Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
Parkour!
REED
So far, my second attempt to get a date with Lila is unfolding even worse than the first. At least the other night, I was able to ask her out to her face. This time, however, she won’t even come to the door.
Her car is in her usual spot, so she’s probably home. When my third knock-doorbell-ring combo goes unanswered, I dig the key out of my pocket and let myself inside.
“Lila? Kenzie?” I step cautiously into their apartment. “It’s Reed.”
No response.
After making use of the hallway table to free up my hands, I close the door behind me. Easing deeper inside, I study my surroundings like it’s a crime scene. Not sure if it’s muscle memory that causes the response or if it’s because of a blooming sense of foreboding.
My focus homes in on the sights, sounds, smells, and chisels everything into my memory.
No signs of a struggle in the foyer or living room, so I proceed toward the kitchen. The first thing I notice is a partially opened purse on the counter.
“Anybody home?” I yell, louder this time.
Again, silence is the only response.
That and the sound of running water.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand, and an icy claw of dread grips my intestines.
Three inches to the left of the sink, a reusable sports bottle sits open with the cap beside it on the counter.
One of those pitchers with the overpriced filters stands in the sink, positioned under the running faucet with the lid flipped back.
Water overflows it, cascading down the sides of the container like a waterfall.
Shit.
My right hand retrieves my sidearm on instinct, while I turn off the water with my left hand. I’m careful not to touch the front part of the faucet handle in case I need to dust it for prints.
Fucking hell. I’ve gone full Colombo. Need to get a grip.
Moving faster, I charge through the apartment. “Lila!” I throw open her bedroom door, finding the room empty. “Lila. Are you here?” The bathroom’s empty too.
“Kenzie!” I repeat my actions on the other side of the hallway, searching my sister’s room and coming up with a whole lot of nothing.
I need to look around the property for clues. Maybe someone has seen her. Perhaps she’s outside.
As I race through the apartment toward the door, I pull out my phone and dial Lila. After taking a step onto the front porch, I hear her cell phone ringing behind me.
It’s coming from inside.
Jerking to an abrupt stop, I quirk my head toward the source of the sound. My legs propel me toward it.
The purse on the counter. Lila’s phone is in there. Yet she’s nowhere to be seen.
My vision loses focus briefly as realization slams into me.
Someone must have taken her from her kitchen.
I wasn’t paranoid; this is a crime scene.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Before the magnitude of this situation has a chance to cut me off at the knees, I force my lungs to empty, expelling my burgeoning panic along with the air.
Fortunately, my career has prepared me for times like these. I know exactly how to cut off my personal connection to this case.
And that’s all this can be if I’m going to solve it. A case.
A shrill scream coming from over my shoulder sends me jumping a foot off the ground. When I land, I instantly twist my body, my gun hand extending in front of me.
The ear-shattering sound increases in volume until it approaches glass-breaking levels.
Lila.
She’s here.
Thank merciful fuck.
My shoulders sag. All I can do is stare at her, afraid that if I blink, she’ll disappear.
She stops screaming—thankfully—but her wide-eyed gaze locks on my gun. As I take her in, I notice her hands are thrust over her head in surrender.
“Shit.” I lower my weapon, my heart still somewhere outside my body. “I’m sorry.”
Lila’s chest heaves, and she tentatively lets her hands fall to the sides. The rest of her remains frozen. “Why were you pointing a gun at me? Are you arresting me?”
Not my greatest moment. I’ve had many of those around her. Why break my streak now?
I shake my head. “Where were you?”
“Why are you in my house?” She tips her forehead down, intensifying her glare. “Again.”
Rolling my eyes, I slide my gun back into its holster. “Why did you leave the water running?”
“Huh?” Her adorable nose crinkles. “What’s with all the questions?”
My brow furrows in response to her deflection. “What’s with you not answering them?”
The vibe in the room steadily shifts, the frazzled shock giving way to a different tension.
She flutters her lips. “Another question? How original. Are you training to host a quiz show? The FBI thing isn’t working out, huh? Well, I’m sure you did your best.”
With our demeanors returning to their normal state—antagonistic banter laced with sexual desire—I stifle a grin. “Where were you?”
“Oh. We’re taking it from the top? Umm. Let’s see. I think my first line was something like why are you in my kitchen, pointing a gun at me?”
Drawn to her like gravity, I inch forward and let my lips quirk. “Lila, where were you?”
