A Loaded Question Read online

  “I have an idea of what you are going through right now. And though you are handling it all with a level of strength, grace and aplomb that even the royals would be envious of, you are hurting. I can see it on you.”

  Her chest tightened and tears started to well in her eyes. No. He couldn’t bring her to her knees like this—she was stronger than this—he couldn’t see her cry.

  “It’s okay to feel, Kate. You’re home. You are safe with me. You can be your real self. You don’t have to put on a front for me. I am not going to judge you for processing what you are going through—it’s not healthy to push that crap down and not deal with it. I know.” He ran his thumb over her cheek. “Let out your grief. Let’s get through this together. I’m your friend. Whatever you say, whatever you need, I’m yours to open up to.”

  If only he had stopped at I’m yours.

  A lump rose in her throat and she tried to swallow it back, but it was futile. He leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers as he put his other hand to her face. “Kate, it’s okay to cry.”

  Though she hadn’t given it permission, a single tear slipped down her cheek. Maybe it was his kindness, his sweetness or his strength in his candor, but whatever it was, it tore down the barrier of her heart.

  Tears flooded her cheeks.

  Her father was dead. Her mother was a mess. A fellow agent was possibly on the take. And they were no closer to solving any of it than they were when she had first received the news of the murder.

  Murder. The word reverberated through her. Though she had heard it spoken and had spoken of it often, it was as if she was hearing it for the first time. This time the word was hers—it was like a pebble being thrown in the lake of her world. There would be ripples of what had happened today throughout every day for the rest of her life.

  The only thing she could do to reduce their frequency was to do as Troy said...and to find justice.

  At least she wasn’t going through this completely alone or with her mother. In the state her family was currently in, she would have to be cool and collected. There was no room for real emotions, only actions.

  Troy brushed the tears from her cheeks as others followed quickly behind. Letting go of her face, he wrapped her in his arms and pulled her close. Her sobs rattled against him, but instead of loosening his grip, he held her only tighter—like he was her anchor in this tempest.

  She loved him.

  As she cried, she thought of Neruda, Sonnet XVII:

  I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,

  in secret, between the shadow and the soul...

  I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.

  I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;

  so I love you because I know no other way than this...

  Though she was feeling as low as she ever had, the high of the possibility of someday loving him openly—even as only a dear friend—helped to calm the storm inside of her.

  “You are going to get through this. We can do it together,” he whispered into her hair.

  She nodded, sniffing as she tried to keep from getting his shirt more wet than absolutely necessary from her tears. The man didn’t deserve to become her tissue.

  “Thank you, Troy.” She laid her head against his chest and listened to the beat of his heart. The sound worked as a calming drum, stanching her tears.

  She would grieve. But today, she wouldn’t have to go through this pain alone; she had love.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The last woman he had held while crying had been Elle when they had lost their parents. Ever since then, even when breaking up with the few girlfriends he’d had, he had made it out of there before the tears had started to fall. Tears were his weakness, far too feely. At least they had been, until now.

  He brushed her hair back from her face and rubbed her back. She didn’t seem like the type of woman who cried easily, especially around other people, and yet here she was, sobbing her heart out to him. She could open up, be free to express herself, and he was actually glad to be the one holding her while she let go.

  Did that mean this was love?

  Was what he was feeling something more than it should be? Or was this feeling inside of him toward her exactly right?

  He couldn’t deny the fact that he wanted more. That he wanted all of her. To see her wake up in the morning. To sit with her while her hair was all messy and she sipped on her first cup of coffee. He would love to have her cold feet press against him in bed at night. And he wanted to know her favorite foods. Her favorite songs. He wanted to know everything about her.

  Maybe he was sick or possibly losing his mind. He wasn’t like this when it came to the opposite sex. Sure, he liked women. And he liked naked women. And he liked naked women who liked him. But he had always been careful to keep the naked women away from his naked feelings.

  And now here she was, fully clothed and edging into the feelings he so carefully tried to conceal. Odd as it was, he felt more naked than if he had been standing there unclothed.

  If he opened up to her right now, while they were both emotionally compromised, it would be the equivalent of a drunken late-night phone call. Things would be said that couldn’t be taken back in the morning, things that were probably best left for a time when they were both working from a place of fully available and uncompromised emotional facilities—that was, if they were going to be said at all.

  She leaned back, and reaching up, she wiped the last bit of wetness from her cheeks with the sleeve of her white button-down shirt. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I...”

  “You don’t have anything to apologize for,” he said, meaning every syllable.

  They stood there in silence for a long moment, and he thought about taking her face in his hands and kissing those perfect pink lips. They were the color of Starburst candies and they probably tasted just as sweet.

  Late-night phone call.

  The words rang in his mind.

  Her stomach grumbled. She had told him that she wasn’t hungry, unless he had Red Vines—he was more of a Twizzlers man himself.

