Not Without Risk (7 page)

Frustration coiled his muscles like tightly wound springs. Her appearance, the fact
that fear remained evident in her gaze, should have quelled his need for her. Diminished
it at least.

It didn’t.

He fisted his hands at his side to keep from reaching for her. He didn’t want to feel
attraction, didn’t need the added protective urge that coursed through him. The circumstances
were bad, the timing rotten. The fact that the feelings existed and he couldn’t do
anything about them had his jaw tightening painfully.

He expelled a frustrated breath and crossed to stand at her side. “I’d like to help.”

She came alive at his words, beautifully, surprisingly alive. “And do what? Hold my
hand?”

Justin blinked at the immediate change in her. He took a moment to study her before
deciding he liked her like this, standing firm as temper sparkled in her eyes. Holding
her own, even as her body trembled from a combination of fear and pain. Her head had
to ache like the devil, yet she didn’t crumble. Instead, she used her discomfort to
fuel her anger and fight back.

She was really something, this woman who’d gotten to him on a level no woman before
her had ever managed.

“If you want me to.”

Turning abruptly, she faced him. He reached out and curled his fingers around her
upper arm when she swayed.

“What…” Her lashes fluttered before she steadied herself. “What are you up to?”

“I have to be up to something to want to help you?”

Her eyes narrowed as emotions played across her face: anger, confusion, suspicion.
“Not fifteen minutes ago I asked for your help and you turned me down.”

He smoothed his palm down her sleeve and took her hand in his. Felt the same zing
of electricity as the last time he’d touched her. “Now I’m offering it.”

Paige visibly jolted. Her mouth opened, then closed. Her voice was unsteady as she
finally said, “I don’t need you to hold my hand.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Well then,” with his free hand he pulled his business card from the inside pocket
of his jacket and placed it into her upturned palm, sandwiching her hand between both
of his. “In case you change your mind.”

She glanced from him to their joined hands and back again. “Do you believe me?” she
whispered.

He’d hurt her, he realized. In refusing to accept her word that what happened to her
this morning was connected to her friend’s murder, he’d clearly wounded her.

Releasing the card into her palm, he raised his hand and gently brushed his knuckles
over her forehead, around her bruise and down her cheek. “I believe you.”

The corner of her mouth turned up in the slightest of smiles even as she bit down
on her lower lip. Justin sucked in a breath and worked to push it past the ball of
need that whipped through him quietly, painfully, overriding his better judgment,
his self-control. He shouldn’t get involved, couldn’t let himself care. But knowing
it didn’t stop him from saying the words that sealed his fate.

“I believe you. I don’t think you had anything to do with St. John’s death.”

“What about my car?”

“If you aren’t guilty of murder, why would you destroy such a beautiful piece of American
engineering?” Her fingers squeezed his and he swept his thumb across her knuckle.
“I’ll find whoever’s responsible. In the meantime, if you need to talk to me, about
anything, my number is on the card.”

As if they had a mind of their own, his fingers slid farther down her face. Reason
told him to stop. Risking everything, his career, his reputation within the department
for one little taste of her wasn’t smart. He knew attraction faded and then disappeared.
Knew love was nothing but a fabrication, a fairy tale he didn’t buy into.

Slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, he trailed his fingers down her neck to settle
at her throat. Beneath his thumb, her pulse skipped. She didn’t pull away, as he half
expected her to do. Maybe if she had, he could have resisted, tamped down the desire
that burned in his gut. But she didn’t. She didn’t move at all. She just gazed at
him, her features softened, her cheeks colored.

Need slammed through him, driving away the last of his resolve. He knew all the reasons
why he shouldn’t do this, but with the scent of her surrounding him, the soft feel
of her skin beneath his fingertips, he no longer cared. In a matter of seconds, he
made the conscience choice to push objectivity out the window.

Easing closer, Justin lowered his head.

“Harrison, you old dog!”

