Tormented by Darkness by Claire Ashgrove Read Free Book Online

of having preconceived notions when he hauled in the creeps on the street. Once or twice, he’d even been called heartless—of course, when he’d slammed a perp’s head into the interrogation room’s wall that might have been appropriate.
    In Mick’s defense, the bastard had raped and murdered a homeless, thirteen year old girl, and had tried to lie his way out of the crime. He’d deserved a hard, cold, reality check full of the same heartlessness he’d shown that poor girl.
    At a sudden loss for an appropriate response, Mick twined one hand with Rhiannon’s and turned toward the long table of food. Two steps in that direction, however, Andrew intercepted their path.
    “Hi, I’m Andrew Dodson. Mick’s partner.” He thrust out his hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met.” He eyed Rhiannon with blatant appreciation that set Mick’s sixth sense on red alert. He’d shared a lot of things with Andrew. His past, his dreams, even his women at times. But Rhiannon wasn’t something Mick intended to share.
    He blinked. Where had that come from? He didn’t have any claim to Rhiannon. Didn’t want one. Not in a long-term, forever, sort of way. They couldn’t have that. She was here tonight because he’d asked. Tomorrow, she’d be back in her shop, and he’d go on like he had always done. Single. No ties to anyone. No way for him to ever feel the pain of loss.
    Just like he preferred.
    “Rhiannon McLaine,” she answered as she slid an elegant palm into Andrew’s. Her gaze shifted sideways as Brad appeared at Andrew’s left.
    “Brad Coulter.” He grinned at Mick. “Don’t give her yellow. Go for red.”
    At the reference to his well-known habit of ordering flowers in a benign color for his dates, Mick nearly groaned aloud. Of all the people to make that reference in front of—right there, he wanted to kick Brad.
    Rhiannon’s laugh only furthered Mick’s growing shame. She tipped her gaze to him, blue eyes teasing before she nodded to Brad. “Why thank you, Brad. I’ll remember you have good taste.”
    Before his friends could inadvertently humiliate him further, metal pinged against glass, and a hush descended on the room. Near the mantel, beside his stepfather’s urn, a gray-haired man lifted a glass of wine.
    Henry Tuppinger—Steve’s best friend. Oh, dear Lord, the wake had officially begun.

Chapter Six
    As people milled together, sampling the catered food and drinks, occasional low laughter interrupting the somber atmosphere, Rhiannon observed Mick from the corner she inhabited with Andrew and Brad. A group of Steve’s former Army buddies had drawn him aside some time ago, and after he excused himself, another mourner sought to offer condolences. The pattern repeated each time he attempted to cross the room.
    The longer she watched, the more she became aware of his shifting energy and the pained look he struggled to conceal behind his tight, polite smile. The man who’d always seemed larger than life each time he came into her shop, whose eyes always danced with warmth, wasn’t handling this wake well at all.
    She fidgeted with her glass, trying to keep one ear on the conversation surrounding her. But it was impossible—she couldn’t tune out Mick and pretend she didn’t notice the way he was rapidly falling apart.
    That his partners didn’t notice surprised her.
    “I’m going for a refill. You want another glass of wine, Rhiannon?” Andrew asked
    She glanced up, her thoughts drawn away from Mick. “I’m sorry—what?”
    Andrew gestured at her glass. “You want some more wine?” His megawatt grin left no doubt he knew she’d been watching Mick.
    “No thanks.” She set the empty glass on an end table, and her stare drifted back to Mick. Better to keep her wits about her so she could control the dark yearnings of her soul. At some point tonight, she’d have to be alone with Mick. When that time came, she needed the strength to fight back the call of forbidden desire.
    “Cake?