the hippie earrings and army surplus clothes and rainbow fingers. He was hit with a rush of yearning so keen it nearly stole his breath. Before . . . that had been lust. This was something different. He searched for a word, but only one came to mind.
Home.
Looking at her face was like coming home.
Her cheeks grew pink and Vito realized he’d been staring. For three beats of his heart she stared back, then abruptly turned to tug hard on the heavy door, taking a stumbling step back against him when it flew open. His hands gripped her shoulders to hold her upright, bringing her against him.
Let her go.
But his hands did not obey. Instead they held on and for one moment she seemed to relax, resting against him.
Then she leaped forward as if stung, lunging to catch the door before it closed again, breaking the contact and ending the moment.
He’d held her for only a few seconds, but it was like touching a live wire, and he took a step back, physically and mentally. Shaken and not liking it, he drew a breath.
It’s just because it’s today,
he told himself.
Get a grip, Chick, before you make a fool of yourself.
But he blinked in surprise as the next words tumbled from his mouth.
“Call me Vito.” He usually preferred being called “Detective” when he was working. It kept things nice and separate. But it was too late now.
“Okay.” The single word came out on an exhale, as if she’d been holding her breath. “Here are the things we need to take.”
Four suitcases sat by the door and Vito picked up the two largest. She got the other two and pulled the door closed. “I’ll need to get these back to the university tonight,” she said briskly. “One of the professors has the GPR signed out for a field trip tomorrow.”
It seemed she’d shrugged the moment away and Vito decided to do the same, but his eyes had a mind of their own. He couldn’t stop looking at her face, searching her profile as they walked to his truck. Her lips were still quivering from the cold and he felt a pang of guilt. “Why didn’t you just come up to me earlier?” he asked.
“You said to be discreet,” she said, looking straight ahead. “I wasn’t sure you were Katherine’s cop and you weren’t in a police car. I kept thinking that if you weren’t the right one, you might not appreciate me blabbing your name. Katherine didn’t tell me what you looked like and she didn’t give me the secret handshake. So I waited.”
While she froze, he thought, remembering the way she’d drawn her body up under the coat for warmth. He put the two large suitcases in the bed of his truck and secured them. When he reached for the smaller cases she held, she shook her head. “These are delicate. Given a choice, I’d ride in the bed and buckle these in my seat.”
“I think I can find room for you both.” He stowed the cases in the back floorboard, then opened her door. “After you . . .” His mind derailed when she moved past him. She smelled like the roses he’d thrown behind his seat in the truck, fragrant and sweet.
He stood motionless, just breathing in her scent. She looked nothing like his Andrea, who’d been dark and petite. Sophie Johannsen was an Amazon, tall, blond, and . . . alive.
She’s alive, Chick. And today, that’s just enough to get you into trouble.
By tomorrow, he’d be blessedly numb once more.
“Sophie,” she said warily. “I’m Sophie.”
“I’m sorry.”
Focus, Chick.
One unidentified body, perhaps more. That was what should be occupying his thoughts, not Sophie Johannsen’s perfume. He gestured to the front seat, determined to pull their interaction back to the professional level. “Please.”
“Thanks.” She climbed in and he heard the clinking of metal coming from her coat.
“What do you have in your pockets?”
“Oh, all kinds of things. This is my field jacket.” From one of the pockets she pulled a handful of garden stakes. “Markers for what we find.”
I sure as hell hope you