Pain exploded along Justin’s left side, driving the air from his lungs and forcing
him to release Paige abruptly. He bit back the curse that echoed in his head as his
nerve endings sang out in protest. His stomach cramped, his lungs wheezed. It was
all he could do not to double over and empty his stomach on his boots.

Impervious to his pain, the officer who’d jovially slapped him on the shoulder continued.
“Two days back and already the ladies are all over you.”

A single bead of sweat trickled down his temple. He settled his hand upon his ribs
and drew deep breaths in through his nostrils and out his mouth. White spots danced
across his field of vision. His ears rang, making it near impossible for him to understand
the words of the young officer at his side.

“I hope you’re not looking for sympathy from the rest of us,” the man exclaimed with
a grin that quickly faded as he turned toward Paige and caught sight of her injuries.
“Oh jeez, I’m sorry. I thought…I automatically assumed…”

Justin struggled to pull himself together enough to speak but the words wouldn’t come.
Helplessly he watched as Paige, her face pale and creased with confusion, stepped
away from him. Her gaze locked with his, she raised her hand and pressed her fingers
against her lips. The lips he’d yet to taste.

“I’m sorry,” the officer repeated before he made his hasty exit.

Justin didn’t move a muscle. Carefully, Paige bent to retrieve the fallen business
card. Her hand shook hard enough she made two swipes before her fingers curled around
it. A soft groan slid past her lips as she straightened and her hand lifted to her
temple.

He envied her freedom to acknowledge her discomfort as he struggled against his own.
Justin couldn’t let anyone see the clawing ache that tore at him. He couldn’t risk
anyone asking questions. Holding himself totally still, he drew each shallow breath
carefully, unable to do more than watch as Paige continued to walk backwards, each
step taking her farther away from him.

“I have to go,” she stated, her voice raw and unsteady, her breathing as ragged as
his.

He’d just come close to screwing up. Big time. Yet he couldn’t work up the emotion
to be glad he’d been interrupted before taking that last step over Allan’s proverbial
line.

“Paige.”

She stopped her retreat. For a moment, a heartbeat really, he thought she would reach
out to him, renew the connection so abruptly broken.

“I can’t…breathe in this place.”

Disappointment sliced through him, tensing muscles already screaming out in pain.
With the assault his injured side had just taken, he could do no more than watch as
she slipped out the door.

He let loose a string of imaginative curses.

“That good, huh?”

Justin turned his head in the direction of his partner’s voice, surprised to find
Allan not more than ten feet away from him. From his nearness and the pinched expression
he wore, Justin knew Allan had witnessed all that had transpired over the last ten
minutes.

He waited as Allan crossed to stand at his side. Watched, as irritation turned to
concern. “You aren’t going to pass out on me are you?

God, he hoped not
. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only if you know what to look for.”

“Is anyone else looking?”

After a quick but thorough scan of the area, Allan replied, “No.”

Justin doubled over. Hands on his knees, he drew air greedily into his lungs, and
forced himself to hold it until he’d worked through the worst of the pain. This was
agony, this stabbing ache that incapacitated him. Far worse than when he pushed too
hard at therapy, worse than when he slept wrong. It was the worst pain he’d felt in
weeks.

“Jesus, Justin, are you certain you’re all right? Maybe you should—”

“Don’t say it.” His pain reduced to a dull ache, he straightened slowly. “I don’t
want to hear how I should have waited a few more weeks. I’m fine.”

Disbelief colored Allan’s features.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re a fool.”

“Allan.”

Allan raised his hands in surrender. “You didn’t hear it from me.” He turned away
and abruptly changed the subject. “We should offer her a ride.”

Justin followed Allan’s gaze out the window and to the parking lot. Paige stood with
her back to them, sunlight glinting off the red highlights in her hair. “I thought
you were worried about me crossing the line?”

“You’ve already done that.” Allan’s voice held no accusation, just resignation. Justin
flinched anyway. “I want to know why Sullivan didn’t call us. I also want a look at
the scene before they’ve cleared it. I’m willing to give her a lift, so I can do that.
When we’re done, I think you should let this go.”

