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He didn't answer. Just stared at her, wishing more than anything he'd gone inside when he'd driven by her place last night.
She cleared her throat, looking uncomfortable before she shivered and rubbed her coat sleeves with a warm-looking pair of pricey Isotoners. "So... there's sure a cold breeze today, huh?"
He blinked. "What?"
Face filling with color, DeVane fisted her hands at her sides. "Damn it, Malloy. You said I blew you off the last time I saw you in public, so here I am, talking to you."
His brow lowered in confusion. "And you chose to talk about the weather?"
She growled out a sound of disgust. "Oh, my God. Why do I even bother?" Nailing him with a dirty look, she muttered, "Next time you accuse me of ignoring you in public, I'm just going to kick you in the nuts."
And with that, she turned on her high heels and strode to the entrance of the courthouse. He watched her march away, thinking he definitely shouldn't race after her. He shouldn't apologize, and he shouldn't beg to drag her to the nearest janitor's closet and take her against another wall.
For once, he followed his own advice and stood there like an idiot as she stalked off. But he felt like shit about it.
Six hours later when she left the courtroom, her father escorted her. He wore his street clothes since there was no way the county would let him preside over a jury with his own son as the prosecutor. Flanking DeVane and the judge were her mother and another woman, probably her sister-in-law if indeed the whole family had come to give Chase DeVane emotional support for his first murder trial.
Prepared to talk about the freaking grass growing this time if she detoured by him, Raith watched her intently. But she didn't even spot him in the crush of people. And he kept too busy surveying the crowd to make sure no one got out of line to keep good track of her either. By the time the place cleared, she was long gone.
He started home, only to be called to an emergency out in the middle of the county. A mother had found her son dead in his home, killed from a self-inflicted bullet wound to the head. The twenty-eight-year-old man had shot himself after his wife had left him.
The first on the scene, Raith saw and smelled death in all its natural glory. The cold hand of dread clamped around the back of his neck as he remembered all too clearly the days directly after Deb had left. He'd been the one to kick her out, sure, but those first few weeks without her had been the worst. She'd had another boyfriend to move on to. He had no one.
Though that loneliness had never been filled, he'd learned to deal with it and move on. Still... on nights like this, after working a case like he'd just worked, he couldn't go home to a cold, stale, quiet house.
As soon as he was off duty, he drove straight to DeVane's. He wanted to reassure himself he was alive, that other people in this world were alive, that she was alive.
Dusk had settled when he pulled into her drive. The lights in her house glared out every window. His stomach tensed as he entered through the back door—which was unlocked, of course—and found her in the living room. Cleaning.
She yelped in surprise when he first walked into the room, dressed in full uniform. But her eyes lit and she good-naturedly lifted both hands in the air, her duster still in her fist.
"What? Is dusting against the law?"
Raith stared at her. He needed this. He needed her. No one soothed his soul the way DeVane did. He pulled his handcuffs from his duty belt and flipped them open. "Ma'am, I going to have to ask you to drop the duster."
As he took an ominous step toward her, her eyes widened and she retreated.
"I swear I didn't do it, Officer," she said in a high voice, slipping right into their spontaneous role-play.
"Sorry, lady, but I can't believe a natural-born troublemaker like you."
Willow threw back her head and laughed. "Natural-born troublemaker?"
He shrugged, looking a little rueful. "Just go with it."
Letting out a little sigh as if she didn't want to follow his order, Willow rolled her eyes and said, "But I just can't help it."
She wouldn't have received
an Oscar for the fake, breathy voice she used, but it still made Malloy's blue eyes turn cobalt.
"Being bad just... turns me on." She shivered for affect.
He paused in his tracks. "Is that right?" He lofted an eyebrow, looking intrigued. "Now, I'm definitely going to have to take you into custody."
She read the intent in his eyes as plain as day, and her expression flared with surprise. "You're not seriously going to handcuff me, are you?"
He grinned and shrugged. "Only if you want me to."
