A relieved sigh escaped as Claire sank back down onto the cheap vinyl couch in Hank’s office. She could sleep tonight without every light in the house on. The sound of her phone ringing wouldn’t set off alarm bells. A giddy excitement buzzed through her body, she couldn’t wait for everything to be normal again.  

Absentmindedly, she picked at a one-inch tear in the stiff fabric. A seed of discontent bloomed. It wasn’t really over. Not yet. She had to know why it had all happened. She wasn’t leaving the sheriff’s office until she did. 

Beth had told her once that juries didn’t like to convict unless there was a motive. Apprehension squeezed her upper back tight. She rolled her neck and stretched her shoulders, but the muscles remained coiled. If he went free, he’d make good on his promise to hurt her and her family. Dread wormed its way into the recesses of her mind. 

She would spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder, waiting for the moment when the Voice of Doom would appear. She shuttered. If he didn’t spill his guts to the investigators, she’d have to find the phone and flash drive. If juries wanted motives, she’d find one. There was no way this psycho would stroll out of jail ever again.

An antsy she could shake itched its way up her spine and she paced around Hank’s office as she chewed her bottom lip. She’d been hanging out in the cramped space for the past hour, ever since the investigators finished talking with her. They’d introduced themselves as Strunk and White, no first names, asked her a few questions and released her right as the first-shift deputies were heading home for dinner.    

The walls of Hank’s office closed in on her as she marched around the small space. She had to get out of here. Waiting and worrying was making her nuts. 

She grabbed Hank’s coffee cup and hustled out the door. The fluorescent bulbs, sizzling above the hallway’s Army-green vinyl floor, intensified her hungry headache. Her stomach growled for dinner, a snack, anything. Maybe she could snag a donut in the break room. 

Anything would do, but the apprehensive little girl inside her cried for comfort food: creamy mashed potatoes, lasagna stuffed with meatballs, warm chicken noodle soup, anything made with chocolate. Unfortunately, she’d have to placate her hunger with the vending machine’s heart-attack-in-a-plastic-sack food. 

Hank’s oversized “I Heart Nebraska Football” cup quivered in her hand as she strode down the hall. Already, she’d had four cups of strong coffee. Caffeine ran through her veins faster than a rabid dog chasing a squirrel. Still, she jonesed for more. The joys of addiction.

She half hoped and half dreaded running into Jake in the hall. She hadn’t seen him since the deputies separated them at Harvest for questioning.

“My name is Frank Darcy and I want to call my attorney.” 

That voice. Every hair on her body stood at attention. Frank Darcy? Burlington had told the truth about Kendall’s biological father.

Appetite forgotten, she jerked to a stop. Where was he? If she could listen in on the interview, she wouldn’t have to wait on Hank for the answers. A quick glance around confirmed no one else would see her eavesdropping. If she got caught, there would be hell to pay, but it would be worth it. 

To her left, a door stood ajar. She tiptoed over and stood with her back flat against the wall. Craning her neck, she caught a glimpse inside the video room. Hank and two deputies crowded around a black-and-white TV watching the closed-circuit feed from the interrogation room. 

“Look, Barney Fife, I said I want to call my lawyer. Give me a phone. Now.”

Small speakers attached to the TV added static to Darcy’s cynical tone. Hearing him talk and watching him on the grainy footage sent a cold blast of fury across Claire’s skin.

The murdering jerk slouched back in his chair and dismissed the investigators with a turn of his head. Strunk and White sat across a narrow table from him. An unopened case file filled the space between the two sides.

He looked as if he didn’t have a care in the world. The EMTs must have shot him full of some pretty damn good meds to even out his meth high. If he worried about going to prison for murder, it didn’t show on his face. 

The cup handle cracked in her tight grip. She’d shoot the bastard in the ass again if she had the chance. Of course, at the time, she’d been aiming a bit higher. Nervous about hitting Jake, she’d flinched. 

Too bad.

“Sure, sure. You’ll get your call,” Strunk said. He smiled. No malice touched his face.

Judging by his companionable attitude, she figured he played good cop.

“Course, we’ll have to put you into lockup until he gets here. It’ll only take, what, five hours for him to get here from Denver. Sound right, Steve?”

White cracked his knuckles. “Yep.”

“It’s a pretty drive, what with everything turned nice and green from last night’s rain. The lawyer might stop for dinner. Maybe even at Harvest. The wife has been begging me to make reservations there for months. Your attorney, he might check into a hotel. Be here what, around nine tonight?”

“Yep.” White lumbered over, stood behind Darcy. A feather couldn’t have fit between his protruding belly and Darcy’s shaved head. 

 “You’ll have to spend the night. Deal with the drunks pulled over after Monday Night Football. Might get puked on. Man, those are nice shoes you’ve got. Hate to see what regurgitated nachos and beer would do to them.” Strunk paused, flipped through some papers. “So why don’t you talk with us a bit first. Dragging in a lawyer only slows the process down.”

Darcy and Strunk faced off against each other in silence. After a few moments, Darcy leaned forward, his face a mask of gullibility drenched in sweat.

“Really? You think my lawyer-free cooperation would make your DA look kindly on little ol’ me?” Sarcasm thick as honey, but nowhere near as sweet, coated Darcy’s words.

“Now, Frank…can I call you Frank?” Strunk leaned forward, hands open, palms showing.

“You can call me Sugartits McGee if it makes you happy. But I’m not talking without a lawyer. Phone. Now.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Good cop looked straight into the camera, shrugged his shoulders. Without a word, he gathered his papers and left the interview room. 

