His question brought back her focus and guilt stung her. This particular file deserved all of her attention and since he walked into the room, it hadn’t gotten any.
“The Dunphy-Adams case,” she answered and flipped to the crime scene photos. If anything could douse her lust fast, it’d be those gruesome, graphic pictures. “It’s finally going to trial and my court date is next week. I’m refreshing my memory on the details.” Not that she really wanted to revisit the details—it had been one of those cases she’d rather not remember, but would probably never forget. Charles Dunphy had brutally killed Selena Adams, his eleven-year-old step-daughter, and although they had arrested Dunphy on some pretty solid evidence early on in the investigation, she’d always felt there were too many loose ends in the case. Mainly, his motive. There was no discernible reason Dunphy would want his step-daughter dead. Yet, she was, and his DNA was all over her and the knife used to kill her.
“Dunphy-Adams,” Cam said and his eyes rolled toward the ceiling as he did a mental calculation. “That was…what? Three years ago? And it’s just going to trial now?”
“The defense threw up as many road blocks as they could.”
Cam moved around the end of the island and leaned over her shoulder to study the crime scene photos. “Yeah, I remember this case. It always bothered the hell out of me that we were never able to prove his brother’s involvement.”
“Me, too, and we still can’t. Gordon Dunphy is never going to be charged unless his brother talks. And Charles hasn’t talked to anyone but his lawyer for years.” She slumped into her seat and rolled her head around on her neck in an effort to relieve the tightness in her back.
Cam’s big hands settled on her shoulders, his thumbs digging into the worst knots along her spine, and she bit back a moan at the pleasure-pain of his strong fingers kneading out the tension.
“Is Gordon still causing problems?” he asked.
“If by that you mean he’s still obnoxiously insisting his brother has been wrongfully accused? Hell, yes. But is he still attacking the lead investigators in bars? Not that I’m aware. I think he’s mostly forgotten about us. Do you still have the restraining order against him?”
Cam’s fingers stilled and she turned in her seat to look at him. “Do you?”
“No,” he answered slowly. “I forgot about it until just now. I think it expired last month.”
She studied him, instincts screaming he was holding something back from her, but she saw no evidence of it in his expression. Man had an unreadable poker face when he wanted to. “Have you had trouble with him since?”
“Nah. Like you said, he probably forgot about me. I’m no longer the threat to his brother’s freedom—the court is.” Dismissing the subject with a shrug, Cam resumed massaging her shoulders and pressed his lips lightly to the bare skin at the base of her neck. “I think you need a break. You’re all tense.”
God, it felt so good. His kneading fingers digging into her muscles, the kiss sending chills down her spine. She wanted more—his lips, his hands all over her. And, dammit, that was not a part of the deal they’d made. She moved out of his reach and shut the file on the Dunphy case.
“Cam, stop. You’re touching me like…”
Confusion drew his brows together. “Like what?”
She sighed. “Like we’re lovers.”
“We are. Didn’t we talk about this yesterday?”
“No, we’re friends with benefits. Fuck buddies. There’s a big difference between our arrangement and lovers.”
He opened his mouth, but closed it again without speaking, and his lips thinned into a hard line. He backed up a step, hands raised. “You’re right. Sorry. I got carried away.”
She nodded and busied herself with gathering up the files she had spread across the counter. Of course she was right…
But then why did pushing him away feel so wrong?
“It’s fine,” she said. “I’m going to shower. It’s stopped snowing and the roads should be clear by this afternoon.”
If he was disappointed by that news, he didn’t show it. “Oh. Good.” He picked up his coffee, drank deeply.
Good? Was that all he had to say? “So, I’m going to go home and pick up a change of clothes, then check in at work, see if they need any help.”
He circled the island, grabbed a bowl from the dishwasher, and poured himself some cereal. The lack of milk didn’t deter him. “I’m sure you’ll be busy this week.”
She watched him dig in to the dry cereal, outrage stealing through her at his offhand tone. Was he ready to be rid of her?
Man, now she kind of wanted to punch him.
She stood. “Yes, I’m sure I will be.”
“So…you probably wouldn’t want to catch a movie Friday.”