Criminal Promises

by Nikki Duncan

  “No.” His pinched expression belied the adamant tone as he raked his hand through his hair. “But we didn’t want to alarm you in the event nothing more happened.”

  “You’re days too late.” After securing the hook to hold the pole in the base of the bag, she grabbed the bag with both hands, twisted it counter-clockwise to release it from the locked position in the ceiling and then shoved it along its track to the cabinet in the wall. “That’s why you agreed to move in here.”

  “My not wanting to be here had nothing to do with you.”

  “Sure. Every girl knows that really means it has everything to do with her.” With nothing else to do, she went and sat on the end of his weight bench. “You make believing you impossible.”

  His shoulders dropped as he walked over and knelt in front of her. “My captain, when I briefed him, ordered me not to tell you what’s going on.”

  Arguments and demands danced on her tongue. She chose a different route. “Are my kids in danger? Is Adalia going to come into my house again? You’re a cop. What the hell are you doing to stop her?”

  “It’s not that easy, Mags.”

  Knowing he was right didn’t settle her. She’d been holding things in, going along, for too long. His dismissal busted through her reserve and allowed all the pressure to escape. “It’s plenty easy. I want to know what you know. Why you thought I needed to be watched. What does she want?”

  “I don’t have answers for you.”

  Arrgh. The man could be dense and she was losing her patience in the glare of his omissions. “You knew she was out. You should have stopped it. None of this should have happened.”

  His head jerked back as if she’d struck him. She didn’t care.

  “You could have asked me to stay in the living room. You could have taken one minute to act civil rather than acting like a know-it-all jerk ordering me around. Rather than acting like Detective Pritchett.”

  He worked his mouth like he was going to say something. She stayed still and shook her head. If he left, he could take Adalia with him. “You being here is a mistake.”

  “Too late. You said yourself I made you feel safer.” Harte stood, towering over her as he shook his head. “Guess what, sweetheart. I was doing my job in the living room. I don’t have time for niceties and patting you on the head like a little kid when there’s danger or a perceived threat. I want to catch Adalia Wood more than I want to coddle your feelings. I couldn’t have stopped her today, because it took your sexy ass too long to come tell me about her. And I am not like Pritchett.”

  Sexy. Did he mean that? Idiot, that doesn’t matter right now.

  Rather than cower on the bench, she stood and stepped forward until her toes bumped his. Angry heat bounced off him, but she refused to give in. “You think today was my fault?”

  “Maybe you could have acted quicker.”

  “Maybe you could have told me what was going on so I could have been on the look out. I would’ve known who she was so I could react faster!”

  “You—”

  “Couldn’t have done anything any differently!” She shoved him back a step. “I stepped into the hallway and saw a silhouetted woman I didn’t get a good look at until it was too late. What was I supposed to do, magically transport myself to you while barricading her retreat?”

  “Maggie—”

  “My sister and daughter were in the next room. She was in the car before I figured out who she was. My priorities were dead on.” She bit her tongue to keep herself from voicing the colorful string of four-letter words that would help nothing. But he was wrong.

  “Here’s the long and short of it, Mags. You agreed to my living here.” His voice quieted to normal. His eyes softened. “You wanted to feel safer. I’ll make sure you are.”

  “Your presence didn’t stop her from waltzing in the front door.”

  “No, but it will not happen again.” Confidence rode his deep-timbered growl.

  Her anger drained as fast as it had built to a boil. Her temper was hot, but generally subsided quickly. “Does she want me dead?”

  “If she doesn’t get what she wants.”

  “What does she want?”

  “Not sure.”

  “You know more than you’re telling.”

  “And I’ll no doubt piss you off again before I have it all figured out. If I notice something off I probably won’t take the time to ask you politely to do something.” He held up a hand when she opened her mouth. “But I’ll try to give you as much of an explanation as I can.”

  “Start with what you found in the office?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “It only raises more questions. Potentially painful ones.”

