by Julie Miller
Though he couldn’t hear what she was saying, he could see Holly through the glass windows, clutching his coat around her shoulders yet standing up straight and pointing out information to Atticus. How the hell could she keep it together like that and function as a professional? Where did she get that kind of strength?
Sawyer’s elbow butted against his arm, nudging him from his thoughts. “You’ve got it bad for her, don’t you, bro.”
No. He couldn’t. “I don’t want to ‘have it bad’ for anybody.”
“I don’t think we get to choose who gets inside us, Ed. It just happens. And you either seize the gift that’s there and fight for it with everything you have—or you waste it.”
“When did you become the family philosopher?”
“The day I followed my big brother’s example and married the woman I love.” Sawyer pulled back his sleeve and checked his watch. “Speaking of…I need to get to an OB/GYN appointment with Mel.” Sawyer’s wife of eight months was five months pregnant with their second child. Their first child was Sawyer’s adopted son from Melissa’s first marriage.
“We’re cool. Go. I’ll call you if I need something.”
“You better. Hey, are we going to see you Christmas Eve at Mom’s? You know she wants us all there.”
“I thought you were leaving.”
“I’m going. Promise you’ll think about Christmas Eve, though. We’re keeping it low-key, just family.” Sawyer paused for one last friendly shot. “And Ed? Looks to me like this investigation is getting more and more dangerous. Maybe you ought to think about strapping on your gun and wearing your badge again.”
After Sawyer left, Edward felt an uneasy pang of envy for the second-eldest in his family as he looked forward to the birth of a child with the woman he loved. Except for the veil of their father’s unsolved murder hanging over him, Sawyer’s life had fallen into place. He had a wife, love, children, marriage. He was a good detective and a better man.
Edward had once been in that same place. How could he stand to know that kind of happiness again—knowing exactly what it would be like to lose it all?
Where did he find strength like Sawyer’s? Or Atticus’s? Or even baby brother Holden’s?
Where did he find that kind of strength?
“Call me if there are any more questions I can answer.” Holly opened the autopsy room door ahead of Atticus and reentered the lab. Then, still hugging Edward’s coat around her shoulders, a smile blossomed across her pale lips. A smile for him. “Please tell me you’re still here because you’re waiting to take me home.”
Edward nodded. “I’ll give you a ride home, Stick.”
“A ride?” Her smile dimmed. “You won’t be staying?”
“I don’t know that I’d be good company today. Besides, you need your rest.”
Her eyes narrowed as if she was assessing him under a microscope. But then she nodded and moved past him into her office. “I’ll get my things.”
He might just be able to summon the strength to leave her with a guard and her sister, and walk away once he knew she was safely tucked into bed.
But he didn’t know if he’d have the strength to stay.
Chapter Eight
He found her in the bathroom of her hotel suite, with a white, fuzzy robe strategically draped over skin that was still damp from her shower. She sat on the toilet seat with her legs propped up on the edge of the tub. And she was painting her fingernails as if she was getting ready for a Christmas party, not the confrontation he expected from an emergency summons like this one.
He had an idea that, no matter how hot the water ran from the faucet, nothing but ice would ever run through this woman’s veins.
“Did you get it?” he asked, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his collar.
“I have it right here.” She dug beneath a badge and chain and the other trophies she’d collected and pulled a small clear plastic bag from the trinket box beside her. She tossed the bag to him.
“Looks like one of mine,” he confirmed. He held the bag up to the bright lights of the vanity. The surface of the bullet inside the bag was uneven, as if parts of it had been chipped away, fracturing the cohesive elements that held the casing together in its cylindrical shape. “It looks as though Dr. Masterson ran some tests on it.”
“Don’t worry. I destroyed her research notes as well as all of the vials she’d been working with.” She held her hand up in front of her and splayed her fingers, frowning as she inspected her handiwork. Then she squeezed out a dollop of scented hand cream and rubbed it into her skin. “I do hate having to wear gloves all the time. My skin is cracking from all the sanitizing I had to do this evening. And your winters here in Missouri wreck my hands.”
This would be the perfect opportunity to reintroduce his idea about retiring from the business and setting up a permanent vacation home on some tropical island together. Only, the thought of spending the rest of his life with this woman no longer held the appeal for him it once had.
Oh, there was something shamefully irresistible about the way she displayed her body for him. His lust for her bombshell figure and bold lovemaking would probably never abate. And he’d never had any complaints about the insane amount of money she’d made since their partnership had begun.
But this evening, watching her primp and pamper herself while an exclusive Hayley Resnick news story about a vicious attack on one of KCPD’s local criminalists played on the early evening news, he truly understood how ruthless this woman could be. Relaxing his guard around her would be a bad idea. Believing that she would ever put his needs or wishes above her own would be a stupid one.
“Did you kill her when you retrieved the bullet?”
“Didn’t have to.” She blew on her nails. “She never saw me, and I left a very tidy crime scene behind me.
“However…” She capped the tube of hand cream and stood, tying the front of her robe together as she approached. “I’d like to know who the incompetent was who allowed that woman to get her hands on one of your inventions in the first place.” She walked right up to him, sliding her body against his. “I want that person eliminated.”
