Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Before you say anything, hear me out.” Adriana sat on her bed and kicked off her shoes. Heels had been a dumb idea given all the running around she’d done that day.
Mendez had instructed her not to head back to the office after she met with Isaiah Bennett. It’d actually been an order, not a request. He’d said something about her needing sleep as if that was possible.
But when she returned to her room after visiting Isaiah’s suite, she hadn’t expected to find Knox sitting outside her door.
She’d been about to call him, but here he was instead. His eyes had drawn her in the second he’d looked up, and her spine had bowed ever so slightly with regret for being forced to keep him at a distance today.
“Well?” He leaned against the wall alongside her bed, arms crossed and lips in a hard line that’d probably intimidate any other person.
“Who gave the order to withhold information from me? Mendez? Your boss?” He shoved off the wall and strode around the bed to stand before her.
“You know I didn’t leak Aaron’s name. None of my guys did. ”
She stood so she wouldn’t have to peer up at him. Of course, she was still several inches shorter without heels, so, up was the only direction to go if she wanted to make eye contact.
The normal warmth in his eyes was gone, hidden behind enemy lines. But they weren’t enemies. They were on the same team. Yet, their jobs were hammering an uncomfortable wedge between them already. Partially Mendez’s fault.
“I went to bat for you, I promise.” She wet her lips, searching for a sign he believed her. “But both my phones were taken from me this morning. I just got them back.”
“What?” His brows shot up. “Mendez?”
She was almost afraid to nod, worried he’d lose his head and go after the director. “There were concerns I’d provide you updates.”
“The president authorized my team access to this case.” There wasn’t much fight in his tone, though. He must’ve anticipated the FBI would keep his people in the dark, but he probably hadn’t expected Mendez’s dick move of taking her phones.
“The Feds don’t know you like I do. They’re trying to protect the integrity of the case even if I disagree with their methods,” she answered on a frustrated sigh.
He remained quietly observing her, and she shook her hands out at her sides, waiting for him to ask her the question she could feel coming.
It may have been small, but the step he took backward was the same as one step forward and a smack in the face. “You think he’s guilty, don’t you?”
This wasn’t what she wanted. A fight with her best friend. And she still had to find a way to bring up his father’s request.
How could she answer his question without divulging classified details she’d been sworn to withhold from him?
“The evidence points to Aaron,” he said while offering his back.
He’d changed his clothes from earlier. Black jeans. Dark running shoes. And a gray tee.
“The girlfriend works at the hotel. The email. Rifle registered in his name. He ran. I get it.” He braced the back of his head with both palms and tipped his chin to the ceiling.
“The real shooter went through a lot of trouble to not only buy himself time to get away with multiple diversion tactics but to ensure he was seen on camera. I think he wanted us to connect the dots about the girlfriend and the hotel—well, once he’d gotten far enough away first. We’d find a guy with the same build as Aaron on camera. Stacked evidence.”
It was apparent he’d figured out quite a lot on his own, and she didn’t want to know how.
“You think Aaron’s being framed?” She tossed her black blazer and was in the middle of popping open a few buttons on her white starched blouse when he faced her.
Dark brown eyes moved over her chest, and her skin heated beneath his stare.
His eyes were on her hand, at the touch of exposed cleavage beneath her fingers.
“Knox?”
He blinked not once but twice. What was that all about? The moment in the elevator when she thought he was about to kiss her . . . had she not dreamed that up?
He was one more throat clear away from her asking what was really on his mind, but then he spoke. “If Aaron was going to kill a guy, why send an email that morning, which implicated him, but then go to all the trouble to escape unnoticed?”
She yanked at the tie in her hair and let the locks fall over her shoulders. “He missed. He wants a second chance.” She had to play devil’s advocate, even if she may have agreed with him.
“Someone, not Aaron, wanted us to find that email.” He spoke with authority. From a place of experience.
Was this the kind of work he did for Scott & Scott? She’d never known exactly how he helped people, but she hadn’t imagined it’d be so investigative in nature.
“The email was traced to Aaron’s IP address,” she reminded him.
“Come on, Addy,” he drawled. “Anyone with access to the Internet could’ve learned how to hack his account remotely. That’s not hard at all, and you know that.”
