“This isn’t the first bank Harry has hit,” Chloe informed him crisply. “It’s actually number four.”
Joel stared at her. Didn’t blink. Just stared.
“I was waiting for him to come in.” Her smile flashed. Her voice was low, though, and he realized it had been low the whole time that they’d been in the closet. She was all whispery. Her whispery voice was…sexy. Why was he finding everything about her to be hot?
He was so messed up. Was this what got him going now? Pretty women with delusions? Fuck me. “And what were you going to do…” Joel drawled as he tried to get his shit together, “when he came in the bank? Chat his ear off? Become his new BFF? Because I didn’t see you stopping him!”
“Well, I was about to stop him.” Her lips curled down. “Then you heaved your body at me. Threw us both to the floor. And got us locked in this coffin.”
Coffin.
He refused to look at the tiny walls again. Joel blew out a long breath. “I was saving your ass.”
“Why?”
Ah, obviously—“Because it needed saving?”
“It didn’t.” She shook her head. Her hair danced over her cheek.
“Lady…”
“Chloe.”
“We aren’t friends. And you specifically said your friends called you that. Which probably means it’s not even your real name. You have some other name that you were legally born with, and Chloe is some weird-ass alias.” He’d just been making shit up because…hell, saying that stuff seemed fitting, with her. It also seems way possible that Chloe is not her name.
Her eyes widened. “You are interesting.”
“And you’re a straight-up psycho.” Breathe. Breathe. “Sorry. I know that’s not a clinical term, either. Sue me.” He was about to lose his mind. He had to get out of that closet. He couldn’t stay in that coffin another minute. “This is how things will go down. I’m going to get us out of here. I’m going to knock out the robber. And I’m going to make sure those people out there stay alive.”
“Oh.” She tilted back her head. Stared at him with that robotic look in her eyes again. Click. Click.
What was up with that?
“I didn’t realize you were a superhero.” She nodded. “My mistake. I guess I overlooked the cape and the awesome crime-fighting skills.”
She was making a joke? Then? With her absolute dead-pan voice?
She patted his cheek once more. Let her hand linger. “I don’t need saving. That will be point one.”
Point one? Why was she lecturing him? They weren’t in class. They were in a tiny closet. Coffin. They were in hell.
“As far as getting out of this coffin—”
“Don’t call it that,” he gritted out from between clenched teeth.
“Why not? It’s how you keep thinking of it.”
Shock rolled through him.
“As far as the coffin,” Chloe continued doggedly. “I can get us out anytime we want. That’s point two.”
He shouldn’t have come in the bank. He shouldn’t have admired her ass. Or her legs. Or anything about the woman.
“Point three…Chloe is my real name. Or one of them, anyway. My birth certificate says my name is Constance Catherine Chloe Hastings. Obviously, that’s just too many names, so I go with Chloe.”
“Great for you. Fantastic.”
“For point four, what makes you think all of those people out there need saving?” Her hand trailed down his cheek, sliding a little over the stubble he had there. So he hadn’t taken the time to shave that morning. So he was wearing battered jeans and old sneakers and a t-shirt that had seen better days.
She looked like a dream.
He looked like hell.
But she was the one saying—
“Accomplice.” Her hand dropped. “Obviously, one of the people out there is Harry’s accomplice.”
Oddly fascinated by her and this new, ever-so-unbelievable revelation, Joel had to ask, “Is that even his name? Or did you like, look at him and just think the bastard looked like a Harry?”
She smiled. A quick flash that lit her eyes. “Are you asking me if I guessed his name? I never guess.”
Uh, huh.
“But I do make educated deductions.”
Heaven help him.
Her body pressed ever closer. A certain part of Joel’s anatomy appreciated that closeness. She had to feel that appreciation, unfortunately.
“Who do you think the accomplice is?” Chloe asked.
“Ah…” He cleared his throat. Tried to stop greedily gulping her strawberry scent. “I’m…I’m not playing your game.”
“Why not? Talking to me obviously keeps you distracted so that you forget the fact you’re trapped in this tiny closet. You’re welcome, by the way.”
“Welcome? You expect me to thank you for trapping me?”