Читать книгу Secrets Rising - Suzanne Mcminn - Страница 9

He felt the cold metal slide away from the waistband of his jeans and before he could move, she was gone, nothing but a ragged gasp in the darkness. He lunged forward then stopped cold at the low, fearful, shaking sound of her voice.

“Don’t come near me. I’ll shoot.”

“No, you won’t.” He hoped she wouldn’t. Hell, he didn’t know. He didn’t move.

He could feel his heart thumping hard against his ribs. And he could have sworn he could hear hers, thumping, too. She was scared and he didn’t blame her, but he needed to get back in control of the situation. Scaring her more wasn’t the way.

“I know how to use a gun,” she said, that soft, low voice of hers still uneven. “What I don’t know is what you’re doing with one.”

“It’s licensed,” he told her, keeping his voice steady, reassuring. “I have a right to carry it. There’s no need to be afraid.”

“I’m trapped here with you and a gun. I think I can decide for myself if I should be afraid or not.”

“You already pointed out that everyone in town knows I’m here. My car is still outside. Rescuers will get here eventually. Why would I want them to find me here, in a cellar with a dead body and my gun? I’m not going to shoot you. I’m not stupid, remember?” Reason, he had to use reason on her. She was already frightened, for good cause, by the quake and the destruction of her house and their desperate situation.

She was silent for a beat and he could hear the house creak over them again. She could hear it, too, and he heard her feet shift on the rubble, knew she was unnerved even more, wondered if she was trying to decide whether she needed to hold his gun, or hold him, to feel most safe.

“Do you think I want to spend God knows how many hours alone down here, waiting for help, with a dead body?” he asked quietly. “I don’t want to shoot you, Keely. I—”

His throat closed up a bit and the next words were hard to admit, but he had to make a choice, too. Risk a little of himself, or risk his life if he let a very frightened woman continue to point a gun at him. Situations got out of hand sometimes. He knew that too well.

“I like you,” he finished finally. “Why would I want to shoot you?”

She didn’t say anything for long seconds. He felt the electric pull of her even through the dark. She was thinking, he knew. Thinking about whether she could trust him or not.

It appeared she wasn’t so naive, after all.

“You walked up to my door with a gun,” she said. “And I want to know why.” Her voice strengthened.

She was pulling herself together. That hadn’t taken long, and it occurred to him that she had a tough spine inside that very sweet, hot, bombshell-quality body of hers.

He did like her, he realized with a shock, even though she had annoyed him quite a bit, from the first time he’d spoken with her on the phone about the rental, with questions he didn’t want to answer. He liked her in spite of himself because she was nice. Even when he was rude to her, she was nice. In fact, she was too nice. Too nice for him. His instinct to get away from her as quickly as possible had been a good one.

Now he couldn’t get away from her and she was going to take her opportunity to ask questions again, and he was going to have to give her answers whether he liked it or not. And he didn’t like it at all.

“I’m a cop.”

The house lay so still around them, he could hear the very low intake of her breath, sense the tension emanating from her body as his words sunk in. His gut tightened, waiting for her to respond.

“A cop?” She didn’t sound like she really believed him.

He figured she’d thought he operated on the opposite side of the law, based on his appearance. He’d worked undercover most of the past few years and his wardrobe had suffered in keeping with his cases. Not that he cared or that it mattered. He was supposed to be resting and relaxing, not dressing for success.

In truth, he was just biding his time. He didn’t need rest and relaxation. He needed to get back to work. The damn thing was, the chief wouldn’t let him. The department shrink had said he wasn’t dealing with his grief. Go to the country, the chief had ordered. Get some perspective. Unwind. One month. Then he’d let him come back to work. He’d suggested Haven. The chief had grown up here.

Jake had thought he was dealing with his grief just fine. How the hell was someone supposed to take it when they were responsible for their partner getting blown up right in front of them? And people had called him a hero. He’d just wanted to get back to work. He still wanted to get back to work. He wanted to bury himself in work. No thinking. No feeling. And certainly no consorting with the locals. He didn’t want any entanglements.

But here he was in Haven, trapped in a cellar with a beautiful woman. How had that happened?

“Charleston Police Department,” he told her.

“And I’m supposed to know that’s the truth how…?” she asked.

“Because I’m telling you it’s the truth….” he said. “I’m one of the good guys, Keely. I promise.” He waited a beat. “If you don’t mind, I don’t really like it when people point guns at me,” he said. “It makes me worry about whether I’m going to get to keep breathing. You stop pointing the gun at me and we find a candle, then I’ll show you my badge and ID. Deal?”

He heard the soft click of the chamber pushing open.

“I’m going to take the bullets out. You don’t mind, do you?” she asked.

“Not at all.”

She hadn’t lied about knowing how to operate a weapon. And she might believe him—or might not—but she wasn’t going to leave the gun loaded. Again, not so naive, after all.

It wouldn’t do her a whole lot of good if he wanted to wrestle the empty gun away from her and find the bullets, but it would buy her time. Better, he supposed she was figuring, than letting him wrestle the gun away from her loaded.

She’d probably just put the bullets in her back pocket. There weren’t a whole lot of other options available.

He heard the gun drop on the debris behind her.

“I know you can pick it up,” she said then. “I know you can get the bullets away from me. But,” she added dryly, “I suppose you’re right. You’re pretty stuck if help comes and I’m laying here in a pool of blood. Wouldn’t be too smart on your part. I just don’t like loaded guns, so let’s not keep it that way. Okay?” She still wasn’t completely trusting him.