  “Maybe I could help you answer them.”

  “No.”

  She stepped around the immovable mass of man in front of her and paced the floor. “You treat this like a top secret mission. I deserve to know.”

  “I intend to keep my job, which means I’m not telling you.” He spun on his heel and headed to the kitchen door. He paused and grinned back at her. “By the way, I love the bag.”

  Mouth agape, she watched him shut the door. What had just happened?

  She wouldn’t cost him his job, but a killer had walked in and out of her home as cool as a privileged cucumber. Maggie and her family were at risk every moment Adalia was free. With or without Harte in the house, she was not equipped for emotional warfare with a killer.

  Or the sexy detective awakening her desires.

  Listening to the pounding rain, which had threatened for the last week, Maggie stretched out beside Jared on his bed. Dressed in one of Mike’s shirts with his eyes drooping as sleep dragged him under, Jared curled at her side. The hint of a smile quirked his lips, but still not a full smile. That was something she hadn’t seen since Mike’s death.

  She sighed as she looked at the picture on Jared’s wall Mike had painstakingly painted. It was a strange and colorful glow-in-the-dark view of the arctic tip as it should have looked three thousand years ago. He’d even included symbols around the edges, hiding them within the images while claiming they were a legend—like on a man. Breathtaking in its detail, it was the last thing he’d done for Jared. Maggie worried it rooted him in his grief, or maybe she did it by keeping him too close.

  Jared snuggled deeper into her, his thin fingers fidgeting a shirt button in sleep. He had no idea danger had crossed their doorstep. She would make sure it stayed that way.

  Tomorrow she was taking the kids to stay with her parents, out of harm’s way until things settled down. She wasn’t sure if it was a good decision or bad—the three of them hadn’t been apart for the last year—so she’d taken tonight to assure Jared the visit would be like old times. The assurance had been more for her sake.

  A cry from the nursery sounded on the cordless monitor. Her feet hadn’t hit the floor before Emma stopped crying. She still wanted to check before going to the office to work out an HTML issue she was having.

  She stepped on a Transformer on the way out of Jared’s room and muttered about the new hole in her foot. She’d clean the room properly while he was gone. He’d done a pretty good job, but it still needed some help. Books needed to be re-sorted, marker lids needed to be matched properly, and toys were just shoved onto shelves and into the toy box. They needed straightening. She’d find similar disarray in his drawers and closet.

  A thud and soft curse from Emma’s room snapped her head up. Harte was in his room. Who was in Emma’s?

  Harte had assured her the kids were safe, but no one had thought Adalia would walk through her front door either. Anxiety dancing along her nape, she pushed the nursery door open.

  One step into the room, she jerked to a stop.

  The badass detective had removed his shirt and exchanged his jeans for a pair of loose-fitting, drawstring pants that hung low on his hips. His broad back was tan and smooth. She’d had her hands on that back when he’d kissed her. Each chisel
ed muscle rippled as he swayed with Emma.

  “Come on, sweetie.” His normally rough and husky voice sounded smooth as cream as he soothed her fretful infant. “Don’t fuss. Mommy will come as soon as she finishes with Jare.”

  Emma continued to fuss. Harte continued to talk. Maggie continued to stare, and smile at the tenderness he showed her daughter. Her belly quivered at Harte’s sexy, softer side. A man that good with kids deserved his own.

  “Now, Ems, if you don’t stop crying, I’m going to have to take drastic measures.” He stopped swaying and looked down at Emma. “I’ll have to sing. I don’t think you’ll like that.”

  Maggie tried to suck back the sudden laugh. Maybe if he’d said it in something other than a syrupy, singsong voice it would’ve carried some weight.

  Harte spun on his heel. The sudden movement shocked Emma silent. Maggie’s hand flew up to cover her mouth. Not in her wildest imaginings had he looked this good shirtless.

  His eyes—the bright, clear blue that looked like the sky after a rain—always appeared to know her thoughts before she had them.

