Dangerous Kiss (15 page)

Hank’s oversized “I Heart Nebraska Football” cup quivered in her hand as she strode down the hall. Already, she’d had four cups of strong coffee. Caffeine ran through her veins faster than a rabid dog chasing a squirrel. Still, she jonesed for more. The joys of addiction.

She half hoped and half dreaded running into Jake in the hall. She hadn’t seen him since the deputies separated them at Harvest for questioning.

“My name is Frank Darcy and I want to call my attorney.”

That voice. Every hair on her body stood at attention. Frank Darcy? Burlington had told the truth about Kendall’s biological father.

Appetite forgotten, she jerked to a stop. Where was he? If she could listen in on the interview, she wouldn’t have to wait on Hank for the answers. A quick glance around confirmed no one else would see her eavesdropping. If she got caught, there would be hell to pay, but it would be worth it.

To her left, a door stood ajar. She tiptoed over and stood with her back flat against the wall. Craning her neck, she caught a glimpse inside the video room. Hank and two deputies crowded around a black-and-white TV watching the closed-circuit feed from the interrogation room.

“Look, Barney Fife, I said I want to call my lawyer. Give me a phone. Now.”

Small speakers attached to the TV added static to Darcy’s cynical tone. Hearing him talk and watching him on the grainy footage sent a cold blast of fury across Claire’s skin.

The murdering jerk slouched back in his chair and dismissed the investigators with a turn of his head. Strunk and White sat across a narrow table from him. An unopened case file filled the space between the two sides.

He looked as if he didn’t have a care in the world. The EMTs must have shot him full of some pretty damn good meds to even out his meth high. If he worried about going to prison for murder, it didn’t show on his face.

The cup handle cracked in her tight grip. She’d shoot the bastard in the ass again if she had the chance. Of course, at the time, she’d been aiming a bit higher. Nervous about hitting Jake, she’d flinched.

Too bad.

“Sure, sure. You’ll get your call,” Strunk said. He smiled. No malice touched his face.

Judging by his companionable attitude, she figured he played good cop.

“Course, we’ll have to put you into lockup until he gets here. It’ll only take, what, five hours for him to get here from Denver. Sound right, Steve?”

White cracked his knuckles. “Yep.”

“It’s a pretty drive, what with everything turned nice and green from last night’s rain. The lawyer might stop for dinner. Maybe even at Harvest. The wife has been begging me to make reservations there for months. Your attorney, he might check into a hotel. Be here what, around nine tonight?”

“Yep.” White lumbered over, stood behind Darcy. A feather couldn’t have fit between his protruding belly and Darcy’s shaved head.

“You’ll have to spend the night. Deal with the drunks pulled over after Monday Night Football. Might get puked on. Man, those are nice shoes you’ve got. Hate to see what regurgitated nachos and beer would do to them.” Strunk paused, flipped through some papers. “So why don’t you talk with us a bit first. Dragging in a lawyer only slows the process down.”

Darcy and Strunk faced off against each other in silence. After a few moments, Darcy leaned forward, his face a mask of gullibility drenched in sweat.

“Really? You think my lawyer-free cooperation would make your DA look kindly on little ol’ me?” Sarcasm thick as honey, but nowhere near as sweet, coated Darcy’s words.

“Now, Frank…can I call you Frank?” Strunk leaned forward, hands open, palms showing.

“You can call me Sugartits McGee if it makes you happy. But I’m not talking without a lawyer. Phone. Now.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Good cop looked straight into the camera, shrugged his shoulders. Without a word, he gathered his papers and left the interview room.

Frustrated, Claire wanted to holler at the men in the video room. They couldn’t just give up. They had to make him talk.

White strolled to the door, paused and looked back at Darcy. “Hope that bandaged butt of yours starts feeling better soon, Sugartits.”

Out in the hall, Claire fought to stifle her chuckle. She lost. It bubbled out of her before she could cover her mouth.

A hand flung the video room door the rest of the way open. Hank glowered at her from inside the doorway.

Oh, crap
.

She’d survived the psycho in the next room, but now her own brother looked as if he were going to kill her. She held out his coffee mug like a peace offering.

