by Nikki Duncan
She watched Harte steadily as she raised her ring finger. “Your man’s good. Most people would have a hard time spotting him. I grew up with men who loved old cars, and one of them spent considerable time in the military. I’ve been taught how to notice things.”
Harte licked his lips and grinned as if she amused him. His sharp gaze never left hers. “What else did you notice?”
She added her middle finger to indicate her next point. “I took an exit a little past the normal one.”
She’d stayed in the left lane, waiting until the last possible second to weave through the scattered cars to take the exit. The Cutlass had tried to follow her, but other drivers had blocked his path.
“So, what did you discover when you came up on him from behind?”
Harte might have pulled the ruse off if he hadn’t tensed up. He was quite easy to read when she paid attention. Maggie lifted her index finger and wiggled the four. “I didn’t come up behind him. I took a different route to the farm. Imagine my surprise when I found him waiting at the end of the property line as I left to come home.”
The feigned humor faded from Harte’s face. He couldn’t deny what he’d done.
She leaned against the counter. “Explain to me how Officer McClain knew where I was headed if you didn’t assign him to watch me.”
She didn’t give him time to answer. “The way I see it… You think I’m involved in something but won’t say what, so you’re treating me like a suspect.”
She quirked her brow and dared him to lie. She wasn’t backing down. Her days of bending to everyone else’s wishes were over. She had regained her balance and rediscovered her spine.
“Fine. I had him follow you. I don’t think of you as a suspect, but I made you a promise. I don’t take my promises lightly.” Eerily enough it was something he and Adalia had in common. Only her promises were criminal.
“You could have told me. You didn’t have to invade my privacy.”
“Couldn’t be helped.”
“Bull. You had more than one choice when you knew where I was going. If you felt the need to keep that close an eye on me you could have asked to join us.”
“Didn’t want to intrude.”
With her ire passing, Maggie noticed a picture frame in the corner of a cabinet had been moved. Her left eye twitched as she went to straighten it. “You mean you wanted me watched while you searched my house. You betrayed the trust you asked for.”
“It’s not like that, Mags.”
He stood in front of her and lied to her face. For the first time, the sound of her name on his lips sickened her. “You’re here so it’s easier to blend in with the neighbors and to be closer should something happen. You’ve not been given open access to my life.”
“That’s not what this is.”
“Really?” She crossed her ankles and arms. “Then explain it.”
“I can’t.” He set his bottled water on the counter. “But I was justified.”
“Wrong, Detective. What you did is one thing. How you went about it is another.” She pursed her lips and breathed deep.
“No.” Cold determination laced his voice. “Some things are justified.”
She didn’t care that his jaw twitched with leashed anger. She wanted to pummel him.
“I get it.” She shrugged. “I had a lot of time to think on the way home.”
“What do you get, Mags?”
“Adalia wants something I have. You won’t tell me what, though my help figuring it out could help you catch her faster. So rather than trust me you’re treating me like a villain while hoping to get lucky before I figure too much out.”
“I can’t help what you believe.”
Another lie. “You could with a little honesty.” She worked at leveling her heart rate to stay in control. The pounding wouldn’t slow.
“I need you to trust me to keep you safe until Adalia’s back behind bars.” Sincerity glimmered in his eyes, softening her resolve to fight him.
Still, she wasn’t the weak, helpless woman relying on the strong man to guide her. He could stand between her and a killer sure. Order her around, no. “If I know who you’re after, why can’t you tell me the rest?”
“It goes back to my promises.”
“You haven’t promised me anything that would stop you.”
“Not all of my promises were made to you.”
Who then? Who could have asked him other than her? He wouldn’t tell her. Fine. She would find out on her own. “If you didn’t have me followed because you suspect me of something then why?”
Harte winced a little, but didn’t look away. “Safety.”
“So I’m Adalia’s target.”
Any hope of sleep vanished with the scary truth.
