigarette. “You going to take that or what?”

Her iPod was on the ground right in front of his boots, and Quinn really didn’t want to get that close. She remembered the burning pain of his palm on her forearm. She remembered Nick telling her that Tyler had roughed up Becca.

Then again, Becca sure hadn’t thought he was scary enough to warrant telling Quinn about it.

“Come on,” said Tyler, a dark smile on his lips. “If you don’t have music, I can’t enjoy the free show anymore.”

“What does that mean?”

His eyes flicked at the woods across the street.

Screw him. She turned her back and started walking. “Go to hell.”

“I think maybe a thank-you is in order.”

“I think maybe a f**k you is in—”

“Would you take the stupid iPod?”

She whirled, hearing him right behind her. He was closer than she was ready for, and her breath rushed out of her chest.

In his hand was her beat-up iPod.

She hesitated, then took it. She wanted to fling it at him, but pride wilted in the face of practicality. It would take her forever to gather enough money to get another one. The case was scratched but unbroken, and the screen lit up when she pressed the button.

He didn’t move back, and she finally had to, lest he think she liked being this close to him.

Tyler took another draw on his cigarette. The glow lit his cheeks and turned his eyes haunting. “Scared of me, baby girl?”

“Are you aware you sound like a douche bag?”

He laughed, blowing smoke through his nose. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

“None of your business. Have another cigarette?”

His eyebrows went up. “You want one?”

No. She didn’t. She’d only ever smoked once. But she had nowhere else to go and nothing else to do and she needed something to do with her hands before they started shaking.

She gave Tyler a look. “Yeah. You have one or not?”

He pulled a pack from his back pocket and shook one free.

“Do you have a lighter?”

“No. Don’t you?”

He gave her half a smile, then put the new cigarette to his lips. He inhaled slowly, and after a moment the end glowed red and burned. A fresh burst of nicotine hit the air. Then he pulled it out of his mouth and held it out to her.

Quinn stared despite herself. “Gross.”

And somehow a little sexy, but she’d put his gun to her head before admitting that.

He cocked an eyebrow. “You were sitting next to a Dumpster last night, and now you’re afraid of a little spit. Jesus. You want it or not?”

His voice was full of derision, but challenge, too. Scared of me, baby girl?

She took the cigarette out of his hand and put it to her lips.

For a second she was worried she’d do the moronic thing and explode with coughing, but she inhaled slowly, letting the warmth travel into her lungs. She expected it to taste nasty, but it didn’t.

“Why are you out here with a gun?” she asked, easing the smoke out. “Isn’t that against some law?”

He looked vaguely affronted. “I have a permit, and I’m protecting my property. No, it’s not against some law.”