“How did you come by these injuries?” Doc asked.
He stated the question casually, but she heard something clinging to the edge of his words. How should she answer? Did Reilly want him to know the truth? She shot Reilly a questioning look, and he nodded at her to continue.
Minimal information was best. “Yesterday I walked into a situation. A fight in an alley. I tried to blast the guy with pepper spray, which made him pretty mad.”
Doc looked at his son, his brow furrowed. “You weren’t with her?”
Reilly shook his head. “I was working.”
Doc harrumphed. He held the hem of the sweatshirt she wore in his hand. “May I?” he asked and she nodded. He lifted the shirt slightly and examined her rib cage. “Best guess is you have some bruised ribs.”
Her streak of bad luck continued. “What can I do?”
“You should see a doctor and get some X-rays. See if there’s other damage,” Doc said.
Slow breath in, slow breath out. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not?” Doc and Reilly asked at the same time.
Myriad reasons. She didn’t have a real identity or health insurance. If she admitted she didn’t have the money, Reilly might offer to pay and she owed him too much already. “I want to wait a few days and see if it heals itself.” Was that possible?
Doc twisted his lips in thought, but mercifully, didn’t argue. “Then we’ll keep them wrapped and try not to jostle you too much. Let’s get some aspirin for the pain.”
Reilly and his father set about getting her medication and wrapping her rib cage with some ACE bandages. Then Reilly lifted her, moving her as little as possible, and laid her on the bed. “You need to rest your body. Try to let your muscles relax.”
“Let me know if it gets worse,” Doc said. “And Reilly, watch out for your woman from now on. I raised you better.”
“I’m not his woman,” Carey said, staring at the ceiling. She couldn’t let Reilly’s family go on thinking he had been negligent somehow. He was wonderful. Attentive. Thoughtful. She was the one who brought trouble everywhere she went. If she didn’t leave soon, she might bring it here.
Doc coughed. “Oh, my apologies. I misunderstood.” She couldn’t see his face, but his voice was lighthearted, as if he knew different.
Doc closed the door behind him, leaving Reilly and her alone.
“Can I do anything for you?” Reilly asked, sitting at the foot of the single bed, widening the space between them. Was he doing it on purpose? He
had
to feel it, too, the skin-tingling awareness of each other.
He could do plenty of things for her. Hold her. Tell her everything would be all right. If he spoke the words, she would pretend to believe them for a short time. Shoving aside her ridiculous wish, she made a more practical request. “Could you help me brush my hair? It hurts to move my arms above my head and my hair will look like a real rat’s nest if I don’t brush it.”
“I can do that,” Reilly said.
It had been difficult to ignore her attraction to him when he’d been dressed like a detective. In the black T-shirt, it was impossible. Too easy to forget what he did for a living and see him as a man. A strong, virile man. “My brush is in my duffel,” she said, trying not to stare at the sleek movement of his muscles beneath his shirt.
Reilly collected it and helped her sit up, letting her back rest against a mound of pillows. Being on the bed together, close enough to touch, added fuel to an already raging fire.
“This is an interesting choice of colors,” he said.
Casual conversation. Sure. She could do that. “You don’t think the red is natural?” she asked wryly.
He chuckled. “Not for a minute.” He took a section of hair and worked the brush through it. “Tell me if I hurt you. I’ll try to be careful, but I can’t say I’ve ever done this.”
His hands brushed over her, the most delicate of touches. She closed her eyes against the sensation. “I’ll let you know. My hair is blond.”
“Not many natural blondes left in the world,” he said.
Her pulse beat faster at the simple caress of his hands moving through her hair. “I’m lucky that way, I guess,” she said.
Given her current situation, she’d meant it as a joke, but Reilly didn’t laugh. He pulled the brush down a long plait of her hair. “You have beautiful hair.”
He could affect her so effortlessly. “Surely you jest,” she said. The color was hideous.
“The color is a little out there, but it’s soft.” He was careful around the cut on her head. The rounded tips of the brush stroked her scalp, and the gentleness was a treat she hadn’t had in months.
A moan escaped her lips. “That feels good.” Her muscles unwound and her nerves came down a few notches.
He continued around her head, moving the brush in long, slow strokes. “I’m glad I could help.”
