Skin Deep (23 page)

“Let me back on the case?” she asked with a little bit of sarcasm and a whole lot of honest suggestion. “This is beyond personal now, Sam. You can’t really expect me to sit in protective custody while you guys track this bastard down.”

Aha
. The look on Sinclair’s face said her words had found their mark. Still, he asked, “Are you refusing protective custody?”

Isabella answered with care. “I’m not an idiot. I know how to watch my back and I’ll check in at regular intervals. But as far as staying in some safe house in the hinterlands of the city, yeah. I’m refusing protective custody.”

Sinclair frowned, but he also didn’t argue. Thank God. “You’re going to have to stay somewhere else, at least for tonight while CSU goes over this place and we look into leads. If one of them points at DuPree, we’ll let you know.”

A protest formed, hot and quick on her tongue, but Kellan jumped in before she could say a word, his arms knotting across his chest. “Wait. You’re really not putting her back on the case?”

Now it was Sinclair’s turn to cross his arms and go for the stare-down. “Walker, you’re here right now as a courtesy to Isabella. Don’t make me regret being nice.”

“No, I’m here because I was with her when she came home and found her apartment trashed. I’m part of this, just like she is. And if booting her from this case after this sonofabitch DuPree just threatened her is your definition of nice, I’d hate to see you act like a dick.”

In an instant, the air seemed to vanish from the room, and Sinclair’s stare turned razor-wire sharp as he pinned Kellan with a glare strong enough to be weaponized. “That’s unfortunate, because you’re about to make me cross that line.”

“Be my guest,” Kellan shot back. “You could use a little riling up as far as this case is concerned.”

Even in the face of Sinclair’s badge and Beretta, he didn’t take one toe off the proverbial line, and sweet Jesus, things were really mission critical if
she
had to be the voice of reason.

“Okay, you two,” Isabella said, wrestling her voice into calmness despite the game of high-velocity tag her heart was playing with every last one of her ribs. “I get that things are a little tense, but we’re all on the same side here.”

Sinclair broke the standoff first. “You’re right, we are. But I can’t put you back on this case until you start following the chain of command and learn how to trust your team. Especially now that you’re a potential target.”

Kellan snorted. “What do you think she just did?”

Stunned, Isabella turned to stare at him, Sinclair mirroring her surprise as his chin snapped around to do the same.

But Kellan either didn’t notice their shock or didn’t care that they were both gaping like fish on dry land. “As soon as I told Isabella we’d found Angel in that fire, she called you,” he said. “She knew her ass was on the line, but that didn’t stop her, even for a second. She knew she needed help, and she trusted you to give it. And just now, when she and I came in here and found this place trashed, with her dress on display and that message obviously left to taunt her, what’s the first thing she did? She called you. She knows exactly where DuPree lives. She could’ve gone over there all commando to take care of the threat herself, but she didn’t. She called
you
. Do you really think she’d do that if she didn’t honor your chain of command? Or if she didn’t trust you? Because I sure as shit don’t. She’s a good cop, Sinclair. She cares about finding justice for these women, and she deserves to be back on this goddamn case.”

Holy…hell
.

For a second, Isabella couldn’t breathe. Kellan wasn’t wrong about her trusting Sinclair—in fact, he’d made the same argument she’d been ready to launch, albeit maybe a bit more bluntly. Not only had he beaten her to the punch, but the absolute certainty of what he’d said rang hard in her ears.

He didn’t just believe her, and he didn’t just think she was good at her job.

He had her back.

“Walker.” Sinclair’s voice broke the silence, gravelly and low. “Can you give me a minute with my detective? And before you think about arguing with me, you should know that I’m not really asking.”

Kellan paused, and Isabella’s heart gave up an involuntary squeeze. She stepped in next to him, her boots quiet on the floorboards even though her pulse pounded like a runaway freight train in her ears.

“It’s okay. Why don’t you check in with the rest of the unit and let them know I’m good. I don’t want them to worry.”

“I’ll be right in the next room,” he said, sliding one last frost-blue glance at Sinclair before stepping carefully through the mess and out her bedroom door.

Isabella braced herself for Sinclair’s reaction, and true to form, he didn’t disappoint. “Your boyfriend’s a little territorial.”

She bit back the urge to tell him she hadn’t had a boyfriend since she’d been seventeen. Not that it wasn’t the God’s honest, but all things considered, they had bigger fish to fry.

Speaking of which… “Yeah, I think DuPree has us all a little on edge right now,” Isabella said, and fuck it. Scaling back on the truth in the face of a little intensity had never been her thing anyway. “He’s dangerous as hell, Sam, and he absolutely did this.”

Sinclair followed her gesture around the room, a muscle ticking beneath the gold-gray stubble on his jawline as his stare lingered on her deeply gouged mattress. “I know.”