When he didn’t immediately reply, Allan turned, his expression serious. “I mean it,
Justin. Don’t see the girl while on the job. Breaking policy just now wouldn’t be
your smartest move.”

Hand still upon his side, Justin had to agree. Too-close scrutiny would be damaging
to him at this point in his career. He couldn’t afford to raise any red flags or attract
too much attention. He needed to back off. Concentrate on what needed to be done to
discover the identity of a killer. He needed to consider his career first and his
uncommonly strong attraction to Paige second. He needed to be smart.

“Say good-bye to her, Justin.”

* * * * *

Paige stood just outside of the yellow crime scene tape and studied the after effects
of her violent morning. Glass from her shattered front window, and other miscellaneous
debris, littered the ground directly in front of her building. She did her best to
remain emotionless as crime scene technicians photographed and gathered what appeared
to be the contents of her trunk. She failed immensely.

Exhausted defeat pulled at her. Tears burned the back of her eyes. Her head spun—the
injury and the stench of burned rubber a lethal combination. Turning away from the
destruction, she fought back a wave of dizziness.

What had she done? What could she possibly have done to make someone want to hurt
her? What crime, real or imagined, had she committed against someone to make them
turn against her this way? Why her? Why now?

Her head began to pound as the questions circled her mind. Too many questions without
any answers. The answers, she feared, had died in that hotel room yesterday morning
along with Leroy. Whatever had brought him across the country to see her, whatever
he had to tell her face-to-face, had been enough of a threat to someone that they’d
killed to keep him quiet.

Now, that someone wanted her dead, too.

She crossed her arms over her chest and rubbed her upper arms when a chill moved through
her. Her gaze sought out and located Sergeant Harrison as he walked alongside his
partner, surveying the scene behind the police tape.

She was scared, she admitted to herself. Really scared. Of the threat to her safety,
as well as her growing desire for the man before her. Just looking at him now, her
heart rate skipped, jumped a few beats before taking off in a race that had nothing
to do with fear and everything to do with memory. He’d touched her today, in more
ways than one. She had no business wanting him, but she did. To be held, stroked,
comforted. It had been a long time.

In an unconscious move, Paige touched the tips of her fingers to her lips as she recalled
the feeling of being in his arms, the heat of his body and the gentle strength of
his hand upon her neck. Beneath the warmth of the pre-summer sun, she took a moment
to wonder, had his lips met hers, would his kiss have been soft and searching, or
hot and passionate?

Her breath shallowed as she studied his strong, clean-shaven profile. The sharp, masculine
cut of his jaw. The pulse-altering way he filled out his button-fly jeans and brown
leather bomber jacket. She had vowed years ago to stay away from men like him, to
never again make the same mistake with a man so obviously all wrong for her. But that
didn’t stop her admiring gaze from lingering, or her thoughts from scattering when
he turned and caught her staring.

The dimple in his left cheek winked as his lips curled in an intimate smile.

It was a good thing he didn’t use that smile very often. The quick curving of his
lips and flash of dimple was a powerful package that triggered an even more powerful
punch. Heat flooded her limbs. Her heart beat wildly against her ribs.

“Ms. Conroy.” The man who’d identified himself as Tom Sullivan a few hours previously,
ducked under the stretch of tape and moved to stand at her side. “I see you’ve received
medical attention. What’s the verdict?”

She didn’t react for a full minute. His words were clear, she heard every one. Trapped
as she was in the web of sexual electricity that sparked between her and Sergeant
Harrison, she just couldn’t seem to form her response. “Five stitches…and a concussion.”

If he realized the reason for her stuttered reply, Sullivan didn’t let on. “Those
can be bad news. Do you have someone to stay with you for awhile?”

“Yes,” she lied.

Sergeant Harrison’s dark eyes remained steady on her. Her body grew warm as her own
measured the broad span of his shoulders. Her eyes moved lower.