There it was again. That feeling deep in her gut, something that clamored at her to get closer to this man, to grab on to him and not let go. He was kind and gentle; he was strong and sexy. She ached to reach out and touch him.
Forgetting about the pain, she leaned closer. “Reilly.”
The word was spoken like a plea—
kiss me, please kiss me.
It had been a long time since she’d been with a man and even longer since she’d been with a good man. Reilly and his family were good people. It was plain to see in the manner they lived, how they spoke to each other and how they’d welcomed her, a perfect stranger, into their home.
“Yeah?” he asked, his expression closed.
She didn’t have long to stay and she shouldn’t start something, especially when he’d pulled away twice already, but she couldn’t stop herself. “Kiss me.”
He stilled. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
The rejection stung but didn’t stop the need. “Kiss me.”
“Carey,” he protested, only halfheartedly.
“One kiss. One innocent kiss. It’s been so long and I...”
“You what?” he asked, his eyes searching her face.
Wanted him. Couldn’t pretend otherwise. “Need you to kiss me.”
His eyes darkened and when he surrendered, his mouth capturing hers, the kiss was anything but innocent. Carnal, raw, hungry, his tongue invading her mouth, flicking along her lips, devouring her. She set her hands on his thighs, stroking him with her fingers, letting him know how much she loved what his mouth was doing to her.
His arms closed around her, shifting her onto his lap. A small cry escaped her lips at the move. She muted it, not wanting him to stop. He tried to pull his lips away, perhaps to apologize, but she clamped her hand around the back of his head, holding him to her.
He tasted like mint and he smelled spicy, like a man, a real man.
He finally tore his mouth away. “We can’t do this.”
Still reeling from the impact of his kiss, anticipation throbbing in her body, she blinked in confusion. “Why? Why can’t we?”
He shifted her back to the bed and came to his feet. “This isn’t right. You’re the witness in a case. And you’re hurt.”
Ignoring the pulse of pain in her side, she threw her legs over the edge of the bed. “I’m fine. Really. I know it’s crazy, but I feel—” She didn’t know how to finish that sentence. Alive? Excited? Overwhelmed?
Reilly ran a hand through his hair. “You need to rest.”
Carey took a deep breath to control her racing heart. He felt
something.
That kiss had spoken loudly. “I know what I need.”
“You’re injured.”
“I’m fine.” Even putting emphasis on the word made her ribs burn.
“This isn’t a good idea.” He spoke the words with finality, but offered no further explanation. “Come into the bathroom and I’ll bandage your arm,” he said, the heat that had been in his face a moment before completely gone.
Chapter 5
T
he smell of baked chicken and stuffing wafted into the air making Reilly’s mouth water.
“You and your friend are on the news,” Reilly’s mother announced as they sat down for dinner. Jane set the steaming dish she was carrying onto a trivet near the center of the table.
Reilly glanced at Carey sitting next to him, her face masked with a haunted expression. He couldn’t tell if her back was that rigid because of her bound ribs or pure terror. Time to come clean. “Then you know Carey’s not here for a visit. She’s under my protection.”
Reilly’s older brother Harris took his seat at the table. “Your protection, our protection. Can someone pass the potatoes?”
Carey pushed herself away from the table, her plate empty and her lips drawn into a thin line. “Excuse me. I’m not feeling well. Maybe I should see a doctor tomorrow.” Her voice shook with heavy emotion.
Reilly had seen that look in her eyes before. “Nice try. You’re not running. I’m not driving you into town so you can take off at the first opportunity.”
Carey pitched her gaze around the room. “I shouldn’t be here. You don’t have to put your family at risk because of me.”
Reilly snorted. “We’re not at risk. Let someone come here for you. They’ll see the mistake they’ve made when they’re greeted with the business end of my father’s rifle.”
The family chuckled, but Carey’s face remained strained with worry. “Don’t you want to know what I did?” she asked his mother.
“I saw the report. You witnessed an attempted murder.” Jane spoke the words without emotion, without worry.
He’d let Carey fill in the details if she wanted. His family knew enough to know they needed to protect her.
“If you saw the report, so did the Vagabond Killer. He’ll come looking for me,” Carey said.