True. Ugh, how had he roped her into a conversation she wasn’t supposed to have?
“Your people figure out yet that Chelsea’s and Aaron’s parents live within thirty minutes of each other? Maybe their paths crossed before Charlotte.”
“I’m sorry I can’t tell you anything. I wish I could, but I have orders. And, if anyone should understand that, it’s you with all your secretiveness about your job.”
His jaw tightened beneath his five-o’clock shadow. His eyes contemplative. Shoulders going back with an extra oomph of tension. “I can talk to Chelsea myself,” he said after expelling a deep breath. “I guess I’ll head there now.” He started for the door.
“Please, don’t,” she whispered, struggling to find her voice. “Showing up at her place at night might not be the best idea. Plus, there are two patrol cars parked outside her apartment in case Aaron decides to make an appearance.”
“Do they have orders to stop me?” His brows rose in question.
“I don’t know.” And that was the truth. But her gut screamed yes! Mendez would probably throw him in jail for felony obstruction.
The man who faced her wasn’t the same guy who’d chosen a star for her mom, or eaten peanut butter out of the jar with her while watching her favorite flicks.
And he wasn’t the same guy who willingly—okay, he complained, but still—binged the entire first and second seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer with her over the holidays.
In her defense, he’d bought her the DVD boxed sets.
Limited editions with exclusive bonus scenes.
Also autographed. He’d said he knew a guy who knew a girl. Probably Luke’s famous wife.
But no, the man in front of her right now, wasn’t that guy.
This man was the SEAL, the person he tried so desperately to keep her from as if to . . . what else was new?—protect her.
“I know you’re frustrated. I get it.” Believe me, I do. “But don’t be upset with me.”
He was quiet for a moment before saying, “I know it’s your job on the line. I’m not mad at you.” His eyes dropped to the ground. “I hate being left out of the loop.”
She turned and glimpsed the minibar beneath the flat-screen TV on the other side of the room.
She needed a drink, and since Mendez wouldn’t let her return to the office until tomorrow, why not?
“You’re hell-bent on clearing Aaron’s name because he was a Teamguy.
It may influence your perspective.” She hated herself for basically offering Mendez’s words to him.
A sour taste remained in her mouth as she crossed the room to the bar.
“You know something is off, too.” His voice remained even and steady, owning his convictions.
She opened the little fridge and snatched two beers and faced him. “Are your people working the case right now?” she deflected.
“Of course,” he said. “Are yours?”
“Yes, but I’m being forced to take the night off.” She extended the beer, and he ate up the space between them in three strides, but he didn’t take the beer. “Take the night off with me.”
He shook his head. “How can I relax with all that’s going on?”
“You’re angry and rightfully so. But you haven’t slept, and you’re running on adrenaline. It’s not a good combination. You need to rest so you can think clearly in the morning. Let your friends handle things tonight.”
“And get drunk with you?” He palmed the stubble on his cheek.
“I didn’t say drunk.” She set his beer down and popped open her can.
She took a long swig of the beer, allowing it to hit the back of her throat, cooling her off.
“I need my best friend right now, and I think you need me, too.” She lowered the can and rested it against her thigh. “You have your teammates, but—”
“I need you.” The words rushed out, catching her off guard. Not his admission, but the way he’d delivered it. Gruff. Gritty. Sexy.
“You do?” Of course he needed her. She had no idea why those words popped out. She supposed she was trying to buy herself some time.
“I do.” His tone had changed. Less iceberg and more honey. But the touch of sexy remained.
And then, he stepped back, kicked off his sneakers, and snatched his beer.
He was staying. Thank God.
He moved across the room and sank onto the floor at the foot of the bed, pressing his back to it for support. He stretched out his long legs and rested the unopened can atop his thigh.
Her attention moved to her beer, and she willed away the swarm of activity in her stomach. The clash of jet planes. The fluttery sensation of anxiousness. The . . . desire.
Knox Bennett was all kinds of sexy, but he wasn’t all kinds of sexy with her. He probably saved that for other women. So, whatever she thought she’d witnessed or heard from him lately, stemmed from an overactive and sleep-deprived imagination.
He hadn’t nearly fled her apartment last weekend because he was worried he’d slip a hand under the covers and between her thighs.
He hadn’t almost kissed her in the elevator last night.