Temperature's Rising (23 page)

“I will-a see what I can do.” George stood taller.

“
Amici
have to-a stick together.” His neighbors were suspects—and the reason the chief ’s job was on the line. So why the hell did he feel guilty for lying?

George’s front door opened and an older, unshaven, barrel-chested man stepped out, his faded green T-shirt stretched taut across his wide girth. He glared in their direction and then spat off the side of the porch.

Winston Meredith in the flesh, and he had more than an ample supply.

“I have to go,” George muttered and scurried away.

The old man growled something as George bounded up the steps, but Conor couldn’t make out his words. The wiry young man glanced back once, his expression frightened, then hurried inside.

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Before Winston turned, he cast a warning glance in Conor’s direction. Conor squared his shoulders and met his glare head-on. Winston might frighten George, but his intimidating tactics didn’t touch Conor.

As soon as the door shut behind them, Conor knew there was one thing that did intimidate him. He had to call the chief. He had to tell the chief that he’d missed a chance to discover the identity of the ringleader, and he had to do it in a way that didn’t incriminate Jessica.

Conor was standing too close to her. Okay, he was actually a few feet away, but that was still too damn close.

Especially when all she could think about was the way he’d held her in his arms last night. Or the fire he’d started inside her when he’d touched her . . . when his hands . . .

she swallowed hard . . . and mouth had made her body come to life.

She drew in a shaky breath.

“Quit twisting your button,” he told her.

Jessica glanced down. “I can’t help it.” She should’ve worn a shirt without buttons, but she liked her red top. It was long, loose, and very comfortable.

Besides, she was quickly running out of clothes, and the house didn’t have a washer and dryer.

Her father hadn’t provided one. He probably thought if they ran around naked, she would have a better chance of snagging Conor for a husband. She was going to have a long talk with him when all this was over. A really long talk.

Conor slid the bowl of potato salad across the kitchen counter toward her. She yanked the plastic wrap from the box and ripped it across the row of metal teeth. She didn’t like the way his gaze lingered on her. Well, maybe she did.

After last night, who could blame him? She’d certainly 198

Karen Kelley

been wrong about one thing. Conor wasn’t even close to being out of her system. The memory was too vivid.

And she wanted him again. She wanted the thrill, the excitement. Once was supposed to be enough. That wasn’t the case. Hell, she wanted him more than ever. He was like a bag of chips—she couldn’t eat just one.

“Damn it!” she muttered. Both ends of the plastic wrap were firmly stuck to each other.

“You don’t have to be nervous about the cookout tonight. I won’t let anything happen. In fact, I can tell Trudy you have a headache if you’d rather stay here. That might be the wisest move, anyway.” He took the plastic wrap from her and quickly covered the food they were taking, flattening the edges with the palm of his hand.

Surprised, she met his gaze. Nervous? About tonight?

Jessica almost laughed at the thought. Maybe she’d been a little on edge when she’d first arrived to show the house, but after seeing George, the thought of being scared of him was ludicrous. She could take him any day. And Trudy? Piece of cake.

Didn’t Conor realize he was the one making her so jit-tery? Even though he hadn’t mentioned the fact they’d made love, she’d been unable to think of anything else.

But if he believed the cookout was the cause of her skit-tish behavior, that was fine with her. A lot better than telling him the real reason. Especially after the fiasco they’d made of their one night together. Who would’ve thought someone would actually show up at the Merediths after the ruckus Trudy and George had caused earlier in the evening?

Guilt filled her. It had been as much her fault as his.

The scales might even tip a little more in her direction.

And here she was supposed to be helping her father. Yeah, right into an early retirement.

Stop beating yourself up.

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It wouldn’t happen again, and that was the main thing.

They were both professionals.

She drew in a deep breath. “No, I’ll go. We might discover something in their house that will give us a clue about the identity of the leader.”

“Not
we,
Jessica.
Me.
Understand?” He was right . . . again. She was only there to make an appearance. His case, not hers.

