Intimate Danger (Empire Blue) (16 page)

She continued along and rounded a corner, looked at the wall where another two windows sat above an air conditioner concreted to the ground. Acting on impulse, she jumped on top of the metal box to see inside. A
vacant bedroom lay before her. Empty, with a lack of covers on the bed, stripped to the mattress. Her unease grew as she took in the room, nothing seeming out-of-place but one, small, black disk sitting on the bedside table.

She studied the trim surrounding the window,
her apprehension growing and resting like a stone in her stomach. Small woodchips had broken from the seal, looked fresh, and recent. She stepped down from the air conditioner and focused on the surface, signs of the chips on top. This was recent, and all signs pointed toward a B&E. Just like all the rest. She cursed, spun, and ran around to the front of the house.

Rounding the front corner, Dwayne’s eyes widened at her approach. She was already drawing her weapon as he lifted a foot, pulled his own gun from his holster, and kicked beneath the knob. The door slammed open and they both stormed inside the house.

Resting her pistol over her forearm, Charlie broke off to the right, and Dwayne went left. Her focus followed where she pointed the weapon. Everything seemed to be fine, in pristine order, and she worked clearing the rooms one by one until they reached the back of the house. With a hip check on the open door, she bumped it farther open and entered into nothingness. Silence so profound, it screamed in her ears.

T
o the right was clothing lined on a rod in the closet, and lower, a platform of shoes waiting for their owner. The dresser next to her still held jewelry, some that would stand out for a normal B&E. The items in the room didn’t give her pause, though, but the feeling of the house, a devoid of life and hollow did.

Dwayne followed behind her, and his low curse filled the air. She holstered her weapon, walked over to the black
enveloped DVD disk and the stone weight in her stomach plummeted at the sight of her name written in black permanent marker.

Dwayne stepped beside her, looked down and raised troubled eyes to hers. “Not good, Charlie.”

****

An hour later,
Trent snapped his phone shut and squeezed it in his hand. This was the last thing he needed. He turned and walked back inside the Bureau and down the aisle of desks until he stopped behind Charlie. Unthinking, he reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder. She jumped, spun around, and lifted her wide and frantic gaze to his.

His gut tumbled.
He wanted nothing more than to put her at ease. The sexy hazel coloring in her eyes was filled with a storm of emotion. Distress, panic, lust, and something he couldn’t describe. He squatted before her and lay both palms on the arm rests, circling her into the shelter of his body. He was so close, yet so far away.

“I may need to head out tonight for a few days.”

Her jaw dropped and she sputtered. “Now?”

He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Damn it, Charlie, I don’t have a choice here.”

“Where do you have to go? Where could you possibly have to be that takes a center stage to this case and how it’s escalated to murder?”

He dropped his gaze, stared at her lap, and fought to find the right words
. He hated like hell that his private life was barging in. Protective of it, he found the idea he had to defend where he went leaving a bad taste in his mouth. “I don’t want to talk about it, nor do I need to explain myself.” His words didn’t come out with ire but more a statement, blunt, as if he were briefing some senior official at the FBI.

He lifted his stare again,
and his breath hitched as if a needle skipped on a vinyl record. Dark curls tumbled around her shoulders, the late evening sun shone bright against the tendrils, displaying the natural highlights against a deeper brown. Troubled eyes exposed the frustration he didn’t doubt she felt, and her lips pressed together turned from their normal rosy hue into a white line.

She leaned forward, invading his space, and the scent of coconut drifted into his senses. “Trent, please. I can help you. Talk to me.”

He dropped his focus to her lips. Drawn to her like nothing else, he wanted to kiss her. Would give anything to do it.

Her words cut through the battle raging in his body.

“You don’t have to alienate yourself. Trust us—trust me to help you,” she continued to push.

He shook his head and rolled to his feet. So damn tempting. Her
and her words. He wanted to trust. Wanted to confess all and ease some of the secrets from his mind. Would have liked to do nothing else, but what he dealt with, well, it just wasn’t possible. Not until he figured out a way to fix this.

“I can’t, Charlie, I’m sorry. I need to go handle something
. If I get called away again, I’ll reach out to let you know I’ll be out of pocket.”

He turned from the question
in her eyes, then walked away and out of the precinct. Despite the hour, heat wrapped around him in a thick embrace, and he grimaced. There was no relief in the northeast during the summer. Even at night, temperatures stayed in the nineties and the humidity level stifled. He removed his sports jacket and headed down the street toward the center of town.

He craved peace, a chance to think over everything. Around Charlie, forming a coherent thought was next to impossible. It was not just his attraction that made it difficult to keep secrets—to do his job—but more, the fear she instilled. She had the capability to break down all of his walls and push him to be a puppet in her palm. He didn’t understand his reaction, never had this kind of draw to someone.

She took away his choices. With a simple look, she ensnared him, and he didn’t know if he liked it. Right now was a pivotal time in his life where he didn’t know if he could afford to get involved with anyone. How would he hide things from her? She was too smart, too keen on everything. Being with her would mean he’d be forced—hell, would probably
want
—to bare his soul and release his secrets. As it was, he already itched to be out of this town. Something hovered and tortured his sleep.

He pulled his phone from the holster on his hip and checked for any news.

Nothing.

Setting it back, he
undid the top button of his shirt. The heat and humidity, the pressure, and the secrets all choked and closed his throat, making it hard to breathe.

Rounding the corner, he walked a short distance north on Main Street and stopped outside an Irish Pub. The back of his neck burned, and he rubbed the skin as he turned in a circle, looking down the street. Pedestrian traffic moved as usual, and though no one stood out, he could not get rid of the feeling he was being watched, as if eyes bore into the back of his skull.

