by J. Lynn
“No?” He kissed me, nipping at my lip as he lifted his head. When I shook my head, he fused our mouths together. His hand skated up my bare thigh, and then over the lacy edge of my panties.
I held my breath, partly due to the swirling pleasure building inside of me and I knew he could feel just how soft I was. There wasn’t an ounce of hardness to my thighs or my hips. He didn’t seem to notice or care, because his hand had made its way underneath my panties.
My hand tightened around his arm as his fingers reached the apex of my thighs. He brushed his lips over mine. “Open for me?”
Never in my life had there been three words that were hotter than that. My thighs parted, and his finger skimmed over my damp skin. The touch was barely there, but I jerked nonetheless.
“So sensitive,” he murmured. “I like that.”
My heart was pounding as he ran a lazy finger over my wet center and then he eased one finger in. A low sound worked its way out of me, and when his thumb pressed down on the buddle of nerves, I gasped out, “Colton.”
His mouth covered mine as fierce heat surfaced, building and building until I was sure I would combust. My hips bucked against his hand and blood pounded, creating a ringing in my ears.
No. Wait. That wasn’t in my ears. It was a phone—Colton’s phone. He ignored it—thank God—as he worked his finger in and out, devouring me with kisses. The tension coiled and I suddenly wanted, needed, to feel his skin against mine. I grabbed a fistful of his shirt, yanking it up. His body jerked and he made a harsh sound the second my hand touched the hard planes of his stomach.
Good God, there wasn’t an ounce of him that was soft. My eager fingers traced each tightly packed ab. My hand dipped, brushing the button on his jeans.
The phone started ringing again, a few seconds after it had ended, and this time, Colton’s hand stilled between my thighs. I almost prayed he didn’t stop, but he did.
Groaning, he lifted his head and glanced over at where his phone rested on the coffee table. His hand slipped away from me. “It’s work. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I murmured, dazed by the rioting sensations in my body.
Rolling over me in one fluid move, he snatched up his phone and stood. “It’s Anders.” There was a pause. “Yeah, I couldn’t get to my phone. What’s up?”
I looked over at him, clearly seeing the hard ridge of his erection straining against his jeans.
Damn, what a waste.
I suddenly wanted to giggle, except I saw Colton stiffen and caught a brief glimpse of a frown as he turned away from me. He picked up the remote, pausing the movie. “Yeah, you know where I’m at.”
My brows knitted.
Colton glanced back at me, his expression inscrutable. “Are you serious? Hell.” He shook his head, glancing at the now repaired window. “I’m not surprised, but didn’t think it would happen this quickly.
Glancing down, I saw that the skirt of my dress was hiked up to my hips, revealing the black undies. Face flushing red, I hastily reached down and fixed it. Then I figured I should sit up.
“You need me in tonight?” he asked, and I worried my lower lip, hoping nothing serious had happened, which was a stupid thought. Colton was a detective. Serious stuff happened all the time. “Shit. Yeah, that’s good and that’s bad.”
My gaze shot to him as icy motion stabbed my stomach.
“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Colton disconnected the call and placed it back on the table. Sitting down beside me, he exhaled slowly. “Sorry about that. It was my partner—Hart.”
The cold feeling was still there. “That’s okay. Your job is important. When you get a call, you have to answer.”
“I do.” He rested his hands on his knees. “I have kind of good news.”
“Kind of?”
Colton nodded. “We’ve identified one of the two men you saw last Friday.” He paused, his jaw hardening. “There’s no easy way to say this. Apparently he was pulled from Schuylkill River.”
I stiffened, eyes widening. “What?”
“One of the men you saw that night is dead, Abby.”
Chapter 11
All the heat vanished and a different kind of tension built in the pit of my stomach. At first, I didn’t think I heard him right. The bomb he dropped came out of nowhere.
I said the first thing that came to mind. “Are you sure?”
And that was a dumb question.
