by Jami Alden
She took several deep breaths, trying to calm down before she succumbed to a full-fledged panic attack. The third one in two days.
She’d had her first attack three years ago, the week after Sean was arrested. At the time, she’d been convinced she was dying. She’d had them on and off throughout the year of his trial and had finally overcome them after a brief stint in therapy and a couple months on prescription antianxiety meds.
She hadn’t had one in years; then—bam—the other day after she’d left Club One, it had hit her like a freight train. At least this time she knew what was happening. She knew she wasn’t dying and had the presence of mind to pull over before she plowed into a parked car. Though she’d shaken off the attack, a looming sense that her world was about to come to an end stayed with her.
p height="0em" width="27">Because it would. Unless she could figure out a way to keep the needle out of Sean’s arm. She abandoned her coffee on the counter and lurched back to her table on legs that threatened to buckle with every step. Her heart rate had nearly slowed to a gallop, but a large masculine hand clamping around her forearm sent it back to warp speed.
She gasped and jumped about a foot. Her elbow flew into a rib cage and the crash of a trayful of dishes echoed through the small café, permeating the deep thrum of her own heartbeat.
“What the hell is your problem?” a sharp, feminine voice snapped behind her.
“Megan, are you okay?”
Megan looked up at her would-be assailant and felt like an idiot. Nate Brewster stared down at her, his clear blue eyes dark with concern. He slackened his grip and moved his hand up her forearm in a light caress. “Sorry if I scared you. I thought you were about to fall.”
Megan tried to slow her breath so she wasn’t panting like a greyhound and shook her head, willing away the irrational fear that clawed its way through her insides. “No… I’m just really jumpy.” She looked down and saw ceramic fragments at her feet. Heat rushed to her cheeks when she saw a waitress with full-sleeve tattoos kneeling on the floor, wiping up a puddle of coffee.
“Oh God, I’m sorry,” Megan sputtered, and started to sink to the floor to help.
“Don’t worry, I got it,” the waitress said.
Nate took out his wallet and, ignoring Megan’s clumsy protests, handed the waitress a ten. “For you.”
The waitress gave him a surprised smile and stuffed the bill into her apron.
Humiliated, Megan let Nate guide her to her chair, grateful for a steady hand as she lowered herself on still-shaky legs. “I’m really sorry,” she began.
“No worries.” Nate flashed her a smile worthy of a toothpaste commercial. His vivid blue eyes still held traces of concern. “Talk to me.”
Megan shrugged and pushed back a lock of hair with shaky fingers. “I’ve been having panic attacks. I thought I was over them but…”
“Not surprising with everything that’s happening.” He heaved a sigh. “I know how hard you must be taking all of this.”
Megan’s spine stiffened and she looked for signs of pity or condescension on his face, but saw only concern.
“I just don’t understand why he gave up.”
Nate shrugged. “I have no idea what Sean must be going through in there, but I imagine being locked up like that, especially for a guy like Sean, would mess you up pretty bad.”
Megan swallowed around the lump lodged in her throat and nodded.
Nate reached over and gave her hand a quick squeeze. “Let me get you something to drink.” He took her drink order—decaf this time—and walked up to the bar. Megan watched him move through the crowd, standing out like a preppy beacon among a sea of hipster black, grunge flannel, tattoos, and piercings.
No one could deny that Nate Brewster was easy on the eyes. Though he was big—almost as big as her brother—he moved with the easy grace of an athlete. With his blond hair, blue eyes, and finely chiseled features, Nate had always reminded her of some kind of Nordic aristocrat. His was the kind of handsome that could have almost been called pretty if the rest of him hadn’t been so masculine.
Totally the opposite of Cole.
No! You are not about to ruin a perfectly good coffee date brooding over you-know-who.
She couldn’t get Cole’s face out of her mind, with his dark, almost black hair and eyes. Rough-hewn features just this side of craggy. Nothing pretty about that face. And yet…
Just thinking about him made her stupid. Especially considering the role he’d played in making her life a living hell.
The role he was still playing.
Nate returned with two full mugs and a plate holding two biscotti. “Here,” he said. “If you’re this shaky, you should have something to eat to absorb the acid.”
A warm feeling washed through her. Unfamiliar, but… nice. Funny that such a small gesture could mean so much, but it had been so long since anyone had looked after her that she’d forgotten what it felt like.
Nothing dramatic. But it was nice. And right now nice was about all she could deal with.
“I owe you an apology,” Nate said, looking at her a little sheepishly over the rim of his coffee mug.
“What for?”
“For being out of touch for so long. For not making more of an effort to keep in contact with you.” He was silent a beat. “And Sean.”
Megan curled her hands around her coffee cup and gave him a feeble smile. “It’s all right. As for Sean—” She broke off, her eyes suddenly stinging with tears and the knot in her throat threatening to close off her breath. “He won’t see anyone. Not even me.” Not even one last time before he died. She refused to blink, afraid it would break the seal on her tears and then she’d really lose it.
“Look, I had to go away for work, but I could have done more,” Nate said. “So when I heard about Sean’s decision, I thought maybe you could use a friend.”