Chapter 7
Satisfied he wouldn’t drip blood everywhere, something that would no doubt send Maggie into a whirl of OCD cleaning, BD wrapped a green towel around his waist, stuck his head out the hallway door of his bathroom and listened for signs of her location. He’d seen a first-aid kit in the kitchen and with luck could grab it and get back to his room before seeing her.
Silence greeted him. A good sign, but Maggie would be around somewhere. She always was. Easing down the hall in a near tiptoe walk, he went to the kitchen. One step into the room he froze.
Maggie. Bent over, pulling a pot out of the cabinet, pale peach slacks stretched across her hips, enhancing her curves.
Damn.
He hardened. The towel tented. He rolled his eyes and stifled a moan. If she turned, she’d see what the towel couldn’t hide, so keeping a wary eye out, he sidestepped toward the sink.
She straightened and turned. Her eyes darted over him and her jaw hardened. With no more than a few feet separating them, he saw every miniscule change on her face—flushing cheeks, twitching lips, darkening irises.
His hand throbbed with renewed force of his pumping blood.
Suddenly, as if a stick of dynamite exploded behind her, Maggie slammed the skillet on the counter, jumped across the room and grabbed his towel-wrapped hand. She pushed him toward the table and into a chair. “What did you do?”
A pulse of something—an odd mix of searing pain and enjoyment—sliced through his palm. He preferred her reaction to be to his naked body, but would take what he could get as long as she kept touching him.
“Dropped the razor. The blade broke in half.” He used his free hand to secure the towel at his waist.
She licked her enticing lips. Her fingers brushed his arm as she raised his hand.
His brain flipped a breaker in its intelligence box. If much more blood flowed out of his brain, he’d pass out at her feet. “I cut myself.”
“I gathered.” She pulled a chair close to his and began unwinding the bloody towel from his hand. “Was all this really necessary?”
Is it necessary for you to touch me and feel nothing? He watched her fuss over him and wondered if he’d moved to heaven or hell. This case was not going to end well. He wanted her, painfully, but as long as she wasn’t interested, he had no choice but to stay away from her. Who was he kidding? He had no choice anyway.
It would be fun trying to convince her though. I really have lost too much blood.
Scanning her face, the way she licked her bottom lip before sucking it between her teeth, he grew harder. He got a sexual reaction out of her when he pinned her to the couch or the car, but the sight of him wet…wrapped in only a towel and obviously aroused, did nothing to her.
Great. A man always wanted to be slapped in the face with his lack of appeal to a sexy woman. As much as it grated on his nerves that she seemed to have turned off her desire, that she could turn it off, he reminded himself again it was a good thing. She couldn’t mean too much to him, or he wouldn’t be able to protect her.
Personal involvements only complicated things.
More than her looks, which rocked harder than Godsmack, attracted him. Her mannerisms and the way she handled herself were others. He’d made
a promise to her husband, and it had nothing to do with stretching her across the table and spreading himself over her like cream cheese on a bagel.
He cleared his throat. “At the time it was.”
“Why didn’t you just put some antiseptic and a bandage on it?” She shook her head as she went to the sink, wet a washcloth, and retrieved the first-aid kit from the cabinet.
“There weren’t any in the drawers.” Her moves were logical and efficient. Cool control coated sizzling sensuality.
“You could’ve asked where they were.” She picked his hand up again and wiped away the blood.
“I wasn’t dressed.” Not that a towel counted as being dressed, but he hadn’t thought she was around.
“I’ve seen you without a shirt, Harte.” She poured antiseptic on the wound. Before he finished his wince, she blew on his palm.
Arousal flooded him as effectively as if she’d spread herself over him. When he swayed in his chair, he grabbed the corner of the table with his free hand. The veins in his head pounded.
“No, Mags.” She had to know what he meant. He cleared his throat again and looked over her head, trying to ignore the effect of her touch on his starved soul. The throbbing of his cut paled in comparison to his other aches as every brush of her fingers over his palm made him burn hotter. “I mean I wasn’t dressed.”