Lust and contempt crawled in equal parts through his body. “What if I told you I was responsible for the lapse in security that allowed Kincaid and his doctor girlfriend to get their hands on a disintegrating bullet? Would you believe me?”
“Were you?” She smiled at the idea. “That’s awfully nostalgic of you, dear. Seems I remember a time in the past when you played both sides of the fence, too.” She walked her newly painted fingers up his chest and tapped his lips. “Everyone in Z Group believed that Irina Zorinsky Hansford was the double agent. They even plotted to kill her to eliminate the danger she posed to all of their operatives in the field. But you were the double agent, weren’t you, dear. No one but me has ever known that truth, have they?”
It was a fact she never let him forget. Keeping his secret all this time meant that he had to keep hers, as well. And do her bidding, no matter how the taste for this kind of work had grown bitter over the years.
“I’ll move the remaining supply out with one of the European shipments tonight. If KCPD comes back with a warrant to seize another sample, I can claim plausible deniability.” Her penchant for using the untraceable bullets to complete her handiwork with a gun made it imperative that the police never make the connection between Irina’s staged murder and Caldwell Technologies’ link to Z Group. “Will that suffice?”
“For now. But even the fact that you would joke about giving information to the Kincaids concerns me. It makes me wonder exactly which side of the game you’re playing. You’re not letting your interest in the wholesome Widow Kincaid affect your loyalty to me, are you?” She trailed one red-tipped nail around the edge of his collar. For such a beautiful woman, the skin on her hands—with their scratches and patches of red, irritated skin—really did show the hazards of her trade. “Her noble, departed John will always come first for her. You underst
and that, don’t you, dear?”
Perhaps if this woman had ever shown him real love beyond their intense physical compatibility, he might not be having second thoughts about their alliance. He sifted his fingers through the long, curling locks of her hair. “And the money will always come first for you, yes?”
“I don’t want to give up the money any more than you want to go to prison. That’s the way it has always worked between us. And if there is any problem that arises—be it a nosy detective or an employee who threatens to talk about the operation or you having second thoughts about our arrangement—I either hire someone to deal with it, or I take care of it myself.” She untied her robe and let it slide off of her naked body. Whatever was left of his conscience was doomed as she stretched up to kiss him. “So don’t become a problem, dear.”
“LOOK. I FOUND THE ONES WE made when we were kids.”
“Mom kept everything, didn’t she?” Holly cradled a cup of tea between her palms, trying to keep her focus on Jillian’s tree-decorating adventure, and not on the gravel-voiced detective who was pacing back and forth in her kitchen.
Edward had spent the night on the very couch where she was sitting now, never complaining about the discomfort of a bed that was too short, never saying much of anything beyond the perfunctory “This will do” to the blankets and pillow she’d brought him last night and the “Thanks” to the coffee she’d served him this morning.
It was as if the closeness she’d felt when he’d pulled her out of the morgue bin yesterday had never happened. She’d seen a savior. Warmth. Security. For the hours immediately following her rescue, Edward Kincaid had been a solid rock she could cling to. She’d been so afraid, practically losing her mind with a newly discovered claustrophobia and the cruel torment of the ringing phone.
But then Edward was there. His husky voice comforted her as no other sound could. His arms had given her a chance to surrender her survival armor long enough that she could begin to calm and heal inside. A glance from those gray eyes across the lab reminded her that she wasn’t alone. A steady hand to hold while the EMT had cleaned and sutured her scalp had made the pain bearable.
A kiss had made her feel she was loved.
But the man who’d driven her back to her apartment and promised to stay until a new guard could be posted outside her building was a far different man than the one who’d rescued her, shielded her and loved her.
The detective in her kitchen needed a shave, some fresh clothes, and a swift kick in the pants.
Didn’t he realize that she wanted him here? That she would have welcomed him in her bed to hold her through the night or at her breakfast table to share a conversation, or on the couch beside her, just to be near him? She supposed this professional distance he insisted upon was due in some small part to the fact they had a chaperone in Jillian staying with her over the holidays. But she sensed that something far more complex than propriety had turned him into the cold-eyed watchdog stalking through her apartment.
He was already on his third phone call this morning, and it wasn’t even eight o’clock. “Yeah, I can be there for the briefing,” he promised someone. “But I may be running late. I have to make a stop first. One of my informants thinks he’s on to something. No, I don’t need backup for…”
“Hello? Earth to Holly.” Jillian’s amused voice finally registered after Edward disappeared into the kitchen again.
She set her tea on the lamp table beside the couch and turned back to her sister. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“I was asking what you think.” Jillian gestured to the tree behind her where she’d been hanging the ornaments from the boxes Holly was opening for her. “I’m grouping the ornaments into themes this year. Angels near the top. Reindeer in the middle. And Santas on the bottom near where the presents will be.”
Holly summoned a halfhearted smile. Jillian was trying hard to be the big sister here—giving her a sedentary job that allowed her to rest for the day, entertaining her with family stories about the ornaments as she hung them on the tree and distracting her from Edward’s cold shoulder.
