In his car, she didn’t pay much attention to where they were going. He didn’t speak, and neither did she. They ended up in a suburban neighborhood populated by houses that weren’t large but looked solid and well kept. Novak parked in front of a two-story white colonial. The yard was neatly trimmed and the leaves raked. Nothing fancy about the gardens, but the beds were edged and mulched.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“My house.”
He was bringing her to his home, which for a guy like him meant a new level of commitment. There were so many logical reasons to say no.
Out of the car, Julia shook her head. “Never figured you for a yard guy.”
He opened the front door and clicked on the lights. “I can thank my dad for the green thumb. I hated yard work as a kid, but now I find it peaceful.”
“Hard to escape genetics.”
“But not impossible.”
Like the yard, the inside of the house was neat and organized. Everything in its place, unlike the clothes she’d tossed over the chair in the corner of her bedroom, the shoes scattered on the floor next to a pile of laundry looking for some care. The only item out of place was the framed citation he’d received at the awards banquet. It leaned against the wall.
“Why haven’t you hung your award?”
“I’ll get around to it.”
“I never asked why they gave it to you.”
“For doing my job.”
She laughed. “Novak, spill.”
“Last year there was a little girl who went missing for seventy-two hours. Evidence suggested it was a homicide, so I was called in.”
She snapped her fingers as some of the events came to mind. “I was working undercover but heard rumblings about that. You found her in an odd place.”
“Under the floor.”
Now she remembered. The lead detective had narrowed down the address where the girl was found. He and several uniforms, with the suspect in tow, had gone to investigate. They couldn’t find the child. The detective had asked for a few minutes of privacy with the suspect. No one argued or asked questions. Five minutes later the detective left the rattled suspect in the squad car and charged back into the house. He pried up the floors and found the little girl bound and gagged. That detective had been Novak.
Well, damn, Mr. Clean was a badass. “How’d you get the guy to talk? I heard there wasn’t a mark on him.”
“I can be convincing.”
She followed him toward the kitchen. Bright and clean, of course, it looked out onto a backyard. On the stainless-steel refrigerator were pictures of a young girl. First grade, no teeth, middle school braces, and cap and gown.
“This must be Bella,” she said.
“That’s my girl.” His tone was full of pride and love.
“She doesn’t look like you.”
“No.” An edge sharpened the word. He leaned against the counter, arms folded as he regarded her. “No, she looks like her mother.”
“How did her mother die?”
He pushed off the counter and turned to set up the coffee machine. “Suicide. She drove her car into a lake. Bella was strapped in her car seat. It’s a miracle someone saw it happen and was able to save Bella.”
The news surprised her, but the anger and fear lurking behind his words didn’t. She understood the feelings so tightly linked to her own father’s death. His frustration over her tendency to hide feelings, especially in light of what he knew about her father, made sense now. “Does Bella remember any of this?”
“I don’t think she has direct memories. But she’s not fond of water. It was such a chore to get her to take swimming lessons when she was a kid that I backed off.”
“She ever learn?”
“She did. I taught her myself.”
She let her purse slide off her shoulder onto the polished counter. “For me it’s apples. I can’t stand apples.”
“Why apples?”
“It’s the memory I associate with my father’s death. Apparently I used to love them, and he’d filled a bowl with them because Mom and I were coming home. All I remember is his blood on the apples.”
“Ken mentioned the note your father supposedly left was lying in the bowl of apples.”
“He said it was in the bowl of apples?” She shook her head. “As many times as I’ve remembered that moment and those apples, I never remembered a note.”
“A traumatic event like that can do things to a person’s memory.”
“I suppose.” She leaned her hip against the counter. “And for the record, no matter how bad it’s gotten for me, I’ve never considered Jim’s option. Not for a second. What about Bella?”
“Never,” he said.
“Good.”
He filled a filter with coffee, then poured water into the back of the machine and hit “Brew.” “So Jim’s excited about your return home. Buys apples. Writes a note. And then shoots himself with a hollow point?”
She was silent.
“Doesn’t make sense. A guy who loved his kid, but then sticks a suicide note in the gift he bought especially for her?”
She pressed her fingers against her eyes. “I don’t want to think about it anymore today.”
He poured her a cup of coffee. She reached out to accept it, and their fingers brushed. Tension and energy snapped like a live wire. Her gaze lifted, and his expression derailed her train of thought. Desire sparked.
She set the coffee cup on the counter. She was here now, standing close to a man who looked ready to devour her.
His body looked relaxed as he leaned against the counter. What gave him away besides his face was the white-knuckle grip he had on the counter.
“Looks like you could snap that countertop,” she said.
He glanced at his fingers and slowly released his grip. “I’m not good at waiting, but I’m trying not to rush you.”
“Again treating me with kid gloves. Look, something bad happened to me, but I’m not broken.”
He brushed her hair from her face. “You’re definitely not broken.”
“Are you sure about that?”
He pushed off the counter and gently cupped her face. The calluses on his fingertips made her skin tingle. “Very.”
She pressed her lips against his. Tension rippled through his body as he leaned into the kiss. Her desire growing, she pressed her breasts to his chest and wrapped her arms around his neck. His hands slid to her waist. His erection pressed against her. She knew it took all his discipline for him to hold back. And she loved him for it.
Julia deepened the kiss, her desire for him fanning the flames. “I’m not delicate, Novak.”
“I’m very aware of that,” he growled.
She kissed him again, and this time she felt his fingers fist around the folds of her shirt.
“Do you have a bedroom?” she asked breathlessly. “Or are you a kitchen-counter kind of guy?”
A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “I’m an anywhere-you-want-it guy.”
“Bedroom, now.”
He leaned in, his hands on her hips, and kissed her again. Then, taking her by the hand, he pulled her up the stairs to the master bedroom.
He didn’t turn on the light, allowing the waning afternoon sunshine trickling in through the blinds to guide him. “You sure about this?”