Megan nodded. “You were right.”
There was an awkward moment of silence; then Nate spoke again. “I know the circumstances are totally screwed up, but it is great to see you again. You look—”
“Like shit,” she said with a wry smile.
“I’ve seen you look better,” he conceded. “But you’re beautiful, Megan. You always have been.”
His smile had faded, and she squirmed a little under his suddenly intense look. “I have a mirror. Don’t try to flatter me.” She lowered her gaze to the table and took a long drink of her coffee.
“I can’t imagine how hard this must be on you.”
She nodded, grateful he dropped the subject of her looks and supposed beauty. Though Nate was pleasant company, she’d seen the undeniable spark of attraction in his eyes and wasn’t prepared to go there.
“Yeah,” she said with a mirthless smile. “The last few years have been pretty much all about work.” She gestured at her mostly blank laptop screen. “I’m supposed to be writing an article. You can see how far I’ve gotten. And when I’m not working, I’m…” She hesitated. She hadn’t known Nate all that well before Sean’s arrest.
All he has to do is read a newspaper to know that’s what the rest of the world thinks. May as well lay it all out there early.
He raised a curious eyebrow and gave her an encouraging nod.
“The rest of the time I’ve spent searching. For evidence, a lead, anything that could help me prove that they were wrong about Sean. There’s no way he could have murdered that girl.”
Megan’s stare was a challenge.
Nate nodded. There was no surprise, no doubt, and thank you God, no fucking pity. Like her conclusion was perfectly logical.
“I hired a private investigator, but we never got any leads,” she said, upping the ante. “But I know in my heart Sean is innocent.”
Nate merely nodded again as he finished off his biscotti. “Who did you use?”
“Use?”
“What investigative service? Someone local?”
“Parker and Fishman,” Megan said.
Nate dus
ted the crumbs from his hands with a mild look of disgust. “They’re a bunch of hacks. Good for a basic background check and not much else.”
Megan chuckled weakly. “Wish you’d been around to tell me that before I spent six thousand dollars with them.”
“I’ve worked with Dennison Investigations,” Nate continued. “I like to know the details of who I’m doing business with before I do a deal. Dennison always delivers. They get booked up solid, but I’ll make sure they’ll see you.”
Not that it would do any good. Megan had contacted Dennison right after Sean was arrested, only to find out they were way out of her price range. Nate’s computer-consulting business must be doing pretty well if he could afford to use them regularly. “Thanks for the offer, but I kind of blew my budg on the other guys. Anything I find now will have to be on my own.”
Nate’s dark blond brows knit above his blade-straight nose. “Wish I’d known that.”
Megan waved him off. “I didn’t tell you. Like I said, I closed off anyone and everyone who wasn’t willing to jump on the ‘Sean is innocent’ bandwagon. You had your own life to deal with.”
“But Sean was my friend, and I turned my back on him. And you. I’m sorry for that.” He reached across the table and covered her hand. His fingers were warm as they lightly caressed the back of her hand. “Go ahead and call Dennison. If you’re worried about money, let me contribute.”
Megan’s hand jerked in surprise. Nate’s fingers tightened to keep it in place. “That’s… that’s really generous of you,” she sputtered, “but I don’t think—”
“Megan, compared to the amount we already spend with them, your case would be nothing.”
Megan shook her head, momentarily speechless. She wanted desperately to take him up on the offer. The idea that she could have one of the top private investigation firms in the country at her back was an overwhelming temptation. But it would also put her in Nate’s debt, to the tune of tens of thousands of dollars. “That’s too much—”
“It’s not just for you. It’s for Sean too.”
Oh, he really knew how to stab at her heart. Still, she and Sean had always fended for themselves, never accepted a handout from anyone. She didn’t like the idea of being so deeply obligated to Nate.
As she opened her mouth to respond, she froze at the sight of a tall, masculine figure weaving its way through the crowded restaurant.
Everything about Cole shouted cop. The way he moved through the room, unconsciously in charge, the way his dark gaze took in every detail of every person in the crowded café. Megan wasn’t the only one who noticed it. The mostly student crowd darted furtive glances his way, careful not to make eye contact, shifting uneasily on their chairs as though afraid he was going to sniff out the dime bags and stray Vicodins stashed in their beat-up backpacks.
But Cole had only one target today.
Megan swallowed hard as his dark gaze locked on her, focused, intent. His already grim expression darkened as he assessed her companion. His eyes narrowed to icy black slits when he saw Nate’s hand covering hers.
Her core temperature went up about ten degrees, and her stomach did that stupid flippy thing it always did when he was around. She jerked her hand from Nate’s, then cursed herself for caring that Cole caught her holding hands with another man.
“I need to talk to you,” Cole snapped without preamble, not even bothering to acknowledge Nate.
Nate, ever the gentleman, gave a guarded smile and said, “You know this guy, Megan?”
“Nate Brewster, meet Detective e Williams.”
Nate stood and offered his hand. The two men briefly shook, all the while eyeing each other like two fighters circling the ring.
If it came down to it, they would be evenly matched. Cole had Nate on height by a couple inches, but Nate matched him in sheer muscular bulk.
