begging
for a chance he had no right to want. He'd walked away. As much as
he'd loved her, he'd given up. It didn't matter why.
Rhys murmured something in her sleep. He tried
not to stare at her lips, but his desire to discern what she said
rallied past common courtesy, and won. "What is it,
Rhys?"
Her eyes flittered open, then closed, but not
before her fingers again found him. Again she murmured something.
Soft rays of light through the carelessly drawn drapes lit her
face, and her sleepy tone — in that moment, in the bed they shared
— wrapped him in a kind of closeness he'd never before known. Yet
he craved it already.
" Corey ."
She whispered the name as if it held the
weight of the world… and her whole heart, too.
Fuck .
****
When Rhys awoke, she stared at the unfamiliar
room for several long moments before she remembered where she
was.
And with whom.
Oh, no.
She looked down, relieved she still wore the
robe. The belt had loosened somewhat, but she still had a handle on
modesty, even if Nick had peeked under the covers.
Nick .
Where was Nick? A brief, frantic search revealed his location —
sprawled in a chair by the table. She tried to steady her breath,
but with his eyes boring into her the battle was already
lost.
A glance at the clock indicated late morning.
With some difficulty, she managed an awkward sitting position. "Why
did you let me sleep so late?"
"You were tired." He gave a tense
shrug, the casual gesture anything but. "I think you gave new
meaning to the phrase sweet
dreams ."
She recoiled. Had she spoken of him in her
sleep? She searched his face for clues, but found no trace of the
smirk she'd expect had she confessed her feelings. No, something
else was up. "I've been thinking," she said.
"Funny, I thought you were
sleeping."
Rhys glared at him. "I've
been thinking . I
want to see the news coverage. Did you say there was a press
conference?"
"Yep. If you were dead, you'd have still been
warm when they put it out there."
She shook her head. "That doesn't make
sense."
"Agreed." He studied her, his mouth etched
into a frown.
"Did you recognize who gave the announcement?"
He'd been gone eight months, but the department turnover was pretty
low.
"No, I didn't," he admitted, strained. "I was
a little distracted by the news of your death."
"Fair enough. Look, the only way we're going
to figure this out is by digging, and I can't dig from a hotel
room."
One of his eyebrows lifted. "From where do you
propose we dig?"
"Your place."
"My place? You really think that's a good
idea?"
She shrugged. "We can't go to my apartment so
that kind of leaves yours. I need a computer."
"Um, that kind of leaves neither. I don't want
to take any chances with this, Rhys. I told you before that someone
had my phone number before anyone knew I was back. I don't know who
we're up against and I don't know why."
"And we're not going to find out sitting in a
hotel room."
He didn't flinch. "I've got Cutter on
it."
She frowned, inwardly sidestepping the twinge
of discomfort that seemed to follow Nick's association with Cutter.
"You seem to forget Cutter isn't ours this time."
"Yeah, well, guess what, Rhys. I no longer
have any contacts in this town. Next time you get yourself killed
and your body snatched, perhaps you could suggest someone else to
get tied up in it with you."
Rhys straightened. "What the hell is your
problem?"
He stared at her, his face set in an angry
scowl, unspoken words abandoned on his lips.
She sighed. When had things gotten
so awkward between them? They used to be so in sync they
even argued in
tune, and now they couldn't even get that right. She clutched her
pillow in frustration, fighting the desire to throw it.
But the urge didn't wane, and why should it?
Her jaw tightened. He had a lot of nerve being angry with her about
anything. He started this by leaving town, and in doing so hadn't
given her a chance to finish it. All thoughts of suppression
passed. She threw
Learning to Kill: Stories