Keep Her Safe(90)

“Eight.”

I groan. “When did we fall asleep, anyway?”

“I don’t know. Three? Four?” Noah’s eyes are heavily lined by bags.

“No wonder I’m so tired.”

He steps into me, and reaches up to push a wayward curl off my forehead, before leaning in to plant a gentle kiss against my lips.

“So, is this how it’s going to be between us from now on?” I roll my eyes mockingly, trying to cover for the fact that my hands are trembling.

“It’s dreadful, isn’t it?” He grins against my mouth. “Why don’t you go back to bed? We have nowhere we need to be.”

As much as that idea—with Noah lying next to me—appeals . . . “We’re going to The Lucky Nine today, remember? We talked about it last night.”

He furrows his brow. “We did?”

“No. But we are going.”

“Okay.” A pained expression flashes across his face. “If you really want to.”

“I do. And then we’re going to find this Heath Dunn guy.” My dad’s partner at the time of his death.

“And why are we going to see him?”

“Because he told investigators that my dad had been taking shady phone calls. We need to know more.”

“Of course we do.” Noah doesn’t look too thrilled at that idea. “I told my mom’s secretary that I’d pick up a box of things from the station. We can ask her to look Dunn up while we’re there.”

“Perfect.”

His gaze drifts down to my mouth, settling there. “Yeah . . . perfect,” he whispers absently.

I take a step back, out of his reach, as my lower belly is flooded with warmth, because I know where this is headed. “Go! Hurry up and get dressed. This motel is about a half hour away, so we—”

The doorbell rings.

He groans and throws his head back, his Adam’s apple jutting out. Long since a favorite male body part of mine, my fingertips itch to slide along the sharp curve.

“Jenson again?”

“No, he rings three times, like the impatient asshole that he is.” Noah heads for the door, and I trail behind, admiring the curves of his muscular back and shoulders.

He peeks through the side panel of glass. “Speaking of assholes . . .” He unlocks and yanks open the door.

“Rise and shine, campers.” Kristian’s flat tone doesn’t match his words. He takes a sip of his coffee, his eyes doing a quick head-to-toe of my stained T-shirt and shorts from yesterday. He’s swapped his student garb for a pair of tan chinos and a white button-down. Still not how I imagined an FBI agent to look.

Neither is showing up on our doorstep holding a tray of coffees. Presumably, for Noah and me.

“What are you doing here?” Noah doesn’t bother to hide his annoyance as he scans the street.

“I told you I was coming.” He nods behind him to a man who does fit my mental image of an FBI agent, wearing a navy jacket marked by the letters FBI. He’s leaning against one of two cars parked at the end of the driveway, talking on his phone. A large rectangular case sits by his feet. “That’s my evidence guy.”

“Right. Give me a minute. Gracie . . .” Noah lowers his voice, his hand coasting over my hip as he edges past me, adding, “Don’t invite them in.” He heads for the safe in the pantry, where we’ve locked up everything.

“So, Gracie—” Kristian begins.

“It’s Grace.”

“Oh . . . I see.” He smirks.

“You see what?”

“He’s the only one who’s allowed to call you Gracie.” His tone is dripping with insinuation.

My cheeks flame. I don’t even notice when Noah calls me that anymore. “How about I worry about what Noah calls me, and you worry about why Dwayne Mantis pulled us over and threatened us yesterday.” I recap the five terrifying minutes, unease settling in once again. There was something about that guy—the way he moved, or the way he looked down at me, or simply the fact that I suspect him of murder and I’m clearly on his radar—that instantly put me on edge.

Exactly what Mantis wants.

By the time I’m done recounting the bizarre move by Mantis, all hints of humor are gone from Kristian’s handsome face. “Well, if he didn’t know you suspected him before, he does now.”

“Good—maybe he’ll do something stupid.”

“Pulling you over was pretty dumb.”

“You know what wasn’t dumb on his part? Getting himself on the investigation team for my father’s death.”

Kristian gives me a crisp nod of approval. “So you’ve read the report already.”

“Front to back. And that’s not all we noticed.” I tell him about my mom’s statement, about the lack of video or my father’s missing gun being mentioned. “Shouldn’t those details have been included in there? It should have raised doubt, shouldn’t it? At least the missing gun should have.”

He watches me curiously, but offers no opinion as he leans against the door frame.

Finally, I can’t take it anymore. “So? What do you think?”

Those scrutinizing eyes flicker behind me before boring into my face. “I take you for a smart girl. Do you trust Jackie Marshall’s son?” he asks, his voice too low to carry down the hall.