She kept her surprise in check, but barely. “Well I’m glad, because Walker’s right. I might keep some things close to the vest, but I do trust you, and I should be back on this case. DuPree trashed my apartment, or at the very least, he was behind it. Plus, the threat on the mirror is pretty cut and dried, and the photograph…” Isabella swallowed past the tightness pinching at her words. “I want to help get this guy.”

“The threat on the mirror is real,” Sinclair said. “Putting you back on this case also puts you at risk.”

“But I’m already at risk.” Despite her urge to argue, Isabella took a deep breath. Losing her cool wouldn’t get her anywhere, no matter how tempted she might be to do it. “DuPree clearly knows we’re onto him, and he’s trying to get a rise out of me—out of all of us—with this stunt. But if he wants me as bait, then use me as bait. The more personal this gets, the more likely he is to make a mistake.”

Sinclair huffed out a humorless laugh. “Just as long as you don’t make one first. This
is
personal, on both sides. DuPree knows who you are. He obviously knows what happened to Marisol. He’s not going to hesitate to use your past to get inside your head.”

Isabella’s stomach pitched behind the black cotton of her T-shirt, guilt and dread and anger threatening to fill her completely, but she had to hold steady. “Let him give it his best shot. He’s not going to get to me. Look”—she took a step forward, and there was no sense holding back now. “You want me to trust you? Let me back on this case. Let me trust the intelligence unit to catch this guy if he’s after me, and trust
me
to help you do it. DuPree killed this woman, and he’s hurt who knows how many more. He needs to pay for that, and I know we can make that happen. Please. I promise you, Sam. I’m good for this.”

A minute ticked by, then another, her palms growing slicker with each second of deafening silence, until finally, Sinclair said, “There are no half measures on a case like this, Isabella. I need to be one hundred percent sure I can trust you.”

“You can. I swear it, Sam. No freelancing. No flying solo,” she said with zero hesitation.

Not even when Sinclair jutted his chin toward the door that Kellan had passed through after having promised to stay close.

Close
.

“And can you trust him?” Sinclair asked.

Isabella’s defenses prickled beneath her skin, warning her to say no. Casual sex and a few good conversations were one thing, and easy things at that. But trusting Kellan meant letting him in. Letting him get close.

Letting herself care about him.

But again, she didn’t hesitate. “Yes. I trust him.”

“Good.” Sinclair smiled, the first one she could remember since they’d started this case weeks ago, and it sent a hard shot of relief all the way through her gut. “Assuming you’ll be staying at his place while CSU works here, I’ll put a squad car in front of Walker’s building tonight, and you’ll need to check in every eight hours. Now let’s finish up so you can get out of here and get some rest.”

“I’m really fine,” Isabella said, and to her surprise, Sinclair answered with a nod.

“I know. But you’re going to need all the energy you can get. Peterson gave intelligence full jurisdiction to investigate this case. Which means first thing tomorrow morning, we have a killer to catch.”

K
ellan got
out of his Camaro, taking the last sip of coffee from his to-go cup before blinking past the morning sunlight and scanning the street for serious threats. Although the habit was as ingrained as breathing, he took extra care with his awareness as he crossed the sidewalk in front of the two-story apartment building, pressing the buzzer for 2B and adjusting his RFD baseball hat as he waited for an answer.

“Who is it?” came the familiar female voice from the intercom speaker.

“It’s me.” Kellan waited just a beat before hitting the button again to add, “I’m here to deliver the jelly donuts.”

Okay, so maybe Gamble’s code word wasn’t the weirdest thing going. That’s what he got for letting Kylie, who had been thirteen at the time, choose the phrase for their all-clear.

A few seconds later, the building’s main door sounded off with a heavy click, allowing Kellan to cross into the lobby and head up the single flight of stairs. Relief spread beneath the game face he’d had locked into place for the last twelve hours, and he placed a crisp knock on the door in front of him. “Still me,” he said.

“Gah, it’s about time!” The rattle of the chain sounded off from the other side of the door, followed by the click of not one but two deadbolts. A second later, he was being hauled over the threshold by his deceptively slender sister.

“Jesus, Ky. What’s with the—oof!” Kellan’s breath shot from his lungs as she threw her arms around him and held on for dear life.

“Thank God you’re okay.” She pulled back to hold him at arm’s length, examining him from baseball hat to boots. “You are okay, right? No blood? No bruises?”

Unable to help it, he looked over Kylie’s shoulder, where Devon stood in their living room wearing an Army T-shirt, a pair of jeans, and an I-tried expression. “Has she been like this the whole time?” Kellan asked.