He nodded. “It’s not the man who did the shooting. It appears to be the other suspect.”
Leaning back against the cushion, I tucked my legs under me as I tried to process what had just happened. My thoughts were running in so many different directions. Not the man who pulled the trigger—the one with the cold, dead eyes? “How did he die?”
Colton twisted his body toward me. “Sweetheart, that’s not something you need to know.”
Part of me wanted to know, as morbid as that sounded. “But how?”
He glanced at the paused movie. “Remember when I told you about Isaiah Vakhrov?”
The mob guy. How could I forget him? I nodded.
“As far as I know right now, there’s no evidence pointing to him having a hand in this, but I’d be willing to bet my retirement it was him.” Colton lifted his hand, sighing as he scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “It’s messed up, you know? These guys have their set of moral codes, twisted moral codes, and while those guys killed someone, murdering them isn’t the answer.”
“Agreed,” I whispered, shivering. “I…I don’t even know what to say.”
“There’s really nothing to say, but with the one dead, the shooter is probably going to be on the run. If he’s smart that is.”
My gaze flipped to his as pressure squeezed my chest. “What about the guys who warned me in the parking lot? They won’t think I ratted their guys out?”
His jaw hardened as his gaze turned icy. “They’d have to be fucking idiots to think you had anything to do with this.”
But they had been idiotic enough to approach me in the first place. Another shiver tiptoed its way over my shoulders. I hadn’t forgotten about them or the fear they’d induced this past week. It was just something I tried not to think about. I didn’t like the idea of living with that kind of fear.
Maybe that wasn’t wise.
“There’s one more thing. Hart was able to pull some more photos of those who match your description of the shooter,” he explained. “We’d like you to look at them as soon as possible.”
I nodded again.
Colton reached over, placing the tips of his fingers under my chin. He lifted my gaze to his. “I’m going to make sure you’re safe, Abby.”
“Is that why you’ve been spending so much time with me?” The moment that question left my mouth, I wanted to dropkick myself in the face. I couldn’t even believe those words came out of me. It was like they existed in a dark, stupid as hell place that I had no control over.
His brows lifted as he stared at me. “Come again?”
Oh God. My cheeks heated. “I mean, I know I’m a witness and keeping me safe is a part of your job, but I…” I mentally strung together an epic amount of curse words. “I don’t even know what I’m saying.”
Colton dropped his hand. “I think you kind of do, Abby.”
Uncurling my legs, I nervously smoothed my hands over the skirt of my dress. Was my question a Freudian slip in a way? Of course it was. Because that stupid as hell, ugly part of me still couldn’t fathom Colton being here because he was sincerely attracted to me, even after what had just gone down between us.
I was an idiot.
His eyes narrowed. “Do you really think that me being here has to do with what happened last Friday?”
“Well, that’s how we crossed paths—”
“You know that’s not what I’m getting at,” he interrupted. “And I know that’s not what you were trying to say. You think I’m here, with you, with some kind of ulterior motive?”
A sick fe
eling expanded in my chest. “I don’t think…” I trailed off because if I was being honest with myself, I was lying.
“I’ll do anything to keep a witness safe and to get the job done,” he said, shaking his head. “But I wouldn’t go that damn far, Abby. I’m here and have been here with you simply because I want to be. I’d think the fact that I had my hand between your thighs ten minutes ago would be proof enough of that.”
Warmth infused my cheeks as I bit down on the inside of my cheek. A moment passed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insinuate anything.”
“You don’t need to apologize.”
It was my turn to shake my head because I did need to apologize. “But I do, because…because saying something like that isn’t saying great things about you as a person.” I let out a long breath. What could I say? That I was trying to improve my confidence? That I just… “I’m stupid.”
One eyebrow rose. “You’re not stupid. That’s not the problem.”
A slice of unease lit up my chest as I glanced at him. He was staring straight ahead, his gaze fixed on the wall. A numbness settled in the pit of my stomach.
