Page 38 of Straight Shooter

He stalked into the kitchen. “Nothing. Just needed to talk to Mandy.”

She rested both hands on her hips. “If we’re going to work together, you need to confide in me as much as I do you.”

He gave her a small smile, closed the full dishwasher, and hit the Start button. As the machine revved up, he caught her waist, and his warm hands seared through the material of her dress. Her muscles tightened beneath his hold and her pelvis constricted. He moved her closer. Several inches separated their bodies, but electricity arced between them. Her loins throbbed and heated to wet her panties.

As if he sensed the direction of her thoughts, he lowered his gaze to her waist then snapped his attention to her face.

“You’re right,” he said, his voice thick. “We need to be honest.”

She nodded, not trusting her tongue to form a coherent word.

“Jenny Carter is the woman who witnessed Andre Moretti kill Raquel Stevens.”

Numbness coasted through her body as his words sank in. She lifted her hand and tangled her fingers in the roots of her hair. The scandal surrounding Andre Moretti had painted headlines for weeks. The young congressman flashed through her mind: light-brown hair and thick features similar to his uncle. Andre’s handsome, put-together appearance led many to believe the murder had been pinned on him.

“She’s in witness protection, Priss.” The statement nearly knocked her over. “Only a handful of people have access to her location.”

“Oh my god.” She sucked in a breath, but the air didn’t reach her lungs.

Rhett’s scorching stare warmed her cheeks. She wavered, but his hand stayed rooted to her hip, preventing her from swaying too far.

“Peyton,” he said, the syllables harsh. “Do you have Jenny Carter’s address?”

She wet her lips.

“If someone’s searching for her while she’s in witness protection, she’s in grave danger.”

Dammit to hell and back. She broke away from his hold and paced the kitchen. “God, I’m so stupid. It never occurred to me to look up who Jenny Carter is.”

Rhett folded his arms across his chest. “Her name was protected. You wouldn’t have read about her in the tabloids.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Her voice teetered on shrill. If she’d made it to Max’s place this morning and passed off the envelope, she would’ve had a hand in murdering an innocent woman. All because she hadn’t asked questions. No, that didn’t matter. Max probably didn’t know who Jenny was either. They were merely pawns in a big game—a game of murder and cover-up.

“Peyton,” Rhett growled.

She stopped pacing and lifted her gaze to meet his formidable stare.

“Do you have her address? You need to tell me.”

She’d been evasive before, but now, the paper burned against her breast and she wanted nothing more than to be rid of the dangerous information. She nodded, reached into her bra, and held out the envelope.

Rhett’s eyes widened. “That’s it?”

“Yes,” she squeaked.

He growled, grabbed a sandwich bag from a drawer, took the envelope from her fingers, and put it inside. “Who’s seen this? Was the envelope open when you took it?”

She shook her head. “No, it was sealed.”

His stare hardened. “You opened it?”

Fear tickled her spine—not because of Rhett’s anger but because of the gravity of the situation she was stuck in. “Yes.”

A stream of curses left Rhett’s mouth, and he slammed his palm on the island counter. “Do you realize how dangerous this is?” He shook his head, and shame swallowed up her chest.

She ached to put her hand on his shoulder, but she curled her fingers into balls at her sides.

“I’d like to know how Moretti got this in the first place.”