“What’s the rush?”
He skidded to a halt when he spotted her at the kitchen island, and sheer relief passed over his face before he hid it.
“Oh. Hey.” As casually as he could manage, he strolled to the coffee maker as if that had been his destination all along. “Mornin’.”
Had he thought she left in the middle of the night again?
She winced at his back as shame washed over her. She should apologize for her cowardly actions in Key West, but… Damn, it was all so embarrassing now. She couldn’t bring herself to voluntarily broach the topic with him.
“Good morning,” she said instead.
“Sleep well?”
She snorted. “When you let me.”
He turned with his mug in hand and gave a dimpled smile that would drop a nun’s panties. “My work here is—no, on second thought, forget I said that. I’m nowhere near done with you yet.”
She shook her head and tried to return to her files, but the sensual promise in his words had her heating up in all the best places. Her mind wandered to the memory of his hands on her skin, his mouth on her sex— “Whatcha working on?”
His question brought back her focus and guilt stung her. This particular file deserved all of her attention and since he walked into the room, it hadn’t gotten any.
“The Dunphy-Adams case,” she answered and flipped to the crime scene photos. If anything could douse her lust fast, it’d be those gruesome, graphic pictures. “It’s finally going to trial and my court date is next week. I’m refreshing my memory on the details.” Not that she really wanted to revisit the details—it had been one of those cases she’d rather not remember, but would probably never forget. Charles Dunphy had brutally killed Selena Adams, his eleven-year-old step-daughter, and although they had arrested Dunphy on some pretty solid evidence early on in the investigation, she’d always felt there were too many loose ends in the case. Mainly, his motive. There was no discernible reason Dunphy would want his step-daughter dead. Yet, she was, and his DNA was all over her and the knife used to kill her.
“Dunphy-Adams,” Cam said and his eyes rolled toward the ceiling as he did a mental calculation. “That was…what? Three years ago? And it’s just going to trial now?”
“The defense threw up as many road blocks as they could.”
Cam moved around the end of the island and leaned over her shoulder to study the crime scene photos. “Yeah, I remember this case. It always bothered the hell out of me that we were never able to prove his brother’s involvement.”
“Me, too, and we still can’t. Gordon Dunphy is never going to be charged unless his brother talks. And Charles hasn’t talked to anyone but his lawyer for years.” She slumped into her seat and rolled her head around on her neck in an effort to relieve the tightness in her back.
Cam’s big hands settled on her shoulders, his thumbs digging into the worst knots along her spine, and she bit back a moan at the pleasure-pain of his strong fingers kneading out the tension.
“Is Gordon still causing problems?” he asked.
“If by that you mean he’s still obnoxiously insisting his brother has been wrongfully accused? Hell, yes. But is he still attacking the lead investigators in bars? Not that I’m aware. I think he’s mostly forgotten about us. Do you still have the restraining order against him?”
Cam’s fingers stilled and she turned in her seat to look at him. “Do you?”
“No,” he answered slowly. “I forgot about it until just now. I think it expired last month.”
She studied him, instincts screaming he was holding something back from her, but she saw no evidence of it in his expression. Man had an unreadable poker face when he wanted to. “Have you had trouble with him since?”
“Nah. Like you said, he probably forgot about me. I’m no longer the threat to his brother’s freedom—the court is.” Dismissing the subject with a shrug, Cam resumed massaging her shoulders and pressed his lips lightly to the bare skin at the base of her neck. “I think you need a break. You’re all tense.”
God, it felt so good. His kneading fingers digging into her muscles, the kiss sending chills down her spine. She wanted more—his lips, his hands all over her. And, dammit, that was not a part of the deal they’d made. She moved out of his reach and shut the file on the Dunphy case.
“Cam, stop. You’re touching me like…”
Confusion drew his brows together. “Like what?”
She sighed. “Like we’re lovers.”
“We are. Didn’t we talk about this yesterday?”
“No, we’re friends with benefits. Fuck buddies. There’s a big difference between our arrangement and lovers.”
