Wanting You

by Leslie A. Kelly

  She bent over and nudged his shoulder. He woke instantly and sat up, almost whacking her head with his. “Evie, are you all right?”

  “Come to bed, Rowan.”

  “Evie, I’m so sorry—”

  “I said come to bed, not apologize. We have some talking to do. But I also suspect you have some sleeping to do.” As he got up to follow her, she glanced over her shoulder. “Only sleeping.”

  She thought he mumbled something under his breath, but she couldn’t tell what he said. She had a pretty good idea, though.

  He crawled into his bed, and she got back in, too, staying far to one side, near the edge.

  But not for long. Within minutes, Rowan was nearly asleep, breathing evenly. And another minute after that, he had rolled onto his side, put an arm around her middle, and tugged her back against his warmth. She swallowed hard at the feel of that powerful, naked body cupping hers, knowing that but for his brother’s untimely visit, they would have explored this position hours and hours ago.

  “No,” she whispered. And she meant it.

  But three hours later, when she awoke in that same position, feeling some serious morning wood pressed against her ass, she couldn’t help regretting it.

  She slowly shifted away and out from under his heavy arm, looking back at him to see if he was awake. His eyes were closed, his breathing still slow and steady. She didn’t think he was faking, which meant he must be having a very good dream. Funny, once he had come to bed and curled up behind her, she hadn’t had any more bad dreams, as she had earlier in the night.

  Despite everything, Rowan made her feel secure and safe, like she could actually sleep without memories clawing at her, warning her to be ever-vigilant and to never trust anyone.

  But she did trust him.

  The man who’d lied to her.

  Using the bathroom, she washed up and splashed cold water on her face. She might have had the comfortable bed, but she sure hadn’t slept much.

  Returning quietly to the bedroom, she went to her open suitcase, in search of her robe.

  “Hey.”

  She jerked and saw him watching her, his expression not sexy-adorable-smiling-I’m-gonna-gobble-you-up like it had been yesterday morning, the first time they’d woken up in a bed together. This was tense. A little sad.

  He rolled over and looked at his phone to gauge the time, and then lay on his back, an arm thrown over his face. “What a night.”

  She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, I had no business putting you out of your own room. I should have taken the couch myself.”

  He sat up, letting the blanket drop onto his lap. He looked sleepy and rumpled, and so sexy he stopped her heart. Every bit of her tingled at the memory of how he felt entwined around her, both awake and in sleep.

  “I wasn’t talking about that.”

  “Oh.”

  His brother. Their conversation.

  What on Earth were the Winchesters hiding?

  Only one way to find out. “Do you care to explain his remark to me?”

  He sighed heavily. “Can I have coffee first?” Another glance at his phone. He swiped to read a message. “Shit, I definitely need coffee. I have to go back to the Seventy-Seventh today. My partner’s getting a little pissed about doing all of our paperwork by herself.”

  “Okay,” she said, knowing Rowan was not the kind of man who would make up an excuse to avoid a conversation.

  “You weren’t planning on doing anything today, were you?” he asked. “I mean, I don’t have anything on my calendar.”

  She shook her head. “No, I’m just going to call the DA, my own attorney, and my family.” The last conversation would probably take hours. “And I have lots of notes and pictures to organize from last week.” Plus for-rent ads to sort through and a real estate agent to call. “I’m sure I can keep myself busy.”

  He got up, stepping naked onto the floor, his big back flexing, his tight ass and strong legs making her weak in the knees. Putting his arms over his head, he stretched back and forth to work out what were probably boulders in his neck and shoulders.

  “Gimme ten minutes to shower and then I’ll meet you in the kitchen for coffee,” he said, not attempting to touch her.

  She missed his good morning kiss already, even having only had it yesterday.

  “Then we’ll talk.”

  She nodded, watched him go into the bathroom, and then headed for the kitchen. Making coffee, she couldn’t help thinking about the incident at her house. The whole thing made her feel nauseous. She hated the thought that someone had been in her home, prowling around among her things, and she hadn’t even been aware of it. He had touched her pillow and her sheets, her hairbrush, maybe even her toothbrush—which was why she’d had Rowan stop on the way here the other night so she could get a new one.

  She felt completely violated knowing someone broke into her home for dark and dangerous purposes and had no desire to ever step foot in the place again.

  “Shit,” she mumbled, remembering the box of files she had left at the house. Everything she knew about Angstrom was in there, including trial transcripts, her own personal notes, and copies of police interviews. And his lackey had probably gone through it. Or maybe even taken it.

  Rowan was as good as his word, coming into the kitchen dressed, with his hair damp.

  “Here,” she said putting a cup of steaming coffee down on the table. Right beside it was a travel mug she’d already double-filled.

  “You’re a lifesaver,” he said.

  “Don’t,” she said, not wanting to be charmed out of her anger. “I know you don’t have much time, so start talking.”

  He looked at the coffee, blew on it, sipped it, and finally spoke.

  “You’re right. I didn’t want you to write about the Baker case because of how it could affect my family.”

  She glared. But before she could say anything, he went on.

