Chapter 9
Boone
The minute I saw Harlyn holding open the front door for me, I should have made an excuse to leave then taken the first flight back to D.C.
, but that was never going to happen. Gone were the fitted jeans from earlier, and they were replaced with a pair of pink linen pants that are tucked in at her waist but loose everywhere else.
Her white, short-sleeved shirt is fitted, hugging the curves of her breasts.
Unsurprisingly, I found the relaxed look even more appealing.
I knew I was blurring the lines when I asked her if she’d eaten yet, even knew it was stupid considering how attracted I am to her, but I did it anyway.
I would do it again, and that tells me everything I need to know about how I feel about getting to know Harlyn Wade.
Without even knowing much about her, she is worth the effort, unlike anyone I’ve met in a long time.
This isn’t even a first date, yet it’s the most intimate dinner I’ve ever had. Hell, this could be one of the best dates I’ve ever had, and that’s saying something considering the reason I’m here is still hanging over us.
I can’t help but notice the way her eyes keep darting to the folder I purposely left on the kitchen island when we moved to the table near the windows, but I find the way her gaze lingers on me just as telling.
If I had to guess, I’d say she’s had to remind herself more than once, just like I have, that this isn’t just a social call.
As if to prove my point, she says, “So, Special Agent Landry—”
“Boone, call me Boone,” I interject. She eases back into the chair. It could be seen as a sign she’s distancing herself from me, but I’m not taking it as one. “You were saying?” I prompt.
Harlyn’s tongue is barely visible as she wets the corner of her lip. “Where are you from?”
“North Carolina.”
Her head tilts just a tiny bit. “You don’t have an accent.”
“I haven’t been back home in a while, but it catches up to me occasionally. What about you? I don’t hear much of a Texas twang.”
“You got me there. We grew up… I grew up in the city. There isn’t much of a twang around Austin,” she clarifies.
I never got hung up on the dynamics of twin relationships.
They are not as common in real criminal cases as they would have you believe on television, but I imagine it comes with just as many challenges as it does benefits.
Creating a separate identity is clearly one she may have struggled with.
“I did not grow up in the city.” I move to rise from the seat, reaching for her mostly empty plate before I even grab mine.
“Where did you grow up?” She shifts as if she’s going to start helping clean the table too, but I lay my hand over hers, already gripping the spoon we used to spread the garlicky sauce she made for the sandwiches.
When she stops breathing for a second, I remove my hand from hers and tell her, “I’ve got it. I grew up in Banner Elk.”
“Is that close to Myrtle Beach?”
I chuckle. “About as far away as you can get and still be in North Carolina.” It isn’t really the farthest city from the well-known beach, not that I know of anyway, but it sure did feel like it when I was young. “It’s pretty close to Tennessee really.”
I turn on the water to rinse our plates, and this time when she gets up to meander closer, I don’t try to stop her.
“You really don’t have to do that.” She sounds unsure, maybe even a little shy.
I glance over my shoulder to find her on the other side of the island that separates the kitchen from the rest of the room.
Closer, but not as close as I would like.
“It wouldn’t be fair if I let you cook and clean. Besides” —I pull open the dishwasher next to the sink to load the rinsed dishes inside— “it’s not like I’m doing much, and bad guests don’t get invited back.”
She makes an amused sound. “Does that mean you’re leaving the pans for me?” She places the lid on the few remaining cucumbers slices and the sauce she must have brought over from the table.
“I’m not foolish enough to mess with a woman’s pans.” I raise my hands in surrender while leaning my ass against the counter near the sink after closing the dishwasher. “My mother would have skinned me for ever touching her skillets.”
“They aren’t mine. I’m just renting this place for now, but that’s a pretty smart way of getting out of doing the washing,” she agrees, placing the leftover containers into the fridge.
I pick up on something she said and ask her about it. “For now?”
She looks over at me then lowers her gaze and shrugs her shoulders. I’m not one to drop the lead so I prod again. “Are you saying you’re thinking about making it more long term?”
“Thinking about it,” she admits, but I’m still not satisfied.
I do have to admit the thought of her living here and not all the way in Texas where her sister was murdered appeals to me for selfish reasons.
Both states are just a flight away, but there’s no ignoring the fact that Michigan is a hell of a lot closer to D.C.
than Texas is. “I need a change,” she murmurs reluctantly.
“I can see the appeal.”
“I wish Livy could.” She leans her hip against the island. It’s the first time since she’s invited me here that she seems comfortable enough not to place an object between us like the table or island. I take it as a good sign that she’s opening up to me in more than one way, considering the topic.
“She isn’t happy you’re here?”
“She didn’t want me to come in the first place, not alone, and I might have let her believe it was just for a few days so I could do the interview.” A wince twists her beautiful features.
