Chapter 17
Harlyn
With the first pass of his tongue over mine, my thoughts scatter, leaving only the heat of his hands in my hair and his lips against mine.
I revel in my quieted thoughts. It’s as if his calmness is somehow contagious, and his kiss is a catalyst that allows me to forget everything but him and the way he makes me feel.
My breath catches from the sudden pang of need in my lower belly when he nibbles my bottom lip.
Every touch makes me crave more of him, so much so that I even surprise myself when my fingers start to slide up and under the back of his fitted shirt.
Boone removes his hand from my hair and grabs my wrist, his hold firm but not meant to hurt.
My eyes slit open when he breaks the kiss. I know he wants me, I can feel just how much with his length pressed against me, so why does he keep stopping?
Without words, he guides my hand to the front of his body near his waistband.
My heart rate picks up, and I am totally onboard with the idea, but when I hit something unexpectedly hard, I look down to find the black handle of a gun sticking out of a pouch tucked into his pants.
I flush with a wave of heat. There’s internal embarrassment because I now know that firmness against my belly was not at all what I expected, but I also recognize that Boone with a gun is making me hot.
“Damn,” he curses and tugs my hand away from his waistband. He lets out a long breath over my head and wraps both of our joined hands around my back. “I have never in my life forgotten I was armed.” It sounds like an apology, but I can’t help feeling like it’s at least partly a compliment.
“Not the best placement for an accident,” I tease.
Boone groans in imagined pain. “Definitely not.” His hips kick back a few inches, and I hear a small click or snapping sound before he releases my hand and turns away from me to place his gun, holster and all, on the table.
“Is that okay?” It seems strange for him to just leave it lying out. My granddad had guns, which, now that I think about it, means I have guns, but his firearms were kept locked away, unless he was going out to hunt, and I was never interested in that—something I regret now.
“Does it bother you? If things were different, I would—”
“No,” I interrupt. “I get it. I’m just not used to it, sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I’d much rather it be stowed somewhere far away from you, but I can’t do that right now.
I shouldn’t even be doing this.” He leans in and kisses me again.
The soft, slow brush of his lips against mine leaves me wanting more, but I understand what he means.
Now that my mind isn’t quite as hazy with thoughts of him above or under me naked, reality has had time to set back in.
I can’t help but feel exposed and vulnerable with all the windows, and considering there are no curtains or blinds to offer any privacy, it probably isn’t a good idea to let things go any further.
I return his affection just as tenderly, but for the first time, I’m the one to pull away. “Considering how much I like this, I really hope the only reason you shouldn’t be doing it is because there is a crazy person who wants to kill me and not because I used my finger to brush my teeth.”
Boone’s brow furrows, and his lips curve in humor. “Definitely not because you used your finger for a toothbrush, but can I ask why you did that?”
My mood flips from light to dark in a heartbeat.
I shudder then answer truthfully. “I can’t stop thinking about what he could have done to my stuff.
That’s kind of why I freaked out. Sorry about that, but I keep wondering how long this has been going on.
What if he spit in my food or did weird things with my toothbrush?
What did he do to the things I touch and use every day without thinking?
” By the time I’m done speaking, I’m nearly panting.
All that calm Boone instilled in me is gone, leaving behind the same question. How the hell am I going to do this?
Boone’s lips tighten into a thin line before he tucks me closer to his body. He doesn’t fill my head with false promises, telling me that didn’t happen, or question why I would even think it, he just comforts me with his nearness, and that’s all I want.
Our embrace is cut short when Boone’s phone vibrates on the sofa.
If the condo wasn’t only filled with the soft sounds of our breathing, I might not have even heard the low buzz, but it’s evident we both do when he rubs his hand over my back reassuringly before moving to retrieve his phone from the couch.
“Yeah?” he greets solemnly. If I knew him better, I would say he sounds tired, but since I don’t have that privilege yet, I can only guess the reason for his tone.