“How did you know I was here?”
“I stopped by your place. Mrs. Makowski said she’d seen you take off with your laptop case. I figured you might be here working.”
Megan swallowed hard and told herself it was of no significance that Cole remembered her favorite work-away-from-home spot. None whatsoever. She pasted a smile on her face and gestured toward Nate.
“Nate’s an old friend of Sean’s,” Megan said. “And, Nate, you might remember Cole as the man who arrested Sean.”
“Sorry to interrupt whatever it is you have going on here,” Cole said, not even trying to sound sincere, “but Megan, I need to talk to you. It’s important.”
Megan settled back against the firm wooden frame of her chair and folded her arms. “So talk.”
“Alone,” Cole added, not so much as offering an apologetic glance at Nate.
Megan fought the impulse to do exactly as he asked on the tiny scrap of hope that he might actually be willing to help her this time. She damn well knew better, after all this time. Still, she couldn’t completely squelch the burst of anticipation. “Is it official police business, Detective?”
His full lips flattened into an irritated line. “Not exactly.”
She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. If he wouldn’t give, neither would she. “Well I’m busy with my friend, and I think you said everything you needed to say in your office the other day.”
Cole blew out an impatient breath and hooked a thumb in his waistband, a gesture that flipped his leather coat back just enough to provide a glimpse of his Glock tucked securely in a shoulder holster and the badge clipped to his waistband. Megan wasn’t sure if the gesture was deliberate, but it and the hard look at Nate had the desired effect.
Nate pushed his chair back. “It’s not a problem,” he said, his affable smile not quite reaching his eyes. “I really need to get back to work anyway.”
“Nate, you don’t have to go,” Megan said, reaching out to stop him as he stood.
Don’t leave me alone with him, she wanted to plead. Instead she stood, too, and let Nate pull her into a hug tight enough to push the bounds of friendly. Though the hard press of Nate’s chest against hers didn’t exactly set off bells and whistles, she let the hug linger a few seconds longer than she might have otherwise.
And felt the tight curl of satisfaction in her gut at the flash of heat in Cole’s eyes. It was gone in a nanosecond, shoved behind the wall of his impassive cop’s gaze, but she knew what she saw.
“Think about what we discussed,” Nate said. He dropped his arms but trailed one hand down her forearm to loosely grasp her hand.
“I will,” Megan said.
“Seriously,” Nate said, giving her hand a shake for emphasis. “And if there’s anything I can do, day or night, you call me. I’m here for you, Megan.”
He left with a wave. Megan watched his tall form weave through the crowd, bracing herself as she turned to face Cole.
Any feelings of warmth or reassurance she might have enjoyed from Nate’s words fled when she looked at Cole. His face was perfectly neutral, but she didn’t miss the way his eyes tracked Nate across the crowded café. Quietly watchful, like a predator stalking his prey.
Unease prickled her skin as he turned that dark, assessing stare on her. “So what’s so important?” she snapped, and started to sit.
He stopped her with a sharp shake of his head. “Not here. Somewhere private.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Let’s go back to my place.” She shut down her laptop and shoved it into her computer case. Cole waited and gestured for her to walk in front of him. The crowd had peaked with the lunchtime rush, and she had a hard time weaving her way through. She stiffened when Cole’s hand rested lightly on the small of her back, fighting the urge to jump even as a tiny—okay, not so tiny—part of her relished the way he used his body like a human shield, using his size and authority to magically open a path through the throng.
He’d always been able to do that, make her feel safe and protected just by being in the same room with her.
Right. Safe and protected until he brought you
r whole world to a crashing halt.
She put as much distance between them as she could and rushed to the door. A light drizzle was falling, and the cold, moist air felt good on her overheated skin. “Do you mind telling me what all this is about?”
“You want information. I have it.”
She cocked her head to the side, unsure she’d heard him correctly. “You mean the information about the other victims?” Even if he hadn’t been so adamant, she knew Cole. No way would he break the rules. Not for her. Not for anybody.
No wonder, then, that his reply made her feel like she’d been hit with a Taser. He leaned in close and spoke so softly she strained to hear. “I pulled the autopsy and crime scene reports for you. Now, do you want to keep standing out here in the rain, or do you want to get this over with?”
Chapter 7
Megan popped open her umbrella, then handed it wordlessly to Cole to hold. He held it up, and she scooted under for the short walk back to her place where his car waparked. She stood as far away as she could and still remain under the meager shelter of the umbrella.
That left a good two inches between them. Close enough that Cole could catch the scent of her shampoo emanating from her rain-damp hair. Close enough to see the baby-fine curls springing from her tight braid, tempting him to coil one around his finger to see if it was still as silky soft as he remembered. Close enough to swear he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin, even through the layers of his jacket and her shell.
He tightened his grip around the umbrella handle, trying to summon up some self-control. Inside he was a seething mass of messy emotions, ranging from lust to guilt and a lot of other stuff he didn’t even want to put a label on. Feelings for Megan he thought he’d buried. He shoved it all down, so far down he’d thought they had all but disappeared, except for a few wistful what-ifs every once in a while.
