The light didn’t come on, and she felt a rush of relief that he’d thought of that detail ahead of time. She scrambled into the cab, and he pressed her head against the console and motioned for her to keep it there. Then he closed her door with a quiet snick.
Kira closed her eyes, waiting and listening with dread for any more gunshots.
It had been a gunshot. Distant, maybe, but it had been a gunshot. Otherwise, why would he have yanked her to the ground like that? She unlooped the camera from her neck and stowed it on the floor.
Jeremy slid behind the wheel and stayed low in his seat as he shoved the key into the ignition and started up the truck.
“Don’t move,” he ordered.
He swerved onto the road and punched the gas, leaving behind a spray of gravel. Still no lights, and her heart skittered as she pictured them careening into a ditch.
Then they did careen into a ditch, and her head smacked against the dashboard.
“Sorry.”
“What—”
“Shortcut.”
They bumped and bounced over the uneven terrain, and she gripped the door for support. Another burst of speed, another bounce. The truck caught air, and they came down with a jaw-rattling thunk, and suddenly, they were speeding over smooth pavement. He switched on the headlights, and the dashboard lit up green.
He looked at her. “You can sit up now.”
She didn’t move.
“It’s okay.”
Slowly, she lifted her head and looked over the dash. They were on a paved road. Two lanes. No lights anywhere except the tunnel created by their headlights.
She glanced over her shoulder, and the lights of the dock were nothing more than a distant glow above the tree line. She couldn’t even see the towering cranes.
Jeremy trained his gaze on the road ahead.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t explain. Kira still felt the heady buzz of adrenaline, and he just stared straight ahead as if nothing had just happened.
He checked the rearview mirror. Suddenly, he hit the brakes and swung onto a dirt road. He skidded to a halt and thrust the truck into park.
He reached across the console and clutched the side of her face.
“You okay?”
She nodded.
“You sure?” His blue eyes bored into her, and she felt the intensity coming off him, right through his fingertips.
“Who was that?” she croaked.
“I don’t know.”
“That was a gunshot, right?”
He nodded, and she studied his face. She’d thought he was fine, but she saw now that he wasn’t fine at all. Even in the dimness, she could see the taut muscles of his neck, the hard set of his mouth, the beads of sweat glistening at his temples.
His fingers in her hair tightened. “I shouldn’t have let you come here.”
“You didn’t let me anything. I—”
He cut her off with a kiss.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
KIRA FROZE. Then he burrowed his fingers into her hair, and she moved into him.
Jeremy was kissing her. Kissing her. And it was loaded with all that pent-up intensity she’d felt from the moment she met him. She slid her hands up around his neck and pulled herself closer.
He tasted so, so good, and she couldn’t get enough as he angled her head and delved into her mouth. She ran her fingertips over that stubble that she’d been dying to touch for days and pressed her body against him, as close as she could get with the damn console between them. Her heart lurched as he grabbed her hips and dragged her over it and into his lap. His erection was like a steel rod, and she squirmed against him.
He tipped his head back. “Kira—”
“Shut up.”
She pulled him closer, and she was surrounded by the solid heat of his body. He was so good, everything about him, from his sharp taste to his strong arms. His skin felt hot, and she ran her fingertips down his sweat-dampened neck, as he kissed her with a fierceness she never would have expected.
Except that she had. She’d known. From that first morning, that simmering look in his eyes had warned her about what was buried under all that cool self-control. His palm slid over her T-shirt and closed over her breast, and she arched against him. She wanted both his hands on her. She wanted to straddle his lap and pull her shirt off and feel his mouth on her, too, but all she had right now was the teasing brush of his thumb through the fabric.
A loud hum made her jerk away. She looked up at him, panting. The raw lust in his eyes sent a surge of heat through her.
The noise again.
She spotted her glowing phone beside her mud-smeared camera on the floor of the truck. Recognizing the number on the screen, she scrambled off his lap and grabbed it.
“This is Kira.”
Silence.
“Hello? Shelly?”
“Kira, hi.”
She fell back against the seat and tugged her shirt down. Her skin tingled. She glanced at Jeremy as he ran his hand through his hair and gave her a look she couldn’t read.
“I hope it’s not too late,” Shelly said. “You said anytime, so . . .”
“It’s fine.” Kira checked the clock and went on alert. “What’s wrong, Shelly?”
“I just . . . maybe I’m being paranoid, but I thought I saw something. Twice, actually.”
Kira shook her head, trying to shake off the daze. In the background of the call, she heard music. Was Shelly calling from a bar? A restaurant?
“What did you see twice?” Kira asked her.
“I’m not sure. Not really. But you know that picture you showed me?”
Her blood ran cold. “The police sketch?”
“I thought I saw him at a stoplight downtown. In the car behind me? But then I thought it was nothing, because I made a turn, but the car didn’t turn, and I figured I was just imagining it. Then I thought I saw him again.”
“Where?”
Jeremy put the truck in gear and pulled back onto the highway.
“You know Mulligan’s?” Shelly asked.
“The sports bar.”
“I was there with some friends, and I could have sworn I saw him at the bar as I was leaving.”
“Where are you now?” Glancing at Jeremy, Kira motioned for him to go faster. “Shelly?”
“I’m on my way home.”
“Where do you live?”
“Avalon Lofts on Kirby Drive.”
“Lock your door, all right? Did anyone follow you?”
“No. I looked. In fact, I drove past the police station on my way, thinking I might pull in, but . . . he wasn’t back there. No one was. No one was following me, and I felt dumb. Honestly, I’m not even sure it was him. It just looked like it might be him, and I thought I should tell someone.”
“I’m going to text you a number for the lead detective on the case, and I want you to call her, okay? Tell her I gave you her number, and then tell her what you just told me.”
Silence.
“Shelly?”
“Isn’t that a little much? I’m not even sure it’s the guy from the sketch. And it’s after eleven.”
“Don’t worry about that. Contact this detective. And also, keep your phone on you and call nine-one-one if you see anything suspicious.”
No response.
“Shelly?”