She worked at not looking at the sofa. Or at him.
“How long had you been home when you noticed the vandalism?”
“I just got here. The person who—he was still inside.” Good grief. She’d gone upstairs without calling the police. Like an irrational fool. The thought of someone touching her sister’s things had pushed her over the edge.
Where was her brain?
“Did you get a look at the intruder?”
Somehow Braddock was closer and she hadn’t realized he’d moved. “What?”
“Did you get a look at the intruder?”
She shook her head. “It was dark upstairs. He knocked me down trying to escape. By the time I got back down here and outside, he was long gone. I barely got a glimpse of a dark figure running into the alley.”
“Jesus.” Braddock pulled out his cell and entered a number. “I’m putting surveillance on your house for the night. You shouldn’t be here alone. And you damned sure shouldn’t be chasing intruders around.” He sent a frustrated glare at her. “Did you even consider calling the police?”
The cold hard facts of what she’d just done—barging up the stairs after an intruder, sex on that sofa—lined up in a taunting row in her head.
She couldn’t be in this room with him.
“I ... I have to take a shower.” Even as she said the words, she felt his semen slipping down her thighs. “I can’t do this.”
She rushed up the stairs and closed herself in the bathroom. Sagged against the door.
“Oh my God. Oh my God.”
How had she gone so incredibly stupid in a matter of minutes? Unprotected sex! She had to be out of her mind.
Her sister was dead.Murdered.
Of course she was out of her mind.
She pushed away from the door, knelt by the tub, and turned the hot water to full blast. She reached up and snagged a clean towel. Her hands shook. She cursed herself over and over.
Stripping off her clothes, she vowed to burn them.
Then she stood beneath the hot spray of water and let it wash away his touch ... his scent.
But the images ... the sensations he’d invoked would not be banished so easily.
Another regret she would have to learn to live with.
If Shelley were here, she would laugh and say that the good girl had finally fallen off her high and mighty pedestal.
CJ closed her eyes. She didn’t want to be here, didn’t want any of this to be real.
The sound of Braddock’s voice downstairs reminded her that it was real, all right.
Shelley was dead.
And CJ had totally lost control.
Chapter Twelve
2204 Clopton Street
Monday, August 2; 12:01 a.m.
