Trial by Fire by Jo Davis Read Free Book Online

disapproval had put a chink in her armor. But he hadn’t pierced it. Thanks to her folks and her sister, she was made of tougher stuff than that. Fed up, she’d given Flaccid Man the boot, and hadn’t looked back.
    With an impish smile, Kat carried the clothes into her bedroom. “The lieutenant prefers the natural look? Fine.”
    Whistling, Kat discarded her pajamas and dressed quickly, opting for comfy tennis shoes. In the tiny bathroom, she tamed her bed head, leaving it loose around her shoulders, then brushed her teeth. Finished, she peered into the mirror and grimaced.
    Ugh. The natural girl look had limits, and the smoke-induced saddlebags perched on top of her cheekbones must go. Brandishing a tube of concealer like Excalibur, she dabbed and smudged the puffiness into submission. Sort of. The results were anything but magical, her appearance only slightly less scary. Cheating just a bit, she dusted her cheeks with a tiny amount of blush to avoid greeting the poor man looking as though she had the flu.
    This done, Kat searched the medicine cabinet for eye drops. Her throat was a little sore and her blood-shot eyeballs felt like they’d been battered and fried, another gift from last night. But at least she was alive this morning to complain, unlike the person murdered in Joan and Greg’s house.
    Squeezing a couple of drops in each eye, she blinked away the grit, Howard’s chilling words a mantra in her brain. A body, badly burned. Kat shivered, recalling how the fire spread from the center of the living room outward. Deliberately set. God, she’d missed the killer by a matter of moments. Who would do something so horrible, and why? She hoped the police caught the monster fast, but the sad fact was they might never find the answers.
    With an effort, she pushed the horrid incident to the back of her mind and walked into the den, plopping on the sofa to wait for the lieutenant. Funny how the remaining fifteen minutes suddenly yawned ahead, an eternity. Flipping through the newest People magazine to admire George Clooney did nothing to calm her jitters or distract her from trying to picture Howard.
    Were the man’s shoulders really wide enough to block for the Tennessee Titans, or had the drama of last night only made her rescuer seem larger-than-life? A strong, capable leader. A gentleman.
    “No guy is that perfect. Not even you, George.” She sighed, tossing the magazine onto the coffee table.
    In her limited experience, God had a way of evening things out with infinite humor. Howard probably had gingivitis. Bushy nostril hair, flatulence, a pencil penis graced by teensy acorns—
    A low rumble interrupted her dire predictions, distant thunder growing louder. She cocked her head, placing the noise. A motorcycle. None of her buttoned-up neighbors drove one. The cyclist in question pulled in to park outside her door, and shut off the engine. Kat’s heart did a funny leap as heavy boots scraped up her walk. Hesitated.
    She was on her feet and moving toward the door even before the brisk knock. Squinting through the peephole, she saw nothing but an island of broad, muscular chest, leaving little doubt about who waited on the other side. Steeling herself against a second attack of nerves, she unlocked the door and stepped back. Swung it open.
    And forgot to breathe.
    Oh. My. Gawd.
    Six and a half feet of gorgeous male perfection filled the entire entrance. A black T-shirt stretched over his buff pecs and taut abs, but the denim jacket hid too darned much from view. Her appreciative gaze slid down mile-long legs encased in soft jeans that hugged hard thighs and cupped the bulge of his sex like a glove.
    Teensy wasn’t a word she’d ever entertain in association with Howard Paxton again.
    “Can I come in?”
    Ohh, that deep voice, whiskey and tangled sheets on a hot summer evening. One more impression that had not been her imagination. Kat blinked up at her guest, who flashed a tentative smile. Embarrassed to be