“Coffee?” Her cheeks ached from her smile’s fake sugary goodness.

“You need to go home. Now.”

Hank’s hand pushed against the small of her back as he forced her down the hall.

“Hank, just let me talk to him. He’ll talk to me, I know it.”

The vein in his neck went into overdrive, pulsating like a jackhammer. He’d clamped his jaw down so hard, she worried he’d break a tooth.

“No.” The single word from Hank came out low and slow.

She scrambled for another option to find out why Darcy had killed his own daughter. Was there really access to three million dollars out there somewhere on a flash drive? “How about the interview video? Can I watch it? I could point out and similarities between how he talks now and during the phone calls he made to me.”

Hank opened the door to his glass-encased office and grabbed his empty mug from her hand before walking inside and barring her from following him. “No.”

“What if—”

“For the last time, no! You are not sitting in on the interview. And no, you can’t watch the video of it. Now go home.” Hank slammed the door in her face.

She wanted more information. She needed her pound of flesh. Riled up and ready to continue the argument, she grabbed the doorknob.

“Get away from my door or I’ll arrest you for being a pain in the ass.” Hank’s muffled words made her jump sky high.

She spotted him glaring at her through his office window. The stern look on his face and the stubborn set to his jaw showed he meant business. She stomped her foot in frustration.

“That’s not a real charge, Hank. Let me in.”

He yanked the blinds closed.

Exasperated, Claire kicked at the blue plastic recycle bin next to Hank’s door. She missed. Her sandal flew off her foot and sailed down the hallway.

Perfect. Just perfect.

She clomped over to her shoe, the slick floor cool against her one bare foot.

“You know that could be considered attempted destruction of government property.” A touch of deadpan humor lightened Jake’s words.

She froze with her sandal in one hand, bare foot angled up toward her knee. Warmth flowed through her, wrapped around her shoulders and melted her irritation. Her skin tingled and her fingers ached to touch him.

Bodyguard with benefits. What had she been thinking? There was no way she could ever touch this man again and keep her heart. Hell, she could barely be in the same room with him without wanting to throw herself into his arms.

She’d only known him for a few days. He lived hundreds of miles away. They were both too headstrong to function together as a couple. In her experience with men, the thrill wore off quickly. They got bored. They cheated. She couldn’t go through that again. To protect herself, she had to walk away.

Half heartbroken already, Claire turned. Her resolve wavered at the sight of him. His hair spiked up in all directions as if he’d spent the last hour running his fingers through it. He’d missed a button on his shirt when he’d hastily gotten dressed earlier. Had it only been a few hours ago that they’d been on their way to buy condoms? Heat blasted up her body at the memory.

That damn smirk tugged at the right side of his mouth. “He locked me out too.” He stood at the end of the hallway, two steaming cups in his hands. “Coffee?”

Her stomach lurched. She’d downed too much already. Any more of that cheap, bitter brew and she’d spew. Not the lasting impression she wanted to leave him with as he walked out of her life. “I’m good. Thanks.”

An awkward silence fell. Neither moved.

Baffled by the whole situation, she had no idea what to say or do or feel. She’d never gone from sex to shooting before. Hell, she’d never come on her desk before with someone she’d only known a few days and wouldn’t know for much longer. She needed to escape.

“Well then, I guess you’re heading back to Denver soon. Have a safe drive.” A cold brick settled on her heart. She had to get out of here before she started crying again. Hanging her head she trudged down the hallway toward the door. One problem. She had to get by him.

“No.” His firm voice halted her feet.

Her head popped up as her pulse increased. “No?”

He put the coffee down on an empty shelf. A frisson of sexual heat sparked between them. His body called out to her like a siren, luring her toward a dangerous and rocky coast. Afraid her heart would be broken on the shore, she kept her eyes lowered.

“You promised we’d talk later.” He trailed a finger down her cheek. “I thought you were the kind of woman who kept her word.”

Blinking back unwanted tears, she forced her wobbling lip to still before gazing up at him. It scared her how badly she wanted to spend even a little more time with him. A vague picture formed of what a future with Jake would be like. Coming home to him after closing Harvest for the night. Crawling into bed and snuggling up against his warm body. Ruthlessly, she tried to push away those thoughts but they lingered.