  “I told you what he did to my sister, and I was very serious about how you bringing that up would drag us back into the spotlight. Believe me, being asked questions about how we feel about our ‘very good family friend’s’ murder makes every one of us squirm.”

  She didn’t doubt he was telling the truth—he had already told her that much. And she even understood his reasons for not wanting his family dragged back into that, which was why she had already agreed not to include the Baker story in the book.

  But that wasn’t all. Not by a long shot.

  “‘If she really believes we killed Harry Baker, she just might be,’” she said, repeating verbatim what his brother had said the night before. “How about you explain that part?”

  He drank more coffee and shifted in his chair. The torment in his expression told her he was thinking very carefully of what to say.

  Which made it very obvious that he wasn’t going to tell her the whole truth.

  “Forget it,” she snapped. “It’s none of my business.”

  He got up and put his hands on her shoulders. “I am just trying to figure out how much I can say without betraying any confidences.”

  “Raine’s?”

  “Both of my brothers’.”

  So they were all tangled up in something that involved Harry Baker. Considering what she knew about the man and his involvement in their older sister’s tragic downfall, her mind went to several places. But not to murder. Not when it came to Rowan, at least.

  “There was a girl there. The night Harry died.”

  She stilled, listening, curious in spite of her anger.

  “She was young, which means she was his type. He was attacking her.”

  Her coffee churned in her stomach. “What happened?”

  “Raine was there.”

  “Raine killed him?”

  Rowan squeezed her shoulders. “No. He absolutely did not kill him. I swear that.”

  “Maybe we should sit down,” she said. “You’re hurting me.”

  He dropped his hands immediately. “I’m sorry. You just
have to know—and believe—that my brothers and I did not shoot that man. Harry and Raine fought, yeah. But Raine was just a teenager, and he was drunk for the first time in his life. He was no match for Harry Baker.”

  She thought about the pictures she’d seen of the burly man and remembered what the youngest Winchester had looked like as a teen—that is, absolutely nothing like the big badass he was now. She nodded in agreement, accepting that much of the story. “What about this girl?”

  “She ran out. He had no idea who she was. But before Steve Baker died, he told Reece that he had found her again, and she had information about that night.”

  “Did she kill Harry Baker?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know. She wanted money, and told Steve that it was us. But it wasn’t, Evie, I swear to God.”

  She knew he needed her to believe him. And to a certain extent, she did.

  “Like I said last night, I know you’re not a killer.”

  She did not say the same thing about his brothers, whom she didn’t know at all.

  “Thank you.”

  They sat down at the small kitchen table. Although he got a few texts, he did not take his attention off her, telling her more, offering what she knew were only pieces of the story. Pieces he felt he could share.

  They were tragic enough. Tears came to her eyes when he revealed how Raine had walked in on “Uncle Harry” attacking a young girl, how he had suddenly remembered the last night of their sister’s life, and how it had set him off.

  He admitted Raine had fought with the man, gotten his ass kicked, staggered away and called his brothers in a drunken stupor. Admitted that they’d picked him up and taken him home and that he’d spilled the entire story about their sister, and Baker, and the fight.

  “I’m sure you must have wanted to kill him yourself.”

  He shifted uncomfortably. “Maybe. But we didn’t.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “Neither did my brothers,” he shot back. “I was with Reece all evening. Baker had been shot in the head, and I knew Raine had no idea how to use a gun, nor did he have one on him. Nobody in my family killed that man, despite how glad we all were that he was dead.”

  And there he stopped. He simply went silent and watched her, waiting for her to absorb what he’d told her.

  He wasn’t going to continue; she understood that immediately.

  The question was, had he said enough? Could she accept not knowing the rest? Could she really trust and believe him?

  Oh, she trusted him physically. She knew a decent man when she met one, and Rowan was the most decent man she’d ever been involved with. But he was still keeping something from her. Lying by omission.

  God, she hated being lied to. Whether it was her parents lying to her about what had really been done to Blair—for her own good, they said—or her agent lying about revealing her address to the press, she just couldn’t bear it.

  “There’s more,” she said simply.

  He didn’t try to deny it.

  “Are you going to tell me?”

  After a pause, Rowan slowly shook his head. “I can’t, Evie. Not without talking to my brothers first.”

  “What else could there be?” she asked. “You’ve gone this far. You’ve already admitted Raine was in the house the night Baker died.” She thought about it. “Wait, why didn’t you call the police and tell them all this?”

  He shook his head again. Not opening his mouth. Keeping his family secrets.

  “You didn’t want Raine dragged into it, right? Didn’t want the eye of suspicion on him.”

  “Would you, if it were your younger brother?”

  “No, I wouldn’t,” she admitted. “As long as I knew he was innocent.”

  “Raine is innocent.”

  “All right,” she finally said. “Thank you for telling me as much as you did.”

  “I’m sorry, Evie. I’m really sorry I tried to steer you away from covering the case without telling you the real reason why.”

  So was she. Yes, she understood that his family didn’t want to get tangled up in something so ugly, something that could destroy their sister’s memory, that might put the youngest brother in legal danger. She even got why Rowan hadn’t trusted her at first.

