by Julie Miller
And what was she going to do about her brothers and dad? She didn’t want to worry them. But good grief, she was on the brink of thirty and they still thought they had to watch her every move and soothe every bruise or insult or...
A shuffle of footsteps and murmur of conversation got louder outside the door. Olivia swiped the wetness off her cheeks and turned her head, bracing for the intrusion.
“The room’s occupied right now.” That was Gabe warning someone away from the door. “Detective Watson is working on... She’s working.”
“Not a problem.” The voices moved on. “Atticus, let’s put him in room six.”
Something shifted inside her at the protective gesture. It wasn’t as physical as Duff clearing a path for her through the lobby. And it wasn’t the fact that a man was standing guard outside that door. Gabriel Knight had listened to what she’d asked for—to what she’d practically screamed at him—and taken her at her word.
Olivia inhaled a deep breath, and felt the tension inside her relax. She wondered for a split second if there was an ulterior motive to Gabe giving her the time she needed to regroup. But she decided it didn’t matter. He’d listened to her and respected her request. When was the last time her father or grandfather or big brothers or Marcus had done that without her having to put up any kind of fight? Or give some kind of reason or reassurance?
He’d simply given her what she needed.
She took another easy breath, and another, feeling more and more like the Olivia Watson she wanted to be with every passing second.
When Gabe knocked on the door—at five minutes on the dot—and asked, “Is it safe to come in?” Olivia was on her feet.
She opened the door, wrapped her hand around the lanyard that held his visitor’s ID and press pass and pulled him inside. Once the door was closed, she gave another tug, pulling his head down to hers as she stretched up to kiss the corner of his mouth. His skin was smooth this time of the morning, his sculpted lips warm and firm beneath hers. “Thank you.”
His lips chased hers as she sank back onto her heels and pulled away. Gabe’s blue eyes darkened and an answering fire kindled low in her belly. Yeah. She wanted this, too. Olivia slid her fingers around his neck, sliding them into the silky thickness of his hair, pulling herself back to his mouth to resume the kiss.
Only this was no grateful peck. Gabe’s mouth moved over hers, the softness of her lips giving way to the demanding pressure of his. A flick of the tongue and her lips parted, welcoming his heat and passion into her eager mouth. His hands skimmed beneath her jacket, finding the nip of her waist between her gun and the sling that cradled her arm. She felt the imprint of each hand on her skin through the blouse she wore. The heat of each palm, each grasping fingertip was a vivid reminder that she was a woman beneath the trappings of first aid and her job. Goose bumps prickled across her skin at the liquid heat he was stirring inside her and she pushed up onto her toes, taking more from the kiss.
And while she suckled his lower lip between hers, Gabe widened his stance and pulled her hips into his. But the resulting friction of denim rubbing against denim wasn’t enough for either of them. With a garbled moan that was as deep-pitched as his sexy voice, he walked forward until the crease beneath her bottom was wedged against the table. She felt the imprint of his belt buckle at her stomach, and the thick desire of his own response pressing into the cradle of her thighs. The molten desire unleashed by his hands molding her against his harder body seemed to gather and build a ticklish sort of pressure in her most feminine parts.
And the kiss went on.
Gabe tugged the hem of her blouse from her belt and slid one hand beneath the material to splay like a fiery brand against the small of her back and pull her impossibly closer. The other hand came up to caress the fringe of hair at her nape. He angled her head back and skidded his lips along the line of her jaw. He nibbled at her earlobe around the sterling silver stud she wore there, then closed his mouth, hot and wet over the pulse beat throbbing in her neck. Olivia gasped at the sudden spark of heat that arced through her and blurred her mind to everything but what she was feeling with this man at this moment. She was floating. On fire. Powerful. Feeling right within her own skin again.
