by Lara Lacombe
James sat motionless as Steve stood, spun on his heel and stalked out the door, slamming it so hard it bounced back open. He was still sitting there when two agents from Internal Affairs stopped by for a “chat.”
That had been the last time he’d seen his friend. Steve had been found dead two days later, shot in the back of the head, execution-style. James often wondered if he could have prevented it, if only he’d stepped forward to help.
Or maybe he would have been killed alongside him.
The crunching sound of footsteps on the gravel path brought him back to the present. He shook his head to clear the memories and turned. Hopefully someone was coming who could let him into the building. A young man rounded the corner, headphones firmly in place, head bopping along to some faint techno beat that grew louder as he approached. James winced, feeling sorry for the kid’s eardrums.
Without giving him a second look, the student dug his keys out of his backpack and unlocked the door, swinging it wide so James could enter after him. “So much for security,” he muttered as he followed in the wake of the soon-to-be-deaf student. The kid peeled off down a hall to the left, leaving James standing in the foyer searching for the elevator.
He found it, a little ways down the right hall. As he reached forward to push the call button, he noticed the sign for the stairs a few doors down. Hoping the exercise would help clear his mind, he pulled open the door and started up the concrete steps. He’d focus on searching Collins’s office now, and when he was finished, he’d head back to the office to do a little more digging into Kelly’s family situation. He might even pay her another visit this afternoon, see how she responded to his questions.
Sometimes a person’s reactions told you more than their answers ever could.
* * *
Kelly let out a strangled scream, twisting as she struggled to free herself from Caleb’s grip. His other hand grabbed her arm to hold her in place.
“Stop that!” His smooth smile was gone now, replaced by an angry snarl that matched his cold eyes. He gave her a little shake that had her teeth clacking together. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Yeah, she’d heard that song before. Her thoughts raced as she struggled to recall the instructions of her self-defense instructor. It doesn’t matter how big they are. They’re all vulnerable. Go for the eyes, the neck or the groin.
His eyes and neck were out, as he had both of her arms pinned. That left his groin. Right now her legs were free, but how long would that last?
Oh, God, she had one shot at this. She had to make it count. She stopped struggling, hoping he would relax his grip. He didn’t, but his expression softened. “Good—” he began.
She drew her knee up hard, landing a solid blow between his legs. His breath rushed out in a wheeze, his eyes big and round in a face that had gone a little green.
She jerked away, but he held on, his fingers digging into her arms. “You little bitch,” he huffed out, blinking back tears. Letting out a frustrated cry, she stomped hard on his foot. He grunted, and she felt his grip loosen just a little bit.
It was enough. She twisted and pulled, coming free to land in a heap on the floor. She scrambled to her feet and managed to get a step in before she felt a hand on the back of her neck. He had grabbed her again.
“No!” She kept moving forward, felt his fingers slip and scrabble for purchase. He ripped a hank of hair from her ponytail, bringing tears to her eyes. She ducked her head down to keep her hair out of reach and wriggled out of her jacket, picking up speed as she left it behind.
She heard his angry cry and his footsteps pounding down the hall after her. She didn’t stop to look back, knowing the move would cost her time. She rounded the corner, frantically searching for another open door, any sign of occupancy that meant she wasn’t alone.
A cart was pushed against the wall up ahead, piled high with lab glassware waiting to be cleaned and sterilized. She grabbed one end as she dashed past, flinging it behind her in the hopes it would slow Caleb down.
She rounded another corner and headed for the stairwell, desperate to get away. If she could just reach the stairs... A satisfying crash and the sound of breaking glass behind her told her that the cart had done its job. Good. Hopefully, he was hurt.
She slammed into the stairwell doors, risking a glance behind her before they shut. Before she could turn her head back around, she ran headlong into something solid. Strong arms banded around her as she was picked off her feet, and she screamed, wiggling and fighting to get away.
“Kelly? Kelly! It’s James!” He shook her briefly as he spoke. She heard the voice over the pounding of her heart, recognized it from somewhere, but it took a few breaths for her to realize who held her. He kept talking, and she forced herself to concentrate on his words. James. It was James, her friend. James, the FBI agent. She was safe. All the fight went out of her at this realization, and she rested her forehead against his shoulder.
Before he could set her back on her feet, she started babbling, “Oh, thank God you’re here! There’s a man, Caleb, in George’s office, and he grabbed me and started chasing me. He tripped over the cart and I think he might be hurt.”
His lips pressed together in a thin line, and he drew his gun from the holster at his waist. “Stay here,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument. He pushed open the stairwell door, checking the foyer before stepping out into the open.
Kelly stood in the stairwell landing, her sides heaving as the gasped for breath. Her heart was still pounding, but the adrenaline rush was gone, leaving an acrid taste in her throat. She swallowed hard, fighting down a wave of nausea. Her knees felt as though they were knocking together, so she moved to the stairs and collapsed, wincing as a spike of pain shot up her tailbone.
Please, please, please, she thought, not really knowing what she was hoping for. Was it for Caleb to be caught? For him to be gone, so she wouldn’t have to see him again? For James to be safe? If Caleb hurt James, there would be no stopping him from coming after her. And since he had crashed into the cart, he’d probably be angry.