“Ever since you called last night,” Devon confirmed, leaning in to shake his hand and clap him on the shoulder. “I told her you were fine, but—”

“Please.” Kylie released an unladylike snort that reminded Kellan all too well how tough—and smart—she was. “Your arm could be hanging on by a tendon and a Hail Mary and you’d both try to convince me it was a flesh wound. Anyway, Devon has barely let me out of his sight ever since you gave us the update on what happened at Detective Moreno’s place, and he told me the intelligence unit had a patrol car camped out in front of your apartment all night, so yeah. I was worried.”

He should’ve known she’d be too perceptive not to pick up on the subtle changes that went with a heightened threat. And damn, did Julian DuPree ever fit the bill. “The cloak and dagger stuff is mostly just precautionary. Better safe than sorry.”

“Believe me, I remember.” Kylie linked her arm through his and guided him through her apartment while he tried like hell to forget that less than four short months ago, Xavier Fagan had held her at gunpoint and threatened to kill her half a dozen ways. “Anyway, I’m glad you came over,” she said. “I wouldn’t have been able to rest easy without seeing you in person.”

Kellan tried on a smile, forcing the expression to look nice and easy even though it was two sizes too small. “Of course I came over. I’m not on-shift until tomorrow, and you promised to feed me. And honestly, I’m fine.”

Okay, so fine was kind of relative in light of recent events. But the last thing he wanted was for his sister to worry. She’d been through enough with Fagan, and for all intent and purpose, he really
was
fine.

Just as long as he didn’t think about DuPree threatening Isabella. Or how she’d seemed to land directly in the bastard’s crosshairs. Or how she’d looked all sexy and sleepy and perfect the minute she’d woken up this morning, and
Christ
, Kellan needed to stick to facts, not feelings.

Kylie reclaimed his attention with a cluck of her tongue. “Fine enough to have cops on your threshold all night?”

“Those two patrolmen had the most boring night ever. No sign of trouble,” he said. “Not even a jaywalker.”

From the look on her face, she remained unconvinced. “Hmm.” She steered him into the kitchen, where something smelled damn close to heaven. “Well that’s a relief, considering Isabella’s apartment was pretty wrecked, right?”

Annnnd time to get selective with the truth. Kylie was already worried enough. Plus, thinking about Isabella’s apartment—and the chilling threat that had been left in it—wasn’t going to do a damn thing for his already iffy composure.

“Someone definitely ransacked the place.” Kellan sent a covert glance in Devon’s direction, meeting his eyes as his buddy pulled a pair of mugs from the cupboard and filled them both from the coffeepot on the counter. Thankfully, they were still fluent in the nonverbal shorthand they’d cultivated together in Afghanistan. The nearly imperceptible nod Devon gave Kellan along with one of the cups of coffee said he’d be on full watchdog status around Kylie until DuPree had been caught.

Kellan pulled a chair from beneath the kitchen table in the sun-filled breakfast nook, taking a long draw from his mug before saying, “Isabella’s headed to the precinct right now, and the intelligence unit is investigating the case with the FBI’s authorization. They’ll catch this guy.”

“Good.” Devon moved over the kitchen tiles, and even though the kiss he pressed to Kylie’s temple was chaste, the fierceness of his feelings for her practically radiated out of the guy.

And don’t you just know that feeling firsthand
.

Kellan’s heart kicked faster behind his T-shirt and the plaid button-down shirt he’d slung over it. So he liked Isabella and didn’t want her to get mauled by a homicidal maniac, and yeah, she smelled really good and they had out-fucking-standing sex and he slept better than he had in ages when she was wrapped up in his arms. It didn’t mean anything. Definitely not anything major.

Shit. The whole thing was
completely
major. He liked her. A lot.

And as dangerous as that was, he didn’t want to stop.

The rumble of Devon clearing his throat brought Kellan back to planet earth. “I’m going to let you two talk,” he said. “You’ll let me know if there are any updates?”

As if that was even a question. “Of course,” Kellan said, tacking a silent
thank you
to the end of the sentence. Knowing Devon had Kylie’s back let him breathe a little easier, and he needed all the calm he could get.

Kylie scooped up the plates she’d been loading with French toast, watching Devon walk back to the living room with a giant, goofy smile on her face before turning back to Kellan. “Okay. Breakfast is served.”

He grabbed one of the forks that had been lying in wait on the table, his stomach going for a high-powered growl as he inhaled the spicy-sweet scents of cinnamon and maple syrup goodness. “Thanks. I’m starving.”

She laughed, handing over his plate and sitting next to him with her own. “It’s not cold pizza, but it’ll do.”

“Ha-ha,” Kellan said, digging into the edge of one golden-brown piece of French toast. A few seconds later, his taste buds damn near exploded. “Jeez, Ky.” In went another bite, then another, and screw manners. He’d lick the plate to get every last crumb into his cakehole. “Did you put crack in these? Because seriously. They’re off the chain.”