After scanning for a few minutes, he stepped inside the pub and drew a seat at the bar.

“What’s it going to be, Trent?”

He greeted Sean, the pub’s bartender. The man loomed like a brute, his neck thick as Trent’s leg. “Same as yesterday and a pint of whatever you got on tap.”

Sean’s light curls jumped as he nodded and moved off. Trent dropped an elbow to the bar and leaned into
his palm. His foot tapped in a rapid rhythm against the metal footrest running beneath the top.

Christ, everything is such a mess.

A pint slid into view and then, minutes later, his dinner, a medium rare bacon cheeseburger. Pink liquid spilled from the side and drew a captivating line to his fries. He stared at the run of blood and found his mind flashing to a few nights ago. He cringed, and his stomach turned.

Fucking hell.

He fought for control, forced his lungs to breathe deep and slow, waited for the nausea to subside. It took a while, but finally he settled and dug in to his meal. In no time at all he finished, tossed money on the counter, gave a wave to Sean, and left the pub.

He started down the street again,
taking the long way to his hotel. A switch clicked, the feeling hitting him again, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on edge. He chilled to the bone, the sensation all too familiar. Trent jerked around, looking for what he sensed was there.

What the hell? Stop hiding, you coward.

It made his gut swarm. The cheeseburger he had eaten threatened to rise. Paranoia itched his skin with unanswered questions. He turned and crossed the street, picked up his stride, and cut through a small alley. The feeling of being watched didn’t go away.

He cut through neighborhoods, increased his speed, and darted through side yards. Still that damn feeling refused to leave. He glanced over his shoulder several times but hadn’t notice
d anything. The setting sun played with shadows, and trees loomed as night set in.

He rounded a corner, ducked behind a small convenience store, and waited. His heart thundered and his breath came out in short, harsh pants. Sweat beaded along his forehead and trailed down his back. The stench of piss and garbage assailed his nostrils, and all of his senses zoomed in to focus on the approaching footsteps.

Anger surged, hot as a geyser through his blood. He fucking knew someone was following him, felt a kindle of relief that he had not been losing his mind. The steps grew closer, and he tensed.

A shadow appeared first, and before a body came into view, he grabbed his stalker.

****

One minute
she searched the empty street and the next, Charlie was spun around and slammed into a brick building. Already short of breath from tracking Trent, what air she had left kicked out of her lungs in a rush. Her feet left the ground, only her toes supporting her weight as her attacker held her by the neck.

She clawed at the iron hold, and it squeezed. The night’s shadows cast an eerie darkness around her, and she gagged, desperate for air. Her vision went checkerboard, consciousness slipping from her grasp.

“Stop,” she choked out.

The hold loosened, and her attacker leaned forward, his body pressed against her and held her against the brick. Heat rose and bounded. She gasped for breath, still holding the wrist of the hand at her neck.

“Why the fuck are you following me?”

Thinking she had lost him, s
hock boiled through her veins upon recognition of his voice. One minute she’d been following Trent, and the next she’d been attacked by a shadow. Oh, shit, if he knew she had been tracking him, what could she say? “Trent?”

The grip on her neck left, and he ripped away, tugged her out to the street and beneath the streetlamp. A hand, shaking and rough, drew her chin up, and she glanced over to find him frowning. With a curse, he pivoted, paced a short distance, and ran a hand through his hair.

“Son of a bitch, Charlie. What in the hell do you think you’re doing tracking an agent, or rather, me?” He pivoted and stalked back over.

She winced and rubbed at the sore muscles in her neck. Her pulse pounded as blood rushed into her head.
Charlie swallowed, forcing the spit down as her throat protested. Her body shook as she struggled to take in ragged breaths.

“Answer me.” His commanding tone
brooked no argument. She could not look at him, felt like ten kinds of fool for following, but damn it, she had to know. Something stirred when it came to Trent, something she could not describe but wanted to explore more than anything.

“Charlie
?” His voice softer this time, shaky, as if he tried to gain control, too.

She
’d faced men with guns before, fought off bodies twice her size, yet all of that took less courage than to meet his eyes in this moment.

With only the yellow streetlight above, she could not make out his glacier gaze but recognized the anger bracketing
his eyes, the lines of displeasure surrounding his sensual mouth. God, he was sexy. Dark, dangerous, a sense of untamed man barely suppressed below the surface of his skin.

She craved to be the one to uncover that. Wanted it like a drowning woman needed a life raft.

He pulled her hand from her neck and touched her skin softly, then winced and glanced at her eyes. He didn’t move away nor did he drop his hand. His skin was warmer than it should have been, scorched against the hot air of the night, though his body held the comfort of a warmth to cuddle against on a cold evening.

Even though it was close to ninety-five degrees out,
Charlie shivered, wrapped her fingers around his wrist, tugged it up until she could move her face against his touch. She inhaled the scent of his skin and laid her cheek in the warm cup of his palm.

His eyes softened, but his body betrayed
the action by shaking.

“I have to know,” she whispered, agony threading through each word. She wanted him, cared for the man. However, she feared the unknown, trembled against the thought of who he actually was.

He stepped closer and took the other side of her face with his free hand.

“Charlie, the
devil is in the details. Following me around, interrogating me, showing mistrust and an inquisitive nature about my privacy isn’t going to get me to open up to you.” His attention dropped to her lips and after a few moments hesitation, he leaned down, pausing every few seconds as if gauging her reaction. She held her breath, anticipation and want curling its way through her body. “I can’t deny you much. Hell, I don’t think I could deny you anything. You make me want so damn bad, have me craving that openness you’re offering.”