In Close Quarters

But if he ever got a set of cuffs on this woman, jail was the last place he would be taking her. He slipped his finger down, tracing the outer curve of her ear until he reached the tiny lobe. He dipped his finger beneath her jaw, reining in his thudding heart as her eyes widened. What he would have given for the flaring in these dark pupils to have been caused by passion. For him.

But it was not passion, nor even desire.

It was fear.

He forced his attention back to the reason he was here. Why had she called Reese? He tipped up her chin. “Are you in trouble?”

She tried to look away, but he refused to let her. He moved his head until he had again captured her stormy gaze.

“Cari?o, you must tell me. I can help.”

She closed her eyes.

The action pained him more than he cared to admit.

Reese, she trusted. Him, she did not.

“Please.” His voice was low, hoarse, but he did not care.

“Don’t. You can’t help. No one can, not even Reese.” She sighed and finally opened her eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called him. Dr. Manning was right.”

He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip. “This thing which troubles you, this Dr. Manning knows it?”

“God, no. At least, not yet.” Again the pink found her ears. Though for some reason, he felt the cause was not the same. But before he could question her, she stepped back. “Oh, hell, you’re already here. And I don’t think you’re going to give up.” There was a wealth of hope in those rising brows. “Are you?”

He shook his head firmly. Not when she was this upset.

She sighed again. “I thought not. Well, you’d better have a seat, then. It’s a long story.” She tilted her head toward the teapot sitting on the stove. “I’d offer you some, but…” Her gaze swept his clothes. “You don’t look the tea type. Coffee?”

He nodded. “Gracias.”

“Cream? Sugar?”

“Black.”

A ghost of a smile curved her lips, dipping her dimples as her gaze traveled his dark length again, this time leisurely. “Somehow, I’m not surprised.”

She was teasing him. Karin Scott was teasing him. The realization ricocheted off his brain and headed straight for his heart, snapping a grin back up his throat before he could prevent it. Jade, she teased. Reese, as well. She had even teased Reese’s mother within minutes of meeting her—this he knew, for he had been there. But Karin had never, ever, teased him.

Until now.

He sobered.

She was upset indeed if she could not remember she disliked him. But at least she would trust him. For now, he would settle for this.

Relief washed through him as he stepped around the counter to give her room to work. On the ride to her apartment, he had not been certain he could convince her to confide in him. If she had refused, there was naught he could do to force her.

Even with his suspicions.

He would have been left with little option but to call Reese once his plane had landed and ask him to phone Karin back—from his belated honeymoon. Not his first choice.

TJ crossed the carpet and stared at the couch and matching chairs. Though they appeared comfortable enough, he was reluctant to sit. They were so white. Admittedly he was not one for decorating. But even he could see the room needed color—any color. Desperately.

And what was that odor?

It was faint, so faint he could not quite place it. In fact, he had not even noticed it until Karin had taken her whisper of vanilla back into the kitchen with her. He glanced across the room as a grating whir cut through the air.

Beans?

She did not cook, but she ground her own coffee beans?

TJ bit back a low whistle. He turned to face the wall unit and stared at the whitewashed doors as the minutes dragged by. What secrets did those doors conceal? Her music collection? The final notes of the jazz instrumental that had been playing when he arrived had long since died out. What else would he find in there? Beethoven, Mozart, Bach? Or would she surprise him with salsa?

Doubtful.

Whatever lay behind those doors, he would wager it was white. The Beetles’ White album most likely.

“TJ?”

He spun about, wincing as he nearly upset the twin mugs of coffee in her hands. At least the mugs were yellow.

Pale yellow, but it was a start.

She held one out and nodded to the chairs. “Have a seat.”

He accepted the mug and took the couch, instead, in the hope that she would join him.

She did not.

He squelched his disappointment as she lowered herself into the chair next to him, then settled himself as far back as he dared and took a sip from his mug. He glanced up as the distinct flavor of vanilla swirled over his tongue, taking the edge off the familiar bite of coffee.

“Do you like it?”

He nodded.

“Good.” She slid a coaster across the table.

He stared at the white disk a moment, then rested the mug on his thigh. At least if he spilled it there, the stain would not show. He waited until she had taken a few sips of her own before prompting her. “Reese? You were to tell me why you wished to speak to him?”

Setting her cup down, she sighed as she retrieved a square of paper from the pocket below the row of ribbons on her uniform shirt. She unfolded the sheet and passed it to him.

He took it and read the short, typed sentence.

Class twos are walking.

Dios m?o, he was right.

Somehow he managed to do naught but lift a brow as he glanced up. “Nothing to do with me—or my agency?”