“Okay, I’ll play the role of the quiet, unassuming wife.” She’d acted in a couple of school plays. Not the lead or anything, but she could pull this off. The thought of being a doormat didn’t appeal to her, though. Her acting abilities didn’t stretch that far. Maybe she could find a happy middle ground.

Conor frowned as if he’d suddenly thought of something. “If burglars make you nervous, why did you want to be a cop?”

Nervous? She choked back her laugh. Okay, he’d asked a reasonable question, except she didn’t want to admit the burglars didn’t bother her as much as he did. She thought about it for a moment. Why had she wanted to be a cop?

Her father had almost started crowing when she’d told him her decision to go through the academy.

“Hero worship,” she admitted. “I doted on my father. I don’t remember much about my mother. She died when I was four.” Jessica had a vague image of soft blond hair and a warm smile. She remembered the questions she’d asked when her mother didn’t come back from the hospital. Her father’s tears had mingled with theirs when he told her and Gabe a story of how God needed a very special angel in heaven.

“Not having a mother must’ve been rough.” She pulled her thoughts back to the present. “Time healed the wound and we were able to enjoy the memories she left behind. Dad became the center of my world.

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I knew he wanted me and Gabe to follow in his footsteps, and I guess at the time, I thought it was what I wanted.” She leaned against the counter.

Being a cop wasn’t the life she wanted, though. She needed more than pagers constantly going off, phones ringing, sirens blasting through the stillness of the night.

Not to mention that wearing a gun and cop uniform hadn’t helped her social life. What did she say to men who fil-tered through her life?

I’d love to go out with you Saturday night. Oh, and by
the way, I’m going to give you a ticket for speeding. Pick
me up at seven?

Oh, yeah, her love life had been great. No wonder her father had resorted to finding her a husband.

“Speaking of your father . . .” He cleared his throat. “I called him about last night.”

She could feel the color drain from her face. “You did what?” she croaked.

He straightened. “I didn’t mention what happened between us,” he quickly interjected. “I told him Trudy came over, forcing me to stay upstairs while she was here.” After this week she’d have to make an appointment with her hairdresser to get rid of all the gray hair Conor was giving her.

“And?”

“I said I fell asleep, Trudy left, and when I did go back downstairs, the Merediths had a visitor.” Her glance moved over him. He’d taken all the blame.

“It was as much my fault as yours.”

“It doesn’t matter now.”

It did to her.

He looked away. End of discussion. He was playing the hero. Lord save her from another one. She came from a family of heroes, and they had the medals and decora-tions to back up their deeds.

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Except her.

“What changed your mind?” he asked, drawing her attention once more. “About being a cop, I mean.” Along with taking the blame, he’d also effectively dismissed their night together. Maybe it was for the best, but did it have to bother her so much? She thought it had been more than a casual one-night stand. Apparently, she’d been wrong.

She shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“I think it does to you. Maybe more than you want to admit.”

Psychology course? She didn’t need analyzing and she didn’t like the turn in their conversation. She opened her mouth to tell him to mind his own business, but the words wouldn’t come. Her eyes met his and she found she couldn’t look away.

It wasn’t like it was that big of a deal, and she didn’t want to make more out of the situation than was there. “I was tired of wearing a uniform. Somewhere along the way I lost my identity. I wanted to know what it was like to be feminine.” God, she hadn’t just told him her deep, dark secrets. It sounded so lame when she said the words out loud. She bit her bottom lip.

He didn’t look convinced that was her only reason.

“I don’t think that’s all of it. Maybe partly, but you left something out.”

At least she knew why he was a detective. Either that or he could read minds, but if that was the case, she’d already have been in really big trouble because she certainly hadn’t forgotten their night of hot sex.

Wicked visions suddenly invaded her mind. Her body tingled, starting at her lips where he’d kissed her, his mouth hot and sensual. Moving to her breasts where he’d teased sensitive nipples and down to the juncture between her legs where he’d caressed and stroked until she’d cried 202

Karen Kelley

out that she needed more. The ache was tangible . . . so damn real it was all she could do to keep from throwing herself at him.

