panicked dread bubbling just below the surface. Though
Leah had claimed to be unharmed on the phone, he’d needed to see her lovely face with
his own eyes. He’d needed to determine for himself she was safe and untouched by what
she’d witnessed.
With her thick, black strands of hair smoothed back from her face, the fairy eyes
seemed more ethereal, the black fringe of lashes more pronounced. Of course, those
were the only things delicate about her. Where Maura had been petite and curvaceous,
Leah reminded him of an Amazon—beautiful, tall, and with a grace that could make mincemeat
of a fleeing perpetrator as easily as execute a perfect Viennese waltz.
That didn’t stop him from inspecting her slim figure from the top of her glossy hair
to the tips of her brown stiletto boots for injury as she nodded to the officer, turned,
and descended the porch steps.
Her long stride didn’t falter; it was confident, alert. A cop’s walk. Two years ago,
she might’ve shown up for this call in one of Boston’s finest’s squad cars. Had she
thought of that while giving her witness report to her former brothers in blue? Did
it bother her to see them there, to be on the outside of the fraternity she’d once
belonged to?
Yes. He noted the grim, unsmiling line of her lush mouth, the aloof, rigid expression,
and the bruised darkness in her eyes he knew had nothing to do with finding Darion
Sheldon’s dead body. Being outside the brotherhood bothers her . He recognized the particular sheen of hurt and anger dimming the normal brilliance
of her gaze.
“Hey, Gabe,” she said. The remote coldness hardening her features was echoed in her
tone.
He nodded and slipped his hands into the pockets of the dark blue peacoat he’d yanked
on as he’d left his condo. Either he did something with his hands or he would grab
her close and wrap her in his arms until the shadows evaporated from her expression.
“Thanks for calling me.” He dipped his chin in the direction of the officers around
the house. “Did they find out anything?”
She shook her head and mimicked his pose. The movement nudged her jacket open, and
he glimpsed the strap of her shoulder holster as well as the butt of the SIG Sauer
she carried. His mouth went as dry as a Bill Belichick interview after a Patriot win.
Usually the sight of her weapon didn’t faze him, but with Darion’s body cold in the
house, cops standing guard on the porch, and the frenetic tension of a crime scene
humming in the air, it shook him. Hard.
Maura had been a homemaker; her most hazardous trip had been to Wal-Mart with Ian
pre-nap time. Leah’s job as a PI, while mostly fact-finding, entailed trailing people
who didn’t want to get caught in illicit activities, digging into lives, and uncovering
information people fought to keep under wraps. It required a damn gun.
He’d lost Maura on a conventional, risk-free drive to her parents’ home for a Christmas
party. Where would he lose Leah? While on surveillance? Outside a target’s home? Entering
a house with a dead body where a killer could remain, lurking in the darkness in wait
for another victim?
His heart thumped like a bass drum, loud and hard, reverberating through his body.
Yet another reason to keep his distance from her.
For a moment, it drowned out the primitive beat of desire humming in his blood.
Just the thought of wanting Leah caused guilt to flay his gut. Yeah, Maura was gone,
but her death served as a vivid, agonizing reminder of why he didn’t dare risk anything
with Leah other than friendship. Opening his heart and losing Leah, the best friend,
would wreck him. But losing Leah, his best friend and lover, would destroy him.
Leah was a risk he—his heart, his soul—simply wasn’t willing to take.
“No,” she replied to his question, bringing him back to the situation. “Nothing new.
I just finished up my statement with the officers. The ME
Leah had claimed to be unharmed on the phone, he’d needed to see her lovely face with
his own eyes. He’d needed to determine for himself she was safe and untouched by what
she’d witnessed.
With her thick, black strands of hair smoothed back from her face, the fairy eyes
seemed more ethereal, the black fringe of lashes more pronounced. Of course, those
were the only things delicate about her. Where Maura had been petite and curvaceous,
Leah reminded him of an Amazon—beautiful, tall, and with a grace that could make mincemeat
of a fleeing perpetrator as easily as execute a perfect Viennese waltz.
That didn’t stop him from inspecting her slim figure from the top of her glossy hair
to the tips of her brown stiletto boots for injury as she nodded to the officer, turned,
and descended the porch steps.
Her long stride didn’t falter; it was confident, alert. A cop’s walk. Two years ago,
she might’ve shown up for this call in one of Boston’s finest’s squad cars. Had she
thought of that while giving her witness report to her former brothers in blue? Did
it bother her to see them there, to be on the outside of the fraternity she’d once
belonged to?
Yes. He noted the grim, unsmiling line of her lush mouth, the aloof, rigid expression,
and the bruised darkness in her eyes he knew had nothing to do with finding Darion
Sheldon’s dead body. Being outside the brotherhood bothers her . He recognized the particular sheen of hurt and anger dimming the normal brilliance
of her gaze.
“Hey, Gabe,” she said. The remote coldness hardening her features was echoed in her
tone.
He nodded and slipped his hands into the pockets of the dark blue peacoat he’d yanked
on as he’d left his condo. Either he did something with his hands or he would grab
her close and wrap her in his arms until the shadows evaporated from her expression.
“Thanks for calling me.” He dipped his chin in the direction of the officers around
the house. “Did they find out anything?”
She shook her head and mimicked his pose. The movement nudged her jacket open, and
he glimpsed the strap of her shoulder holster as well as the butt of the SIG Sauer
she carried. His mouth went as dry as a Bill Belichick interview after a Patriot win.
Usually the sight of her weapon didn’t faze him, but with Darion’s body cold in the
house, cops standing guard on the porch, and the frenetic tension of a crime scene
humming in the air, it shook him. Hard.
Maura had been a homemaker; her most hazardous trip had been to Wal-Mart with Ian
pre-nap time. Leah’s job as a PI, while mostly fact-finding, entailed trailing people
who didn’t want to get caught in illicit activities, digging into lives, and uncovering
information people fought to keep under wraps. It required a damn gun.
He’d lost Maura on a conventional, risk-free drive to her parents’ home for a Christmas
party. Where would he lose Leah? While on surveillance? Outside a target’s home? Entering
a house with a dead body where a killer could remain, lurking in the darkness in wait
for another victim?
His heart thumped like a bass drum, loud and hard, reverberating through his body.
Yet another reason to keep his distance from her.
For a moment, it drowned out the primitive beat of desire humming in his blood.
Just the thought of wanting Leah caused guilt to flay his gut. Yeah, Maura was gone,
but her death served as a vivid, agonizing reminder of why he didn’t dare risk anything
with Leah other than friendship. Opening his heart and losing Leah, the best friend,
would wreck him. But losing Leah, his best friend and lover, would destroy him.
Leah was a risk he—his heart, his soul—simply wasn’t willing to take.
“No,” she replied to his question, bringing him back to the situation. “Nothing new.
I just finished up my statement with the officers. The ME
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