by Regan Black
“There are two unmarked cars on the street,” he added. “One up front and one out back.” And he would be close too. “Just in case Capital X figures out that application is bogus and originated with you.”
“They won’t.” Her chin lifted. “Colton Investigations is better than that. Honestly, Griffin is your friend.”
Yeah, and his friend would be pretty pissed off to learn Emmanuel had slept with the sister he was supposed to be protecting. “Pippa...” He just didn’t know what else to say. “Forget it. We can talk tomorrow.”
“Thanks for the panic button,” she said. “Even though I know how to take care of myself.”
Far safer to keep his mouth shut rather than be a jerk and remind her she’d let him take pretty good care of her in the past hour. No, he definitely was not the bigger man tonight.
Insulted, with no real cause, he stalked downstairs to his car. He’d known another night in the car was probable, and still it stung that she’d booted him out. He trusted the teams in the unmarked cars, but he couldn’t leave her safety to others. He didn’t want to pinch her independence, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have her back.
Yes, Griffin was counting on him, but more than that, Emmanuel felt like he owed her. Especially after hearing Elizabeth and Pippa talk. He’d interviewed enough family members to know the difference between bluster and belief. He understood that believing wasn’t always the right character assessment.
Elizabeth probably hadn’t missed the signs of murderous tendencies. On the other hand, he’d let an unpleasant interaction color his view of the crime scene and the prime suspect. Anna wasn’t a nice person, but thanks to the inconsistencies in the case, he was starting to think Pippa was right about the woman’s innocence.
He looked up toward Pippa’s window, half hoping he would see her watching for him. Of course, she wasn’t there. Being there would imply he mattered to her. She had made it painfully clear he did not. What had she called it? A physical outlet.
And why was he so damn upset?
He dropped his head to the steering wheel and waited for his common sense and normal detachment to return. He wasn’t the guy who got hung up on the girl. Especially not when the girl was a woman eight years his junior and had tossed a grenade into one of his closed cases.
He wasn’t anyone’s role model; he didn’t want to be a hero. When it came to relationships, he wanted a woman willing to be warm and open. A woman to enjoy, who wasn’t afraid to admit she wanted him back.
“Pipe dream,” he said to the empty car.
Years ago, he’d proposed to a woman he thought fit those criteria, and he’d been burned. A reporter, she’d used his body and his connections to make a name for herself so she could move up to a bigger market. At least he discovered the truth before they were married. In his family, divorce wasn’t an acceptable option. For better or worse was taken as a formal commitment.
It really sucked that the best sex he’d had in years would dredge up those old painful memories. Noticing that his battery was low on his phone, he plugged it in and turned on the car to charge it. The radio was tuned to an oldies station, and Elvis was singing a ballad about love. One of his mother’s favorites. He switched off the radio and reclined his seat, closing his eyes and letting the hum of the engine lull him into a drowsy sleep.
Not much point in worrying about how Pippa affected him. When her brother found out, Emmanuel knew he was a dead man.
* * *
Pippa couldn’t take the droning white noise anymore. She turned off the drying equipment and all the lights on her way back to her bedroom. She left her phone and the panic button on her nightstand while she got ready for bed. She stared at herself in the mirror over the sink, daydreaming about those sweet moments in Emmanuel’s arms.
What had she been thinking? Too bad she couldn’t blame the sugar high of the éclairs. She turned her back on her reflection, ashamed by the satisfied smile that kept flitting over her lips.
She had jumped Emmanuel as if he were the last slice of bacon on the platter on Christmas morning.
Oh, how the man could kiss. And do everything else with a master’s touch, as well. That hadn’t been good sex; it had been life altering. And she kicked the man out. What a fool. She walked out of the bathroom and stared at the rumpled bed. She should change the sheets, erase all traces of what they shared. Instead she caught herself hugging a pillow, breathing in his scent.
Why had she sent him packing?
Fear. A simple, if uncomfortable, admission. She was afraid of her feelings, afraid of losing herself and losing sight of her goals within the happy fog of a relationship. She’d watched her mom’s goals and dreams get smothered by her dad’s career. Her dad had subscribed to the theory that ambitious men deserved women who would support their goals. The rift and underlying unhappiness had left a lasting impression on her young heart. She loved both of her parents, and it was so sad to watch their marriage spiral out of control, to watch them fall out of love. She couldn’t give that kind of support to Emmanuel without sacrificing herself, and she didn’t expect him to adjust for her. It wasn’t fair to either of them to pretend otherwise.
Pippa knew what she was capable of, knew how she dialed in on a case to the exclusion of all else. A man like Emmanuel wouldn’t stick around for long when she had to cancel dates or change plans for the sake of a case.
Banishing all thoughts of “next time” from her mind, she straightened the bedding and traded her robe for her normal nightshirt. It wasn’t nearly as warm as his skin or as comforting as having his arms around her.
He was a beautiful distraction, but she couldn’t afford to become attached. Not to the man who had convicted Anna in the first place and definitely not to the man her brother had sent to keep tabs on her.
