and concentrated on Claire. "What happened to your neck?"
She pulled the robe tight and turned those blue eyes on him. "A little souvenir from the man in the driveway."
"I didn't know. Did I hurt you?" God . He'd rolled her in the alley, then grabbed her shoulders in hall when he thought she was losing it. That's when she started to cry and ran out of the room. "Oh, Jesus. I'm sorry, Claire."
"I'm all right. Don't worry." She laid her hand on his arm, comforting him .
He wanted to take her in his arms, keep her safe. Instead, he backed away and leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. Flexing his fingers, Riley forced away the sight of the vivid stain on Claire's shoulder and took a deep breath, but he wouldn't forget. He'd find the man who did this. He thought about the things Claire and Ray told him. Those actions suggested sadism. Claire wasn't the guy's first victim either—he'd bet on it. If Riley screwed this up, Claire could pay a heavy price.
He tried to shut out the memories. Nadia, the daughter of a Romanian scientist he'd been sent to protect, an innocent caught up in an ugly business—her face haunted him. He knew the family, shared meals with them when he visited the project before it went to hell. The man's satellite-tracking work put his family in a risky position—Riley should have pushed harder for them to have protection throughout the project. Or stayed with them himself.
The sadist who'd used the girl to break the father hadn't lived long—Riley made sure of that—but it had been too long for Nadia. With an effort, he turned his attention back to Claire's files. "Did you find something?"
She held a fat folder labeled "Medical" and tapped the papers with her fingernail. "Probably nothing. This one isn't as smooth as I remember. I just filed the last of Mother's insurance records, and I jogged it to get all the papers in the folder. Now some of them are sticking up over the edge again. Why would anyone be interested in this?"
"Is anything missing?" His pulse returned to normal, but he still struggled to lock the image of the broken girl in the deep recesses of his mind.
"It doesn't look right, but I don't know if I could tell. There's so much here." She flipped through the folders. "Nothing's out of place, just looks disturbed."
"Was there anything different about your mother's illness or death?" A part of his mind wondered about the man who'd hit her, where he'd strike next. Though more than twice Nadia's age, Claire shared her air of innocence and trust. He'd better figure out the reason behind all this—in a hurry. "No experimental drugs or treatment? You aren't suing anyone, are you?"
"No. She had cancer, nothing unusual. I read everything I could find and have no doubts about anything." She closed the drawer and drew her brows together. "I'm sure someone has been in these files, but I don't know if I could tell whether anything's missing."
"Okay, let's give it up for now." He pointed to the papers on the desktop. "Who's Brent Littlejohn?"
"He's an old friend and Mother's lawyer, so I guess he's mine now. I need to drop by his office and sign some things." She stacked the papers and faced him. "This should be the last of the legal work."
He could smell the mint tea on her breath. The color of the robe and her pale face made her eyes even bluer. She looked...warm, sleep-rumpled. Way too inviting. He could get into trouble here. Clients were strictly off-limits. Abruptly he turned toward the living room. "I'm going back to sleep."
"Let me get you a pillow and some blankets." She hesitated. "You can have the other bedroom if you like. It was my mother's, but I've cleaned out her things."
"I'm fine." He flopped down on the couch and turned away from her, pulling the afghan over his shoulders and adjusting a small throw pillow under his head. "You'd better get some sleep yourself. I'll take care of an alarm system in the morning. And I'll talk to the
She pulled the robe tight and turned those blue eyes on him. "A little souvenir from the man in the driveway."
"I didn't know. Did I hurt you?" God . He'd rolled her in the alley, then grabbed her shoulders in hall when he thought she was losing it. That's when she started to cry and ran out of the room. "Oh, Jesus. I'm sorry, Claire."
"I'm all right. Don't worry." She laid her hand on his arm, comforting him .
He wanted to take her in his arms, keep her safe. Instead, he backed away and leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. Flexing his fingers, Riley forced away the sight of the vivid stain on Claire's shoulder and took a deep breath, but he wouldn't forget. He'd find the man who did this. He thought about the things Claire and Ray told him. Those actions suggested sadism. Claire wasn't the guy's first victim either—he'd bet on it. If Riley screwed this up, Claire could pay a heavy price.
He tried to shut out the memories. Nadia, the daughter of a Romanian scientist he'd been sent to protect, an innocent caught up in an ugly business—her face haunted him. He knew the family, shared meals with them when he visited the project before it went to hell. The man's satellite-tracking work put his family in a risky position—Riley should have pushed harder for them to have protection throughout the project. Or stayed with them himself.
The sadist who'd used the girl to break the father hadn't lived long—Riley made sure of that—but it had been too long for Nadia. With an effort, he turned his attention back to Claire's files. "Did you find something?"
She held a fat folder labeled "Medical" and tapped the papers with her fingernail. "Probably nothing. This one isn't as smooth as I remember. I just filed the last of Mother's insurance records, and I jogged it to get all the papers in the folder. Now some of them are sticking up over the edge again. Why would anyone be interested in this?"
"Is anything missing?" His pulse returned to normal, but he still struggled to lock the image of the broken girl in the deep recesses of his mind.
"It doesn't look right, but I don't know if I could tell. There's so much here." She flipped through the folders. "Nothing's out of place, just looks disturbed."
"Was there anything different about your mother's illness or death?" A part of his mind wondered about the man who'd hit her, where he'd strike next. Though more than twice Nadia's age, Claire shared her air of innocence and trust. He'd better figure out the reason behind all this—in a hurry. "No experimental drugs or treatment? You aren't suing anyone, are you?"
"No. She had cancer, nothing unusual. I read everything I could find and have no doubts about anything." She closed the drawer and drew her brows together. "I'm sure someone has been in these files, but I don't know if I could tell whether anything's missing."
"Okay, let's give it up for now." He pointed to the papers on the desktop. "Who's Brent Littlejohn?"
"He's an old friend and Mother's lawyer, so I guess he's mine now. I need to drop by his office and sign some things." She stacked the papers and faced him. "This should be the last of the legal work."
He could smell the mint tea on her breath. The color of the robe and her pale face made her eyes even bluer. She looked...warm, sleep-rumpled. Way too inviting. He could get into trouble here. Clients were strictly off-limits. Abruptly he turned toward the living room. "I'm going back to sleep."
"Let me get you a pillow and some blankets." She hesitated. "You can have the other bedroom if you like. It was my mother's, but I've cleaned out her things."
"I'm fine." He flopped down on the couch and turned away from her, pulling the afghan over his shoulders and adjusting a small throw pillow under his head. "You'd better get some sleep yourself. I'll take care of an alarm system in the morning. And I'll talk to the
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