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Marc reached for her hand. "We'll talk about this after we find that box, okay?"
He didn't think even that much contact would be safe, until this was over. She squeezed his hand. She had been trying to hide how nervous she was, but she didn't know how good a job she was doing. Logically, she knew she probably hadn't even been traced to New Orleans yet, much less back to Columbus. She had the key to the storage unit on her keychain, so she didn't have to retrieve it from her apartment—or, rather, Marc didn't have to retrieve it. If the police hadn't completed their investigation, the apartment would still be secured. He probably wouldn't ask the CPD for permission, but neither would he have let her be the one to go in.
They were safe. She tried to tell herself that. They could slip in and out of the city without anyone knowing she was there, except for Mr. McPherson and the man he had following them.
"You're worrying," Marc said. "Stop it."
"I shouldn't have dragged you into this. I've put you in danger—"
He gave a bark of laughter. "Darlin'," he drawled, "if you hadn't turned up in New Orleans yesterday, I would already be at your apartment this morning. Not only would I be very upset, but if anyone was watching your apartment, he would have made me for sure. Get the tag number, call the rental company, and he would not only have my name but my address."
Despite her worry, Karen caught her breath at the way "Nooawlins" sounded when said in that black magic voice of his. If Piper ever heard him, she might bump Karen off herself just to clear out the competition.
The traffic was heavy, the pace slow. The summer sun glared at them from a milky sky. She watched Marc drive, marveling at how physically fascinating she found him. She felt almost sick with apprehension, and yet that somehow intensified her fascination. She studied his hands, strong and well shaped, the way he gripped the steering wheel. His wrists were twice as thick as hers, and small, almost colorless hairs glinted in the sun. What if something happened to him? What if this were the last time she would be able to watch his hands move, study his profile, reach out and touch him?
She couldn't let herself think such things. He was a cop, though, thank God, he wasn't in narcotics or on the SWAT team, where his life would be at risk on a daily basis. But as a cop, a homicide detective, he obviously dealt with people who were capable of killing other people. Murder was what he saw every day, and at any time a suspect could turn on him. She couldn't hamper him emotionally by letting herself get paralyzed with fear every time he went out the door.
"On the other hand," he said, "maybe we should talk about it now."
"What?" She blinked at him, not quite following.
"The entire situation. Your job. Let's get this out in the open. I don't want you living in Columbus while I live in New Orleans, not even for a little while." He slanted a quick look at her, gray eyes brilliant. "And maybe I should wait until I can get down on one knee, but I think now is the time. Karen, will you marry me?"
Her heart leaped into her throat. "Yes," she said. Then, "Take this exit."
He obeyed, glancing over his shoulder to check the traffic before easing into the right lane and then taking the exit ramp. "I know I'm rushing you, not giving you time to get used to me, to the idea of a steady relationship. But I don't want room for any misunderstanding, either. We can have a long engagement, if you want—but I don't want you to live here. I want you in New Orleans. Specifically, my house."
"Okay." She could barely speak. Funny. She had expected they would get married eventually, perhaps even soon, but hearing him actually say it out loud was a shocker.
"Okay?" he echoed, giving her another of those fast glances. "Is that all you have to say?"
"Well, I could say I love you."
He muttered a curse under his breath, then very evenly said, "Yes, why don't you?"
"I love you."
Another curse, one that turned into a laugh. He looked at her. She was grinning. "I love you, too."
She touched his arm, wanting to throw herself at him. He was the most considerate man she'd ever met, and the hell of it was he was so damn alpha. She hadn't known the two qualities could blend together so wonderfully. There he was, brimming over with testosterone, a gun-toting macho cop, who danced with her on a balcony and prepared breakfast for her.
"Do you mind moving to New Orleans?" he asked.
"No," she gently reassured him. "I'll miss my friends, but I don't have any family here, or a house. I can be a nurse just as well in Louisiana as in Ohio. You have roots and that marvelous old house in New Orleans. Of course, I'll move there. Besides, I would hate for you to lose your accent. Turn left at the next traffic light."
"I don't have an accent, honey. You do."
"If you say so. But if you by chance meet Piper, don't open your mouth, or your chances of getting out of Ohio go down drastically."
He smiled and winked at her. "You'll protect me."
The words reminded them both of why they were here, and the smile faded from his face. K
aren blew out a deep breath. "What if we don't find anything here? What if the papers are just… papers, with nothing important in them?"
"Then I'll keep working on the case, and so will McPherson. Between the two of us, we'll figure this out. In the meantime, however, you will be in a safe place. Not my house, not for much longer. I'm not in the phone book, but hell, there are a hundred different ways of getting someone's address if you really want it, and most of them aren't that difficult."
"How reassuring. Turn right two blocks down, at the McDonald's. The storage company is about five miles down that road, on the right. Buckeye Stockit and Lockit. There's a sign. Turn just past the sign, into the center alley." She paused. "Is that guy following us?"
