Page 37 of Eyes in the Shadows
“He was in the full uniform and… I dunno, he sounded really convincing. Had one of those little notepads and used all the lingo I hear on cop dramas. Hey, wait. I just remembered, back in the sauna, that guy said something about how he didn’t want to get caught on the security cameras of my building again.”
“Yeah?” I ease to a stop at the last light right before I start the maze of back roads through the ‘burbs.
“Well, you’ve been there, right? Should we be worried that someone might have seen you—”
Maybe it’s the relief in realizing her concern is solely that I might be in danger of getting caught. Maybe it’s the casual use of the word “we,” like we’re in this together, like we have been since we hid that body in the locker room. Maybe it’s that she just looks so damn gorgeous—strong, resilient, earnest—in spite of the fear, and I can’t believe I get to have her in front of me, in touching distance like this.
I reach over and cup the back of her neck, pulling her roughly forward to meet my lips halfway. She’s stiff at first, stunned, but then she relaxes and melts into me. The contact is a spark, just the start of a fire that runs hot through my veins. Her lips are so fucking soft, so pliable, so warm…
As much as I want to deepen it, I don’t. Someone honks behind us, I pull away and notice that the light is green, so I make my turn.
“Listen to me, darlin’. If you’re ever approached by the police in the future, I want you to ask for their name and badge number and then get somewhere safe until you can call into the station and verify their information. Worst case scenario, it’ll irritate the hell out of some sheriff trying to get you for speeding,but it may save your life someday. It’s too easy to impersonate an officer, and the cops generally make people nervous enough that they usually just cooperate. It’s the perfect disguise for one of those guys.” And me.
She nods, a silent promise as she looks deep in thought, filing that information away. “Have you ever pretended to be a cop?”
Doesn’t miss a beat, does she? “Yes.”
I nearly grimace as she starts chewing that lip again, looking thoughtful. This is going to be a long fucking drive.
14
Eleanor
You saved me, I saved you. We’re square.
My hands are practically shaking with the effort to not lift my fingers to my lips, to trace where his just were. The skin tingles. When I wet my lips with my tongue, I can taste him—tangy, salty and a little minty. My stomach is full of fluttering butterflies and they’re all going fucking crazy for Mac.
But now he’s sitting there, all cool and calm, like nothing even happened. Like he didn’t just kiss me. And then he said that stuff about not trusting the police and asking for badge numbers… was it just to make me stop talking and pay attention? I feel like I have whiplash.
I glance around me as the comfort and security of my apartment feel miles away. I wish I knew where we were going, or how long we’d be there, or if I could go back and get anything. If this is going to be more than a few days, maybe Harrison can—
I gasp, realizing. “Oh my god, do you think Harrison is in danger?”
His hands tighten on the wheel until it makes a little squeaking noise and his knuckles turn white. His jaw flexes. “What?” he bites out.
I shrink away a little at the aggressive reaction. “You said my apartment wasn’t safe, and he lives in the same building and we’re friends—”
“He’s on the wrong side, they won’t assume he knows anything,” he clips.
“Oh, okay.” That’s a relief.
“Unless they think you’re more than friends,” he adds, lips thin with displeasure.
“Why would they?”
“Why else is his the first name on your lips afterIkiss you?”
I start, completely shocked. Was that what that little testosterone show was all about? Whatever beef he’s got with Harrison? I almost roll my eyes. “One kiss and you’ve got some sort of jealous claim on me, huh?”
He smiles, and it’s not very kind. It’s full of self-satisfaction and male pride. “Like that one kiss didn’t leave you hot and bothered. Would you stop me, darlin’, if I did it again?”
Of course not. He knows it; I know it. Doesn’t make him any less of a dick for pointing it out. I cross my arms.
“That’s what I thought,” he says, smirking.
It feels like he’s making fun of me now, even though I can’t really put my finger on why. And it stings more than I’d care to admit. He’s not a good guy; he’s reminded me of that several times. Why would I think he cares about my emotions?
Because I’m an idiot, that’s why. I have this whole made up scenario in my head. It’s a fantasy world I created, where he watches me and follows me and sends me gifts because helikesme. God, I need a fucking straight jacket. Or a reminder that having these inexplicable feelings for someone I don’t know, who’s very dangerous, is a terrible idea.