  But then they’d spent nearly every waking minute together for a week. She’d shared her darkest memories and fears about Angstrom, had enlisted his help in searching for answers to the flower killings. She’d spent thirty-six hours having wild, intense, incredible sex with the man. And he still hadn’t said a word. Not one word.

  That was what she couldn’t get over yet. Especially since she knew he still wasn’t revealing the whole truth.

  She admired loyalty. But she didn’t like not being trusted by someone to whom she’d already entrusted her body and, she greatly feared, her heart. Because if she wasn’t in love with him yet, she was on the downslope of that roller coaster, and getting there fast.

  His phone buzzed again. Huffing a little, he finally looked at it. “Shit. I’ve really gotta go. It’s Abby, my partner. She’s catching shit about some reports I didn’t sign. I need to get down there.”

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  “We’ll talk later, all right?” He got up but stopped to take her hand. “I want to tell you the rest. I really do. Just give me a little time.”

  “Fine.”

  He leaned in and brushed a soft kiss on her lips. She wanted to remain stiff and rigid, hold on to her anger and reject him. But she’d done that last night. Now she just wanted to reassure herself that this could be worked out. At least, God, she hoped so.

  So she kissed him back, gently and softly. And when it ended, she stared into his handsome face. “I am not over this yet.”

  “I know.”

  “But I can wait to talk to you about it later.”

  “Thanks.” He kissed her again, gliding his tongue across the seam of her lips until she parted them and took him in. The kiss was deeper, wetter, but was still more about reconnecting than anything else.

  Finally, they parted. He put his phone in his pocket, strapped on both his service weapons, and grabbed a jacket.

  “Okay, as long as you’re going to be staying in and don’t need me to play chauffeur, I’ll probably spend the day at my own station catching up on stuff.”

  “I understand.”

  “Be careful,” he told her. “Don’t open the door to anybody you don’t know. I’m not expecting any packages or anything.”

  “I don’t think anybody could have tracked me here already.”

  “Neither do I. But better to play it safe.” He pointed to a spare key hanging on a hook in the kitchen. “There’s a spare set of keys in case you do need to go out. There’s a couple of pretty good lunch places up the block. Just be—”

  “Careful. I know.”

  After he left, Evie did what she had said she was going to. She made phone calls that ranged from tense, to difficult, to painful, to teary.

  Her parents were devastated and wanted her to go into hiding. That was without them knowing anything about what had happened to her since she arrived in California.

  Her brothers were furious and also wanted her to go into hiding. They also talked about pulling a Prison Break–like stunt, getting put into prison to take care of Angstrom personally.

  It was crazy, and ridiculous, but she appreciated their worry on her behalf.

  The prosecutor on the Angstrom case told her everything, including the one thing his office had messed up, which had gotten Angstrom’s conviction overturned.

  “It was one witness we didn’t disclose. One person we didn’t even intend to call. That was all it took.”

  “Unreal,” she said in response. “But he won’t be out until the new trial, right?”

  “No way,” the lawyer said. “Absolutely not. But listen, Miss Fleming, you know he holds you almost singly responsible for his conviction.”

  “I know.”

  There was a pregnant pause
before he went on.

  “He does communicate with the outside world.”

  “I know that too.” Although she hated to get into it, she told the attorney about everything that had gone on over the past week.

  “That’s not good,” he said. “Do you really think he got someone to harass you?”

  Or worse?

  “I think it’s possible.”

  “You might want to consider moving.”

  “I have.”

  “Good. I’ll get in touch with the LAPD and ask them to have somebody watch out for you.”

  “That’s already covered. I have my own personal police escort wherever I go.”

  “Excellent.” He called out to someone who came into his office, sounding harried and overworked. She had no doubt that he was and couldn’t imagine that the oversight in the discovery phase of the trial had been anything but a mistake. But, wow, had it been a costly one.

  After she finished the calls, she pulled up her research files for the book and began updating them with some of the impressions and information she’d gotten this past week. She really wished she had her journal, as well as all her printouts of documents she’d been collecting, but had to make do. She did have an electronic file for each of the cases she was researching, and the one for the Baker case caught her eye. She couldn’t stop thinking about everything Rowan had told her about the night of Baker’s death. How his brother had been there, the girl Baker had been attacking, the fight.

  “The girl,” she whispered, suddenly recalling a piece of information that could be important. She thought for sure she’d read something, somewhere, about a girl being seen running in the neighborhood that night. She couldn’t, however, find anything about it on her typed notes in the Baker file. Which made her wonder if it had been somewhere in her print ones.

  “Damn it,” she muttered, her curiosity growing. She should have grabbed all of her paperwork before leaving the rental house, and definitely planned to ask Rowan to take her over there to retrieve the files tonight.

  At about two, she suddenly remembered her promise to Candace. She was supposed to go into the office to go over the publicity plan for her new book. Although she had promised Rowan to be careful, she didn’t see what going to a public place would hurt. Still, she texted him to make sure he knew what she was up to.