Olivia traced her fingertips over the angles of Gabe’s cheeks and jaw, the strong column of his neck, beneath the crisp starch of his collar. He held her as close as the arm folded between them allowed, and for her it wasn’t enough. Her nipples puckered and pushed against the lace of her bra and she wished his capable hands were there to soothe their needy distress.
But the moment the idea of Gabe Knight stripping off her clothes and joining her on top of this table popped into her hazy thoughts, she knew she had to end the embrace.
“Gabe.” She offered him one last breathless kiss, then pushed her fingers between their lips. “Gabe, we have to stop.”
“I know.” With a throaty growl, he pulled away, dropping little kisses to her fingertips as he retreated. Their bodies were slower to disconnect. He pulled her away from the table, peeled his hips and thighs away from hers, removed his hands from beneath her blouse and hair. He stroked his finger over her swollen, kiss-stung lips before breaking contact entirely and leaning back against the wall across from her. “I know you’re right. I don’t like it. But you’re right.”
While she adjusted her jacket and relished the air between them cooling her skin and calming the disappointed nerve endings that were still firing with the need for some kind of release, Gabe propped his hands at his waist and took several deep breaths, in through his nose, out through his mouth.
Despite the rumpled coal-dark hair and the collar she’d wrinkled with her eager hand, his deep blue eyes were as clear and focused as ever. “So why did you kiss me? And yes, I know, it was a team effort. But I’m interested in your motives.”
Motives? She hadn’t thought that far ahead. Still trying to regulate her own breathing, Olivia ran her fingers through her own hair, dismissing the probing question. “Don’t analyze it, okay? Just accept the thank-you.”
“That was more than a thank-you.”
And this was more of a conversation than she wanted to have at the moment. The instinct telling her she’d be safe with Gabe had to compete with her gun-shy reticence to get involved with another man—no matter how badly her hormones or emotions might want to. Maybe if she couldn’t explain what she was feeling, she could at least explain why she didn’t want to discuss it.
“I’ve wigged out on you twice now. I usually have a better grip on things than that.” Straightening her clothes with only one hand and pulled muscles proved to be a more challenging task than she’d expected. She got the sleeves and collar right, but tucking in the tail of her blouse was giving her fits, and every time she thought she had it, the sling would catch the oxford cotton and pull it loose again. “I guess I’m a little tired, a little beat-up, a little frustrated by this case. I’m sorry I let things get out of hand.”
“You’re not scaring me off, Detective, if that’s what you’re apologizing for.”
“I’m not apologizing. I’m just...cautious.”
Her breath caught in a soft gasp when Gabe stepped forward and batted her fingers aside to take the oxford cloth, tug it straight and tuck it securely into the waistband of her jeans for her. His assistance was quick and methodical. And though his fingers brushed against her and she embarrassed herself with a quick intake of breath, he didn’t linger. “I think I’m starting to figure you out, Detective Watson. Don’t fix the problem for you—give you time to think it through so you can fix it yourself. Accept that you’ve got this emotional armor for a reason—and that you feel safer when it’s in place.” He was no longer touching her, but he hadn’t moved away, either, forcing her to tip her chin to meet the fathomless depths of his deep blue eyes. “Believe me, that’s something I understand. This connection between us�
�it’s completely unexpected. And, frankly, a little unsettling.”
“Thanks?” But the joke fell flat because she was feeling the same way, too.
“Somewhere in my brain I guess I thought there wasn’t going to be anyone after Dani.” He threaded his fingers through her bangs and brushed them off her forehead. “And then you walked into my crime scene.”
“Technically, that was my crime scene. You’re the consultant and I’m the cop, remember?” She curled her fingers into her palm, fighting the itch to straighten his hair and moved away. “You can’t feel about me the way you felt for your fiancée. We don’t know each other that well.”
“You are no authority on what I do or do not feel.”
How could she be when she couldn’t label her own emotions? That spontaneous make out session seemed to indicate they were quickly becoming something more than acquaintances or coworkers. But that didn’t mean they were falling in love. And he must have loved Danielle Reese with his whole heart to remain so obsessed with her murder six years after the fact. How could she compete with that?