Frustrated, Claire wanted to holler at the men in the video room. They couldn’t just give up. They had to make him talk.

White strolled to the door, paused and looked back at Darcy. “Hope that bandaged butt of yours starts feeling better soon, Sugartits.” 

Out in the hall, Claire fought to stifle her chuckle. She lost. It bubbled out of her before she could cover her mouth.

A hand flung the video room door the rest of the way open. Hank glowered at her from inside the doorway.

Oh, crap.

She’d survived the psycho in the next room, but now her own brother looked as if he were going to kill her. She held out his coffee mug like a peace offering. 

“Coffee?” Her cheeks ached from her smile’s fake sugary goodness.

“You need to go home. Now.” 

Hank’s hand pushed against the small of her back as he forced her down the hall. 

“Hank, just let me talk to him. He’ll talk to me, I know it.”

The vein in his neck went into overdrive, pulsating like a jackhammer. He’d clamped his jaw down so hard, she worried he’d break a tooth.

“No.” The single word from Hank came out low and slow.

She scrambled for another option to find out why Darcy had killed his own daughter. Was there really access to three million dollars out there somewhere on a flash drive? “How about the interview video? Can I watch it? I could point out and similarities between how he talks now and during the phone calls he made to me.” 

Hank opened the door to his glass-encased office and grabbed his empty mug from her hand before walking inside and barring her from following him. “No.” 

“What if—” 

“For the last time, no! You are not sitting in on the interview. And no, you can’t watch the video of it. Now go home.” Hank slammed the door in her face.

She wanted more information. She needed her pound of flesh. Riled up and ready to continue the argument, she grabbed the doorknob.

“Get away from my door or I’ll arrest you for being a pain in the ass.” Hank’s muffled words made her jump sky high.

She spotted him glaring at her through his office window. The stern look on his face and the stubborn set to his jaw showed he meant business. She stomped her foot in frustration.

“That’s not a real charge, Hank. Let me in.”

He yanked the blinds closed. 

Exasperated, Claire kicked at the blue plastic recycle bin next to Hank’s door. She missed. Her sandal flew off her foot and sailed down the hallway. 

Perfect. Just perfect.

She clomped over to her shoe, the slick floor cool against her one bare foot.

“You know that could be considered attempted destruction of government property.” A touch of deadpan humor lightened Jake’s words.

She froze with her sandal in one hand, bare foot angled up toward her knee. Warmth flowed through her, wrapped around her shoulders and melted her irritation. Her skin tingled and her fingers ached to touch him. 

Bodyguard with benefits. What had she been thinking? There was no way she could ever touch this man again and keep her heart. Hell, she could barely be in the same room with him without wanting to throw herself into his arms. 

She’d only known him for a few days. He lived hundreds of miles away. They were both too headstrong to function together as a couple. In her experience with men, the thrill wore off quickly. They got bored. They cheated. She couldn’t go through that again. To protect herself, she had to walk away.

Half heartbroken already, Claire turned. Her resolve wavered at the sight of him. His hair spiked up in all directions as if he’d spent the last hour running his fingers through it. He’d missed a button on his shirt when he’d hastily gotten dressed earlier. Had it only been a few hours ago that they’d been on their way to buy condoms? Heat blasted up her body at the memory.

That damn smirk tugged at the right side of his mouth. “He locked me out too.” He stood at the end of the hallway, two steaming cups in his hands. “Coffee?”

Her stomach lurched. She’d downed too much already. Any more of that cheap, bitter brew and she’d spew. Not the lasting impression she wanted to leave him with as he walked out of her life. “I’m good. Thanks.”

An awkward silence fell. Neither moved. 

Baffled by the whole situation, she had no idea what to say or do or feel. She’d never gone from sex to shooting before. Hell, she’d never come on her desk before with someone she’d only known a few days and wouldn’t know for much longer. She needed to escape.

“Well then, I guess you’re heading back to Denver soon. Have a safe drive.” A cold brick settled on her heart. She had to get out of here before she started crying again. Hanging her head she trudged down the hallway toward the door. One problem. She had to get by him. 

“No.” His firm voice halted her feet.

Her head popped up as her pulse increased. “No?”

He put the coffee down on an empty shelf. A frisson of sexual heat sparked between them. His body called out to her like a siren, luring her toward a dangerous and rocky coast. Afraid her heart would be broken on the shore, she kept her eyes lowered.   

“You promised we’d talk later.” He trailed a finger down her cheek. “I thought you were the kind of woman who kept her word.”

Blinking back unwanted tears, she forced her wobbling lip to still before gazing up at him. It scared her how badly she wanted to spend even a little more time with him. A vague picture formed of what a future with Jake would be like. Coming home to him after closing Harvest for the night. Crawling into bed and snuggling up against his warm body. Ruthlessly, she tried to push away those thoughts but they lingered. 

She should walk away now and make a clean break of it, but she couldn’t do it. Missing this time with Jake would haunt her. She’d recovered from a broken heart before, she could do it again. Probably.

Heat enveloped her fingers as she intertwined them with Jake’s. Her hand looked so small and fragile in his, like delicate china laid atop an oak table. They shouldn’t go together, but they did. “Let’s go.”

Jake delivered a soft kiss to the top of her head and dumped the paper coffee cups in a nearby trashcan. Together, they strolled out the door, hand-in-hand, into the gathering dusk.

Did you miss part of Dangerous Kiss? Catch up here. xoxo, Avery