He opened his mouth, but closed it again without speaking, and his lips thinned into a hard line. He backed up a step, hands raised. “You’re right. Sorry. I got carried away.”
She nodded and busied herself with gathering up the files she had spread across the counter. Of course she was right…
But then why did pushing him away feel so wrong?
“It’s fine,” she said. “I’m going to shower. It’s stopped snowing and the roads should be clear by this afternoon.”
If he was disappointed by that news, he didn’t show it. “Oh. Good.” He picked up his coffee, drank deeply.
Good? Was that all he had to say? “So, I’m going to go home and pick up a change of clothes, then check in at work, see if they need any help.”
He circled the island, grabbed a bowl from the dishwasher, and poured himself some cereal. The lack of milk didn’t deter him. “I’m sure you’ll be busy this week.”
She watched him dig in to the dry cereal, outrage stealing through her at his offhand tone. Was he ready to be rid of her?
Man, now she kind of wanted to punch him.
She stood. “Yes, I’m sure I will be.”
“So…you probably wouldn’t want to catch a movie Friday.”
Her outrage softened into a warm glow that spread through her body. Then a horrible thought struck. “You’re not asking me out on a date, are you? Because—”
“No! No, no. Aw, shit.” He gave up on the cereal and set it aside. “I swear I didn’t mean it to sound like that. You’ve drawn the line pretty damn clear between us, and I’m trying not to cross over it. But—” He stopped and rubbed his jaw, obviously at a loss for words. “Listen, I don’t know how to talk to you now. Before, I’d just call you up and say, ‘Hey, Thor 2’s playing. Let’s go get our geek on.’ But now, feels like everything I say has a double meaning. An offer to see a movie, or grab a bite to eat, or go to Maguire’s for a beer, sounds like I’m after a date.”
Eva laughed and dropped back to her seat. “I know. I guess we have to come up with some rules for this friends with benefits thing.”
He nodded and leaned toward her, flattening his palms on the counter. “Rule one: If I suggest we go to the movies, I’m not asking you on a date. Even if we end up in bed afterward, it’s still not a date.”
“Rule two,” she said. “This isn’t a permanent deal. If you find someone you’d like to pursue romantically, we’re done. We go back to plain old friendship. We’re not cheating on anyone with each other.”
“Ah, good one.” His dimple appeared again with his smile. “Should we be writing these down?”
“Smart ass.” She gave him a playful shove, then stood. “I’m gonna shower.”
“Wait, I have another rule,” he called after her. “Three: Showers are always better together.”
“Nice try, Wilde.” Walking backwards to see his reaction, she added, “And, yes, I want to get my geek on Friday if it involves Chris Hemsworth. He’s numero uno on my freebie list.”
Cam’s eyes narrowed. “Your freebie list?”
“Yeah. If he walked through the door right now and wanted to jump in the shower with me, it’s a freebie. Not considered cheating.” She looked at the front door expectantly and waited several seconds before snapping her fingers. “Damn. Guess it’s not happening today. A
girl can dream.”
Cam pushed away from the counter and, scowling, prowled toward her. “Lemme get this straight. You’d shower with Thor—”
“In a heartbeat.”
“—but I’m not allowed.”
“I had no idea you were into tall, blond, and built Aussies, too.” Biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, she spun away and continued to the bathroom. “That could be kinda hot, but I think your shower is too small for the three of us.”
She made it to the bathroom before he trapped her against the door with his heavy weight. A thrill zinged straight to her libido as his teeth caught the sensitive spot at the nape of her neck and pulled with a little, punishing tug. Goose bumps raced along her skin and her nipples pebbled, aching for the heat of his mouth. Against her back, his cock hardened and lengthened, and she went damp with anticipation.
She chuckled. “Are you jealous of my freebie list? That breaks one of the rules of friends with benefits. No jealousy.”
“Nah.” His hot breath whispered over her ear. “I just wanted an excuse to get you naked in the shower again.”