Olivia plucked at an imaginary fleck on her jacket. “I thought we weren’t talking about it.”
“That’s your call, not mine. You know it’s my job to get to the heart of a story.” Giving her the space she’d silently asked for, Gabe propped his hip against the table and sat. “Can we talk about that guy on the elevator, then?”
Olivia puffed out a disgusted breath that buzzed her lips. “Marcus Brower was a bad choice I made. Although he did teach me a whole lot about self-reliance and learning who you can and can’t trust.”
“Sounds like there’s more to that story.”
“He’s a conversation for another time. We need to get to work.” He stood as she walked past him and followed her to the door. She paused before opening it and reached back to squeeze his hand. “But I do appreciate you listening to me before. Maybe it comes from growing up in a noisy house with a bunch of men. Games, music, sports, arguments. Every now and then, I just need it to be quiet.”
He squeezed back before releasing her. “I’ll remember that.”
“Come on.” Smiling and sure of herself again, Olivia opened the door to the noisy bustle of the squad room. “I’ll walk you into the meeting. I wouldn’t want anyone to take a shot at you.”
“Because you need me to solve this case for you.”
“Not exactly.”
But it was scary to think how easily she could simply need him.
Chapter Nine
Gabe stood in the corner of the small interview room, watching Detective Sawyer Kincaid and Olivia ask questions of Ron Kober’s wife, Elaine, and her attorney.
Well, mostly he watched Olivia. He’d sat through their staff meeting this morning, listening to reports about ballistics saying the gun they’d found at the warehouse was the right caliber to be the weapon used in Dani’s murder, but that damage done to the barrel itself made it difficult to match the actual bullets. Further tests would have to be run to find anything conclusive. The KCFD’s preliminary report on the fire indicated arson—no surprise there—but it was too soon to have a chemical analysis on the accelerant used, much less a lead on its source.
The DNA lab had even gotten an ID on the man who’d cut Gabe in the stairwell of Kober’s building. Stephen March was a repeat offender with a long list of petty crimes, mostly drug related. March had been brought in for questioning on another murder a few years back, but was quickly dismissed as a suspect because of an airtight alibi—he was in a lockdown room at a rehab clinic. Maybe the guy had a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Max Krolikowski and Trent Dixon, his partner, would work on tracking down Stephen March. They’d find out if March had witnessed anything at the building he’d broken into earlier in the week.
The Cold Case Squad’s progress on finding Dani’s killer was painstakingly slow—a rehash of facts he knew, with discussions on a few more details that would have to be explored and double-checked before a suspect could be brought in for questioning, much less arrested. A week ago, Gabe would have been typing up his next column about the square wheels of justice being stuck in a tar pit, and that victims and perpetrators alike might be dead by the time the department found their answers.
But today, watching Olivia in action, seeing the wheels of memory and intelligence in those intriguing eyes turning several steps ahead of the others at the table, Gabe found himself looking at KCPD a little differently. Maybe even with a seed of hope taking root in the cold morass of his cynical heart.
The other detectives and information tech at the meeting spoke and moved, but they were white noise and blurs of shape and color that sometimes blocked Gabe’s view of the lady cop with the sleek curves and short, soft hair. Even now, Detective Kincaid, a soft-spoken giant of a man, the taciturn attorney and the weepy histrionics of Ron Kober’s widow were a mere background to Gabe’s study of Olivia.
Maybe if he hadn’t kissed her. Maybe if he hadn’t felt the warmth of her supple skin or heard those tremulous gasps of surprise and pleasure each time he touched her. Maybe if she didn’t have that red mark on her cheek or that black sling over her arm which were direct results of the investigative path he’d set her on. Maybe if she hadn’t awakened something more than these protective instincts inside him, he’d have been able to listen to the update and review of evidence and suspects with a more objective ear.
