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He was going alpha protector on her?
She reached inside her coat for the weapon strapped on her side. “No need for heroics. I can take care of myself.”
As she started forward, Tripp’s fingers grazed over her arm, leaving parts of her tingling. Snapping her mind to attention took far more than it should have after that unexpected touch.
When she reached a closed door, a big shoulder nudged her aside.
Tripp forced her back a step and whipped the door open to reveal a pantry with shelves lined with food.
“What do you think you’re doing, taking over for me? I told you I can take care of myself.”
“And I’m not questioning that. I’m just not standing here while someone much smaller and weaker than me sweeps the house.”
She was so astounded by his highhandedness, his archaic beliefs of the world from a special operator’s point of view, that she only stood there when he said, “It’ll only take me a minute.” And took off through the house.
Alexia watched his broad back vanish through the kitchen doorway, the muscles competing for attention under the cotton of his shirt.
She scrubbed a finger between her brows. What just happened? Had she actually let Tripp take over? Eric would be shaking his head and saying he’d told her so. Her partner would have more than a few questionable—and misogynistic—things to add to it.
Seconds later, Tripp returned as promised. He looked her over. “You good?”
“Of course.” Why was she sweating?
“You can put your weapon away now. We’re alone.”
Strain in his voice made her search his eyes. The depths held shadows even darker than what he’d revealed to her in the SUV.
What had he seen while sweeping these rooms?
She needed to get control—of herself, the situation and Tripp too.
She holstered her weapon. He followed the movement, gaze lingering around the open zipper of her coat.
Even sweatier now, she sliced her fingers through her hair she hadn’t bothered to put in that Founding Father ponytail. “Let me walk you through what I think happened here that night.”
“Fine.” His expression gave nothing away. He could be mentally doing his tax return or having a breakdown. She couldn’t read him.
She tipped her head. “This way.”
He followed her through the kitchen. “What we know is that Kelsey was home at nine p.m. Her time of death is estimated to be between nine-thirty and ten. Her boyfriend—”
“Caden,” he ground out.
Her stare met his for a shivering heartbeat. What was she hearing in his voice?
“Caden,” she affirmed. “He was out of the house. He was a delivery driver who sometimes got home late from his long-distance runs.”
“Motherfucker.”
Alexia cleared her throat. “Moving on to the living room. There was mud on the carpet. Here”—she pointed—“and here. By the time he reached the other side of the room, the mud had worked off the soles of someone’s shoes but residue was found all the way into the bedroom. The size of the shoe wasn’t determined due to how wet it was out that night.”
When she twisted to see if he was following her progression through the house, she found him staring at her. Hard.
Her insides… Was that a churning sensation or a ripple of awareness? He was looking at her like he was listening to something she wasn’t saying. His full focus was trained on her in a way that she had that feeling moving lower into her belly.
She continued on, pointing out things that had been discovered by the cops days after neither Kelsey nor Caden showed up for work and family members grew concerned.
They reached the bedroom. The space had been cleaned. The blood gone. But Tripp froze in the doorway.