She reached a shaky hand out to the railing and pulled herself up. She had to know, one way or another. She couldn’t just sit here. If Caleb was coming back, she needed to move.
As she approached the doors, she heard footsteps in the foyer, heading her way. She scrambled back to the stairs, heart in her throat. She walked up a few stairs and pressed herself against the wall, out of sight. If it was James, he’d call to her. If it was Caleb...at least she’d have a head start.
The footsteps paused at the doors and she held her breath. She watched a slice of light grow on the floor as the door opened; the uncertainty of the moment made her want to scream in frustration. After a split second that felt like an hour, she heard his voice.
“Kelly?”
The breath whooshed out of her as she descended the steps and poked her head around the corner. James stood in the doorway, solid and strong, his presence a comfort after the crazy events of the morning.
He studied her for a moment, his serious eyes taking everything in. Suddenly self-conscious, she attempted to straighten her shirt. The sleeve and neck had gotten hopelessly stretched when she had shrugged out of the jacket, but she tried to reposition it so it wasn’t falling off her shoulder. She reached up to smooth her hair back, and his gaze zeroed in on her shaking hand.
She saw the moment he realized she was physically unhurt, watched the lines around his eyes soften and his mouth relax. If he said something comforting, she would lose it, so she spoke before he could. “Did you get him?”
He shook his head, and her stomach dropped. “No, he was down the back stairs and probably out the building before I got here.”
“So he’s still out there.”
He came forward and rested a hand on her shoulder. His palm was warm through her shirt, and she focused on that spot, trying not to think about Caleb and the fact that he was free to find her again.
“Maybe not for long
.”
Her brows drew together in a frown as she looked up at him. “What do you mean?”
He stepped back toward the door, beckoning her to follow with a wave. “C’mon. I’ll show you.”
Ignoring her still-roiling stomach, she followed him across the foyer and down the hall, stopping at the glass-cart crash site. The cart was lying on its side, and a halo of broken glass littered the floor around it. Closer inspection revealed that the metal frame of the cart was actually dented—he must have hit it while running full speed.
James stood next to a pile of glass fragments, hands on hips. “Nice job with the cart,” he said, giving her an impressed look. “Quick thinking on your part.”
“Thanks,” she murmured, placing a hand on her stomach. “Why are we standing here?”
“Because of this,” he answered, squatting down and pointing to the glass. She bent for a closer look and saw the smudges of red he was indicating. There was a smear on the tiles, along with a few crimson drops. Blood.
That did it. The stress of the morning combined with the sight of Caleb’s blood on the floor had her stomach pressing the eject button. She straightened, clapping a hand over her mouth to keep the rising bile contained.
James rose quickly, grabbed her shoulders and steered her away from the glass. “Don’t you dare puke on my crime scene!”
He pushed her into the bathroom, and she made it to the toilet just in time. When she was finished, she sat back on her heels and blotted her mouth with some toilet paper. After a moment, when she was sure the vomiting portion of the program was over, she rose and walked to the sinks. She splashed her face with water and rinsed out her mouth.
Squashing the rising embarrassment that came from almost puking on another person, she walked out of the bathroom to find James leaning against the wall, phone to his ear.
He wrapped up his conversation and turned to face her. “Sorry about that,” he said, tucking the phone into his pocket. “I’m a sympathetic vomiter, and I thought it would be better if one of us wasn’t hunched over a toilet.”
She waved off his explanation. “I’m actually glad you didn’t stay,” she confessed. “I really don’t like people to see me that way.”
“I can understand that,” he said. There was a beat of silence. “Why don’t you walk me through what happened? I’ve got a team on the way to collect evidence, but it would help if I can tell them where to start.”
She nodded, leading him back to George’s office. “He was standing behind the desk when I first saw him. I’m pretty sure he was going through the desk drawers, so you’ll probably want to dust for prints or whatever it is you guys do.”
“I’ll be sure to let the team know, Serpico.” His wry tone had her raising one eyebrow in his direction, causing him to hold up his hands in surrender. “Okay, not quite ready for teasing yet.”
“You’ll be the first to know,” she replied, hating the quaver in her voice.
“Hey,” he said. She turned aside, trying to surreptitiously wipe away a stray tear before he could see. “Hey, it’s okay.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and gently turned her back to face him. She looked down, refusing to meet his eyes until she got her emotions under control.
“I’m sorry,” he said, reaching up to smooth a hand over her hair. The kind gesture had her crying even harder.
“You had quite the scare this morning, and I can only imagine how you feel after the revelations of yesterday.” He tugged on her shoulder, and she reluctantly stepped closer. She stiffened when he put his arms around her, but after a beat she surrendered to the hug, enjoying the feeling of being held, of literally having a shoulder to cry on. Still, her pride insisted that she say something.
“I’m f-f-fine,” she sputtered, hating the show of weakness that was leaving a wet spot on his shirt.
“I know you are,” he replied. “But in my experience, shocks like the ones you’ve experienced have a way of taking a toll on the body, and you have to release the tension somehow.”