“Okay.”

Tentative truce. Fragile, very fragile, he’d guess.

He’d take it.

“They’d know you did it,” she added.

“Yes.”

“You’d go to prison.”

“Definitely.”

“For the rest of your life.”

“Probably.”

“Or get the death sentence.”

“There’s no death sentence in West Virginia.”

She was silent for a long beat. Disappointed, probably.

“You know what they do to guys like you in prison,” she said finally.

In spite of himself, he felt a slow lift to his mouth. He actually almost laughed.

“Are you saying I’m cute?” What the hell was he doing now? Flirting with her?

He heard her blow out an irritated breath. Yeah, she thought he was cute. She probably hadn’t meant to give that away.

“I’m not saying you’re cute,” she said tensely. “I’m not saying you’re anything but on your way to the slammer if you try to hurt me.”

He reminded himself that it wasn’t important what she thought of him as long as she stopped holding a gun on him.

Sobering, he said, “I’m not going to shoot you, Keely. I don’t want to hurt you in any way.”

She was silent for another long stretch.

“I’d probably never find the candles and matches without you,” he tacked on. “Plus, I’d be lonely down here waiting for help.”

“Oh, yeah.”

He heard her move, slowly, carefully, toward one wall of the cellar. Good. Back to business.

“There’s a trunk over here, somewhere,” she said.

He followed the sound of her voice and her footsteps. She’d knelt, was clearing debris from something. He went to work with her, removing boards and bits of plaster and who knew what else.

“This is it,” she said, and her voice rose, confident, hopeful. The trunk lid creaked open and she fumbled around inside. “Here they are.”

The box opened with a soft sound then she struck a long match, held it up.

She wasn’t just a voice in the dark anymore. Her eyes glowed in the light from the flame, wary and still scared. He knelt there, close to her, close enough to fill his nostrils with her heady scent, feel overpowered for a second by the vulnerable look on her face.

Apple. She smelled like apple. Deliciously sweet.

He reached for his wallet, flipped out his ID and badge for her to see.

“You don’t have to be scared of me,” he said quietly, tucking the truth of his identity back in his pocket. “I really don’t want to hurt you, Keely. I’m not going to. I promise.”

She stared at him, and time locked, forever, it seemed, then she blinked and turned her gaze down, away from him.

“I don’t believe in promises,” she said so softly, it was nearly a whisper. “People lie all the time. So cut it out with the promises. I’m not interested.”

The heart he wasn’t supposed to feel tightened a little at the break in her voice. She’d been hurt, badly, he had no doubt now. Probably by that dead husband of hers.

But he wasn’t responsible. It bothered him, anyway. That look in her eyes, that pain in her thready voice, bothered him. This was more than police instinct to read and study people. This was about her. And that wasn’t good.

“I’m sorry anyone ever lied to you,” he said, and it was too late to bite the words back even if he really wanted to.

She glanced back up and he saw emotion shining in her eyes. She cleared her throat, blinked back tears. “There are candles over there somewhere.”

The long match was half-burned when she stood, moved to the other wall. Broken canning jars lay everywhere and she crouched again, searching. He went after her.

“Here they are.” The joy in her voice was catching. “We have light!” She stuck one of the thick candles inside one of the intact jars and lit it with the match, then stood. The scent of warm vanilla rose around her, mixing with the ripe apple scent. She smelled good enough to eat and his libido was taking his brain in directions he didn’t want to go.

He stood in front of her when she turned, the candle in the jar in her hand. He wanted to kiss her. Her mouth was right there, inches away. It was crazy, ridiculous. Her hair fell around her face in shimmery strands, like spun gold, wildly sexy and just begging for a man to tangle his fingers into it, pull her face close and—The strength of his very vivid fantasy shocked him and left him with a weird, edgy feeling as he reminded himself that he wasn’t interested in any kind of relationship, with Keely Schiffer or anyone else.

“We’re going to be okay, right?” she said then.

“Help will come. Your friends and your family will make sure of that.” And he was sure she had friends and family that cared about her. He could just tell. She was all apple pie goodness through and through. A nice, wholesome country girl.

She couldn’t have been more foreign to his experience if she’d hailed from another continent. Maybe that was the trouble. He was used to women who wielded their sexuality like a weapon. She was innocently sensual, naively seductive. She was killing him.

“If they’re even okay.” She bit her lip and he could hear the fear in her voice. “I don’t know if they’re okay.”

“Faith,” he offered. “You have to go on faith for now.” He didn’t know where that came from. He hadn’t had much faith lately. He wanted her to have it, though. “We were lucky, you know? We may be trapped here, but we’re all right. They were lucky, too. Just believe that for now. There’s nothing else you can do.”

He smoothed the hair back from her face even when he knew he shouldn’t touch her more than necessary. He couldn’t seem to stop touching her, but he forced himself to. He dropped his hand back to his side.

What the hell was wrong with him?

“You’re right, I know,” she whispered, her eyes holding him. “Stop being so nice,” she said suddenly. “It’s freaking me out.”

He laughed, surprised by her remark, and loved it when she smiled through the shine of tears in her gaze. It was an unexpectedly satisfying reward.

“Sorry. I can go back to being an asshole if you want.”

She laughed now. “No, I guess I don’t want you to do that. I’m stuck with you here, after all.” She cocked her head, studied him. “We’re stuck with each other.”

He nodded. “Looks that way.”

“For who knows how long,” she added. Her gaze moved, swept the cellar. In the flickering candlelight, the wreckage was stunning. “What now?”