Keeping Watch: Heart of the Night\Accidental Bodyguard (23 page)

None of that had come out as she’d intended. It had sounded abrupt, as if she thought it was none of Kahler’s business why Barrington had given her the number. That hadn’t been what she’d intended to convey, but she could tell by the coldness in the detective’s tone that that was indeed how she had come across.

“Then thank you for the information. Anything else?”

“Don’t,” she protested softly.

He made no response for a long heartbeat, but he didn’t pretend not to understand. “How did you expect me to react?” he asked. The coldness was gone, but his voice was not the same, not what it had always been before.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know what to say, Kahler. I’m sorry,” she added.

“Yeah,” he responded. Flat, dispassionate. “Me, too.”

“I can’t help what I feel. You should understand that,” she added, and then knew that was the wrong thing to say. She wasn’t sure there
was
a right thing in this situation.

“Would it make any difference if I told you that I don’t think being involved with Barrington is a good idea?” he asked.

“I don’t think it would. Not now.”

“For professional reasons, Kate. Not personal.”

“Because?” she asked.

“Gut reaction,” he said.

“That’s not an explanation.”

“It’s all I’ve got.”

“Well, thanks for the advice, but I don’t think that’s enough. Not anymore.”

“You sleeping with him?” The tone of his question was bitter, and given what she knew about his feelings, she supposed it should not have been unexpected, but it was. Totally out of character. Totally hurtful.

“What the hell, Kahler? What gives you the right—”

“Eight people are dead. Is that enough
right?
”

It stopped her outrage as he had certainly known it would.

“What’s that supposed to mean? That Barrington’s involved in those deaths? Is that what you’re trying to suggest?”

“I’m trying to remind you that eight people are already dead. I don’t want you to be another victim.”

“Of
Barrington?
” she mocked, angry now. No matter how he felt, it didn’t give him the right to make unfounded accusations. “You might want to remember that Judge Barrington was one of Jack’s victims. Or are you suggesting that he sent
himself
a bomb? Tried to blow himself up? Is that your professional opinion, Detective Kahler? Because if so, I have to tell you—”

“Maybe he had an accident. Did you ever think about that?”

“Never once,” she said in disbelief. “But then I’m not blind with jealousy. You have some proof that’s what happened? Because if not, I’d like to remind you of
who
you’re accusing. Now, if you have some legitimate reason for telling me not to see Thorne Barrington, then spit it out. Otherwise I just might think your motives in issuing that warning are not as pure as you’d like me to believe.”

“You think whatever the hell you want to, August. I’m just offering advice. Stay away from Barrington. You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”

“But as always, I’m sure you’re dying to tell me.”

“My best advice,” he repeated and hung up.

Kate sat stunned for a moment, still holding the phone, angry enough to slam it down, but since Kahler had beat her to the punch, she resisted the urge.

She hadn’t told Kahler about the missing files or about the calendar pages, she realized suddenly. That had really been the reason she’d called, and instead she’d been given a lecture—not exactly the one she’d anticipated.
Stay away from Barrington,
he’d said, but he hadn’t be able to come up with any reasons. Personal. Almost certainly personal.

She lowered her head, resting her forehead against her joined fingers, elbows propped tiredly on her desk. Now there was no one to talk to. Not Lew. And not Kahler. No one to offer comfort and support. Except…there was, of course.

Sometimes I’ll wake up in the middle of the night wanting you. Thinking about you being there with me. Where the darkness doesn’t matter.
Without giving herself time to decide it might be a bad idea, she picked up her purse. Suddenly she knew exactly where she wanted to be.

W
HEN
E
LLIOT CAME
to the gate, he didn’t wait for her to ask to see the judge. He unfastened the inside lock and pulled the heavy wrought iron inward. “Miss August,” he said politely. “Is Mr. Thorne expecting you?”

“He should be,” she said, smiling at the old man.

“If you’ll come this way. You don’t have to be frightened,” he added, and Kate spent a second attempting to figure that out.

“Frightened?” she asked.

“Of the dog,” he explained. “I always fasten him upstairs when I hear the bell.”