She battled back a blast of panic that Griffin would find out, but there was no way Emmanuel would volunteer any personal details of their evening. He didn’t have a death wish, and deep down, aggravated or not, she knew he wouldn’t want to embarrass her.
She appreciated his sense of fair play when he’d told her about the evidence box. If only it didn’t feel as if she’d thanked him with sexual favors.
Eventually her sister would figure it out. That was going to be an awkward conversation, unless she could delay chatting with her sister for several days.
Considering how best to avoid her twin in the days ahead, she turned out the light and snuggled down into the bedding. Breathing in Emmanuel’s scent, she closed her eyes and tried to sleep. She would have herself under control when she faced him again.
She wasn’t sure of the time when a soft beep in the hallway brought her almost all the way out of a sweet dream of her body tangled with Emmanuel’s. Ignoring the sound, she rolled to her side, trying to get back to the dream.
A squeak that sounded like the dry hinge at her front door brought her fully awake. She reached for the panic button on her nightstand while she listened for any confirmation that she might be in danger.
Maybe Emmanuel had let himself back in. Something to be mad about later. She was tempted to call out his name, but if someone was inside, it might be her sister Kiely. Sometimes her twin crashed in the second bedroom, so Pippa had given her a new code for the front door.
She must have dozed off waiting for another noise, because the next thing she knew, strong hands suddenly landed on her throat, cutting off her airway. The heavy body looming over her, a shadow in the dark room, made a low grunting sound as he choked her.
Gloves, not skin. She registered the different texture as she bucked and twisted away from the assault. Her hand gripped the panic button fob, fingers squeezing in a dazed hope that she’d pressed the right button and the signal was getting through.
She fought, twisting one way and kicking another, raking at the arms holding her. He wore some kind of coat and something over his face too. A
ll she caught in her fingernails was fabric rather than skin. The man had her pinned down, and the bedding impeded her ability to escape.
Desperate, with bright sparks of light dancing at the edges of her vision, she planted her feet into the mattress and drove her hips up. The move loosened his grip, and she sucked in a short breath, but it wasn’t nearly enough for her oxygen-depleted lungs.
She struggled against the inevitable while her lungs burned. Pain and panic filled her in equal measure under his crushing grip. She gave up on the key fob and managed to get an arm free of the bedding. Her hand landed on the stack of books on her nightstand, and she pummeled him with the nearest hardbound edition.
He grunted, then knocked the threat away, jerking her around as if he were wrestling with a small, crazed animal instead of a full-grown woman. The movement freed her legs and she kicked out wildly. Every time she threw him off a bit, she got a little more air. Another minute to live.
She heard a crash, followed by shouting and then the attacker was gone, off of her. Dragging in a ragged breath, she coughed and sputtered her way to the floor, crawling toward the safety of the bathroom. Behind her, she saw the shadows of two people fighting, one of them swearing in Spanish.
The room shook as the men slammed into a wall and then out of her bedroom and into the hallway. More voices were shouting now, but only one she recognized: Emmanuel. Disoriented and afraid, she huddled in the dark bathroom. Before she could remember she’d left her phone behind, she heard Emmanuel calling her name. Was it over? Her body quaked as she inched closer to the comforting sound of his voice. He hadn’t gone home. He’d stayed close and come to her rescue, charging in to save her from that deadly, choking pressure. Was he all right?
* * *
Winded, his heart pounding in his ears, he couldn’t tell if he was clear yet. He was getting too old for this crap. Rounding a corner, he paused, relieved that no one was on his tail. He removed the stocking cap and stuffed it into his coat pocket, exposing his graying hair. Yanking off the coat, he turned it inside out so the bright color showed, and concentrated on walking normally, despite the knee going stiff after wrestling with Iglesias.
The car he’d borrowed from his brother-in-law was still several blocks away. But at least now he wouldn’t match the alert that was being broadcast for a perp in all black.
He took measured breaths, as more aches and pains lit up various points in his body. That little scrap of a lawyer had landed a couple of solid blows. He might have to call out tomorrow if the tenderness at his temple turned into a visible bruise. No way would he take a chance that Iglesias added up a defensive injury with the man in Colton’s condo.
He’d been sure she was asleep, but her reactions had been too quick. And that panic button had been a mean surprise. Iglesias must have left that with her after the break-in. He’d given his daughter something similar when she’d gone to college. Just a little extra precaution in a dangerous world.
Stupid thoughtful detective. He knew his caring streak really should be fading, after all his years with the GRPD.
Iglesias was smitten, that was all, he decided. Hanging out and watching over the friend’s little sister, it was natural. Hopefully he’d see through her before she burned him. The lawyer was surely as manipulative as her client. No decent person would help a conniving bitch like Wentworth.
He wouldn’t be surprised if he peed blood for a day or two after that kick to his kidneys. Whoever taught Iglesias to fight dirty did a good job. Under other circumstances he might be impressed. Now, out of breath and afraid he was going to be scooped up any second, he hated the detective almost as much as he hated Hicks and Wentworth.
He’d heard the woman was tossing money around the prison, doing her best to pretend she was in charge. The guards would take the payoffs and consider it hazard pay for dealing with the Queen of Mean. No one inside got paid enough. He just hoped they took her money and didn’t deliver on her silly demands.
