A rustle of fabric was followed closely by the scent of wildflowers as she approached. He didn’t want her to go, but it was probably better for everyone if she did. Except . . .
Dammit. He had to work up at least enough energy to move away from the door.
But she surprised him again, sliding down the door much as he’d done to sit beside him, their bodies separated by mere inches. The door vibrated slightly as she let her head fall back against it. He thought she’d say something, but she didn’t, the silence broken only by the ticking of his grandfather’s clock and the sound of their breathing.
Her sigh cut through the quiet. ‘You’ve had a busy day,’ she murmured. ‘Did you sleep?’
‘No. Not yet.’
‘No wonder you’re exhausted.’ The words were nearly toneless. ‘I was hoping you weren’t returning my calls because you were getting some rest.’
He forced his back to straighten so that he leaned against the door beside her, turning his head so that he could see her face. With the exception of her closed eyes, her expression hadn’t changed. Subdued, sad. Totally wrung out. And still so goddamn beautiful that his chest ached. ‘Why are you here, Scarlett?’
A single weary chuckle. ‘I truly did come to make sure you were okay.’
‘I’m sorry I didn’t answer your calls. Things have been a little . . . hectic around here this morning.’
‘Yeah, I got that. But I really do need to talk to you.’ Her shoulders remaining slumped against the door, she rolled her head toward him and opened her eyes.
For a moment he could only stare. The eyes he’d thought were black were actually the darkest blue he’d ever seen. Like the midnight sky.
Those midnight-blue eyes narrowed. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’
He flushed, embarrassed to have been caught staring. He considered lying, but he was too tired to think of anything convincing. So he told her the truth. ‘Your eyes aren’t black. I remember them being black. But they’re not.’ In his fantasies, her eyes had been stark black. Now he’d have to change his fantasies. Because not only were they not black, they weren’t stark. They could be soft. Expressive. Vulnerable.
A faint curve of her lips. Kissable lips, he thought. Maybe even biteable. He wanted to lean closer to find out for sure, but was jerked back into common sense mode by the slight wag of her head.
‘No, they’re not black,’ she said. ‘But most people think they are.’
He drew a deep breath, letting the scent of wildflowers fill him up. ‘I hope most people don’t get close enough to see the difference,’ he said softly, watching for her reaction, intensely satisfied when those eyes of hers warmed with the same desire he’d glimpsed in the alley when he’d taken off his shirt.
Her throat worked as she swallowed hard, then she broke the spell by rolling her head so that she looked straight ahead. ‘I came to be sure that you were okay and to warn you.’
The air between them chilled. ‘About?’
She shifted her body, pushing her shoulder away from the door and drawing her long legs up, crossing them so that she sat tailor-style. Her eyes were no longer warm, her expression smoothed to coolly professional, but her hands gave her away, gripping her bent knees so tightly that her knuckles were white. He braced himself for something bad.
‘Tala wore a tracker,’ she said. ‘An ankle tracker.’
His jaw clenched, fury rising, burning him from the inside out. ‘Like a common criminal.’ The man. His wife. They own us. ‘Or an asset. Not a person.’
Her nod was steady, but her knuckles were still white. ‘Yes. The tracker was sophisticated. We’re trying to trace its source. We do know that it could transmit sound. Digitally. I’m no gadget geek, but Deacon is, and he tells me that they could hear anyone around Tala and the range was limited only by the strength of the satellite signal.’ She took her cell phone from the pocket of her tailored jacket, tapped the screen and held it out to him, showing him Stone’s article.
His hackles rose in self-defense. ‘I told you I’d tell the story.’
‘I know. But in it you insinuate that you didn’t hear Tala’s last words.’
He frowned at her. ‘I thought that’s what you wanted.’
‘It was. Until I learned that whoever tracked her could hear every word both of you spoke in that alley.’
He continued to frown, confused. Then . . . he got it. Fucking hell. ‘They’ll know I met her to help her, that she told me about her family.’ His tired brain finally kicked back into gear, and new fury bubbled up. ‘That’s how they knew she’d stopped to listen to me in the park. They hit her for that, so hard that she limped. Didn’t they?’
Scarlett’s facial expression didn’t change, but her eyes flickered with a mixture of pain and compassion, giving him her answer even though she didn’t say a word.
‘They did,’ he said grimly. ‘How bad?’
‘Bad,’ she murmured. ‘Really bad.’ Her lashes lowered, then lifted in a long blink. The compassion was mostly gone, replaced with the just-the-facts cop.
He found himself leaning closer, bracing his weight on one arm, his palm flat on the floor, inches from her knee. ‘How many times do you have to do that each day?’
She blinked again, her smooth brow puckering in a frown. ‘Excuse me? Do what?’
She’d been startled by the question, but she hadn’t leaned back as he’d expected her to. Instead she leaned forward ever so slightly, closing the gap between them.
‘How many times a day do you do that long blink so that you can shove your emotions down? So that you can focus on your job?’
Her chin lifted a fraction and he expected her to tell him to mind his own business. Instead her eyes grew abruptly shiny. ‘Too many.’ Roughly she cleared her throat, straightening her spine. Putting distance between them. ‘The point is that they heard you. They heard you in the park asking her why she was crying, they heard her tell you that she was owned by someone, and because the tracker continued to transmit even after her death, they heard you tell a homicide detective the whole story.’
Marcus stayed where he was, perched halfway on his side. He didn’t roll closer, but he wasn’t about to back away. ‘Okay,’ he admitted. ‘That sucks. Although you’re assuming they were listening at the time of her death. You don’t know that for sure.’
She gave him a you-can’t-be-that-naive look. ‘They were listening when she was at the park, and since it appeared that she knew the shooter, they probably followed her to the alley.’
‘Because they suspected she was meeting someone,’ he muttered. ‘Well at least you agree that she knew her killer.’
‘That fact was pretty clear,’ she said quietly. ‘Thank you for sending me the files. I’ll make sure they’re viewed only by those who must see them.’
He dropped his gaze to the floor, knowing she was referring to the moment when he’d looked down to see Tala’s head, blown apart by the bullet. When he’d cried out, overcome by devastating grief. ‘You’re welcome,’ he said. He hesitated, then sighed. ‘And thank you for your discretion. It was a . . . difficult moment for me.’
‘I know. It was like you’d discovered Mikhail’s body all over again.’
Something in her voice made him jerk his gaze up. The pain was back in her eyes, but this was different from the sorrow she’d shown at Tala’s beating. This was personal.
‘Who?’ he asked simply, and watched her cheeks darken. Once again he thought she’d tell him to mind his own business. Once again she surprised him.
Her swallow was audible. ‘My best friend. In college.’
Her hand flexed as she tightened the already punishing grip on her knee. He covered that hand with his own, her skin ice cold against his palm. ‘I’m sorry, Scarlett.’
She looked down at his hand but made no attempt to move it, so he left it where it was. ‘Thank you. It was a long time ago.’