“And you still aren’t. I seem to be surviving.”
Her cool words washed over him. Though the fire still raged in his veins, he was thinking more clearly. And damn if they weren’t fun thoughts. The kids were no longer around to serve as buffers. The distraction could be fun. She couldn’t be as unaffected as she now appeared. He’d felt her previous reactions to him.
Unless taking her by surprise was the key to her arousal.
She’d spoken once about Mike’s gentleness in all things. He could have been the same way in the bedroom. How sad to live with sex-only-on-Saturday-mornings-and-anything-beyond-missionary-is-hedonistic type thinking. The kitchen was as good a place as any to snap those restraining thoughts.
Perhaps she’d had enough predictability and the thrill of something different got her off. Whatever made her tick, Maggie Sullivan was not as cool as she pretended and, smart or not, BD would make her react again.
She glued the cut closed, laid a piece of gauze bandage on his palm, and then reached for the first-aid tape. “Had you yelled, I would’ve told you there’s a first-aid kit under the sink.”
“I didn’t see one.”
“Obviously.” She pressed the first piece of tape in place and ran her finger over it to make sure it stuck.
He rolled his eyes and leaned in a little closer as her touch echoed within his hungry soul. His breath sent a tendril of her hair waving. The pulse in her throat jumped.
Not unaffected. He smiled as he watched her place the second strip of tape. He leaned closer still as she placed her finger on the end of the tape, ready to press it down like she had the first.
“I like the way you do that.” He whispered near her ear and grinned when her pulse rabbited.
She placed the third tape strip in place. Her finger slid over it. He moved even closer. Only a few inches separated them now. “You smell…delicious.”
She didn’t turn to him, but she swallowed with a barely audible gulp. Oh yeah, he affected her.
She laid the last tape strip on his palm. As she ran her finger over it, he closed another inch. “Such a soft…touch.”
Instead of looking away or leaning back, Maggie turned her head. She was close enough that her nose brushed his. Her gaze stared into his. She opened her mouth slightly and blew a warm breath across his lips. “Is that all you…need?”
His stomach jumped. He hadn’t thought he could be more aroused, but her single breath and the implication of her words invaded every corner of his hungry body. “Not quite.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Harte.” She squeezed his injured hand hard enough to start a painful throbbing and moved away to clean up the mess. “You aren’t my type.”
He sat back in his chair, blinking. The throbbing called back some of the blood that had rushed to his groin. She had been right there, as aroused as him, but she’d easily brushed off the heat.
How?
On her way to the sink she missed a step. When she got there, she fisted her hands on the edge. BD grinned. He may not be the type she wanted to want, but she wanted him.
Slowly and quietly, testing them both, he walked toward her. The smart move would be to return to his room, shave, get dressed and go to work. Drop the idea of shaking her shields with a seduction. He couldn’t stop Adalia if he played games all day with Maggie, but the games promised more fun. Wanting a moment of fun, allowing the man to take priority over the cop, wasn’t always bad.
He stopped behind her and moved in close enough to look over her shoulder, but stayed far enough away to avoid their bodies brushing. Barely. “Thank you for the nursing, Mags,” he whispered. “Next time I want the outfit too.”
“Are you trying to crowd me, Harte?” She didn’t react. She even sounded composed as she rinsed his blood out of the rag and the towel he’d used.
“Not at all. Just expressing my—” he stepped up, brushing his erection against her, “—gratitude.”
Her laugh was an unexpected flow of joy he wanted to hear more often. The shake of her body against his was an awakening. “That’s not gratitude.”
“Nurses know best.” He pressed against her one last time before backing away.
Wanting to see her reaction, he walked backward to the doorway and watched as her breaths came sharply and her hands no longer worked the rag. She stared straight ahead.