Her gaze hardened. The pounding in her temples intensified.

His hand lay against his side as he moved overly carefully around the burned-out shell
of her car. In a sudden flash of clarity, she recalled his quiet, strained expression
before she walked from the station. His quick intake of air that signified pain as
the young officer slapped him on the shoulder and exclaimed,
“Two days back and already the ladies are all over you.”

Two days back?

His clean, uncluttered desk sprang to mind and suddenly the fog she’d felt trapped
in since the explosion cleared. Cold realization slammed into her. The gravity of
her error pressed down upon her.

“I…” She’d really stepped into this one. Chest tight, she pushed a hurried explanation
from between her lips. “I need to sit down. Please excuse me.”

Her pace hurried, she sidestepped the police tape, moving away from Sullivan, from
the wreckage, and around the corner of her building to a rarely used side entrance.
Memory echoed along with the pounding beat in her head.

Two days back…I hope you’re not looking for sympathy from the rest of us…

She’d managed to forget. The shock. The horror. She’d pushed it aside, at least for
a while. Suddenly, memories of her past flooded her. A chill snaked up her spine.

How could she have been so blind? It had been right in front of her the whole time.
Only she’d been too distracted to see it. Her stomach ached. There was such a terrible
pressure there that she pressed her right hand against it.

Body trembling, she stood before the door she’d just unlocked and stared blindly at
the keys nestled in the palm of her left hand. She struggled to focus her thoughts,
to bring her last vestige of energy together and to face this new turn of events.
But as it had for days now, the urge to hide away, to run from that which she feared
most won out. She turned the handle of the door.

“Are you all right?” Sergeant Harrison voiced from just behind her.

With her thoughts so inwardly focused, she hadn’t heard his approach. “Of course.”
The tremble in her voice said otherwise. “I just need to sit down.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No.” Her stomach ached, her head swam—she thought she might get sick. “Thanks for
the ride home.”

“Paige?”

When his hand settled upon her shoulder, she sucked in air against an undeniable longing
and turned abruptly. Her above average height of five-eleven combined with her heels
put her at eye level with him and gave her an unparalleled view of the stricken look
that crossed his face at her next words.

“Two days back,” she said with conviction.

He recovered quickly. “I’ve had a bit of time off.”

“Please, don’t tell me.”

“Paige, I—”

“I don’t want to know.” She already knew. It all made sense now. The exact details
didn’t matter for they didn’t change what she had to do. “I can’t do this again.”

“Let me explain.” His hand shifted to her face, circled her eye. The tips of his fingers
slipped into her hair as his thumb wiped across her cheek.

She closed her eyes and briefly drank in the pleasure of his touch. “I don’t even
know your first name.”

“Justin.”

“Justin, that’s nice.”

He stepped closer.

“I don’t date cops.” Her words stopped him cold, as she knew they would. His lips
thinned and his hand fell away. “Whatever this is between us, it could have been good.
But I won’t make the same mistake twice.” She reached behind her and pushed the door
open. “No more cops,” she whispered with a shake of her head.

He didn’t respond, just stood his ground, hands in his pockets.

“Good-bye, Justin.”

The warm rush of humid air greeted her as she pushed through the door and into her
studio. Without turning to see if he’d left, Paige closed the door behind her. With
a low groan, she dropped to sit upon the bottom step of the stairs leading to her
living quarters. She pulled her hair from its braid and ran her fingers through the
strands to ease the strain on her scalp. She toed off her shoes and unbuttoned her
blazer. She fought the urge to cry.

Justin. His name was Justin. After years of yearning, of searching for someone who
could arouse her both physically and emotionally, she’d finally stumbled upon the
man. His name was Justin and he too closely paralleled the one part of her life she
would never repeat.

She’d done the right thing in ending it before it could even start. She’d done the
right thing.

So why did she feel as if she’d just been tossed against the side of her building
for the second time that day?

* * * * *