It didn’t say much in favor of the cops working Cameron’s case. But it sure as hell said a lot about Witt, about why he hadn’t given up on her. About why he’d force her to get an attorney to cover her ass. Witt’s motive became clear.
“You don’t think the guys on this case are shoddy, do you?” It was merely a request for confirmation.
“Hard to tell. They shoulda found you before I did.”
“But?” She really didn’t want to hear the but.
“But with Traynor doing such a fine job setting you up, you need a damn good lawyer to do some fast talking on your behalf.”
Was he trying to scare her? She was doing that so well on her own, she didn’t need any extra help from him. Max shifted so that her thigh pressed against his. “There’s like this one small thing I forget to tell you.”
His blue eyes narrowed, and he took a deep breath, most likely to steady himself so he wouldn’t yell at her. “What?” The voice of a man waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“There’s kinda been this newspaper reporter following me.”
He mouthed the epithet that sprang to his lips. “Media attention screws a case every time.”
Yes, but would that be in her favor or against?
She didn’t have to say the words aloud. Witt saw it all. “He makes a stink in the papers about vigilante justice gone wild, and you’re dead.”
“He knew about Wendy, and the others, too.”
He put a hand to his forehead and rolled his eyes like a damsel going into a dead faint. “How long’s he been after you, Max?” Calm, too calm.
“Well, I sorta noticed him about the time Lance got killed.” Three weeks ago. “Then I saw him when we were at the airport.”
“And you didn’t tell me because?” He let the sentence hang. So Max could hang herself.
Honesty was the best policy, didn’t someone say that? “I don’t have a good reason. I should have told you.”
He laughed, shook his head, then put a hand on her thigh which was the closest part of her anatomy. “Christ, you never cease to amaze me. Here I was waiting for some cockamamie excuse, then you blow me away with the truth.”
“I’m not used to sharing.”
“Or letting someone else help with your problems.”
“Right.”
“Don’t suppose you know how your telling me makes me feel.”
She wondered if she should know.
He put a hand to her cheek, smoothed rough fingers over her skin. “Like there’s a lotta hope for us.”
God, that was the absolute last thing she’d expected him to say. That damn gushy feeling went off in her stomach again like an alarm. “Yeah, a lot of hope if I don’t end up in jail.”
He leaned forward and pecked a kiss on her lips. “Have to make sure you don’t. Let’s go to my place, sweetheart.” With that, he rolled to his feet in one fluid motion and held his hand out to her, popping her to her bare feet when she grabbed on.
The movement made her dizzy and gave her butterflies. Ohmygod. What had she done? Adrenaline pumped, but she didn’t run. She wasn’t a chicken. And she sure as hell wouldn’t lose that earlier bet.
Her hand still in his, Witt marched to her closet and opened the door. His gaze flicked over the meager contents, mostly black suits and skirts, a little gray, and clean white shirts. He pushed aside a hanger to examine what it held with a critical eye.
“Think you oughta change into this.”
A long, black skirt, one Angela had helped her pick out.
“Why?”
He looked down the length of her. “Wanna see your legs through that slit.”
If she remember rightly, the slit hit high enough to show a lot of thigh. Witt wanted her to play peek-a-boo.
She dropped his hand, took the skirt still on the hanger, and made a move towards the bathroom. Damn, she wanted him to look at her legs, too.
“You can change out here.”
She batted her eyelashes. “What’s the fun in opening the package if you saw it right before it got wrapped?”
“Good point. Hey, wear these as well.” He held out a white button-down shirt, one she wore to work, a red and black striped tie dangling around the neck. Red and black, sexy colors, her favorite colors, and he knew it. His eyes were the deepest blue and focused on her breasts beneath the tight turtleneck she wore.
Max caught her breath and closed the bathroom door on him. Her cheeks flushed, and God, was that a pant coming from her throat? After all the ways he’d touched her, after the things they’d done in their Lines motel, her fingers still trembled with anticipation as she buttoned the blouse. Witt whistled outside the door, a seductive unrecognizable tune that made her squirm. She brushed her teeth, fluffed her hair, and rubbed flowery lotion on her hands. She perused her wide-eyed reflection in the mirror, declared herself ready, then opened the door to him.
He eyed the skirt’s slit, which, at the moment, revealed nothing. It would when she walked. Max tilted her head. “Are you going to let me share your bathroom?”
“Sharing my bathroom is important?”
She twitched her lips right, then left. “Yes.”