He was going to Hell, no two ways about it. May as well make the journey more exciting. “Mags.”
“Yes?” Her sweet voice cracked a little.
Grinning, he rested his hands on his waist and waited for her to turn and face him, which she finally did. “Since the sight of my body doesn’t affect you one way or the other, I’ll not bother next time.”
He flicked a hand and sent the towel cascading to the floor. Cocking a brow, he gave her a completely unobstructed view.
She gasped. Her eyes widened. Arousal stamped her flushed cheeks. Never again would she be able to claim he left her unaffected.
Whistling, he walked back to his room. Oh yeah, he was going to Hell.
“Son of a…” BD fisted his hands against the urge to throw his computer, or anything else close at hand, across the crowded bullpen. “It has to be a dirty cop.”
“Could be a prison guard.” Craig—reading the prison records they’d finally received—flipped a pen between his fingers.
“Both.” Having confirmation from Captain Winchester that Adalia had to have had inside help with her escape, BD ping-ponged between rage and the futility of having no real answers. He looked again at the prison logs. “No cops were signed in at the time.”
“A guard could’ve let one pass.”
“Or it could have been set up from before.” Winchester was going to have the guards on duty at the time of Adalia’s escape interviewed, but BD wasn’t convinced they would find anything. Typically speaking, the ones who got caught up in bribes were good at lying and covering their tracks.
“Detectives.”
BD raised a brow at Officer Mac McClain as he approached in jeans and a dark blue T-shirt. “McClain.”
“I’m off shift. Thought I’d see if you needed any help.” Mac stood ramrod straight, with his legs braced slightly apart and his hands behind his back, in a military at-ease stance. A sheepish blush stained his cheeks.
BD tapped his pen against the papers in front of him.
“Sir, I’m sorry about that.” Mac lifted his chin slightly. “I’ve placed an extra change of civvies in my car should I be needed again on short notice.”
Craig coughed out a laugh. “Mac, relax.”
“Sir, I screwed up.” He remained at attention.
&n
bsp; “It wasn’t your fault,” BD offered. Maggie had known about Adalia and, though he hadn’t admitted it to her, he could have told her about a tail. Or at least expected her to be on the lookout. “She sees too much.”
“Yes, sir.”
BD dropped his pen and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Sit down.”
McClain nodded once and followed the order keeping his back ramrod straight.
“Mac, you’ve been out of the military a few years now. Your record from the Austin PD is stellar, and you’ve done a great job since coming on here.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I’m guessing you joined the military as soon as you graduated high-school to get away from something.”
He hesitated momentarily before answering. “Yes, sir.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but if you don’t loosen up and stop addressing us as if we’re your commanding officers, I’m going to kick your ass.”
“Sorry, sir?”
“Like that. Call me BD or Harte.” He pointed at Craig, who grinned as he kicked back in his chair still flipping his pen. “He’s Craig or Harrison.”
“Yes, si—BD. I’ll work on it.” Mac stood and started to walk away, but turned back with a grin. “For the record, I don’t think you could kick my ass.”
Craig burst out laughing.
BD smiled slowly. “See, that’s more like it. And anytime you want to test your theory, you let me know. I’d love the workout”
“Will do. And I’ll do a drive-through of Mrs. Sullivan’s neighborhood before I go home.”
“Thanks.” BD watched McClain walk away and laughed. “He’s not going to be on the streets long before he tests for his detective’s badge.”
“He’ll make a good one.”
“Yeah.” BD picked up the file of notes he’d made copies of. Normally the noise of the bullpen didn’t bother him, but today, he needed quiet and space to spread out and think. “I’m going to a conference room. You coming?”
“You know me and puzzles.” Craig grabbed his laptop bag, a pen and notepad from his desk.
“Harte!” Pritchett bellowed from across the bullpen. “You find that killer and her papers with your superior know-it-all skills? Or are you too busy banging the pretty brunette?”