She did her best to play along. She pointed out a hole where Jillian could hang another Santa and teased her. “So, you think you’re getting presents?”
“Please,” Jillian scoffed. “I’ve seen your closet. Either you’re planning on decorating a Plaza storefront window or you’ve been shopping. I’m figuring at least one or two boxes out of that stack is for me.”
“Snoop.”
“Shopaholic.”
“Stick?”
Holly nearly sprang up off the couch at the sound of Edward’s voice behind her.
He held up a hand, apologizing for the start and telling her to stay put. She stood up anyway, glad her vision had stopped spinning with every sudden movement this morning. “You’re leaving?”
He’d pulled his coat off the back of her dining room chair and was shrugging into it. She circled the couch, hoping to glimpse some hint of regret in his eyes. But all she saw was cold, efficient cop.
Edward buttoned his coat as he walked to the door. “I need to run an errand, and then I’m meeting with Kevin Grove, the detective who’s heading up the investigation into Dad’s murder.”
“I know Kevin.” She followed him. Despite her confusion over the relationship signals Edward was sending, her own investigative curiosity kicked in. “Has there been a new development? Do you think my attack is related to your father’s murder?”
“I can’t say for sure. But Grove is bringing in Bill Caldwell and Blake Rivers for questioning—nothing official—and he’s hoping they can share enough data about the disintegrator bullets they developed to justify seizing one as legal evidence.” He pulled his leather gloves from his pockets and slipped them on. “Grove wants me there as a consultant to see if I can talk Bill into cooperating. Otherwise, we probably don’t have enough grounds for a search warrant.”
Holly held the door when he opened it, wishing she’d been invited to that meeting as well. “Even if my attacker took all my notes and samples, my memory works just fine. That bullet dissolved into nothing when I combined it with human blood. I’ve never seen anything else like it. If it’s not the same make of ammo I pulled out of your father and the other victims, then I’ll surrender my M.E.’s license. Someone at Caldwell Technologies is working for Z Group—and killing off anyone who can connect them to it.”
Her certainty seemed to finally break through his stoic facade. He paused in the hallway and turned with a nod. “I know you’re right. In my gut, I feel it. But neither my gut nor your experiments will make our case. I need to find another way to trip up Z Group.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
He reached out and cupped the side of her neck, stroking his thumb along her jaw. Relief and reassurance swelled inside her and she turned her cheek into the soft leather and firm hand. “Just stay safe,” he whispered, in that growly timbre she craved. “There’s a patrolman in a car outside. If you go anywhere, he goes with you.”
Holly nodded her understanding.
“Remember, the E.R. doctor who double-checked you last night said you should take it easy today.” He inclined his head toward her doorway. “Relax and spend time with your sister and concentrate on the tree and getting ready for…” He just couldn’t say the word, could he? He fixed a smile on his lips for her benefit. “Decorate to your heart’s content, okay? Temple has the tests under control at the lab and I’m doing some legwork. I’ll call you as soon as I find out anything.”
“Thanks for keeping me in the loop.” At least.
He leaned in and kissed her cheek in a tender, unsatisfying, awkward goodbye. As he released her, she reached out and fastened the top button of his coat. She turned up the collar to keep him warm and then tugged him close.
The kiss she gave him was brief and hot and shameless, offering everything she felt inside.
Pulling away, he gave her a slight nod. Meaning what? He understoo
d how deeply she cared? He agreed that things had gotten decidedly complicated between them yesterday, and uncomfortably awkward for them this morning? Or maybe it was just a twitch and he didn’t understand anything about what was happening between them at all.
Holly retreated into her apartment, and he pulled the door closed behind her. “Lock up,” he ordered.
She didn’t hear him walk away until she had both the chain and dead bolt in place.
“He’s a barrel of laughs today, isn’t he?” Jillian appeared from behind the tree, adjusting a spiral of garland to make room for another ornament. “I can’t tell if he’s gone all Terminator on us because he thinks he has to do that in order to protect you, or if he’s just not a morning person.”
“He was pretty distant last night, too,” Holly pointed out, reluctantly dismissing the morning person theory. There was something eating at Edward from the inside out. But since he wouldn’t talk and she couldn’t read minds, she could only guess at what had put him into such diehard cop mode.
She picked up the folded blankets he’d used and carried them to the linen closet between the two bedrooms. His familiar masculine scent lingered in the wool, warming and saddening her at the same time. She was falling in love with the gruff, flawed, complex man. And on some level, she knew he cared about her. The clues were there in the way he touched her and kissed her and insisted she be safe. It was almost as though his feelings were there for her, too. But he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—act on them for some noble or fearful or completely selfish reason.
He claimed he wasn’t a cop anymore, but his actions showed that he was, through and through.
Once he admitted that truth to himself and the world, then maybe it would be easier for him to admit that his heart was still in good working order. After the tragedies he’d endured, he was entitled to be cautious about caring again. He might have a limp, he could still walk. Even without his cane. He might be wounded inside, but he could still love.