  She devoured the sight of bulging muscles, picturing her fingers tracing each perfectly sculpted inch of him. A light dusting of sandy brown hair trailed down to the hard abs. She wanted to run her fingers over him and down his thin treasure trail.

  She could virtually feel his skin glide under her fingers as she familiarized herself with his body. Her stomach did a round-off-back-handspring combo. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but it refused to budge. Yummalicious. It was the only way to describe his body.

  Taking a deep breath, she gathered her self-control. When she lowered her hand to her side, it shook lightly. His state of dress, or rather undress, and the sight of him holding Emma in the remembered security and strength of those arms aroused her. Lucky kid.

  Her feelings for Mike had evolved quietly and gradually from a close friendship. Nothing about Harte was gradual or quiet, which probably explained some of the appeal. She’d often fantasized about a life with more spark.

  Space. She needed space. Now.

  She should take Emma, who had drifted back to sleep, send Harte back to his side of the house, lock herself in her room and hope it was enough to keep her from straying to him. His bed.

  She took another deep breath, stepped forward.

  “Harte…”

  “Mags…”

  They spoke at the same time. Whatever she’d been planning to say flew from her mind. His raspy voice was back, and it scraped along her sensitized nerve endings like a soothing caress. She tilted her head and studied him. “Why do you call me Mags?”

  Harte shrugged his shoulders. “Just seems to fit.”

  “I’ve never tolerated anyone calling me that.” A childhood memory had the corner of her mouth twitching. “I nearly broke a boy’s nose for it in middle school.”

  Harte raised his eyebrows and patted Emma on the back. The gesture felt more like a promise to continue calling her Mags than any kind of surprise. “Why do you call me Harte?”

  With a small grin, she tossed his words back at him. “Just seems to fit.”

  Silence invaded, arousal hummed, as they stood watching each other. Her humor leaked out of the situation like air hissing from a tire. Too bad Emma was asleep and couldn’t distract them.

  She motioned toward Emma and sighed. “Why are you doing this?”

  “I heard her crying.” He kept swaying as if Emma still needed soothing. “You were busy.”

  She’d wanted to know why he was inserting himself in her life, making it impossible to not like him or want to lean on him. He may not be doing it on purpose, but neither was he interested in satisfying her hunger for a man’s devotion. Even if he was it couldn’t happen. His job was just too deadly. “Thanks for the help.”

  “You seem surprised.”

  Huh? Oh, right. “Most men, especially single ones, are hesitant when it comes to babies.” She’d have guessed him to be one the day he’d first seen Emma. “You handle her like you’ve done it a thousand times.”

  “I like kids.” He brushed a finger over one of Emma’s angelic cheeks. Maggie couldn’t see his eyes, but somehow knew that like his voice they had darkened with sadness. “My sister Laurel has a daughter about this size.”

  Maggie’s eyes widened. Laurel had called during one of Harte’s runs for more boxes. They’d talked for a while, but Maggie had gotten the impression there was a distance between them. The pride in his voice suggested she rethink her judgment.

  She held out her arms for him to give Emma to her. “Thank you for letting me finish with Jared.”

  “No problem.” As he moved away after passing Emma over, his hand brushed Maggie’s breast. There was nothing sexual about the touch, and yet an electric jolt shot through her. Looking into his eyes, she knew he felt it too.

  Harte cleared his throat and stepped aside, out of her way, but not out of the room. Wishing she didn’t want to ask why he hovered, she settled Emma in her crib.

  Thunder boomed. The lights went dark.

  Maggie jerked. Her heart lurched and slammed into her ribs.

  Adalia? She shook off the thought. No. The main breaker probably flipped. It was normal during bad storms. She needed to have it replaced. Sighing, she straightened, stepped back, and slammed into Harte. Lightning zapped her.

  “I need…” She tried to step to the left, but bumped into his arm.