“But that’s the best thing about friends with benefits.” She turned in the circle of his arms and wound hers around his neck. “You never need an excuse.”
Chapter Sixteen
Could the week go any fucking slower?
As the city dug out from under nearly three feet of snow, Cam held down the Wilde Security office. Vaughn was out chasing leads for his missing person case, Reece had traveled up to Philly to install a home security system as soon as the roads cleared, and Jude was still on his honeymoon. And Greer—well, who the fuck knew where he was? The way he’d been ghosting around lately, he could be on Mars for all Cam knew.
On Tuesday morning, Cam tracked down Arnold Mabry and found out from the man’s parole officer that he lived in a group home for parolees and worked as an overnight stocker at the local Wal-Mart. That night, Cam went grocery shopping. He spent some time watching Mabry work and even approached him with a question about a product that was missing from the shelves. Guy was relaxed and friendly enough in that customer-is-always-right way. No nervousness and not even a flicker of recognition.
Whoever hired Soup to kill Cam, it wasn’t Mabry.
Strike one.
On Wednesday, a fed-up housewife came into the office wanting to catch her hubby in the act with his mistress. Cam didn’t much care for the woman—she was shrill and demanding and he, frankly, could see why the husband stepped out on her. He’d only spent an hour with her and ended up nursing a pounding headache by the time she left. But he took on the case because cheating spouses were Wilde Security’s bread and butter, and he was having zero luck tracking down Tom Lindquist, who never checked in with his parole officer and was in the wind.
At first, Cam had enjoyed the peace and quiet around the office as he worked on the case of the browbeaten cheater and his very own felon version of Where’s Waldo with Lindquist. It was kinda nice not having to play referee between his brothers. And, since they weren’t here, he didn’t have to worry about some hitman coming into the office and opening fire on them in an attempt to get to him, which had been a growing concern of his since the storm ended. He’d found himself getting increasingly more paranoid whenever he was around them, checking and double checking doors and windows, making sure he wasn’t followed to the office or back home. So, the week of solitude was a pleasant respite.
For a while.
Now, though, he fidgeted with a bad case of cabin fever. Funny—during the storm, he hadn’t gotten restless. But he’d had Eva to keep him company.
Eva.
He smiled and considered calling her, but a glance at the clock in the corner of his computer screen stayed his hand. She was probably still busy in court with the Dunphy case. Besides, she’d already sent him a text saying she couldn’t wait for their non-date tomorrow, because the whole police force had been pulling double-duty since the storm ended and she was in need of some downtime.
Ah, the glamorous life of a civil servant. A small, nostalgic part of him missed those days. But the rest of him told that part to fuck off. Private investigation was a good gig that paid better and had much better hours.
And long stretches of boredom. Like today.
By mid-day, Cam had played at least twenty rounds of Spider Solitaire on the computer, caught up on all the football and hockey game highlights he’d missed, and gotten his fill of Facebook—although, had to admit, it still amused the hell out of him every time he saw the meme featuring Jude in his underwear carrying a giant iguana. A tourist had taken the photo in Key West over summer, uploaded it to Reddit, and it had gone viral. Now, it was a mainstay in the strange online world of meme-dom.
And, lookie, here’s one he hadn’t seen before.
Cam sent it to the printer and taped it to what had fondly been named The Wall of Internet Shame behind Jude’s desk.
Hah. Little bro was going to love that one.
On his way back to his own desk, he stopped by the office fridge to snag a bottle of water and considered closing up shop for the day. It was foolish to sit around here doing nothing on the off-chance that someone would stop in with a job. He could be out tailing the cheater, which was about as mind-numbing as staring at Facebook all day, but at least he’d be out of the office.
No doubt Reece would have a fit if he closed early.
Decisions, decisions.
Just as Cam sat down and twisted off the cap of his water, the front door opened and Greer stalked in, bringing a bad mood and the chill of winter in his wake.
“Cam, my office.”