“Thank you, Elliot, but I’m not afraid of the dog. What’s his name, by the way?”

They were almost to the front steps, Kate again matching her longer stride to the slow one of the old man.

“Prince Charles Edward Stuart,” he said. “They’re Scots, you know.”

For a moment Kate couldn’t think who “they” might be.

“Retrievers,” Elliot explained. “They originated in Scotland.”

“I didn’t know that,” she said.

The old man opened the front door, and its movement sent the crystal tears into their small ballet. “Mr. Thorne persists in calling him Charlie,” Elliot said, disapproval in his voice.

“And you prefer?” Kate asked.

“Something with a bit more dignity.”

“Prince,” she guessed.

“Oh, dear me, no.” He looked horrified at the thought, and Kate found herself smiling again. “Stuart,” he announced solemnly. “I think it’s very fitting for such a fine animal. Royal, you know,” he added as if that settled the entire issue.

Kate smiled at his obvious love for the dog. He was such a nice old man. She suddenly remembered what Thorne had told her. “By the way, Elliot, I was so sorry to hear about your sister. I hope she’s improving.”

“Oh, she’s doing very well, thank you. Much better than expected. She may even be released from the hospital today.”

“That’s wonderful,” Kate said. There was a small silence, the exchange too personal perhaps for Elliot’s idea of his role.

“Mr. Thorne is in the parlor. Shall I announce you?”

“I believe—if he won’t mind—I’d rather just go in.”

“I can assure you he won’t mind,” Elliot said simply.

Kate smiled at him again and pushed open the sliding door. Thorne was standing, both hands resting on the mantel of the white marble fireplace, looking down into the empty grate. He turned his head at the small noise made by the door. In the ever-present dimness, Kate couldn’t read what was in the dark eyes, but they watched her as she crossed the room. When she was almost to the fireplace, he straightened, removing his hands from the mantel and turning to face her.

“I didn’t really need to talk to your friend,” she said.

“I called Kahler and told him what I had told you,” Thorne said. “I gave him Greg’s name and number.”

“Apparently, Dr. Sandifer didn’t give Lew any information. That should certainly prove…”

She hesitated, reluctant to put exactly what it should prove into words.

“That I had nothing to do with Garrison’s death?”

“I never thought you did,” Kate said.

The midnight eyes held hers, assessing, and finally he nodded. “And Kahler?” he asked. “What does he believe?”

“I don’t presume to speak for Kahler.”

“Don’t you, Kate? Somehow I’ve gotten the impression that you two are…close.”

“Close?” she repeated carefully, wondering what he’d been told and who had told him.

“Close enough that some time last night he was in your apartment, listening as you replayed your messages.”

She had told him that, she realized, not thinking about what interpretation he might put on Kahler’s presence.

“I tried to call you last night, Kate. Several times. I even left a message. Did you get in too late to return my call?”

Kate didn’t say anything. She couldn’t think of anything to tell him but the truth, and she knew how that would sound.

“You didn’t spend the night at home,” he said, statement and not question.

“No,” she agreed.

He turned his head, looking down again into the shadowed recess of the fireplace.

“I told you my apartment gives me the creeps. Because of the confetti, the idea that someone had been inside, in my bedroom. Then last night… After finding Lew, I knew I couldn’t go back there.”

He turned his head toward her again, his gaze tracing over the line of her mouth and then almost reluctantly lifting to meet her eyes. “You could have come here,” he said.

She knew that was true. She had known it last night, but for some reason, she had chosen not to. “I didn’t think coming here was a good idea. After we…” She paused, trying to decide what to call what had been between them.

“After I kissed you,” he said into her hesitation. “Told you that I’ve thought about you for days. Did that make you afraid to come back here?”

“Not afraid. Not because of that. It just seemed it would be…rushing things.”

His eyes held hers a long moment. “I see,” he said finally.

“I came today,” she reminded him.