“I’m guessing she wasn’t happy when you told her about your idea to stay longer?”
Her eyes squint before she lowers her head to conceal her face. “I didn’t exactly tell her.”
“Then how do you know she won’t understand?” I try to sound upbeat.
“I said I didn’t tell her, not that she didn’t find out.
” Her voice is a little muffled, because she still hasn’t looked up.
If I knew her a better, it would be impossible for me not to console her in some way—ideally with touch.
As it stands now, it’s taking everything for me not to move closer and lay my hand on her back, or under her chin to lift her face, but I realize that’s too much too soon, especially considering how skittish she rightfully is.
Eventually, she peeks up to peer at me from under her lashes, and I ask, “Have you tried flowers?” I grimace at my own lame response, causing Harlyn to let out an abrupt bark of laughter that dies almost as suddenly as it arrived.
“No, I haven’t tried flowers, but it might not be a horrible idea since she isn’t taking my calls at the moment.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to try. Besides, if she’s a good friend, I’m sure she will understand.”
“She is a good friend, but Livy is also a Scorpio, and she tends to hold grudges.”
“You might just want to go straight with the spa gift card.”
“Oh, it sounds like you have some experience in this area. Did your girlfriend forgive you?”
“I don’t have a girlfriend, but I do have three sisters.” I manage to let her know I’m available and avoid answering if I’ve used that particular fix in past relationships at the same time.
“Interesting,” she murmurs softly. “Do you have any brothers?”
“No, much to the chagrin of my father.” The involuntary smile on my lips seems to amuse her, and her lips curl up softly in response.
“He didn’t like being outnumbered?” she guesses.
“That and some other things,” I agree. It’s a little early to get into family baggage. I don’t want to frighten her away with my bullshit.
“My granddad pretended he hated living with three women, but he secretly loved all of us fussing over him. He did have his little tricks though. He kept a stash of chocolate and Midol in the house at all times.”
“Very smart,” I remark. Harlyn’s eyes shift from my face back toward the folder on the counter—a cue it might be time to get down to business.
Maybe once we address the elephant in the room, we can both relax a little.
“Are you sure you want to talk about this stuff tonight? I’m in town for a few more days, we could meet up tomorrow morning. ”
“As much as I would love to avoid it, I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep either way.”
I nod my head slowly. I knew what her answer would be before I offered, but I hate the fact that she doesn’t sleep. “Unfortunately, that is a common thread between us,” I admit.
“I’m not surprised. I honestly don’t know how you sleep at all. I only have one case living in my head all the time.”
“Yeah, but the situation is quite different. I’m vested in my cases, sometimes way too deeply, but I’m not usually emotionally involved.”
“Usually?” She shifts her weight, cocking out her hip to lean against the island.
“It’s rare, but it’s happened,” I admit. I don’t tell her that I’m already feeling that pull to her sister’s case or why. Harlyn has given me a few signs she might be interested in me too, but it’s also very clear rushing her would be a mistake.
I watch her chin dip down and her throat work as she swallows before speaking in a near whisper. “Did you solve the case… the one you were emotionally invested in?”
“Not just me personally, but eventually, the case was solved.”
“Did it help?”
“Help with what, Harlyn?” I’m pretty sure I know what she’s asking, but I voice the question anyway.
She nibbles her bottom lip as if she’s reluctant to answer. “It was a stupid question, sorry.” She shifts to walk away, but I reach for her, gently grasping her forearm.
“It’s not a stupid question. Are you asking if you will feel different when Hayzel’s case is solved?”
Her eyes get a little glassy, and she nods. “I need to know if I’m still going to be like this and think like this.” The pain in her voice is palpable. It makes me want to do more than rub my thumb over the soft skin on the inside of her arm.
“Like what?”
She scoffs, “Like I’m going crazy and afraid of everything. I have to sleep with the bathroom light on, even when I know a stupid light wouldn’t help anything.”
I can’t help myself, I reach out and place my other hand on her arm so we’re completely connected. “It isn’t crazy to be frightened by the things that happened to your sister.”
“Will it get better if he’s caught? Am I still going to make sure the garage door is closed before I get out of the locked car? Am I still going to be afraid to open the windows in the house?”
“Yes,” I reply, telling her the truth even though I wish I didn’t have to.
I squeeze her arm a little when she starts to pull away, keeping her in place.
“But not forever. You will feel safe again, Harlyn, but it will take time.” I make a promise I have no business making to her for the simple fact that I want it to be true, and I want her to know it is possible.
Her pale blue eyes search mine for a long moment, and I see how badly she wants to believe me. It’s all right there in her unguarded gaze—hope, longing, and something else I can’t name, but I feel responsible for putting it there. It scares me a little.
When she steps backward this time, I release her arms and let her go. Something between us has shifted, and we both feel it.