“Nope.” She popped a bite into her mouth, but it still didn’t hide her smile. “Just regular pantry ingredients. I can write down the recipe if you want to make them for Isabella.”

Kellan’s fork dropped to his plate with an inelegant clatter. “Uh,” he managed. “What makes you think I’d be cooking breakfast for her?”

Kylie arched a dark brown brow at him over the table. “Come on. You told Devon she’s staying with you while her apartment gets cleaned up, and any idiot can see that you two are into each other.”

“There’s a little more to it than that,” Kellan argued.

But Kylie just rolled her eyes. “Actually, there isn’t. You like her, she likes you. I hate to break it to you, but this is how relationships are supposed to work.”

“Okay, Isabella and I aren’t…” He broke off at his sister’s don’t-even-try-it stare, and jeez, she really was a barracuda. “We’ve only been, ah, spending time together for a couple of weeks.”

Mercifully, Kylie let his awkward semantics slide. “Yeah, but you’ve known her for months. Plus, you two have been through a lot together lately. This DuPree guy sounds awful.”

“He’s not a Boy Scout,” Kellan said, and left it at that. “But just because I helped Isabella work this case and she’s staying with me until her place is right side up doesn’t mean things are serious.”

Serious meant emotions, and emotions were dangerous. He needed to stay steady. He couldn’t lose control. Which meant everything he felt for Isabella needed to stay way down deep.

Didn’t it?

“Okay,” Kylie said. Rather than pin the word with a bunch of sass or sarcasm, though, she simply smiled and hopped up from the table. “At any rate, Devon mentioned that Isabella probably wouldn’t be able to take anything out of her apartment for at least a day, and knowing her, she’s not going to want to stop working on this case even to pee, let alone shop for toiletries and a change of clothes. So I ran out this morning to grab a few things for her.”

Surprise worked its way up Kellan’s spine as he looked inside one of the three plastic shopping bags Kylie had grabbed from the side table by the pantry. “That was really cool of you.”

“Well, you like her, so…” Kylie shrugged, but her smile was impossible to miss. “Plus, she did kind of go above and beyond to catch the crooked cop who nearly got me and Devon killed, so y’know. There’s that, too.”

Kellan’s gaze caught on something inside the bag, and wait. Was that...?

“Really, Ky?” he asked, the back of his neck heating as he lifted a silky, dark green thong from between a T-shirt and a toothbrush.

His sister, who seemed utterly unaffected, waggled her brows and popped a bite of French toast into her mouth. “Mmmkay,” she murmured between chews. “So you like her a lot. It’s fine to say so out loud, even if things aren’t serious.”

Whether it was Kylie’s unexpected generosity or the ease with which she spoke about such a potentially serious topic, Kellan couldn’t be sure. But something prompted him to ask, “How come you didn’t say anything? A couple of months ago, when Isabella told you she’d gone back to Chicago to nail Burton and seal up your case. How come you didn’t tell me?”

Kylie lowered her fork, but she didn’t shy away from the question. “Because. As scary as those memories are, I lived through that part of my life, and it got me where I am now. Don’t get me wrong”—she paused, her wide-open expression growing slightly sharp around the edges—“I’m glad Burton got caught and that he’ll be punished for telling Fagan where I was. But I didn’t say anything to you when Isabella told me because I want all that behind me. I don’t want to be scared to live my life, or have a great new career, or be in love with Devon. I can’t let the emotions of what happened in the past keep me from acting now. I want to look forward, not back.”

Kellan’s breath abandoned his lungs. Holy hell. He’d spent so much time stuffing back
every
emotion, good, bad, or indifferent, that it had never occurred to him that he could feel some while keeping the others in check. The boxes had always been all or nothing, like a dam holding water at bay. Letting go of one meant all the others would rush out, and if that happened, surely Kellan would break.

Except…

Kylie hadn’t. Fagan had put her through hell. She’d witnessed a murder and nearly been murdered herself. She’d been chased and shot at and genuinely feared for her life. Yet she’d also moved across the country, embarked on a brand-new career path, and fallen in love with her bodyguard, all things Kellan would have counted as impulsive. Dangerous.

Only maybe they weren’t. Maybe they were just part of living.

And maybe he hadn’t been living for far too long.

“I don’t know,” Kylie said, filling the silence Kellan just now recognized as having gone on for half a minute with a nervous laugh. “I guess that sounds a little new-agey and weird. You probably think I’m crazy.”

“No.” He shook his head and let out the unvarnished truth. “I don’t think you’re crazy at all. In fact, I know exactly how you feel.”

Because dangerous or not, he wanted to move forward with Isabella Moreno.