Page 22 of Capture My Heart

Her shoulders dropped. A crack in the facade.

Screw the distance. He would lie to himself tomorrow and claim it was all for the case, but tonight, he had to touch her.

He slipped his hand around her forearm, staying her. His fingers slid down to hers and interlocked with them. Her gaze dropped to where they touched then to his eyes. He could see the faint wash of tears she hid behind the veil of pissed off. Too proud to let them fall in front of him.

He needed to hold her, thumb away the tears, but she needed to run. He gave a squeeze and released.

″If you need a ride tomorrow, let me know.”

Her resolve stiffened before his eyes. “Thanks, but I’m sure the repair shop will have a loaner I can use until I get mine back.”

Good thing he was investigating her, not dating her. Get it together, Fenley. She’s not on your to-do list. She’s on the suspect list.

He needed to remember where the line was. It blurred more with each moment they spent together.

He nodded and headed to his door.

″Trey.”

He turned back and waited.

The veil dropped a fraction.

″Thank you. Really.” She unlocked her door and slipped inside.

Like an idiot, he stood there watching, waiting. For what, he wasn’t sure. Maybe for her to come back, or for his gut to tell him if she was trouble or not.

Well, the only thing it was telling him tonight was he shouldn’t have had those buffalo wings.

God, he was a lightweight after the last year of physical therapy, not that he drank much before. But after two beers, he needed to eat something to soak up all that booze.

Trey stepped inside his apartment and let the gym bag drop by the front closet. He peeled off his T-shirt as he crossed the living room to the open kitchen. Tipping his head back, he took in the exposed beams and ductwork in his apartment. He loved the loft feel of his place, but the convenience of the open concept was his favorite part.

He dropped the foul-smelling garment into the open washer in the small laundry area located off the kitchen, then moved to the cabinet to grab two aspirin. Stinky waddled around the corner as he washed them down with a water bottle from the fridge. “Sorry, man, no aspirin for you.”

He opened the monk cookie jar that was once his grandmother’s—Thou shall not steal embossed across the front. His mom gave it to him after Gram’s funeral last year.

He still remembered what his mother said when she gave it to him that day. “Gram wanted you to have this. She had fond memories of your sticky fingers as a small boy, and she hoped one day you’d have kids with sticky fingers as well.”

He took out a treat, and Stinky danced with delight.

He looked down at his pet. Gram was right. Partly. He had a fur baby with a petulance for stealing.

″You really love these things. I’ll need to add more to my next online order.” Skunk food wasn’t stocked at his local pet store. He filled Stinky’s bowls with food and fresh water, then took his own water and headed to his office. The glass walls had opacity to them and stopped at eight feet high, leaving the top two feet open. The old banker’s desk should have looked out of place in the modern surroundings, but his grandpa’s prized furniture fit perfectly.

He tapped the keyboard on his laptop and the faint hum signaled it was on. A few seconds later, the screensaver appeared. His family smiled back at him. One of his favorite photos of the four of them. He was what—ten or eleven? It was at their house in Germany. Or was that Belgium? Being an Army brat, they moved often. All the homes ran together.

Trey squinted as he studied the image. Cutouts in the shutters, definitely Germany.

A chime sounded, and he entered his password. Officer Larson’s face filled his screen. He must have forgotten to close it after he reviewed the case notes this afternoon.

Tipping back, he polished off his water, but his focus never left her face. Even in her dress blues with her hair pulled back tight, she was a knockout. But was she a cop for hire?

He scratched his head as he read through the file and added his notes. With one last look, he closed her file and pulled up his file on Davis Sampson. Trey hoped to crack the man open and learn something new. He was forthcoming in his original interview with the Ashwood Police Department, claiming he made contact through private messages on a popular social media site. This was not a new idea. These groups pop up all the time under bogus profiles and the next day they could be gone, like the one Sampson referred to. After his initial interview Davis changed his story, claiming it was Finden that contacted the dirty officer.

The man was cagey. Trey tapped his fingers on the aged wood. He needed to be prepared when he interviewed him.

After one final read through, Trey closed his computer and headed for the shower. He needed to wash the smell off and the buzzing in his head. He had to be on his game tomorrow and thinking about the vulnerable look in Amy’s eyes tonight did nothing to foster calm.