He touched her then. He put the tips of his fingers on her cheek, and she turned her head to press her lips into his palm, because she had realized that she wanted his touch, wanted it very badly. His right hand came up to smooth around her shoulder, urging her body closer to the solid strength of his. She raised her face, watching, almost mesmerized, as his head lowered, his mouth moving inexorably toward hers, which opened in response. Anticipating.

The impact of his kiss was as powerful as it had been last night. His tongue moving against hers with familiarity now. With sure expertise. And with emotion. It didn’t last long, and then he raised his head to look down into her eyes, his own still dark, almost fathomless. The beautiful line of his mouth curved. The perfect features were enhanced by his smile, and her own lips moved in answer.

You don’t know what you’re dealing with
echoed suddenly in her head, and to banish Kahler’s voice, she stretched on tiptoe, her body straining to Thorne’s. His arms enclosed her, his size again making her feel fragile, in need of protection. That wasn’t a feeling she would ever have imagined could be as pleasurable as she was finding it to be. Fragile and feminine weren’t adjectives that she had sought as descriptors of herself, but that was how Thorne made her feel, and she was a little surprised to find how much she enjoyed that feeling.

She was also surprised that their embrace was having the same immediate effect on him that their kiss last night had had. His body was already hardened with desire, and he wasn’t embarrassed to let her become aware of that. For some reason, today she wasn’t uncomfortable with the realization of how he felt. She raised her hand to touch the back of his head, her fingers splaying through the thick, black hair. It curled around them, seeming to welcome their caress. It had been so long, he’d told her last night.
So long.

He drew her closer, pressing his body into hers. She could feel his breathing change, the small, telltale increase in his heart rate. His hands cupped under her hips, pulling her into his arousal, holding her to him. His mouth turned, deepening the kiss. Wanting her. Making it obvious that he wanted her.

Her breathing shortened, tremulous, anxious, feeling the force of desire move through her own body. Surging upward. Hot and powerful and almost new, like nothing she had felt before. Stronger. Deeper.

Perhaps he became aware of her response, her loss of control imminent. For some reason he eased his big body away from her, the distance between them slight, but suddenly far too wide, the space unwanted and invasive. Involuntarily she moved toward him, seeking again the pleasant heat of his body. His hands found her shoulders, and he held her. His denial was gentle, but there was no doubt that he was holding her away from him.

She opened her eyes to find him watching her. Whatever emotion had been briefly revealed in his face shifted before she could name it, altered subtly as she watched, realigning itself into something more familiar, safer.

“It’s all right,” she comforted. Maybe he thought he was rushing her. Because of what she’d said about last night. Maybe he didn’t realize how she felt about him. Maybe he still thought that Kahler—

“Don’t tempt me, Kate,” he said. He didn’t smile, but she had already been aware of his desire. There was no doubt that she was doing exactly that.

“Why?” she asked, smiling at him.

“Because becoming…involved with me probably isn’t a good idea,” he said.

“
Becoming
involved?” she repeated, letting him hear the emphasis.

“Becoming intimate,” he said simply.

Old-fashioned, she thought. The wording was uniquely Barrington.
Becoming intimate.
She couldn’t think of a nicer way to express it, even if the phrase was archaic. Intimate. An intimate relationship.

“I think I like the sound of that,” she offered.

He made another small movement. Away from her again. His hands exerted a quick pressure, a small squeeze, against her shoulders, and then he released her.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I had a lot of time to think last night. While I was waiting for you to return my call.”

“Look,” she said, knowing this was too important for misunderstanding. Such a stupid misunderstanding. “It was nothing. I was in shock from finding Lew. Kahler offered me his couch for the night, and I accepted. It didn’t mean anything.”

“It’s not that,” he said quickly. And then nothing else.

She shook her head, feeling some of last night’s anxiety resurface. If not the fact that she’d spent the night at Kahler’s apartment, then what? What was wrong? “Then what is it?” she asked.

“I realized you’d been right about a lot of things.”

“What kinds of things? I don’t understand.”

“The things you told me. About myself.”

“Thorne,” she said, her tone full of regret. She shook her head slowly, knowing how far she had come toward understanding. “When I said those things—” she began.