She lifted her chin. "1 know. I was there."
"I haven't been shot at since I was in the army. My reflexes were a little rusty."
She sucked in one cheek. "Not all of them."
It was the opening he'd been waiting for. "So you did notice."
"It would have been difficult not to," she said dryly. "So was it reflex or interest?"
She'd regained her stride, her cocky balance. And somehow that made what came next more… fair. If he'd pressed his advantage when she was sad and defeated it wouldn't have been. "And if I said both?"
She regarded him levelly for a moment. "You could have waited until tomorrow to tell me about Wheaton. Why did you come tonight?"
The moment stretched as he considered his answer, then snapped as with two steps he eliminated the remaining distance that separated them. He slipped his hand around her neck, his fingers up into her hair and did what he'd wanted to do for days. When his mouth covered hers he felt her stiffen, then her arms were around his neck as she lifted on her toes and kissed him back.
He shuddered, as much from relief as release. It had been a long time since he'd held any woman this way. A long time since he'd tasted a woman's lips, felt the surge and surrender in her response. It was sweet, he realized. And familiar, as if he'd been here, done this before. Mindful of her bruised cheek he kept it much lighter than he wanted, much briefer than he wished. Stoically ignoring the coiled want in his gut, he ended the kiss, but held her tight against him.
"I wasn't sure you wanted this," he admitted. "You pulled away from me."
She rested her forehead against his chest. "I know."
It was said so wearily that he pulled back to see her face. "Why did you pull away?"
"Because I didn't want to want this. But I do." Her lashes lifted and it was if he'd been sucker punched. Her blue eyes were darkly aroused. His pounding heart climbed into his throat and with difficulty he forced it back down so he could breathe.
"Why? Why don't you want to want this?"
She hesitated. "How much time do you have?"
Time. Shit. "What time is it?"
"A little past nine. Why?"
"I promised Beth I'd pick her up at nine and that's clear on the other side of town."
She nodded. "I understand. We can talk more later."
He grabbed his coat from the old sofa and took two steps toward the door, then stopped and turned back around to face her. "She'll be fine for another few minutes. In fact, she's probably happy I'm late."
Her lips curved. "So how do you propose using another few minutes?"
"Doing what you don't want to want." He caught her chin and tilted her face up and this time she met him more than halfway, instantly taking the kiss to the next level. Hot and wet and full of motion, it set his body throbbing and left him wanting much, much more. Conscious of the time, he abruptly pulled away, and was gratified to see she was breathing just as hard as he was. "Warn me when you start wanting to want it," he said. "I'll make sure I bring along a defibrillator."
She laughed. "Go home, Solliday. We'll take this up again tomorrow." Her smile sobered a shade. "But not around the office, okay?"
"Okay." He leaned forward for one more kiss, then turned on his heel with an oath. "I have to go. Lock the door behind me."
"I always do."
He paused on the landing outside her door,. "I'll see you at eight tomorrow." With a little physical distance, his mind began to clear. "Don't go out alone tonight, okay?"
She looked amused. "Solliday, I'm a cop. I'm supposed to tell other people that."
He was not amused. "Mia, please."
"I'll be careful."
That was the closest she'd come to capitulation, he understood. "Good night, Mia."
A sober, wistful look flitted across her face. "Good night. Reed."
Wednesday, November 29, 10:05 p.m.
He'd finally come back. It had certainly taken him long enough.
He'd thought his target would wait inside Flannagan's for fifteen minutes, but he'd waited an hour. During which he'd hidden in the back floorboards of the man's car, biding his time.
The first part had been so easy and fast. He'd been early, waiting in the shadows. He'd watched as the man locked his car, which was a total joke. He'd been able to pop the lock with his trusty slim-jim in fifteen seconds. Then he'd gone flat in the backseat, pulling on the ski mask and waiting, visualizing in his mind what had to be done.
It wouldn't be pretty, but it would be fast. And painless. Because his target was his friend and didn't deserve to writhe in agony, like Mrs. Dougherty would tonight. But first things first. Focus. They'd been driving for fifteen minutes. It wouldn't be long now.
He wanted to sigh, but kept it in. He'd never killed someone he liked. There was a first time for everything, but he wasn't relishing the task.
He eased up on his elbow and stole a look out the opposite window. Good, they were on a small road, one lane each way. There was an all-night shopping center nearby where he could steal a car when he was finished. He drew his knife.
He'd sharpened the blade yet again. He wanted it to be quick. Springing to a crouch, he whipped the knife around and held it to his friend's throat. "Pull off at the next light," he instructed, keeping his voice low.
His friend's eyes whipped up to the rearview, wide with terror, but he knew he'd see nothing but the black ski mask. "If you want the car, I'll give it to you. Just don't hurt me."
He thought it was a carjacking, which was exactly what he'd hoped his friend would think. No use in risking identification, should the plan go south. They were off the main road now. The area was a little too populated for his liking, but it would do.
He grabbed his friend's hair and yanked his head at an angle. "Slow down. That's right. Nice and slow. Pull off onto the shoulder. Further. Now stop."
"Don't kill me. Please." He was sobbing. "Please don't kill me."
He frowned. He'd expected him to go with more backbone. What a girl. Maybe he wouldn't make it so painless after all. But his knife was sharp. It would slice deep given the smallest pressure. "Put it in park. That's right. Now roll down the window."
Cold air rushed in, feeling wonderful against his overheated skin. "Take the keys from the ignition." His target hesitated and he put more pressure on the knife. "Do it."
The car's engine went silent. "Now throw the keys out the window."
The keys hit the snow with a muted jangle.
"You won't get away with this," his target said, desperation in his voice.
How cliche. He'd choose his friends more wisely when he started his next life.
"I think I will," he responded in his normal voice and had one moment to savor the look of wild recognition before he yanked straight back and brought the blade across the man's throat. Hard.
Blood gushed. Spurted. Filled the car with its metallic odor. He wobbled the head side to side and found he'd nearly severed it. Cool. He'd never done that before.
He let go of the hair and climbed out of the backseat. With a handful of snow he cleaned his knife, then picked up the keys. Keys made a nice souvenir.
His jacket would have to go. His sleeve was covered in blood. He'd have to get a new jacket at some point. Perhaps when he got to the shopping center, he'd find a car with a coat in it. He'd walk to the shopping center, steal a car and have plenty of time for a nap before the Doughertys. He wanted to be fresh after all.
Wednesday, November 29, 11:15 p.m.
The house was quiet. Beth was asleep and Lauren was on her own side of the duplex. Reed sat on the edge of his bed and shuddered, torturing himself with the fantasy yet again, imagining what would have happened had he not needed to leave. Her mouth had been soft and sweet and hot and urgent all at the same time. Better than he'd imagined. And that was only a few short kisses. When he got her to bed…