She wags her pointer finger at me. “Stop it. That’s my job.”
“What is?”
“Answering questions with questions. Get your own shtick.”
The smile I’ve been fighting finally defeats me, overtaking my mouth. But it fades quickly when I realize her face isn’t merely flush as a side effect of being startled. Her eyes are red-rimmed, and her nose is pink and puffy. Her face is coated in a sheen of moisture.
“Cookie, have you been crying? What’s wrong?”
Her chin raises, giving her that sultry hint of defiance that always draws me in. “It’s nothing.”
“Liar.”
She purses her lips. “The birds are missing.”
Despite the nonsense words—which I’m accustomed to—her delivery borders on genuine. But I wasn’t born yesterday. “Fine. I’ll let you win this time.”
With a dramatic huff, she rolls her pretty brown eyes and brushes past me, heading straight to the water pitcher still resting in the sink. “Did you ever get that cyber truck you wanted so badly?”
Although that comment is begging for a sarcastic response, I don’t respond to her distraction technique. I’m too hell-bent on cracking this case. Where was she, and what upset her? In other words, whose ass do I need to kick?
While she fills her water bottle, I take the opportunity to study her closer, noticing her workout attire for the first time.
A baggy graphic tee hanging over skintight black shorts.
Sadly, the shirt hides her tempting ass.
Her hair is in a ponytail with wispy strands escaping the tie and clinging to her damp neck.
Not only does she look like she’s been crying, but she’s also covered in perspiration.
Did she go for a run without her phone and water bottle?
Unlikely.
And then why the tears?
She screws on the lid to her water bottle and takes a swig. I force my eyes shut so I don’t watch her lips caress the edge of the lid. I’ll never be able to focus on what I came to do tonight if I keep getting swept up in memories of what those lips can do.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
I’ve got this.
When I open my eyes, she sets the water on the counter. I’m about to press her again for her whereabouts, but she steals the thoughts from my mind with a simple gesture.
And I do mean simple.
She merely closes her eyes and reaches for her ponytail. The movement is mundane and innocent. Yet it captivates me as if she’s doing a striptease.
Her glossy brown hair falls to her shoulders when she removes the hair tie. Her head flops backward, and she utters a moan tinged with relief.
I’m unable to tear my eyes away from her as she forks her fingers through her tresses and massages her scalp. Her hair has a slight bounce that it normally doesn’t have. Perhaps the waves are because she’s had it tied up.
My hands itch to run through it to see if it’s as soft as I remember from five years ago. I wonder if I offered to take over for her if she’d let me.
She slips one hand through the circular hair band, snapping it to her wrist, then grabs her purple water bottle again. Adorable pink blotches speckle her cheeks and neck from being out in the late-day sun.
No longer staring at her hair, my focus is locked on the delicate way her jaw and throat move as she gulps down her water.
What I wouldn’t give to run my mouth along the curve of her neck and press her body against mine. I don’t even give a fuck that she’s perspiring from whatever she was doing this afternoon. In fact, I suspect I’d enjoy it even more. Who doesn’t love a little salt with their sweets?
Must. Get. A. Fucking. Grip.
If I don’t force my eyes away soon, she’ll catch me staring at her like a perv. No doubt she’ll have something snarky to say about it. And that’ll make me want her even more.
After lowering the now-empty bottle to her kitchen counter with a thud, she arches a brow at me. “This is becoming a habit.”
Please don’t refill the bottle. I can’t take any more torture.
This woman has me reacting to her drinking water like it’s hardcore porn. As much as I want her to stay hydrated, I also need her to cease drinking.
“What’s becoming a habit?” Fortunately, my words don’t come out like I have a speech impediment, despite the obscene amount of drool pooling in my mouth. I’ll count that as a win.
She grabs a paper towel from the roll and dabs along her forehead. “You. Lurking around, waiting for me to get home.” Her eyes twinkle, the red circles of sadness no longer as prevalent.
I struggle for a comeback, but manage to quip, “Are you complaining?”
“Isn’t that obvious?” she mocks unconvincingly, briefly looking me up and down.
“Whatever. Lie to yourself if you must, but I see the smile you’re fighting.” I wink at her, turning up the charm as I find my footing. “Admit it. You’re happy to see me.”
Any moment, Morgan Freeman will appear to tell me I’m deluding myself. He’s wrong. I honestly see her smile trying to escape. It’s a shot of pure adrenaline racing through my veins.