„Up in my spare bedroom.“
„Then he could have seen you from the street.“
Kristen dropped her sandpaper, her palms suddenly clammy. She wiped her hands on her sweatpants. „Yeah.“ She stood up, wincing at the soreness in her knee. „Look, I know this sounds weak and lame, but could we not talk about him right now? It’s driving me insane, wondering if he’s out there, looking at me.“ She rubbed her upper arms, suddenly cold. „Watching me. God, it’s like some kind of Hitchcock movie. I’ve been afraid to get in the damn shower.“
His mouth quirked up, and it wasn’t the first time she noticed how nice a mouth he had. It suited his face which at the moment he was turning her way. „Well, if you want to take one tonight, I’ll stand guard outside your door and I promise I won’t look.“
She went still, every muscle in her body going taut. He’d meant it as a silly tease, intended to make her smile, but she could see his words had affected him as well. His only movement was the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest as his blue eyes flared and held her. The very air between them was suddenly charged. She could almost feel the sparks.
Sparks. Her chin came up as her mind clicked into gear. „You were working the Sparks case, weren’t you? That’s where I saw you before. It was two years ago, in the summer. You were undercover and got arrested with everybody else they’d picked up for possession. I saw you in the holding area.“ She’d heard him before she’d seen him, as she recalled. It would have been impossible not to.
That mouth of his curved in a smile that was almost smug. „I was wondering if you’d remember. Took you long enough.“
She advanced a limping step. „No fair.“ She chuckled, remembering. „You were something else. You had a pony-tail, a beard, a shiner, and a really big mouth.“
He grinned and her breath caught at the sight „I was in character that day. You should have heard what I said about you after you’d gone.“
She was alone with a man she’d known only three days, who made her feel safe and who, if she was not mistaken, was flirting with her. She’d been flirted with before, but had always been left with cold nerves. She now felt the nerves, but she was definitely not cold. „I’m almost afraid to ask.“ How true.
He lifted a dark brow, making him look devilish and to her mortification, her mouth watered and the warmth in her face spread down. Don’t wish, Kristen. It won’t happen.
„Let’s just say my cover was very heterosexual and leave it at that,“ he said dryly, but his eyes never left hers.
Kristen swallowed hard and looked away. She picked up the sandpaper and began working a small section of mantel carving where decades of paint stubbornly clung. „I was bringing some papers to the precinct that day,“ she said. „I heard you, then saw you. You were watching me.“ With those piercing blue eyes she’d never truly forgotten. „Why?“
She heard him approach, felt his heat at her back. And wondered how she ever could have been cold. „I don’t know,“ he answered seriously. „I just looked up and there you were in your black suit with your hair pinned up. I was… stunned.“
Stunned. Kristen made herself laugh. „Oh, please, Reagan. ‘Stunned’ is a bit dramatic, wouldn’t you say?“
„You asked, I told you,“ he answered tersely. „I wasn’t happy about it myself.“
He sounded positively grim and her stomach gave a nasty twist. That hurt. She renewed her efforts on the stubborn paint until she was sure her voice would be steady. „That’s good to know. I think I’m ready to talk about vigilante stalkers now.“
„My wife was alive then.“ The words cracked out, seemed to hover between them.
His wife. Slowly she turned around. He was standing too close, and she pressed back against the mantel to put a few more inches of distance between them. He’d noticed her when he was still married. She hadn’t believed him to be that kind of man. And that hurt even more. „Your wife?“ Her voice came out a whisper.
He was staring at her, his eyes intense. Challenging. „Yeah. Debra, my wife.“
Debra, whose parents’ coming to the christening on Saturday made him angry. She moistened her suddenly dry lips. „She’s no longer alive, I take it?“
„She died a year ago.“
Kristen waited a moment, but he said no more. „Of?“
His expression became angry. „I guess the official cause of death was heart failure, but after five years in a vegetative state, any failure would have been sufficient.“
Her breath caught in her throat as the enormity of his admission hit home. Five years. Five years of painful limbo. Her heart ached for him, for what he’d endured. Her first impression had been an accurate one, she thought, thinking of that night in the elevator. Desperate desolation. „You loved her, then.“
His eyes flashed. „Yes.“ He bit it out, the one little word that said volumes. She knew that if she wanted to know more, she’d have to ask. She wondered if she did want to know more. She had enough troubles of her own without taking on those of another. But he took on yours, Kristen, without a second breath. And in a flash of insight she realized what he was offering. The opportunity to share burdens.
A relationship. Something she’d longed for over the years. Something that terrified every bit as much as it beckoned.
He was watching her think, which was unsettling, as if he knew her thoughts. Maybe he did. Maybe he won’t care. The thought came, childish and hopeful, and she dashed it immediately. No, he’d care. It would make a difference. Later, it would. But now, he needed to talk and she wanted to listen. They would be friends.
But no more than friends. It would be his choice, not hers. He would be the one to walk away, not her. She knew it, even as she stared into his eyes. They’d be hurt, both of them. But not tonight She tore her sandpaper into halves and offered him one.
„Tell me about her. Debra.“
He took the bit of sandpaper that looked pathetically small in his large hand. He stepped away, moving down to the other end of the mantel and she took in a deep breath, filling her lungs. Then turned back to her stubborn paint.
„She was…“ His voice roughened, broke. „She was everything.“
Kristen’s heart cracked as she wondered what it would be like to be „everything“ to someone. Someone like him. She sanded harder. „What happened?“
„She and I were going to the store. She got out of the car, and she was shot“
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He just stood there, staring at the sandpaper in his hand. „Was it a mugging?“
His jaw clenched. „No. Just some punk retaliating against the just-promoted detective who arrested his brother.“
She closed her eyes briefly. He’d only been doing his job and somebody ruined his life. There was a parallel here, his past experience with her current situation, but she wasn’t going to touch it now. „Tell me about her.“
„She had brown hair and brown eyes.“ He was quiet for a moment, and she could almost feel him grappling for the memory of the woman who’d been his „everything.“
„She was tall,“ he continued, his voice steadier. „She was a preschool teacher, loved little kids.“
„She sounds like a very nice woman.“
„She was.“ She heard the rueful smile in his voice and turned to find it reflected on his face. Still he stood, just holding the sandpaper. „She put up with me.“