His shoulders tensed. “You’re a beautiful woman, Abby. And you’re smart and kind. You’re funny.” He turned to me, a distant gleam in his eyes. “And it’s a damn shame you don’t see that.”
The numbness spread like icy drizzle, coating my skin. Underneath it, embarrassment burned. Were my hang-ups that obvious? I squeezed my eyes shut. God, this was humiliating.
“I’m going to…I’m going to go ahead and head out,” he said, and my eyes snapped open. He was staring at the wall again as disappointment, remorse, and a hundred other messy emotions churned inside me. “Keep the movie. We’ll watch it later.”
A knot formed in the base of my throat. For some reason, I didn’t think “later” was going to come soon.
“Okay?” he asked.
Pressing my lips together, I nodded as he rose and then I forced a smile when he bent over, pressing his lips against my forehead. My chest squeezed at the sweet gesture, and somehow I managed to walk him to the door and to say good-bye. And when I closed the door, I leaned against it, pressing my balled hands against my eyes.
The sick feeling expanded, circling my heart. There was a good chance that in such a short period of time, I’d fallen for Colton and I…I might have already lost him.
Chapter 12
Colton had texted Monday morning asking if I could stop by the office today to look at the photos again, but when I got there, he wasn’t there. I tried not to take it personally as I was handed off to Detective Hart and taken into a private room, but it was hard. My stomach churned as Detective Hart spread glossy photographs across the scratched surface of the table.
I wanted to ask where Colton was. Hell, I wanted to whip out my phone and text him. Call him.
“Just take your time,” he said, sitting back in the metal chair. “There’s no rush.”
My gaze flickered over the photographs as my heart started pounding in my chest. I needed to focus. Priorities. Right now, what had happened with Colton wasn’t the most important thing going on.
The shooter was still out there.
Taking my time, I looked at each of the photos spread out in front of me. At first, they all looked alike—men in their upper twenties, bald with tats on the neck or just on their arms. I’d looked at twenty or so before Detective Hart added five more photos to the mix. I glanced over at them.
My heart stopped as I sucked in an unsteady breath. I reached over, picking up the third photograph, and held it close. There were three shots: full frontal and two profiles.
“Ms. Ramsey?”
For a moment I couldn’t get my tongue to work. Like it was glued to the roof of my mouth. My hand trembled as I stared at the face of the man I’d seen shoot someone—kill someone. My throat was dry. “It’s him.”
Detective Hart leaned forward, placing his forearm on the table. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.” I cleared my throat. “That’s him.” Unable to look at the photo any longer, I handed it over to the detective. Satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. “What’s his name?” I asked and then frowned. “You probably can’t tell me that, can you?”
He slipped the photo in a file. “You’d be correct. At least not right now.” Standing, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “There’s just a couple of forms we need you to sign and then you’ll be on your way.”
Taking several shallow breaths, I ignored the unease twisting up my insides. Detective Hart paused at the door. “You’re going to put this man behind bars, where he belongs.” His smile was tight. “And you’ve probably saved his life.”
* * * *
Monday was weird.
I couldn’t focus on the new manuscript, not that anyone would blame me. I’d identified a murderer this morning and according to Detective Hart, I’d probably saved his life by doing so. Unless the mob guy Colton had mentioned got to him first.
Colton.
Throughout the day, I engaged in some major wishful phone checking. As if somehow I had missed his text or call. Of course, there were no missed messages. My stomach dropped. After identifying the shooter, I figured Colton would be in contact, even if it was in a purely professional sense.
Monday slowly churned into Tuesday. No calls. No texts. I could’ve messaged him, I realized that, but I was the one who messed up and I honestly had no experience in these things. Dating was so far out of my realm of understanding. Was I supposed to give him space? Give him time? Or was he waiting for me to reach out? Or was he just really busy? The latter made sense. He was probably trying to search down the shooter.