“We’ve talked about this,” Reilly said, setting his hand on her arm. Her skin was soft beneath his fingertips and he drew away his hand, aware that touching her heightened the temptation. What was wrong with him? He couldn’t stop touching her. As many times as he told himself she was off-limits, he didn’t have the restraint he needed to keep his distance. Something about her decimated every last ounce of his control.
Carey scrubbed her hands over her face. “I know, but a part of me thought maybe they wouldn’t run my picture or maybe the story would stay localized in Denver. If the news has made it to Montana, then it’s probably all over the internet.”
“Even if someone recognizes you, no one except the ADA and the lieutenant knows where you are,” Reilly said. “And I mean no one,” he emphasized, driving home the point that the Vagabond Killer and the man Carey was running from were both in the dark. The thugs following them couldn’t have guessed their final destination. The Truman Ranch was not on any official radar.
Harris set down his fork. “The Vagabond Killer won’t leave the city searching for her. At least not yet. It’ll take his psyche some time to work up the nerve to leaving his hunting ground. Serial killers have a pattern of behavior. As deranged as they are, their killings and stalker tendencies aren’t usually random.”
Jane set her hand over Harris’s and squeezed. “Even if someone is searching for her, they won’t think to look here.”
Harris smiled apologetically. “Sorry. Wasn’t trying to be a killjoy. Profiler training—it pops out at the worst moments.”
No one’s words seemed to ease her worry.
Carey bit her lip. “It’s a matter of time before he finds me. I have to get out of here. Vanessa or the lieutenant could let something slip.”
“If anyone comes here, we’re ready,” Doc said. “Can you pass the butter?”
Carey remained quiet for a moment as if considering the situation and handed Doc the white ceramic container of butter. Reilly watched her out of the corner of his eye. She appeared confused, then her face filled with disbelief. Anyone who hadn’t grown up with a Navy SEAL father and a CIA agent mother didn’t understand the security that came with his well-connected family. His mother wasn’t a large woman, but if tested, she’d prove herself a valiant opponent. His father was outwardly calm, making it that much more unexpected when he sprang into action.
That Reilly and both of his brothers had gone into various fields of law enforcement and protection was no surprise to anyone who knew their family.
Carey rubbed her side and Reilly wondered if the pain medicine he’d given her was helping. “Every other officer on the force is required to work. Isn’t it going to look strange when you’re the only one missing and you were the one at the scene and in the picture?”
The thugs had also seen them together, but Reilly didn’t point that out. He was impressed she had caught onto a detail that small. “I’m not officially on leave, and I’m planning to show up in the precinct every few days. If anyone knows you’re with me, they’ll assume I dropped you off somewhere.”
She shook her head as if trying to understand. “Being connected to me puts you at even greater risk.”
Reilly didn’t see it that way. He’d taken this assignment because he could do it well. He would protect Carey. “I’ll be fine.” He’d be extra-vigilant and on guard for an attack while he was away from the ranch. On the off chance the man stalking Carey approached him, he’d be ready.
“You’re going to drive eight hours each way to keep the cover?” Carey asked.
Harris snickered. “If you knew the kinds of bull this family has done to keep someone’s cover, you wouldn’t think driving eight hours is that big of a deal. We once ran an obit for Dad’s death and had a baby announcement printed for our ‘new sister’ to explain Mom’s leave of absence from her job.” Harris made finger quotes around the words
new sister.
Reilly would drive a hundred times that distance if it meant keeping Carey safe. “It’s not a problem. A jug of coffee for the drive and showing up at a couple of key places in the city should do it,” Reilly said. “Cop bar, twenty-four-hour diner, that sort of thing.”
“You’ll stay on the ranch,” Doc said. “We’ll get whatever you need. No one will know you’re here. I’ll order more surveillance equipment and keep the alarms on every entrance to the house.”
Reilly appreciated every member of his family stepping up to reassure her. When her pained expression remained, Reilly jumped to console her. “It’s not forever. A few days, maybe a few weeks. We’re going to catch the Vagabond Killer.”
She stared blankly at her plate and he knew she was thinking about the man she was running from. Reilly swore to himself that if he ever found the man who was terrorizing her, he’d see to it he paid for his crimes. As little as he knew about Carey, he knew she didn’t deserve to live in fear. She deserved happiness and a chance at a real future. “You’ll have your life back.”