“Amber,” he whispered. Clearing his throat, he tried again, “Amber.”
Her head whipped around and before he could catch his breath, she jumped down the steps and was wrapped around him. Her sobs absorbed in his shirt as she clung to him.
Up until Amber’s response, he hadn’t realized just how much she obviously cared for him, but she wasn’t letting up with her tears.
He stroked the hair down her back and buried his face into the curve of her neck, just wanting to inhale the scent of Amber’s freshness.
“I’m sorry,” Amber whispered as she tried to pull away from him. “I got your shirt all wet.”
“Don’t be sorry.” He kept her in his embrace. “My truck can explode every damn day if it gets you in my arms.”
She whacked him on the arm, and dried her tears. “You...you...ugh! How can you say that? Look”—she pointed toward what was left of his truck—“you could have been inside. So don’t you dare joke about it.” Her face crumpled again, and he tugged her back into his arms, his heart aching with so much longing.
“I’m sorry, Amber.” He kissed the top of her head, and met his captain’s gaze.
All he needed.
“Will you be okay?” he asked, putting Amber at arm’s length, his hands flexing on her shoulders. She felt too good in his lonely arms that he wanted to keep her with him.
She nodded. “Yeah. I’ll be okay. I’m not the one I’m worried about.” Her shy smile affected him more than it should have. “Are you still going to the prison this afternoon?”
“Probably tomorrow now.” He ran his hands through his hair before resting them on his hips.
“Will you call me, Coulter? Let me know you’re okay.” Amber backed away slowly toward the steps.
Before he could think too hard about his next move, he grabbed her hand, tugging her back to him. Coulter kissed her pink lips. “I’ll call you,” his voice nearly failed him, but he added, “I promise.” One last kiss and he turned and walked toward the wreckage.
If he stayed with her any longer, he’d be begging her for a lot more, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to go there with her. He certainly wanted to. He’d woken plenty of nights with his legs tangled in the sheets, his cock hard and aching to get wet between Amber’s thighs.
He shook his head to clear his thoughts so that he could concentrate on finding the fucker who’d just blown up his truck. He’d pissed a lot of people off over the years, but he didn’t think he’d pissed them off that much. He stared at the flames as they started to die down, his thoughts navigating over all the coincidences. There were too many. Quinten’s death warrant, Jocelyn’s body, Saige Lockwood visiting him, all the players out on the table and in the open…now his truck…No way was everything a coincidence, and he would bet his badge that they were all related.
Day 7
3:30pm
* * *
It had taken Quinten a long time to get used to the shackles going on every time he left his cell. At first, he feared what would happen to him while they were on. Over time, he wouldn’t say he got used to them, but he certainly didn’t have to count in his head anymore to keep the panic from completely taking over.
He’d been in them a few minutes when he frowned at the approaching guard, who held the keys to unlock him. “You’re having the interview here.”
“Who with?”
“A detective. He’s been here before. Can’t remember his name. Roberts or something like that.”
“Robinson?”
“That’s it.” The guard motioned for him to enter his cell and then quickly removed his shackles. “You’re the only one in this section right now, so there’s no reason you can’t have official visitors here. Your brother will have to be in the designated area though.”
He wondered why Detective Robinson would come to talk to him now. They’d said everything that they had to say during the other visits. The detective had done everything he could to uncover the truth back then. Quinten knew that. Just like he knew the evidence had been against him from the start, especially when they found his DNA all over the shack where they’d concluded the five college girls had been killed. He hadn’t had a hope in hell.
The sound of the gates opening gave him chills, and the sound of them closing and the locks clicking into place made his heart race with fear. It was yet another reminder of what his fate held.
“Quinten,” Robinson greeted, moving into his line of sight.
“Detective. It’s been a while,” he commented and watched as Robinson tried not to fidget.
Quinten narrowed his eyes and took an assessment of the man. He’d always been professional, cool even, and was always courteous. He’d been confident, a man that knew his convictions and held firm to them. Today, the large man was different…he seemed…rattled.