Cam winced, recapped the bottle of water, and set it aside before pushing away from his desk. Greer was using his Army Ranger tone again, which meant hop-to or face his wrath. Still, Cam took the time to lock the front door before heading back, and Greer was already seated behind a disaster area of a desk when he dropped into one of the visitor’s chairs.
“What’s up?”
“Have you validated the information from your informant yet?” Greer asked.
“Uh, no.” He’d been dreading this convo, but managed to keep his wince inward. “About that. My informant died of a drug overdose last weekend before the storm. I have no way of verifying what he said.”
Yeah, it was a lie—that five hundred dollars in Soup’s pocket had pretty much put to rest any doubts he had about the validity of the information. Someone had given Soup that money and he’d most likely died because he took the down payment but didn’t do what he’d been paid for.
The contract on Cam’s head was real.
But this was one case he was going to handle on his own. It was too dangerous, and he wouldn’t risk any of his brothers getting hurt for him.
Greer didn’t explode like Cam had expected. Actually, he looked too tired to get angry about anything. Probably why he simply nodded in response. “So do you know of anyone who wants you dead?”
Cam lounged back in the creaky wood chair. “I already told you, the list is long and varied.”
And had recently grown by one with Eva’s news about the Dunphy-Adams case finally going to trial. He’d forgotten about Gordon Dunphy, but the guy, as a fairly well-off real estate broker, fit the vague description of the man who offered Soup a thousand dollars for Cam’s life.
Although, Cam had no clue why Gordon would want him dead when he no longer had any influence over the case. Hell, maybe Gordon was just a champion grudge holder. Something worth checking into later—but not something his brothers needed to worry about.
Greer eyed him over a stack of papers. “You’re not too concerned about any of this.”
“No. As I said before, it’s probably nothing. Soup used to be a good informant, but his reliability has slipped over the last few years as the drugs took over his life. I would not be surprised if he made it all up to squeeze me for money.” Cam leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “And, honestly, I’m more worried a
bout you. You could drive a semi though those bags under your eyes. Tell me the truth, have you been sleeping?”
Greer waved a dismissive hand. “Couple hours a night.”
“That’s not enough.”
“I’ve survived on less.”
“I don’t doubt that. But, here’s the thing, bro. You don’t have to survive on less. So, wanna tell me what’s going on?”
“Nothing. I’m good.”
“And I’m Iron Man. Seriously, Greer.”
Greer spun his chair toward the little window on the wall behind him, which overlooked the small fenced-in dog park of his apartment complex across the way. A woman stood bundled against the cold as her golden retriever romped through the snow drifts, and Greer focused intently on the two of them.
All right. Cam knew a dismissal when he saw one. He stood, but couldn’t make himself leave. “You ever need to talk, I’ll listen.” He got half way to the door before Greer spoke again.
“Nightmares.”
Damn. Cam paused and glanced back. His brother hadn’t moved, still watched the woman and her dog playing like his life depended on keeping them in his sight. “What kind?”
“Just…nightmares. They’ll go away. Always do.” He cleared his throat and turned away from the window, but only slightly. “Go get some legwork done on the cheating husband case. I’ll close up here.”
Cam left his brother’s office with a knot in his gut. Grabbed his jacket and cell phone from his desk and waited until he was in the 4Runner before dialing a number he’d gotten in Key West.
Seth Harlan answered after a half dozen rings, sounding wary. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s Cam Wilde.”
“Cam?” The wariness evaporated into surprise. “Oh. Hi. Uh, what can I do for you?”
“I have a question and it’s kinda personal, but I’m worried about someone, and I need to know the answer.”
A beat of silence came from the other end, and he imagined Seth mentally fortifying himself.
“Okay, I’m ready. Go ahead.”
“How did your PTSD first present itself?”
Seth sucked in a breath. “Nightmares,” he said on the exhale. “About a week after I woke up in the hospital, I started having nightmares.”
Wilde for Her (A Wilde Security Novel) (Entangled Brazen) Page 12
