Chapter 7
JASON
Laurel rocketed out of the kitchen like she couldn’t tolerate another moment with me. As I watched her flee, I should have felt guilt about driving her away . . . but all I felt was relief. How many more times was I going to be a fucking idiot and put my foot in my mouth?
Her eyes had a gravity that I couldn’t escape, and even though she was out of sight, she was anything but out of my mind. Yeah, she was upset I hadn’t gone in to wake her, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I told myself the less I was around her, the better.
I cursed Bill, and myself, for getting me into this situation.
I’d really like to punch something or someone right now, but I was well aware of the consequences of doing that.
It was how you pulled protection detail, how you got stuck with a ballerina with haunting eyes and the uncanny ability to get under your skin.
Since she was gone from my computer, I sat down and pulled open the case file to check for new developments. A little while later, Derrick reappeared and shot me a sideways glance as he slid into his seat behind his computer.
“Caroline is on her way,” he said. “And the laptop bricked before they got much from it. There was some sort of command sent that corrupted the hard drive. IT said they’d never seen anything like it.”
It was a considerable setback. “Well, shit.”
“They got fragments of an email which are promising.” He leaned back in his chair and stretched, looking tired.
At least Laurel’s hard work escaping with the laptop hadn’t been for nothing.
I immediately squashed the thought. I didn’t want to think about her.
As if on cue, something large and heavy thudded to the floor in her room.
“What the hell was that?” I asked.
“Why don’t you go find out? Maybe you can tell her she looks like she’s wasting away again.” Derrick gave me a pointed look, and I had to choke back the urge to tell him to go to hell. He didn’t move, wordlessly telling me it was my responsibility to go check on her.
Tension corded the muscles in my hand as I knocked on her door.
“Come in,” she answered.
As soon as I did, I went stock-still. Holy shit.
She’d changed clothes. Now she wore a tight black leotard and a pair of sheer black leggings that hugged every inch of her perfect legs.
There was nothing left to the imagination, no denying how gorgeous she was, and it hit me like a fist to the center of my chest. I forced myself to drag my gaze up and stay professional.
She was bent at the waist and had her hands under the foot of the bed, struggling to lift it.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I want to move this, so I have more space.”
“Space to do what?”
She straightened, and her expression said it should be obvious. “Practice.”
I looked at the bed, then back to her. The mattress and frame were certainly heavier than she was. Why hadn’t she asked for help?
Because she’d rather struggle by herself than have to deal with an asshole like you.
This was the least I could do.
I strode to the side of the bed, making it clear I’d help her when I put my hands on the frame, and she nodded in acceptance. Then she lifted the foot of the bed as I pushed from the side, and the wooden headboard chattered along the wall as we slid it into the corner.
“Thanks,” she said quietly.
Her footfalls were silent as she moved to the center of the room and began rolling back her shoulders as if she were warming up. I should have taken that as my cue to go, but I stood there like a fool, studying her.
Her blonde hair was pulled up into a knot on her head, and it made her look elegant and regal. It unfortunately also emphasized the dark bruise on her neck where she’d been strangled. There was the other one on her arm where she’d been grabbed too, and I clenched my jaw.
I didn’t like seeing women hurt, hence the Nelson fiasco, and I really didn’t like seeing how Laurel had been hurt.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Yeah, this is good.” She nodded to the bed, misunderstanding me.
My brain had stopped working. I reached out and brushed my fingertips over her soft skin, just to the side of the bruise on her arm. “I meant here.”
She sucked in a sharp breath and blinked in surprise. She hadn’t given me permission to touch her, and I sure as fuck hadn’t asked, but she didn’t stare back at me now with anger or fear. Only confusion swirled in her bottomless eyes.
Her words came out whisper-quiet. “I’m fine.”
The air in the room thickened until it was hard for either of us to breathe.
It became difficult for me to think through this desire that fogged my head.
In any other situation, I might have closed the distance between us.
I would have gauged her reaction to me, and if she’d seemed willing, there was a chance I would have lowered my mouth to hers.
But Laurel Hayward was a job, and what I wanted didn’t matter. I needed to focus on keeping her safe from the man who had put those bruises on her, and nothing more.
Derrick’s announcement came through the open doorway. “Caroline’s pulling in.”
I turned and left Laurel standing there, her wide eyes haunting me even when she was gone from my sight. I made it to the front room just as Derrick pulled the door open.
Caroline Getty breezed in, dropped three ‘GO’ bags at her feet, and set her discerning gaze on me. She was in her early thirties, fit, and attractive, but the enormous chip on her shoulder meant she was difficult to work with. It turned simple conversation with her into torture.
“What, no tip?” She undid the buttons on her coat but didn’t take it off, indicating she wouldn’t be staying long.
Movement in the hall drew everyone’s attention, and when Laurel materialized, Caroline did a double-take at what the girl was wearing. She had to press her lips together to hold back a quip, but then her demeanor changed, sliding into one that was slightly more professional.
“Ms. Hayward,” she said, “I’m Deputy Getty.”
“It’s Laurel.”
The female marshal nodded as if to say, fair enough. “Caroline. I brought you some things from your place. Thanks for making an actual list. When I asked the last guy what he wanted, he just said, ‘My shit.’ Bet you’re ready for a change of clothes.”
She eyed Laurel’s leotard again, then gestured specifically to one of the three duffel bags beside the door.
“Thank you.” Laurel looked like she didn’t know what to make of the female marshal.
“Left one’s yours, Wheeler.” Caroline always used last names, and I doubted she took the time to learn anyone’s first. “They’re going to have to up my pay grade to whatever you’re making, Dunn. How the hell do you afford rent on that place?”
I had no response because I wanted to give her a wide berth. She’d come on to me once last year after we’d caught a fugitive, but I wasn’t interested in stepping into the mess of sleeping with a coworker. Plus, for as strong of a front as she put up, it seemed like she might be needy.
“You want to tell me why you’re on this case?” she asked, trying to appear disinterested and failing.
“Because of Nelson,” I said.
That drew a smirk. “Oh, yeah. How’s his nose?”
“Probably still broken.”
Her smirk grew into a smile. “Good.”
“You came all the way out here for a delivery?” Derrick asked.
“No, Bill got pulled into a thing and wanted me to brief you on the laptop. The email fragment was in Russian. No names, but it had the word ‘judge’ and two dates.”
“Which were?” I asked.
“January seventh,” which had been yesterday, “and the twentieth. The Feds think this could be another hit he’s planning.”
If it was, it meant they’d need to find this man in the next twelve days. Since I was always acutely aware of her, my gaze went to Laurel. She lingered like she wanted something but wasn’t sure how to ask.
I kept my tone casual. “What do you need?”
“I’d like to talk to Caroline. Alone.”
Her expression was empty, but the way she said it made me nervous.
Caroline didn’t have any issue with the request. She snatched up Laurel’s bag and motioned for her to lead the way before I could come up with a reason why I shouldn’t allow it.