Hiding His Witness

“Nothing.”

“It’s okay, you can tell me. Do you need something? Is your arm bothering you?”

Her arm was fine. Her ribs were throbbing, but she wasn’t fixating on that. “It’s your couch.” She blushed, regretting her criticism. It wasn’t like her apartment would be featured in a home decorating magazine anytime soon.

He glanced into the living room, a look of confusion on his face. “What about it?”

Polite response? “It’s so manlike.”

Detective Truman tossed her a crooked grin. “I am a man.”

Yes, he was. A big one. A handsome one. Impossible not to notice.

He grinned at her. “Try it,” he said, gesturing toward the couch.

Had she spoken aloud? “What?”

“Have a seat. Flip on the TV. You’ll see the magic. I’m going to grab a few things from upstairs. I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Okay.” Carey wandered into the living room and plopped down on the couch. It wasn’t what she’d expected. She’d thought leather couches were for frat boys and playboys, but this was nice. She ran her hands over the cushion and inhaled the smell of it. It was supple and soft. Her nerves shot lust into her veins. Yeah, the couch was magic.

How many women had fallen under Detective Truman’s charms in this exact place? And why did it bother her to think about him spending the night curled up with a woman?

Carey picked up the remote from the coffee table and flipped on the television. Sports network. Of course. She leaned back, letting her body sink into the plush cushions. She nearly let out a moan, somewhere between pleasure and pain. The pain in her ribs intensified when she reclined and since the aspirin had worn off and without adrenaline propelling her, her body caved in to the ache.

“Comfortable?” Detective Truman asked.

Carey opened her eyes and straightened. “It’s nice.”

Detective Truman dropped his bag on the floor and sat next to her. “Perfect place to watch football.”

“My father used to…” She let her voice drift away. It had been a long time since she’d spoken of her father and the mention of him cut to the quick. The rawness hadn’t gone away and the wound seeped inside her chest. She forced down her grief, trying to think about something else as she fought tears.

“It’s okay to let it out,” Detective Truman said, tucking his arm around her shoulder. “You’ve been through a rough time.”

He had no idea. The heaviness in her chest was suffocating. “My father died recently.”

“I’m sorry,” he said into her hair, moving her closer to him.

His hand rubbed her shoulder, providing comfort she hadn’t had in months. She sank against him, needing this more than she’d realized.

“I miss him sometimes.” All the time. A constant yearning she’d only dealt with by ignoring it when she could.

“Is that why you’re alone?” he asked, his voice unbearably tender, his fingers massaging her with the right amount of pressure and gentleness, her body relaxing under his touch.

Tears she’d fought spilled over and she pressed her face into his shoulder, hiding them. After all these months, she should have healed more, should have been coping better. The heart-wrenching grief hadn’t loosened its hold. “Yes. It’s why I’m alone.” Without her father, her world had fallen apart. Her good friend had died in a car accident. The people she had trusted left her. Mark had betrayed her. Her life as she knew it had ended.

Detective Truman stroked her hair gently and reached for a tissue on the side table. He palmed her chin and dabbed at her eyes. “You’re not alone anymore.”

Everything in her responded to his words. Her heart surged and her mind cried out with pleasure. As desperate as it was, they were words she had longed to hear. She didn’t need forever; she needed not to feel this lonely for a little while. So many reasons to keep her distance from this man and yet she reached for him, skimming her fingers down his arm to his hand. He tensed slightly but didn’t pull away. He was too handsome for his own good, said all the right things, and his confidence drew her, awakening her slumbering desire, tempting her to touch him, taste him.

She moved her hand under his. “Detective Truman?”

He looked at their joined hands. “Reilly. Just Reilly.” His voice was gruff. She affected him. It sent a secret thrill across her belly.

“Reilly.” His name rolled across her tongue. “Why are you doing this?”

He swallowed hard. “Doing what?”

She leaned closer to him. “You don’t have to take care of me.” But she loved that he was.

“I know.”

“Then why are you?”

“Gut feeling.”

She moved her fingers to interlace with his, in part to test his reaction. His jaw flexed and he looked at her. His eyes were filled with emotions she couldn’t read.

A second later Reilly came to his feet, pulling his hand away, and she fell forward on the couch, catching herself on her hands. Her arm burned, slamming her back into reality.

He looked blankly away from her at some point on the wall. “We need to get moving.”

What had she been trying to do? Touching him that way had been a mistake. She was lonely and hurting and she’d made an error in judgment. His rejection stung worse than it should have. She stood, humiliation darkening her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have touched you.”

Reilly waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t mention it again. You’re going through a rough time.”

Carey swallowed hard and blotted out the sense of longing he’d roused. She’d been going through a rough time for too long. She couldn’t explain it, not without sounding like an overemotional lunatic, so she stayed quiet and followed him to his car. Working to put herself together, she focused on getting out of the city and where she’d go and what she’d do next.

Staying with Reilly wasn’t possible, not without one or both of them getting hurt.

Chapter 4

Carey fiddled with the car’s radio buttons, looking for a station with music that wouldn’t worsen her headache or make the mood in the car too mushy. She was already feeling exposed, having made the mistake of holding Reilly’s hand and being rejected. Setting the wrong tone made her feel embarrassed all over again. He wasn’t behaving as if it was a big deal and she tried to write it off in her mind. Mistake with a capital M.

He was a good-looking man and he wasn’t interested in her. She could handle that. She could move on. She was an expert at moving on.

Her hand froze over the dial when she heard the Vagabond Killer mentioned.

“…known as the Vagabond Killer. The Denver police are questioning a witness who survived one of the killer’s attacks and is reportedly able to identify him.”

Embarrassment rushed out of her and was replaced by fear.

Reilly reached for her hand and moved it away from the radio dial. “Let’s switch to satellite radio. We don’t need to hear the news.”

The contact sent plumes of fire licking at her skin. She set her hands in her lap. A casual touch shouldn’t evoke a heated response. “They were talking about the case. It’s already hit the streets. I’ll bet my picture is everywhere.”

“We knew this would happen and that’s why we’re leaving the city. There’s nothing you can do about the case now, so try to put it out of your mind.”