Logically, he knew whatever Elaine Kober was saying now could put him closer to finding Dani’s killer—or at least confirm that her late husband had been Dani’s information source, and had gone to meet her the night she died. But there was something disturbingly illogical about his fascination with the knowledgeable authority in Olivia’s tone, and the way her eyes had cooled from that vivid green of anger and passion to the pale gray-green they were now.
It was Olivia’s interruption to the questions about Ron Kober’s friends and business associates that finally shifted Gabe’s focus back to the interview. “Mrs. Kober, has your husband had a lot of affairs?”
The older woman with the silvering blond hair clutched the wad of tissues she held against her heart. Her bottom lip trembled and her red-rimmed eyes widened with shock, as if the question had caught her off guard, which was probably the intent. “Affairs?” More tears began to fall and Elaine dabbed at her cheeks. “Ms. Watson, I am burying my husband tomorrow—the man I loved. I hardly think that’s an appropriate question.”
Olivia’s voice remained gently articulate, although she didn’t back down from the line of questioning. “Earlier, you said he’d gone through several secretaries and administrative assistants. Since it appears he pays his top staff quite generously, that may mean disagreements of a more personal nature terminated their employment. Perhaps they accused him of harassment and he paid them off.” Olivia glanced down at the reports on the table in front of her, as though checking her facts. Gabe knew that folder held the arson investigator’s preliminary report of the fire, but it was all part of her fact-finding game. As volatile as she’d been this morning, now that she’d had her five minutes of peace and quiet, Olivia was one cool customer, playing the role of mildly curious backup to Sawyer Kincaid and manipulating this interview like a pro. “Has anyone ever tried to blackmail him over his indiscretions?”
“Ron and I were married for nearly thirty years.” Elaine tipped her chin and puffed up, sliding a suspicious glance to the reporter in the corner before the tears flowed freely again. “My husband’s reputation...my reputation... I couldn’t. If word got out, our children...” Another sob sucked up her words. “My little grandchildren...”
Fine, so Mrs. High Society there knew he wasn’t a cop. Maybe the crying show and lack of useful answers had been for his benefit. Maybe she was truly worried about bad press smearing her late husband’s name. But he wasn’t here as a reporter this afternoon.
Gabe walked up behind Olivia’s chair. “Your answers aren’t going to show up in my paper, Mrs. Kober. But you do need to answer Detective Watson.”
Elaine’s glare softened on a stuttering sob and she leaned over to whisper something to her attorney. When he nodded, she dabbed the tissues to her nose and answered. “No. No blackmail that I’m aware of.”
Meaning, yes, Ron Kober had had numerous affairs. Maybe that provided a different motive for his death, one that Kincaid and Hendricks would certainly explore, but Gabe was still looking for that connection to funneling information about illegal activities to Dani six years earlier.
He had to ask. “How good a friend was Leland Asher to your late husband, Mrs. Kober?”
The widow in the black suit stiffened, seeming to take offense at the question. “They were business acquaintances. Ron knew Mr. Asher through campaign fund-raisers and the like. What does Leland have to do with Ron’s death, anyway?”
Suddenly, Mr. Asher had become Leland? Interesting. Mention of the affairs left Elaine Kober weeping and rambling. But asking about a business acquaintance of her husband’s made her sit up straight and drop the hand with her tissues into her lap. The grieving widow had disappeared.
Olivia picked up on the woman’s subtle change in attitude, as well. “Your husband hasn’t worked on a political campaign since he started his own PR firm. Did he and Leland Asher still take meetings or run into each other socially?”
The attorney rose and pulled out Elaine’s chair to help her stand. “I’m sorry, but you’ve upset Elaine terribly. This interview is over. I’m driving her home.” His reprimanding look included Gabe as well as the detectives. “You may contact me if you have any further questions or developments to share in her husband’s tragic death.”