  “Babe, you need to eat something.” He hurried into the kitchen and opened up her fridge before she had the chance to argue. She could say she wasn’t hungry all she wanted, but her body told him the truth.

  There was a small rectangle of cheese, a pint of milk, a carton of eggs, ketchup and mustard and a bunch of bananas. There was the scrape of a chair as she sat down at the bar.

  “Seriously, who puts bananas in the fridge?” He laughed, breaking one off and handing it to her before turning back and grabbing the eggs, milk and cheese.

  “You are lucky I have anything in there. I’m not much of a chef. But, if you look in the freezer, there are some frozen single-serving pizzas. We could throw a couple of them in the microwave.”

  He laughed. “I’m here. I’m going to take care of you. And, as luck has it, I’m actually a pretty good chef—not that you have much to work with here, but I bet I can whip us up a mean set of scrambled eggs and toast.”

  “No soufflés?” she teased, but there was still the rasp of post-cry pulling at her voice.

  “Beggars can’t be choosers, pumpkin.”

  She gave a little laugh. “Why do I get the feeling that you calling me pumpkin is just about as close to a declarative statement as I’m ever going to get from you?”

  “What do you mean declarative statement?” he asked, grabbing a bowl and cracking an egg into it.

  “You know... That you like me.” She smiled.

  Her eyes were red and puffy from her crying, but the softness from her voice mixed with her sweet grin made her seem even more beautiful than he had realized before. She was remarkably breathtaking in all of her imperfection.

  “Do you want me to like you?” he asked, suddenly feeling entirely too much lik
e a high schooler than an adult man.

  She wrung her hands, playing the high school love interest almost perfectly. She shrugged, the motion weighted with so much meaning that he couldn’t figure her out. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a man around my house,” she said, looking up at him like she was afraid that he would mind that she had a life before him. “My ex... He took my dog when he moved out. And seriously, I can’t go through losing another dog. It broke my heart.”

  “You only miss the dog?” He smirked. “And you don’t have a dog now, right? For me to steal?”

  She sent him a look of surprise, then a guilty smile. “Why would I miss a man who treated me like crap? The dog loved me unconditionally. If anything, the only thing I felt guilty about was that I didn’t fight harder to keep Max. My ex was good to him, but there’s no way he could have loved Max as much as I did—the only thing he loved was himself.”

  “Ouch,” Troy said, laughing. “I hate when you end a relationship and you don’t stay friends. I know it’s harder, but I always think that if you loved someone, you will love them forever—even if you find that they’re not the right person for you. And, at the very least, they deserve your respect.”

  She cringed, her face pinching. “So, you’re saying that you think less of me because I think my ex is a total jackass?”

  He laughed. “I didn’t say that I’ve remained friends with all my exes. I just said I don’t like it when things turn sour. Sometimes there is just too much vitriol and hurt for two people to keep on liking each other. Though, even when I don’t like someone, I try—and try is the key word—to be as close to respectful as I can be... But a man only has so much willpower.”

  She laughed. “So, you do have one or two who you can’t stand?”

  “I haven’t dated a ton of women, and I would say that I would still help all of them if there was a subway train threatening to hit them...but there is a short list of exes whom I would wait until the last second to save.”

  “Ohhhh, ouch.” She laughed, the sound from deep within her.

  Just the sound made him lighten. Yes, he definitely loved this woman, but he couldn’t face that. Not after Tiffany. Love led to pain.

  He made quick work of the breakfast as she scrolled through her phone. “According to what I was able to pull, and from what my mother is saying, Sal Baker is one of my father’s new hires. He came on as a new engineering director for our machining plant.”

  Before Solomon’s murder, he’d chatted with Zoey, who had spent the night digging into the company’s data. Though she hadn’t found much yet, she had finally nailed down the man’s identity.

  “You didn’t talk to your mother about someone we are investigating, did you?” he asked, stopping as he scooped the eggs onto her plate. The toast popped up, but he didn’t move as he tried to make sense of what Kate had said.

  “It’s okay. My mom isn’t the kind who would think anything of it. And besides, I asked her about all the people my father was working with.” She waved him off, like he was making something out of nothing, but the misstep made his hackles rise.

  Zoey would be irate if she thought he had compromised her investigation in any way.

  “Kate,” he said, taking the toast and slathering it with butter before handing it over to her. “I don’t think you telling your mother anything, or even asking her any questions, is a good idea.”

  She popped a bit of egg into her mouth and slowly chewed, like she was carefully picking and choosing her answers before responding to him. “Troy, I appreciate your concern. You know I do. But just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean that my training in the FBI has had no effect. I am a competent agent. I know how to get the information I need without anyone being the wiser.”

  “I wasn’t questioning your training. I know you are amazing at what you do, but that doesn’t mean that I am not going to worry about you—especially in a case like this. Sometimes, when things involve our family members, it is damn hard to remain objective. It’s easy to be blind when it comes to those we love.”

  What was he blind about when it came to her?

