His heart picked up its pace, and he felt the blood in his veins heat to near boiling. He hadn’t bargained for this. Being physically attracted to her was one thing. He could handle that. At least, he thought he could, despite knowing, after spending a whole day with her, how much he could like this woman.
Just now, though, realizing she was attracted to him, too, things had gone from intense to almost dangerous.
Dangerous for him because, with his track record, getting tangled up with a witness was about the dumbest career move he could make. Dangerous for her because… well, because Alec’s head wasn’t in the game right now. He was still too screwed up from what had happened to even think about involving somebody else in his battle with his own demons.
Easy to remember earlier, when she’d been afraid, on edge, and uncertain. Now that she’d segued into aware, sultry, and sensual, he could get into serious trouble.
When she realized he’d seen her response, Sam caught the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth. The room, old and poorly ventilated with one small heating vent, usually felt chilly. It suddenly got warmer, the walls almost seeming to shrink around them, making the cramped space even more intimate.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
He didn’t know if her apology was for the intrusive questions or the deliberate, provocative stare. Good manners said she should owe him one for being nosy. But his own need to keep thinking of her as just a witness meant it had better be the look. That dangerous, oh-it’s-bad-but-it’s-still-so-good look.
“It’s okay.”
Though she was visibly embarrassed, Sam didn’t turn away. She made no effort to avert her eyes or change the subject. She watched him closely, waiting for him to speak. The woman wanted either a left turn into the tale of his injury, or a right one into something a whole lot more dangerous: an acknowledgment that he’d seen, that he understood. That he’d responded.
When he didn’t humor her, didn’t take the conversation one way or another, she finally blew out an impatient sigh. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“Well, how were you hurt?”
She’d gone left. And he was suddenly so relieved, he spat out the truth. “Shot.”
Her gasp could have been heard outside. “You were shot? Like, with a gun?”
“No like about it.” Reading her dismay in the quiver of her mouth, he shrugged in unconcern. “It was five months ago; I’m fine.”
Sam obviously wasn’t so sure. She reached out and put a hand on his arm, touching him so lightly, so fleet ingly, he wondered afterward if he had imagined it. “I’m sorry.”
“Wasn’t anything I ever want to repeat, but I survived it.”
“Who shot you?”
The question he most didn’t want to answer. Because being shot by a psychopath or a bank robber, an abusive dirtbag, any of those would have been okay to talk about. Heroic maybe. At least something he could wrap his mind around.
He still hadn’t wrapped his mind around what had really happened that hot summer day.
He intentionally averted his gaze, staring past her. “It’s a long story.”
She refreshed the screen, sighing when it came back unchanged. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”
As if having time to kill meant he should spill his guts about something he hadn’t even discussed with his parents, with his ex, with anybody except an FBI shrink and the big shots at his disciplinary hearing. Oh, and Wyatt. Who’d probably been the most understanding of all of them.
Offering her the bare bones, he said, “I got too close to a witness. Got involved, let down my guard. And paid a very serious price for it.” He fell silent, his entire body stiffening in discomfort, physically telling her to step back from her line of questioning.
“Okay, sure. You don’t know me; it was rude to ask. I apologize.”
“Don’t. I opened the door.” And promptly closed it.
“Tell me one thing.”
He tensed.
“The person who did it, was he caught? Prosecuted?”
Alec waited for a long moment before lifting his eyes to meet her inquisitive stare. Finally he answered, “She’s incarcerated, awaiting trial down in Georgia.”
Sam processed the sex of his assailant with a quick flare of the eyes and a brief clench of her mouth. Otherwise, she didn’t react in any way. But he could almost see the churning of those wheels in her brain and knew exactly where that imagination-and bruised-divorcée spirit-had taken her. Hearing a woman had tried to murder him, his admission that he’d gotten too close to a witness… well, she had undoubtedly painted quite a picture in her mind with that small palette of colors. She wouldn’t be the first.
He almost spat out the truth, not wanting those kinds of speculations influencing her opinion of him. The idea that she thought he was that kind of agent, that kind of man, ripped at his guts. But he kept his mouth shut. His lapse in judgment-not seeing the kindly looking mother of the killer he’d been after for the dangerous, murderous bitch she was-had been the greatest mistake of his life.
Jesus, I’m sorry, Ferguson. Sorrier than I can ever say.
His sympathy toward a frightened mom, who seemed to want her son captured so no one else would get hurt, had led him to believe her when she’d said she had no idea where their suspect was. Not to mention neglect to check her for weapons of her own.
She’d been lying. And when they’d moved to stop her son from escaping through a back window, she’d opened fire.
He had learned his lesson about letting his guard down around witnesses. Learned it the hard way. Judging by how Sam had devoured him with her eyes five minutes ago, it was on the verge of happening again.
So Alec remained silent.
Sam looked way from him and leaned forward in her chair. Dropping her elbows onto the table, she lowered her face onto her hands, cupping her forehead and rubbing at her temples with her thumbs, visibly exhausted and disheartened.
“Okay, this isn’t getting us anywhere,” he said, making a sudden decision. “It doesn’t mean we’re giving up. Our guy could just be cautious, suspicious about being directly engaged. He might have only the dead of night to ride around and do his thing, and nobody expects you to sit here until three a.m.”
She lifted her head, appearing hopeful. “You think he might still show up?”
“It’s possible. We’ve had a long day. Let’s go check in with Brandon, see if he’s finished with your hard drive, and work on getting you home sometime before tomorrow.”
“You’ll take me home?” she asked, her brow rising in surprise. “Really? I can go?”
In those moments when Sam had created scenarios in her mind about his shooting, probably deciding he was at the very least unprofessional, or worse, a womanizer, he suspected she’d built a mental wall of her own. One that reminded her she was a graduate of the School of All Men Suck, if he remembered her nightshirt correctly. Now, though, the wall was down and she sounded relieved and appreciative.
“Yeah. I’ll get you home.” He rose from the chair, touching the back of hers to pull it out so she could stand, too. “Swear to me you won’t do anything if he responds tonight. No more angry blog entries, no acknowledgment whatsoever without my go-ahead.”
“I won’t.”
“I’ve got to have your promise on this,” he said, knowing he sounded fierce, but needing to make sure she knew how serious he was. He stepped closer, blocking her exit, crowding her against the table. The subtle intimidation was intentional, meant to ensure her cooperation.
It also, he suddenly realized, probably revealed his frustration that she’d so quickly assumed the worst about him. And the second he acknowledged that about himself, he stepped back and thrust a hand through his hair. “Sorry.”