  Moving to the right, she hit his other arm. Since he left her no choice, she braced her hands on the crib and shoved back against his chest hoping to budge him—all six-plus feet of him. Too much longer of touching him and she’d melt into the floor, her brain would turn to Jell-o and she’d begin drooling.

  At least then he wouldn’t be invading her space and senses.

  When he didn’t budge, she stepped closer to the crib. The move broke the contact so she could no longer feel his body, yet his heat and scent, something spicy that made her want to lean in, bury her face against him just smell him for hours, still enveloped her.

  “Harte, is there a reason you’re hovering?” She applauded herself for not sounding as erotically stimulated as she felt.

  “Come with me.” He grabbed her hand.

  By the time he stepped back enough to let her turn, her eyes had adjusted to the dark enough to see his gun. Where had that come from? Because it hadn’t been tucked in his pants. Did he have a pocket in his skin? She trailed after him, not that his pulling on her hand gave her a choice. “What’s with you and the gun?”

  “I always have it.” He stopped outside Emma’s room. “Close her door.”

  Maggie rolled her eyes and did as he asked—ordered. “You’re being pushy.”

  “Deal with it.” His tone held a smile, telling her he remembered their talk, wasn’t changing, was in fact enjoying pushing her buttons.

  As soon as Emma’s door latched, he pulled Maggie down the hall and checked her room. Images of them on her bed, rolling in the covers, flashed in her head before they were moving back up the hall to Jared’s room. In the office, Harte made sure the blinds were still closed and checked every possible hiding place—including beneath the desk.

  She tried telling him it was likely just a breaker. He brushed her off.

  His proximity minimized the fear his search had closing in on her. The doubt telling her she was wrong about the breaker. Had Adalia really gotten into the house again? What was she after?

  When he started to pull her back into the hall, she jerked her arm free. The bullying demands and nagging whys and what-ifs had to cease.

  “What the hell are you doing?” He grabbed her hand again. Frustration tightened his grip, but he didn’t hurt her.

  “You may enjoy trolling around in the dark with your gun, but I’m getting a flashlight.” She pulled free and inched her way to the desk, not knowing where all his boxes were. “Besides, it’s easier to see the breaker box with a flashlight.”

  “How do you know
it’s a breaker?”

  I don’t, thanks to you! I’m trying not to be scared. “We almost always lose power in strong storms.”

  “We, as in you, or we, as in the neighborhood?”

  “Me.” She pulled her pink Magnum flashlight out of the pen holder, twisted it on, and shined it to the floor. Slowly, she slid the beam of light up his body. He was hard everywhere. Absolutely everywhere. Dark, half-dressed, aroused. Her own body hummed a hungry response.

  “The breaker box needs to be replaced,” she choked out.

  “Fine. We’ll check it.” He held his hand out. Did he honestly think they were cozy enough to walk through the house holding hands like a love-struck couple?

  “Fine.” Ignoring his hand, she started to move past him with the light.

  He grabbed her wrist, slid his hand down to grip hers and pulled her behind him. “After you humor me and we check the rest of the house.”

  Arguments tripped over themselves at her tongue’s tip, but she didn’t want to admit he might be right. And all right, his strong hand around hers was a seductive distraction. Then he pulled her right up to his side.

  Too close.

  His scent wouldn’t let her breathe. She wanted nothing more than to bury her face in any part of him and breathe him deep. No! It wasn’t right. He was here to do a job. Sure, he’d pulled her to his body, but that didn’t mean he was inviting her to taste every inch of him.

  He was aroused, but not necessarily because of her. Still, she wanted to wallow in the warmth and pure maleness oozing from him. Too bad she’d probably burn up faster than a re-entry into Earth’s atmosphere.

  His spice had her stomach muscles clenching. She was probably playing with fire, tempting him to kiss her again, but she couldn’t resist.

  She drew in a slow breath. Ooooh. He smelled delicious. She’d gone loony, but he was too potent for a woman’s peace of mind. What was he thinking running around with pants only held up by a tiny string, no shirt and a gun?