  He ate a piece of toast, watching her as she plowed through the plate of food that she had sworn she wasn’t hungry for. With her plate empty, she sat back and yawned. He glanced outside, and for the first time, he noticed it had grown dark. Where had the day gone? It wasn’t lost on him that when it came to spending time with Kate, time had a way of racing by—even when he had been outside and just standing guard.

  “I know this is going to sound strange,” Kate said, wiping her mouth, “but...would you mind staying here tonight? I have a spare bedroom.” She pointed down toward the stairs. “It’s not a king-sized bed or anything, it’s only a twin, but it’s comfy. I—I just don’t want to be alone tonight.”

  He didn’t want to be alone either, but he wasn’t thinking about the kind of alone that meant sleeping in separate beds... Then again, he didn’t mean that he wanted sex either. What he really wanted, more than anything else, was intimacy and to hold her while she fell asleep.

  If only she felt the same way about him.

  But no, she wanted him to sleep in a separate bed. If nothing else, at least he would get to see her again in the morning...and he could be the man she needed.

  “Babe, even if you wanted to have me sleep on the moon in order to keep you safe, I would do it for you.” He took her plate, afraid that if he looked at her, he would see his words register and her response would make the threadbare leash he had on his feelings for her give way and he would run straight into her arms.

  “Lucky for you, the guest bedroom isn’t quite so far away.” She stood up with the squeak of the chair and made her way around the kitchen island. She stepped behind him and put her arms around his waist. “Thank you, Grim. Thank you for everything you do for me.”

  The air left his lungs in a gush, the string that held his feelings in check. “You’re welcome, Scythe.”

  * * *

  SHE HAD SET everything out that he needed for a shower, and when he got out of the bathroom between their bedrooms, her door was closed and her light was off. He stood quietly in the hall and he was sure he could hear the soft sounds of her sleeping.

  Kate was his angel. He would take a bullet for her, even if their friendship went nowhere beyond where they were.

  After going to the guest bedroom, he lay there until a light, fitful sleep finally overtook him. It didn’t feel like it had been very long when he was awakened by the creak of a door. He gripped the gun he had tucked under his pillow, but he was careful not to move and give his enemy any more of an advantage than they already had.

  There was barely a sound, but he could pick up the rasp of footsteps on the carpet as someone approached the other side of the bed. He gripped the gun, readying to pull and shoot. No one was going to get the drop on him.

  And then she sighed. The sound was soft and quiet, but it was as clear and filled with meaning as if Kate had shouted his name.

  His grip loosened on his gun as he realized that, for now, they were safe from the outside world—from each other, well, that was an entirely different matter.

  He had to pretend to be asleep; if she had wanted to wake him up, she would have. Perhaps what she needed right now was just the pacifying touch of someone who cared for her.

  Whatever she needs...

  She slipped between the sheets and, ever so gently, put her arm around him as she nestled into his body. Her breasts were pressed into his back, but he couldn’t tell whether or not she was wearing any clothes, thanks to his shirt. No matter what, he didn’t want to ruin the sensation by moving.

  “I know you’re awake,” she whispered, as though the world would hear them.

  He wasn’t sure how to respond. He needed to say something, to acknowledge her, but he wasn’t about to ask her what she wanted or needed from him. Instead, h
e gave a sleepy, soft grumble.

  “I’m sorry. Go back to sleep. I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said, her voice louder and quicker than it had been before, as if she suddenly was embarrassed for coming to him in the night.

  “No,” he said, turning his head toward her. “Don’t be sorry.” He reached down and took her hand. He lifted her fingers to his mouth and gave them a kiss. “I’m glad you are here.”

  Her body relaxed. “I was cold.”

  Oddly enough, she didn’t feel cool. Instead, she felt warmer than he did, but he wasn’t about to argue the point. “Here,” he said. Letting go of her hand, he rolled over. “Why don’t I hold you until you get warmed up. I don’t want my little scythe to be chilled.”

  He expected her to roll over and scoot her body into his so he could spoon her, wrapping her in the warmth of his core. And yet she stayed still, facing him.

  “That’s not quite how I wanted you to warm me up.” There was a sultry lilt to her voice he hadn’t heard her use before.

  His body instantly reacted and he pressed against his boxers.

  Though his brain screamed at him that this wasn’t a good idea, that he should try to talk her down from this ledge—one that once they stepped over there was no coming back from—his body took over. There was only one thought... He loved her.

  Kate lifted her chin, beckoning him to kiss her. Who was he to deny her?

  As his lips touched hers, every feel-good chemical in his body swirled into his system, and he could sense himself grow high. He would have never thought just a kiss could be better than any sexual experience he’d ever had before.

  Their kiss—it was like someone had opened up the floodgates after a spring thaw. Everything, every wintry pent-up emotion, laugh, cry and fear, came gushing out as her tongue caressed his bottom lip.

  He reached up and pressed his hand into the center of her back, pulling her impossibly nearer to him. They couldn’t be close enough. He wanted all of her.