Standing In The Shadows. Shannon McKenna
Novak is out there somewhere,” Connor said. “I’ve been hunting him for years. I know his smell, and I’m smelling it now. He lives to fuck people up. You’re Ed Riggs’s daughter. You were in his sights. He won’t forget you. Count on it.”
Erin sank down into her chair. “Mueller can’t possibly have anything to do with Novak,” she said coldly. “Novak has been in a high-security prison ever since he was released from the hospital. Mueller started hiring me four months ago. We made plans to meet on two other occasions. Once in San Diego and once in Santa Fe.”
“But he never showed up?”
She lifted her chin. “He had unexpected business.”
“I just bet he did,” Connor said. “I need to check this guy out.”
“Don’t you dare!” she flared. “Don’t even think about messing with the last good thing I’ve got going. Everything else in my life has gone straight to hell. Don’t you think you’ve done enough?”
Connor’s mouth tightened to a grim line. He put down his cup, stood up, and headed for the door. His limp was just a barely perceptible, hitching stiffness in his leg. And it still broke her heart.
“Connor,” she said. “Wait.”
He pushed the door open, and waited, motionless.
“I’m sorry I said that.” She got up and took a step toward him. “I know it’s not your fault. It’s been…a really awful time.”
“Yeah.” He turned and looked at her. “I know what you mean.”
It was true. He did know how bad it was. She saw it in his eyes. He’d been betrayed and set up to die. He’d lost his partner, Jesse. He’d lost months of his life in a coma, suffered the shattered leg, the burns.
Connor had lost far more than she in this awful business.
An impulse from deep inside kept her feet moving until she stood right in front of him. His scent was a mix of soap and tobacco, resiny and sweet. Pine, wood smoke, and rainstorms. She stared straight up into his face, like she’d always wanted to do, and breathed him in. She drank in all the details: the sheen of beard stubble glinting metallic gold in the light from the corridor outside. The shadows beneath his brilliant eyes, the sharp line of his jutting cheekbones. How was it possible for a mouth to be so stern, and yet so sensual?
And his piercing eyes saw right into her soul.
She lost herself in it. She wanted to touch his face, to trail her fingers over every masculine detail, to feel the warmth of his skin. She wanted to press herself against his lean, solid bulk. She wished she had something to feed him, whether he was hungry or not.
Connor reached behind himself and shoved the door shut without breaking eye contact. She needed so badly for someone to know how lonely and lost she felt. Her mother was adrift in despair. Most of her friends were avoiding her. Not out of unkindness so much as sheer embarrassment, she suspected. But that didn’t help the loneliness.
Connor saw it all, and it didn’t embarrass him. His gaze didn’t shy away. She didn’t shy away, either, when he reached for her.
His touch was so careful and delicate, she could barely believe it was happening. Her eyes welled up. He smoothed away the tears that spilled over with a brush of his thumb, and folded her into his arms.
He pressed her face against the canvas of his coat. His hands stroked the length of her spine as if she were made of blown glass. He tucked her head under his chin. His breath warmed the top of her head.
She squeezed her eyes shut. He’d hugged her before, at her graduation party, at holiday gatherings, but not like this. Quick, nonsexual, brotherly hugs, but even so her heart had almost exploded out of her chest, it beat so fast and hard. His broad frame felt harder than she remembered, his muscles like tempered steel.
He’d been concentrated into the pure, potent essence of himself.
She wondered if the way she felt about him was written all over her face. He held her so carefully, vibrating with tension. Maybe he was afraid of hurting her feelings, or that she would misunderstand his friendly gesture and demand something he didn’t want to give. All those years of romantic fantasies, all that heat, all that pent-up hunger, he had to feel it. Dad had said that he was psychic.
He’d seen everything: how lonely she felt, how needy. He stroked her hair, as if he were petting a wild animal that might bolt, or bite.
She didn’t want careful, or gentle. She wanted him to push her onto the narrow futon cot, to pin her down with his big, strong body and give her something else to think about. Something hot and scary and wonderful. She could scream, she wanted it so bad. She wanted to wrap her arms around his neck, pull him closer, and just gobble him up.
God, how could he not pity her?
That thought stung her. It gave her the strength to jerk away. She dug in her pocket for a Kleenex. “Sorry about that,” she mumbled.
“Any time.” His voice sounded thick. He cleared his throat.
She kept her face averted. He had to leave, and fast, before she burst into tears and covered herself with glory. “Um, I have to pack. I’ve got lots to do, so, uh…”
“Erin—”
“Don’t start.” She backed away, shaking her head. “I’m going on this trip, and I don’t want a bodyguard, thanks for the offer. Thanks for the ride, thanks for the advice, the sympathy and the…the hug. And now, I really, really need to be alone. Good night.”
He made a sharp, frustrated sound. “You need better locks. Hell, you need a new door. It’s a waste to put a good lock on a door like this. I could kick the hinges in with my bad leg.” He scanned her apartment, scowling. “I’ll call my friend Seth. He can install something that—”
“And how am I supposed to pay him?”
“I’ll pay for it myself, if you’re short on cash,” he said impatiently. “Seth’ll give me a good deal. It’s important, Erin. You’re not safe here.”
“Thanks, but I can take care of myself. Good night, Connor.”
“Does your mother have an alarm system?”
She thought of the shattered mirror and clock. An eddy of sickening fear swirled in her belly. “Yes. Dad insisted.”
“Then maybe you should go stay with her for a while.”
She bristled. “And maybe you should mind your own business.”
He frowned, and pulled a matchbook out of his jeans pocket. “Give me a pen,” he demanded.
She handed him a pen. He scribbled on the matchbook and handed it to her. “Call me. Anything happens, day or night, call me.”
“OK,” she whispered. The matchbook was warm from his pocket. Her fingers tightened over it until it crumpled in her hand. “Thanks.”
“Promise me.” His voice was hard.
She tucked it into her jeans pocket. “I promise.”
One last, searching look, and he finally walked out the door.
A sharp knock made her jump. “Use the deadbolt,” he ordered from outside. “I’m not leaving until I hear you do it.”
She pushed in the bolt. “Good night, Connor.”
He was silent for a few seconds. “Good night,” he said quietly.
She put her ear to the door, but could not hear any footsteps. She waited a moment, opened the door and checked. No one was there.
She was finally alone. She slammed the door shut. After his bullying and lecturing and intimidating her with that overwhelming macho charisma, she’d thought his departure would be a relief.
Instead,