What now? Was he going to suit back up and return to work? It was his shift, after all, which meant he might spend the night watching TV in her living room. Or stationed in the hall in that damn chair.
Jeremy switched off the bathroom light, and the room went black. The mattress creaked as he stretched out beside her. He didn’t peel the comforter back, but he slid his arm under her shoulders and pulled her against him. He kissed the top of her head, and Kira’s heart squeezed because it was such a sweet thing to do and not what she’d expected.
What had she expected?
She had no idea. She hadn’t planned this. Not really. Not beyond satisfying the relentless yearning she’d felt since the day they met.
She hadn’t thought about keeping her emotions out of it and how knotted up she’d feel if this turned into anything more than a one-night thing.
She didn’t want him to leave.
Not just leave town—she didn’t even want him to leave her room. She wanted him to spend the night with her. She wanted to wake up with him in the morning and have breakfast together and see where things stood.
Which was crazy.
He stroked his hand over her arm. Softly up and softly down, without saying a word.
She didn’t want to talk about it. And neither did he. That she knew for a fact—and for once, she didn’t mind his silence.
She rolled toward him, nestling her head against his chest, and the gentle stroking on her arm made her feel sleepy, dreamy, more relaxed than she’d felt in ages. Kira sighed deeply. She absorbed his warmth and his silence and let her mind drift.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
KIRA AWOKE in a dark room. Her eyes felt gritty, her limbs heavy. She shifted beneath the cool comforter and noticed the band of light peeking between the drapes. She looked for the clock.
It was 8:04.
Kira bolted upright and realized she was naked. She didn’t remember falling asleep. She didn’t remember getting under the covers. And she definitely didn’t remember Jeremy leaving.
The bathroom light was off, and the only light came from the bright stripe of sunshine streaming through the window. Her bedroom door was closed, and on the other side she heard voices.
She strained to identify the speakers.
Trent. She couldn’t make out the words, but he was talking to someone.
Jeremy.
Nerves fluttered in her stomach. Kira glanced at the nightstand. All his things were gone. The suit jacket he’d tossed onto the chair last night was gone, too, and now her robe was draped neatly over the arm. He must have put it there, because she distinctly remembered it whooshing to the floor.
Kira got up and wrapped herself in the plush terry cloth. She tied the belt and glanced at the door as she made her way to the bathroom. A few moments later, she took a deep breath to brace herself and opened the door to the living room.
“Morning,” she chirped.
Jeremy and Trent turned around. Both wore suits and ties and appeared freshly shaven.
“Morning.” Jeremy looked her up and down.
“Brock wants you to call him,” Trent informed her. “He left for the courthouse already.”
“Oh?” She looked at Jeremy, noting his pale blue dress shirt. Yesterday’s had been white.
He seemed to notice her staring at him, and she glanced away. Her gaze landed on the espresso machine on the minibar. She stepped over to it and opened the fancy wooden box that held the supply of shiny coffee pods that was replenished daily.
“Any word from the hospital?” she asked, dropping a pod into the machine.
“Gavin stabilized,” Jeremy said. “They moved him from ICU into a private room.”
“That’s great news. When?”
“Sometime overnight.”
“We also got a call from Detective Spears,” Trent said. “They have some big new developments in the case.”
The coffee maker whirred, and he waited for it to finish.
“They were able to match a fingerprint from Oliver Kovak’s murder scene to a suspect,” Trent continued. “The person is a known associate of the Markov family.”
“Who?” Kira asked.
“Name is Bruno Duric. He’s Serbian,” Jeremy said.
“And turns out, he has a partner,” Trent added. “His wife.”
“His wife?” Kira looked at Jeremy.
“This tip came from Interpol,” Jeremy said.
“Yeah, apparently, these two do wet work for the Markov family on two continents,” Trent said.
Kira stared at him.
“That’s, you know, murders for hire,” Trent told her. “Fixing problems, cleaning up loose ends.”
She looked at Jeremy, who was watching closely, gauging her response to this news. Kira turned away. She tore open a sugar packet and dumped it into her coffee, and she could feel them waiting for her reaction.
“What time did Brock leave?” she asked.
“Ten minutes ago,” Trent said. “He has a hearing at nine.”
She took her coffee to the sliding glass door and stepped out onto the balcony. The air felt warm and humid, but the sky was a dazzling blue, suggesting the rain had probably cleared for at least a day. Kira squeezed past the wrought-iron table and chairs and sat down on a chaise at the far end of the balcony.
Wet work. A Serbian team. A husband and wife, no less. Kira cringed just thinking of it.
Had she been there, too, on the night of Ollie’s murder? Kira tried to recall a woman in the neighborhood. But she only remembered the plodding jogger in the gray hoodie and the sprinting valet attendant.
Kira sipped her coffee and gazed through the glass wall at the sparkly blue pool down below. The lounge chairs around it were arranged in perfect rows, and each had a rolled white towel at the end. The water shimmered invitingly, but no one was in it, and the only sound came from the gurgle of the tiered fountain at the end of the patio.
The sliding door opened, and Jeremy stepped out. He squeezed past the chairs and gazed down at her for a moment before lowering himself onto the end of her chaise.
She smiled tentatively. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
He rested his hand on her knee, and her heart melted a little. He glanced up, and his eyes looked bluer than ever because of that shirt.
“You crashed last night,” he said.
“I guess so.” She set her cup on the table. “When did you change?”
“When Trent came on at six, I went by my motel.” He nodded at the door. “I spent the night on your sofa watching TV, by the way.”
“How come?”
“There’s a security camera in your living room. I didn’t want people speculating.”
She shrugged. “I don’t care.”
He picked up her robe tie and rubbed the end between his fingers, and she thought about his hands on her body last night.
“Word is, Logan and Locke is pulling us off the job.”
She watched him, waiting for more.
“They don’t want to continue paying to protect an entire legal team for a client who’s no longer headed to trial. Sounds like police have reopened Ava Quinn’s murder case in light of new evidence pointing to her brother.” He searched her face. “You don’t look surprised.”
“I’m not.” She sighed. “When is this happening?”
“Today. We have a wrap meeting at ten.”
“What’s that?”
“To tie up logistics.” He paused. “I’d like to stay.”