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“I could hear the gears turning. Woke me.” Her lips spread into a smile against his chest. He could feel the curve of her mouth against his heart, and a spike of heat drove straight through him. How did she do that? He needed to leave. Now.
But then she started making lazy circles over his stomach, and he couldn’t remember why he needed to go and not turn back. “I was thinking that I’ve never slept better.” He snuggled her closer, buried his face in her back in her hair. “You feel so good curled into me.”
She chuckled, a low, husky sound that made him want an immediate repeat of last night, not that he didn’t already. “Could’ve fooled me. It’s not even the crack of dawn. Who gets up this early?”
“It’s after six.” He laughed. “Sleep past seven and the day’s practically over.”
“I’m totally fine with that,” she groaned, closing her eyes again.
“How late do you sleep?” He tickled the spot just beneath her ribs, and she squealed and gave him a lighthearted shove. He drew in a long breath, lungs swelling with satisfaction. He’d made her laugh, smile. Better than winning the lottery. Playful he was not, but with Sasha, he was more carefree. His life had been too burdened with danger and responsibility. Most of the time, he was serious and calculated. Juggling finances, homicide cases, and taking care of Jules in those younger years. Sasha’s life was marked by tragic loss. Yet here they were, letting their armor slip just enough to enjoy one another. He wanted this carefree moment with an indescribable desperation.
“If someone bothers me before nine o’clock, I usually breathe fire. I’m only allowing you to live because you knocked my socks off last night.” She was tracing more circles, now over his back, sending a wave of tingles down his spine.
“Sasha.” Her name rolled off his tongue in a strangled growl, and when she tilted her head to meet his eyes, he kissed her long and hard. They were edging breathlessness when his phone vibrated over the nightstand. “Damn. I’m sorry.” He rolled to his side and checked the screen, then let out a labored sigh.
“Don’t be. It’ll give me a chance to brush my teeth.” She sat up and stretched her arms over her head, moving to the left and the right. Then she stood, not a stitch of clothing on her body, and sauntered to the adjoining bathroom. She shot him a saucy smile over her shoulder before closing the door behind her. Sasha didn’t play fair.
Internally cursing the line of work he’d chosen at the moment, he answered the call. “Detective Lambert,” he said with a grunt, moving into a sitting position.
“It’s Wright. We got more footage from a neighbor’s home security system on the hit-and-run victim.” Sound from the barracks filtered over the line: ringing phones, keyboard clicks, the static of police radios.
“The Jefferson and Sons retiree,” he stated. This was Wright’s case, but if she was consulting with him, it might connect with one of his cases, or one they’d worked together.
“After backing over the victim, the perp gets out of the car and messes with the body. Footage is fuzzy, but it looks as though he’s moving his hand.” The tapping of keys was audible on the line.
“Palm up,” he said in a low voice. “Just like the exec at Haven Security.”
“Yes.”
“Do me a favor and pull the photos of the Bigelow homicide.” He stood, locking the phone between his jaw and shoulder so he could pull on pants. Each tug of fabric against his skin was a symbol of infidelity to his profession, and his gut hardened. All his life he’d tried to do the right thing, but last night, he’d put his own needs first. Would he want to take it back if he could? He clamped his teeth together so tight, pain radiated through his jaw.
“Opening the file now.”
He pulled his shirt over his head, maneuvering his cell phone so it didn’t crash to the ground. “Hands of the victim?”
“Both flat against the floor, like she was bracing herself for the fall.”
On the surface, maybe Sasha’s neighbor wasn’t connected, but he had a gut feeling that this latest strand of homicides was part of a bigger plan. His instincts had proven right many times before and kept him safe on the job. Self-preservation had fallen away last night though, leaving him open and guilty as hell. She was a witness.
“I’m coming in. We’ll look over the footage.” He had to get back to the barracks and get his head straight. Throw himself into work and forget Sasha. Right. Every white-hot kiss and caress was branded in his mind, and other places. He ended the call, and a frustrated hiss escaped his lips. When he turned to toss his phone on the bed, Sasha was standing just outside the entrance of the en-suite, a silky bathrobe tied around her waist.
“What do you want with Jefferson and Sons?” Her voice was tight and remote, and there was a glazed look in her eyes.
Maybe he should’ve been concerned about why she was listening in, but the look on her face had him more worried about her. “We’re investigating a hit-and-run. The man was a retiree of the company. Why?”
When she gripped the doorframe and paled, he rounded the bed. “What is it? The business looks to be closed. Can’t find a thing on it after the year…” Shit. The dates lined up, and her physical reaction to hearing the company name went a long way to confirming his sudden suspicions.
“That was the company that manufactured the faulty alarms in my house.” Her voice was pinched, and he stood close without touching her. She was someplace different altogether, and he didn’t want to startle her. “They never sounded when the fire started on the first floor,” she said, knuckles going ashen against the door.
When she blinked her wide, over-bright eyes, she looked fragile as if she might shatter, but the look was gone in an instant. She straightened her shoulders and locked those secret emotions down tight. It was a miracle she’d let him see her so raw, even if it was only for a few seconds. His chest swelled, and he took a step closer and wrapped his arms around her. Whether she realized it or not, she was beginning to trust him, and while it felt good, it sucked at the same time. He was developing feelings for the one woman he couldn’t have.
“Did your aunt and uncle file a lawsuit?” he asked, stroking the length of her hair, doing his best to both comfort her and sort through the questions firing off in his brain. Melissa Fletcher was the starting point in a larger plot. Had to be.
“They kept me out of it mostly, or more, I was too devastated to care about anything at that point. I overheard them arguing a few times.”
“What about? Do you recall?”
“My uncle wanted to take a fast settlement, my aunt—my mom’s sister—wanted to take them to court and publicly destroy them. My uncle got his way. I know because when they visited me in the hospital, I woke in the middle of one of their fights. Had to pretend I was still sleeping.” Goosebumps puckered over her forearms despite the warmth in the room.