“How do you release it?”
He paused, then gave a small shrug. “I generally go for a run, then I sit on the couch with a beer and a big bowl of popcorn and watch The Goonies.”
She pulled back with a small smile. “The Goonies?”
“Yeah. It’s my favorite movie.”
“I’ve never seen it.”
He tsked in exaggerated disappointment. “For shame. You’ll have to watch it sometime. Nothing better for relieving stress.”
Maybe we could watch it together, she thought. She slammed the door to that line of thinking, but she couldn’t quite ignore her growing awareness of how his body felt pressed against hers. His hand was moving in lazy strokes up and down her back, and his mouth was pressed to the top of her head, his breath warm against her hair.
It felt so good, so right, to be in his arms again. The casual strength he displayed while holding her affected her on some primal, instinctive level, and despite the fact she’d just been attacked, she felt her body respond to his touch. Her breasts grew heavy against his chest, and anticipation raced through her limbs with a delicious shiver.
One of his hands drifted up to rest on the back of her neck, and his thumb stroked the sensitive skin just under her hairline. Her nipples hardened at the contact, causing Kelly to suck in a breath. She was mortified at her brazen response and prayed James couldn’t feel it, although given the fact she was practically glued to his chest, there was little chance of that. For crying out loud, she mentally scolded herself. He’s just trying to be nice, and I’m acting like some oversexed floozy. Time to end this hug before she embarrassed herself further.
She leaned away and wiped her cheeks, and he released her, letting her take a step back. “Thanks,” she said quietly.
“Don’t mention it,” he replied easily. If he’d felt her arousal, he wasn’t going to comment on it, a fact that made her pathetically grateful. “Ready to continue?”
She nodded and turned back to the office, then stepped inside to point out the drawers she had seen Caleb touch.
She could do this.
* * *
He had to stop touching her. All his cool, professional detachment went out the window when he touched her, and he needed to stay focused, now more than ever.
She was connected to his investigation—hell, she might even be a suspect—and he had to treat her as such. FBI agents did not go around holding suspects, no matter how much they might want to.
It was difficult to let her go. Despite the fact that only fifteen minutes ago he’d been questioning her involvement in this case, she had been attacked, and his protective instincts had flared to life. Still, he could keep her safe without touching her. Needed to, in fact, because touching her was a surefire way to distract him, and he had to be on top of his game right now.
It was when she’d started crying that he’d given up the battle.
The fact that his thoughtless teasing had set her off was what really tipped the scales. He had forgotten that she wasn’t one of the guys, wasn’t used to dealing with this kind of thing every day. Joking around was just the way they all got through it, but a civilian wasn’t as jaded.
So he had pulled her into his arms, trying to ignore the way she fit against him, the way her head tucked perfectly under his chin. The feel of her breasts pressed against his chest had nearly made him groan. The sensation short-circuited his brain and muted all rational thought. He was back on that damp sidewalk again, holding her close, drowning in the scent of honeysuckle and that indescribable note that was just Kelly.
He should have kept his hands on her back, but he hadn’t been able to resist touching her, needing that skin-to-skin contact to reassure himself she was really fine. So he’d moved his hand up to rest on her neck, the softness of her skin affecting him like a drug. When her nipples had hardened against his chest, it had taken every ounce of self-control he possessed not to kiss her or to slide his hands around to cup her feminine weight. H
is thumbs had ached with the memory of rubbing over the rigid peaks, and he was desperate to touch her there again, craving the contact like a starving man longed for food.
He’d almost sighed with relief when she’d pulled away, knowing he wouldn’t be able to keep the hug platonic much longer but not wanting to push her away if she was still upset.
She had pulled herself together quickly; he’d give her that. You’d have to look closely to see that she had been crying, and no one would guess that she had lost her breakfast mere moments ago.
His doubts about her innocence were quickly fading in light of this turn of events. If she had been involved, she would have cooperated with the guy, not run away. She certainly wouldn’t be trying to help him now. No, he decided. She probably wasn’t a part of this world.
He watched her round the desk, pointing out the things she had seen her assailant touch. A cold ball of anger had settled in his stomach at the thought of him grabbing her, chasing her down the hall. He had felt the burn of satisfaction when he’d spotted the blood on the floor. Not only was the bastard injured, but now they had his DNA.
She stopped speaking, her hand flying to her forehead, a stricken look on her face.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, wondering what she’d seen that caused this reaction.
“I just remembered.” She shook her head. “He was wearing gloves. There won’t be any fingerprints.” She looked up at him, her face a mask of despair.
Damn. That was unfortunate, but nothing they couldn’t overcome. He tried to inject reassurance into his voice as he said, “That makes things a little more difficult, but not impossible. We’ll get his DNA from the blood, see if he’s in the system. We may also get some clues from what he was looking at—it may tell us where he’s going or what he wanted.”
She nodded, still wearing a worried expression. “I’ll have them dust for prints anyway,” he continued. “Maybe he’s been in here before, without the gloves.”
She pursed her lips in thought, drawing his gaze to her mouth like a moth to a flame. “Maybe,” she said slowly. “But I don’t recall seeing him before.”