When would she learn that the world didn’t turn on her whim?
Insensitive people like Hicks and Wentworth deserved each other. He typically didn’t judge others, but bullies? Never could stand one.
He pressed a hand to his aching side, wondering if Iglesias had cracked a rib. He hadn’t seen that kind of skill and aggression coming from a smooth one like Iglesias. The man had been on him so fast he’d barely made it out the back door. Damn lucky he hadn’t been exposed right then and there.
When he reached the car, he tossed the coat into the passenger seat, further distancing himself from the description Iglesias would be handing out. He wasn’t hungry, but he needed more of an alibi, so he rolled into a drive-through for a burger, fries and a milkshake, not outside the norm.
Heading home, he contemplated the real trouble: the lawyer had survived.
He had to get her to drop this nonsense about finding the real killer. The jury’s verdict had been good enough for everyone else—why not her? The sad daughter just had to accept that her mother wasn’t a good person.
He’d give her forty-eight hours to come to her senses and drop the case. If she didn’t, well, he’d think of something. Going back to her condo wasn’t an option. Iglesias would surely up the security measures again. Hell, they’d probably add a dog to the patrol and put a bear trap on the back stairs.
He choked on a fry when he thought about what a scent dog might pick up. Had to ditch these clothes, the shoes, all of it.
Wentworth and her lawyer were costing him big-time, making this entire mess worse.
He swore as he turned a corner, his back and shoulders already so damn sore. He couldn’t go to his normal doctor, couldn’t file the claim with his insurance through the department.
If he couldn’t finish this, who could he trust to take over and make sure the Hicks case stayed closed and Wentworth never stepped out into the free world again?
That would take some thought, some finagling and more than a case of beer.
Before he invested another cent in this endeavor, he was going to dive deeper into the lawyer. If she wouldn’t come to her senses for her own sake, maybe she’d make the smart choice to protect someone else.
Unlike Anna Wentworth and that sleazy David Hicks, the Colton family had a solid reputation in Grand Rapids, and everyone knew how tight they were, especially after their parents were killed.
There was an angle worth digging into.
* * *
“Pippa, honey?” She heard Emmanuel’s voice, soft and close, just on the other side of the bathroom door. “Pippa, it’s me. Can I come in?”
Instantly she felt calmer and took her first deep breath in too long. She tried to answer him, but her throat was too raw. He turned the doorknob and she squeaked in fear. On an oath, he slowly nudged the door open until he could come inside. “You’re safe now,” he said, crouching in front of her.
He had a split lip and a smear of blood on his cheek. Otherwise he looked just as he did when he’d left. He held his hand out to her and waited as if he didn’t have anywhere else to be for the rest of his life.
Emmanuel. She put her hands in his palm, steadier just from that simple connection.
“That’s my girl. Come on with me now.”
Yes. His girl. She wanted to be his. Needed to be his. When she tried to stand, her legs quaked and wobbled, but he caught her around the waist and kept her upright.
Her bedroom was a series of tumultuous images as he guided her through and out to the hallway. She saw scuff marks on her walls, from the fight no doubt, and her back door was open too. Her condo was full of people, including the officers who’d been stationed outside and paramedics arriving with their bags and a transport chair.
She clung to Emmanuel’s hand and shook her head. She didn’t want to go to a hospital.
He pulled her into his arms and cuddled her close to his chest. “You’re safe now. H
e’s gone.” He murmured more words in Spanish, too fast for her to understand.
“Wh-who,” she stuttered. Trying to speak without pain was impossible. “Who was it?” she asked, wincing.
“Hush. Don’t talk. Let the paramedics take a look.”
She knew Emmanuel and the others had questions for her. She had questions of her own. But interviews had to wait until the paramedics were satisfied about her condition. They covered her bare legs with a blanket and gave her oxygen while they checked her vitals. Her blood pressure was up, as expected, but her lungs sounded clear.
“Do you want me to call Griffin or Kiely?” Emmanuel offered.
She shook her head. She wanted only him right now.
Emmanuel brought her tea laced with honey so she could answer a few preliminary questions about the assault. He drifted out of reach at one point, giving a statement or guiding the responding CSI to the crime scene. Thankfully, it wasn’t her younger sister Sadie. She didn’t want anyone else to see her while she felt so fragile. It occurred to her then that her bedroom was a crime scene, and tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Keep breathing,” one paramedic said. “Easy and smooth.”
She tried to comply, but it was easier when Emmanuel was close again, his hand stroking through her hair. When she refused a trip to the hospital, the paramedics left her with a cold pack and instructions, urging her to follow up with her doctor as soon as possible.
“You should go,” Emmanuel said. “They can give you something for the pain.”
“The cold pack is fine,” she said with a croak.
“Please, don’t talk.” He escorted the CSI to the door, and finally it was just the two of them in the condo.
“Who was it?” she asked.
“Shh. I don’t know,” Emmanuel replied. “He wore a ski mask.”
“And gloves.” She turned the cold pack. “Did you catch him?”