Sitting at my desk, I groaned as I leaned over, resting my forehead against the cool wood. I was such an idiot. I’d let that stupid, ugly voice in my head get the better of me. I was still letting it get the better of me, wasn’t I? Because why hadn’t I messaged Colton?
Messaging Colton would be the normal thing to do.
I lifted my head and gently lowered it back to the desk. Rinse and repeat. What was I doing, other than banging my head on a desk? Because that wasn’t weird or anything. Okay. I needed a plan. My heart skipped a beat when I lifted my head and saw my cell. I could text him, something small. I could totally do it.
Snatching up my phone, I tapped the screen and then the little green message icon. My pulse was kicking around as I hit Colton’s name and started typing out the first thing that came to mind. I didn’t let myself stop and think about it or let myself feel stupid for typing it out. The message was just four words.
I miss your crepes.
Okay. That was kind of a cute message and sort of stupid. A lot stupid. Before I hit send, I deleted the message.
I was such an idiot, geez.
I didn’t text Colton and I didn’t hear from him.
My life had been so crazy the last two weeks it was almost hard to believe that only that short amount of time had passed. I didn’t know how to feel about witnessing a murder, knowing one was dead, and the other one, the shooter, would soon be—hopefully—apprehended.
I didn’t know how to feel about a lot of things.
Actually, that wasn’t entirely true. When it came to Colton, I knew exactly how I felt. Crappy. I didn’t think his text Monday was an excuse to not see me. After all, after what happened, he would be busy, and since he normally worked on Tuesday, I wasn’t expecting a visit.
I didn’t get one either.
And he hadn’t texted or called. There was a part of me that wanted to listen to the small and probably more reasonable voice that claimed his lack of contact didn’t mean anything. He had to be busy, and I also hadn’t reached out to him. Mainly because I didn’t know what to say.
I still couldn’t believe I had asked him that question. If he was angry, which I knew he had been even though he’d said I hadn’t needed to apologize, it was within his right. Insinuating that he had some kind of ulterior motive to spending ti
me with me and doing the things we had been doing was downright insulting.
I’d fucked up.
And as Jillian sat on the edge of my couch early Wednesday evening, watching me pace back and forth in my living room, I told her just how badly I’d fucked up while she sipped the latte she’d brought with her.
“So, that’s about it.” I dropped down on the couch, eyeing the cappuccino she’d brought me. It was all gone. “Not only does he probably think I’m a jackass, he also knows I have the confidence of a sewer rat.”
Jillian frowned from behind the rim of her cup. “I don’t think he believes you’re an asshole. He told you not to apologize.”
“That’s because he’s a good guy and he’s not mean to anyone. Even in high school he was that way. Standing up for the kids that got picked on and friendly to everyone, and this last week has taught me he hasn’t changed in that department.” I grabbed the empty cup and stood, unable to stay seated. I walked into the kitchen, tossing it in the trash. “If he thought I was a jackass, he’s not going to say anything.”
“That may be true, but I just don’t think that’s the case.” She placed her cup on the coffee table and waited until I returned to the living room. “And about the confidence thing? You shouldn’t be embarrassed by it.”
Stopping near the TV, I arched a brow as I folded my arms across my chest. “Lack of confidence is seriously one of the most unattractive things out there.”
Jillian rolled her eyes. “And it’s also seriously one of the most normal, common things out there.”
“True,” I murmured.
“I always thought being told you should be more confident, because confidence is sexy, was like getting a bitch slap in the face,” Jillian said. “Like ‘thanks for pointing that out.’”
I laughed dryly. “It’s weird, you know? I hadn’t even noticed this about myself in the last couple of years. I just sort of stopped thinking about myself as a woman. I know that sounds stupid, but that’s the best way I can explain it. I think…” I sat back down, resting my hands in my lap as I gave a lopsided shrug. “And I was always so comfortable with Kevin. It wasn’t something I ever had to think about, and I think the newness of all of this rattled me.”