She should walk away now and make a clean break of it, but she couldn’t do it. Missing this time with Jake would haunt her. She’d recovered from a broken heart before, she could do it again. Probably.

Heat enveloped her fingers as she intertwined them with Jake’s. Her hand looked so small and fragile in his, like delicate china laid atop an oak table. They shouldn’t go together, but they did. “Let’s go.”

Jake delivered a soft kiss to the top of her head and dumped the paper coffee cups in a nearby trashcan. Together, they strolled out the door, hand-in-hand, into the gathering dusk.

H
ow is it that you own a restaurant and don’t cook?” Jake took a pan down from the overhead storage rack in Harvest’s kitchen. They’d ended up at the restaurant after a short detour to the Stop and Sip because of Claire’s barren refrigerator at home. After the day they’d had, he figured they could both use some comfort food.

“I ignore the recipe and add in a little of this and a little of that.” Claire shrugged. “When I’m in the kitchen I just can’t follow directions.” She handed him half a dozen eggs.

He snorted. “Yeah, no shock there.”

“Very funny.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her survey the ingredients on the metal prep table. Eggs. Bread. Cinnamon. Vanilla. Who didn’t like breakfast?

“You’re making French toast? And you mock
me
for not knowing how to cook?”

He raised an eyebrow. The girl talked enough smack to play in the NBA, but the give and take excited him, made him curious to find out what she’d say or do next. Until he’d met Claire, he didn’t realize how boring his dating life had been. The old man had been harping on him for years to look beyond the willowy blondes Jake had always dated, to find someone who had pluck and passion. His little fairy warrior didn’t have a passive bone in her delectable body.

He slipped his hand around her slender waist and pulled her to him until her back nestled against his chest. She snuggled in as he tucked her head under his chin. “Don’t knock the French toast ’til you’ve tried it.” She relaxed against him, molded herself to him. A perfect fit.

As if he’d been zapped with Viagra, he hardened instantly. He toyed with the thin, red spaghetti straps of her dress resting on her shoulders. He slid a finger under one, tracing its path across her warm, supple skin. He wanted to sweep the food off the prep table and eat her instead. As if reading his thoughts, her stomach growled its disapproval.

Damn.

He chuckled into her coconut-scented hair. The aroma launched a fantasy about lying on the beach next to her. Her string bikini would barely cover her heavy tits. A little paper umbrella would float in her Mai Tai. She’d wrap her luscious lips around the straw and suck while he rubbed sunscreen all over her decadent curves. It would be paradise.

Her stomach growled again, louder this time.

Reluctant to let go of the fantasy, he waited a beat before lifting his head. “Did you bring Onion with you?”

“Oh, shut up.” A flush rose above her neckline like a blinking neon sign declaring: Look here.

He squeezed her shoulders and laid a quick kiss on the top of her head, inhaling the tropics again. “Come on, go get me a bowl to whisk the eggs and I’ll satisfy your stomach. The rest, I’ll take care of later.”

“Yes, sir.” Claire winked at him. “Didn’t your mother teach you to treat the kitchen help with more care?”

A familiar ache squeezed his heart. He stared at the stainless steel prep table, not wanting her to see what ate at him. “No. She left when I was two. Haven’t talked to her since.”

Her small hand wrapped around his. “Jake, I’m sorry.”

Looking down into her face, he knew she was. No pretense lay hidden in her wide eyes or in the concerned twist of her mouth. If she said it, she meant it. He could get used to that. Part of him already had.

Uncomfortable with the realization, he turned away. “Yeah. They divorced. I grew up with my dad. It worked out great.” He knew this speech by rote. “Two guys in a guy house.”

She put the bowl down in front of him and handed him an egg. Her hand lingered, so soft and strong at the same time.

“I found her.” His voice cracked. He’d never told anyone before, not even his dad, but he wanted—no, needed to tell Claire. “I was seventeen and about to graduate high school. It seemed like something I had to do. I’d been working at Absolute with dad since I was old enough to file, so it really wasn’t very hard to do a records search.”