“I looked at it last night. Not a lot to go on.” He’s quiet for a moment, his eyes unfocused as he listens to whatever is being said before he nods.
“That’s something. Have you come across similar signatures or any DNA matches for other unsolved cases? ”
He beckons me closer with his fingers after he sits down on the couch with his phone against his ear.
Accepting the invitation, I sit close enough so I can hear a few muffled words from the other end of the line.
Something about the person’s pitch makes me assume it’s a woman, but I can’t be certain.
“I haven’t checked my email yet.” He stands, leaving me alone, then rushes to the table where I notice a laptop for the first time.
Using his shoulder, he holds the phone to his ear and tips the lid open.
His fingers fly over the keyboard, entering what seems to be a rather long password.
It’s tempting to join him, to look over his shoulder and see what had him jumping up, but I don’t.
Not only is that a gross invasion of privacy, but I would guess there is other work related stuff on there too.
I have no idea what boundaries come with that and what other cases he may be working on.
“I have it pulled up now. Give me a second to read the report.” His eyes move left to right as he scans the screen in front of him.
“No DNA. Everything they tested came back with the victim’s profile,” he says as he stands up tall, but his eyes are still locked on his computer.
“We don’t have time to rerun every sample from similar homicides.
We need to tighten the focus a bit. We know this guy isn’t afraid to take risks, otherwise he would have picked an easier target than Wade.
We can also be fairly certain stalking is a key part of his signature, but that still doesn’t narrow the scope enough. ”
Hearing him reference Hayzel by our last name is jarring.
It makes me feel like an interloper, like I’m hearing things not intended for me, but I have no desire to give him privacy.
Boone tips his head back and lets out a huff of frustration.
“Let me look over the photos again and see if I can find anything more solid. In the meantime, send me what you have in Texas and the surrounding states. I know he’s willing to travel, but we have to narrow it down somewhat before we cast the net further. ”
There’s a rather long pause before he finally says, “Got it. Thanks, Kel,” then ends the call without saying goodbye.
Boone pulls out the chair and lowers himself into the seat, barely taking his eyes off the laptop screen in the process.
I want to ask a slew of questions, like who is Kel, what was in the email, and what photos is he talking about.
Instead of voicing the thoughts running through my mind, I remain on the couch, silently watching him while his sole focus is on the laptop.
Seconds turn to minutes, and when nearly half an hour elapses without him so much as looking up, as if he’s forgotten I’m in the room, I clear my throat.
His gaze leaps to mine, and he blinks rapidly.
I wonder how often he gets so absorbed in his work. “Sorry,” I say more out of habit than actual regret.
“When was the first time Hayzel mentioned the strange events?” he questions as if he’s resuming a conversation.
“Um…” It’s a thought I haven’t examined too closely, and now I’m certain it was to avoid feeling even more guilty about what I let happen. “A while,” I hedge, though my mind is piecing together a better answer. “Before I moved in with her.”
“Weeks? Months?” he asks.
“Maybe months,” I say, but I’m unsure.
“Not before she left for school though?”
“No,” I state with confidence. Boone and the space around him become a little hazy as my eyes become unfocused.
My mind goes back to the first week after we both moved.
I was in a small studio just off campus.
I was both excited to finally be on my own and terrified.
That first couple of days was a whirlwind.
Getting everything settled was fun, and putting all my new stuff away and setting up my space kept me entertained for a little while, but then the newness wore off, and I had time to think about how alone I felt and how much I missed Hayzel.
She seemed okay while getting to know her housemates and checking out the area she moved to.
I remember being a little jealous at first that she didn’t seem to be missing me as much as I missed her.
We still talked nearly every day, but it always felt like she was running out to get something to eat with a new friend or checking out the nearest pub, and I didn’t want to feel like a leech, so I gave her some space.
I got good at pretending I was doing the same kinds of things, like exploring the campus and stuff, but really, I was so damn bored, I went out and got a job to keep me occupied.