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Bingham in the car with Lester could be explained. She imagined all too easily how a highly-placed, well-connected FBI agent would respond.
Her heart sank for Dale. There didn’t seem to be much to imply Bingham wasn’t a major part of the problem. She imagined it would be relatively easy for the local head of the FBI to throw his weight around on Lester’s behalf.
Why? What would make a man who’d pledged his life to uphold the law change sides?
Heather wasn’t sure she cared, beyond Dale’s reaction. The man was up to his eyeballs in the dogfighting operation and she wanted to see them all behind bars.
Suddenly chilled, Heather cinched the robe tightly at her waist. She breathed deep, staring out over the ocean, watching the sunlight dance across the water. Feeling like a small, insignificant cog in the world’s giant wheel, she felt the tension in her shoulders ease just a fraction. Dale was right. She’d done her part, breaking a closed system, going beyond that and finding a fight, and recording it.
The rest of it was up to Dale and she trusted him to handle the case effectively. She trusted him with more than the case and with more than a quick roll in the sheets. Somewhere between that cold beach morning on Hilton Head Island when she’d handed over everything she’d found and today, she’d fallen in love with him.
Stupid.
Crushing on the man was one thing. Loving him? Oh, that was a big mistake destined to end badly for her. No one ever accused her of doing the wise thing. She scowled out at the ocean. Most of the time, people pegged her as doing the frivolous thing. This time they were right, she thought.
“Walk a mile in my shoes,” she muttered. It hadn’t been as easy as people assumed, following in the tall shadows of her siblings and the lingering community grief over her father’s premature death.
“Your shoes are too small for me.”
She turned, putting her back to the ocean, and planting a friendly smile on her face, masking the emotional roller coaster her heart was riding.
He looked ready for action in his dark, close-fitted long-sleeve T-shirt and his black cargo pants. His feet were bare, his hair damp from the shower, and his skin scented with the crisp citrus soap provided by the hotel. The same soap they’d used last night when they’d washed away the stench of Lester’s operation.
She suffered a brief debate on which topic to bring up: the case or their amazing sex-capades. Deciding anything else would come off sounding clingy, she opted for the case. “I finished sorting through the pictures. Combined with the microchips from the dogs—”
“Nice job on that one, by the way. Meant to say that earlier.”
“Thanks.” His praise warmed her. “It was a spur of the moment decision.”
“And it’s another connection that ties Lester’s crew to both Terry’s murder and the dogfighting.”
She nodded again, appreciating how he used Terry’s name. “You should see the pictures. I’ve sorted them into files for you.”
“Great. I’ll take a look in a minute.” He stepped closer, crowding her against the wall of the balcony. “Did you sleep at all? It sounds like you’ve put in a full day’s work already.”
“I slept.” A little. Did her welfare really matter to him? She knew better than to read anything into his concern. He was just one of the good guys.
“All right.” His hands rested gently at her waist and her imagination spun a sweet little scenario of a morning kiss becoming much more involved. That couldn’t possibly come true, she thought, bursting her own bubble before Dale could.
“You could take a nap while I put things together.”
“I’ll be fine. I’m used to all kinds of weird hours.”
“Heather you’ve—”
It was there in the tone. An apology, a warning about emotional ties. She covered his hands with hers, just for a moment, then stepped away, scooting toward the room and away from him. “I’ll grab a shower while you decide what to do with the evidence.”
“Hang on for a second.”
She stopped, and not just because he held her hand with such gentle force. He reached up, pushing her hair behind her ear, letting the strands sift through his fingers. Deep inside, where she hoped he couldn’t feel it, she trembled, hoping he wouldn’t say the wrong thing. Hoping even more that he wouldn’t say the right thing.
“About last night.” He looked down at their joined hands. “It was more than I expected.”
What the hell did that mean? “Is that good?” she asked when he didn’t elaborate.
“Yes.”
She heard the “but” loud and clear. It was only a matter of time.
