A hesitation on Isenberg’s end. ‘And you’re cleaning up there?’
‘She’s packing her things. I’ve always been a multi-tasker.’ He pointed at Meredith, then upstairs, then held up five fingers. Nodding, she moved to do as he asked. ‘I had to get the smell off my skin, Loo,’ he murmured with all seriousness, once Meredith had left, closing the door behind her. ‘It wasn’t just the fire.’ His stomach clenched. ‘The victims . . . Burned flesh.’ He could say no more, but Isenberg seemed to understand.
Isenberg’s sigh was quiet. ‘It’s a trigger for you.’
‘Yeah.’ It was the only word he had to answer her.
‘Okay then. Who else is there in her house?’ Isenberg asked suspiciously.
Adam wanted to snap, but remembered her warning when she’d assigned him to this case. If she suspected he was in too deep – which he was – she’d yank him off this case and assign someone else to keep Meredith safe. ‘Kate Coppola, Diesel Kennedy, and Meredith’s grandfather. But she needs to see this Shane. We don’t know why Voss – or whoever’s behind this – picked Andy Gold to shoot her. We need to know if there is a connection.’
‘Well, yes,’ Isenberg allowed. ‘But why does she need to see Shane?’
‘I don’t know. There might be no connection at all, but what if there is? Hell, she might know this guy, or he might know her.’
‘That’s a long shot,’ Isenberg muttered. ‘But bring her in. She observes only, Adam.’
‘Got it. She can’t be the team shrink on this one.’
‘Good. Now get yourself in here. This kid is definitely not telling me something. I want you to figure out what that is.’
‘Will do.’ Ending the call, Adam whipped off the towel and finished drying off. Meredith had left boxer briefs, still in the package, a pair of black socks, and his suit and shirt, covered in the dry-cleaner’s plastic, on the bed. He had to smile. She’d even laid out a tie that went with the suit. She was something, for sure.
He dressed quickly, then looked around for his shoes, only to find a pair at his feet. But they weren’t his. What the— How did she— She’d even found shoes that looked to be his size. Cleaned and buffed to a mirror-like shine. He slid one foot into the first shoe and laughed incredulously. They fit. Perfectly. Of course they do.
He was staring at his shoe-clad feet when he heard the soft knock at the bedroom door. ‘Come in,’ he called, turning to see her standing hesitantly in the doorway, a blush staining her cheeks. ‘How did you happen to have shoes that fit me perfectly?’ he asked, when he really wanted to grab her and pull her in for another kiss.
But he didn’t, because once he started he wouldn’t want to stop. And the bed was too damned close. Too damn tempting.
She was too damned tempting.
‘You’re lucky,’ she said with a shrug. ‘You’re the same size as Daniel.’
‘Daniel. Your cousin’s husband.’
She nodded. ‘He left them here the last time he and Alex visited. Your shoes were pretty disgusting. I bagged them.’ She held a white plastic trash bag for him to see.
His lips quirked up. ‘You didn’t clean them too?’ he teased, then tensed, hoping she wouldn’t think he really meant it.
Russet brows arched. ‘No,’ she said crisply, but she smiled, so it was okay. Her smile faltered then. ‘Isenberg . . . is she upset with you for being here?’
He considered lying, but went for straight truth. ‘She’s warned me off any romantic entanglement with you, since you’re the principal target of a killer,’ he said and was rewarded when disappointment made her lips droop sadly.
‘Oh.’
The single word said everything he’d hoped to hear. He closed the space between them, gripping her upper arms possessively, but gently. She was so fair, her skin would bruise easily. As easily as her heart. His chest tightened then, because she was staring up at him, naked yearning in her eyes. I do not deserve this. I do not deserve her.
He kissed her lightly this time. Tenderly, because that was what she deserved. Tenderness and care. He lifted his head and had to grit his teeth against an almost feral need to take more, because she was licking her lips. Savoring the taste of him.
‘I need you,’ he whispered and groaned quietly when she closed her eyes on a relieved little sigh. Because his mind was conjuring image after image of making her sigh like that in the bed behind them. ‘I need you, just like this. No mask. No serene smile. I need to see you.’
Her lashes lifted, revealing a knowing that hit him like a brick. ‘I need you like this. Talking to me. Being honest with me. No more hiding, Adam.’
‘Okay,’ he managed to say, then dragged his mind back to the clock ticking in his head. ‘But for the next hour or so I need you to wear that mask for Isenberg. I want you to take a look at this kid from Chicago who says he was Andy Gold’s friend. We need to know if there is any connection between you and Andy Gold.’
‘And if there’s not?’
‘Then at least I’m keeping you safe until I can get you to the condo. I just need you not to look at me like you’re looking at me right now. If Isenberg senses that I’m . . . emotionally involved, she’ll put someone else on your case. And I don’t want to give anyone else that . . .’ He trailed off, looking for the right word.
‘Responsibility?’ she supplied.
He shook his head. ‘No. The privilege.’ He struggled for the perfect word, but she was watching him with those green eyes that always seemed to see right through him. Tell her. Tell her the truth. ‘And the opportunity.’ He drew a breath. ‘To make amends.’
She frowned abruptly, startling him because he thought he’d said it right. ‘I’m not your atonement, Adam,’ she bit out. ‘I’m not a cage to be cleaned or a house to be fixed or a team to be coached or a shelter to be’ – she fluttered a hand impatiently – ‘whatever you did at St Ambrose’s.’
‘Handyman stuff,’ he murmured, stunned. She knew. ‘How did you know?’
‘Because I’m not stupid?’ she snapped, then stepped back, out of his arms. Rubbing her forehead, she sighed, this time in resignation. ‘Or maybe I am. Let’s just go. I’ll observe the kid from Chicago and then I’ll go to the safe house so you don’t have to worry about me. What’s his name?’
His brain refused to spark. ‘What? Whose name?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘The kid from Chicago.’
‘Shane. Shane Baird.’
‘Okay, then. Let’s go look at Mr Baird.’ She disappeared for a few seconds, returning wearing her coat and an overnight bag slung over her shoulder. In one hand she held a parka, in the other another plastic bag, filled with something large and bulky. His coat, he realized. And probably his suit, because he’d just realized it was not piled on the floor where he’d discarded it before his shower. All that would have to be cleaned too.
‘The parka is Papa’s. He says to use it because he has another. It’ll do until you can get home to change.’ She shoved it at him. ‘There are gloves in the pocket.’
Of course there are, he thought numbly, staring at the coat in his hands.
‘Let’s go out upstairs,’ she continued. ‘The sidewalk is shoveled, so we won’t have to walk through snow.’ Turning on her heel, she was gone.
And suddenly her words clicked. I’m not your atonement.