Don’t even go there!
No, he couldn’t read minds—he was just good at reading people. Conor didn’t have any special powers.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine with me,” he said. “It’s not really any of my business why you wanted to quit.”

Now he was making a big deal out of an insignificant matter. At least, it wasn’t that important to her anymore.

Time had helped ease the traumatic experience. Now she just thought of it as the catalyst that helped her move forward.

She shrugged mentally. What the hell. He’d find out sooner or later. She was surprised no one had told him, but then, her family was loyal. They wouldn’t have spilled the beans.

“I let an arsonist get away.” She watched his expression closely, waiting for condemnation. Not that she really cared what he thought.

Liar.

“Is that all? No one can catch the bad guy every time.” Jessica wished that was the end of the story. It had happened over a year ago, but it might as well have been yesterday. She’d let her family think it hadn’t affected her, but it had. A lot.

“I rescued a goat.” She cringed. Okay, so it bothered her a little more than she liked to admit—even to herself.

Conor crossed his arms in front of him and leaned his hip against the counter. “A goat.” She nodded, took a deep breath, and continued. “The dispatcher came over my portable radio with a call—a suspicious-looking character lurking around a house. About the same time, I heard a child’s cry for help.” The wail
had
sounded human, damn it.

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“The wind was blowing, children were just starting their summer break—it was early afternoon. I was afraid a kid had gotten a little too rambunctious and might have injured himself. I told the dispatcher to send the next closest officer to the suspicious-person call while I investigated the cry for help.” She hesitated.

“Go on.”

His expression revealed none of his inner thoughts. He had to think she was a fool. No, that would probably come later.

“The two local television stations were apparently listening to their scanners that day. I guess they figured it might make a good human-interest story. They showed up just about the time I began trying to free the goat from the barbed wire fence he’d gotten himself tangled in. They were able to get most of the rescue-of-the-century on film.”

Jessica glanced out the window. She’d never been so embarrassed and humiliated in all her life.

“Is that all?”

“No.” She sighed. “After I freed him, the wind tore my cap off. The ungrateful beast butted me when I bent to grab it. They got that on tape, too.” Silence filled the room. She still couldn’t look at him.

“They dubbed me ‘The New Kid on the Block.’ ”

“After the goat, or the musical group?”

“Go ahead and laugh. Everyone else has.” She might as well spill the whole story. “The arsonist got away, but not before he’d torched the vacant house.”

“Anyone hurt?”

“No, thank goodness, but what if someone had been living there?”

“What if it had been a child instead of a goat? What if a child’s life had been in danger? What if the arsonist hadn’t been an arsonist, but instead, looking at the house because he was interested in buying it?” 204

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“But it didn’t happen that way.” Why couldn’t he see?

She’d screwed up.

“It didn’t happen your way, either.” Now he was talking foolishly. She’d seen her picture flashed across the television screen. She’d heard the snickers.

“Was anyone hurt?” he asked again.

She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

“You’ve condemned yourself more than anyone, Jessica. Do you think all cops are perfect? Everyone has made mistakes.”

“But I’m a Nelson. The chief ’s daughter. Nelsons are heroes, not duds.”

“Does that mean you’re not allowed to goof up?”

“Did you ever goof up?”

“Lots of times.”

She angled her head so she could look up at him. “As bad as I did?”

“Yeah, last night.”

Pain ripped through her.

“Don’t look at me like that.” He stepped closer, raising her chin until she had to look him in the eye. “I don’t regret what we did. I regret the timing wasn’t right.” He stared into her eyes for a few seconds, but then something changed. There was a subtle difference in the way he was looking at her. She didn’t even attempt to stop him when he lowered his mouth to hers. The warmth of his lips felt so right against hers. She leaned closer, letting him invade her senses, letting the moment wrap around her. When he pulled away, she was left wanting more.