Touch of Red (Tracers #12)(30)

He watched her over his beer as he took a sip.

How had they gotten on this topic? Siblings and parents and family dynamics? She hadn’t intended to venture into personal territory tonight. She was trying to keep this friendly, not flirty, but his comments weren’t helping. You’re beautiful. It was such a line, but still it put a sweet tingle in the pit of her stomach.

“Speaking of work,” she said, “you said a lot happened with the case today.”

He nodded. “I told you about our maybe suspect, although I’m skeptical. We also found a potential murder weapon.”

“The knife? Where was it?”

“I don’t know if it’s the knife. Callie took it to Delphi for testing. We’ll see what we get.”

“We have it already? I didn’t see it come in.”

“I think it’s in the DNA lab right now.”

“I’ll check in with them tomorrow.”

He glanced at her, and she realized she’d revealed that she planned to spend her Sunday at work.

Sean didn’t comment, maybe because he was as bad as she was.

Brooke shifted her attention to the board. She finished her turn with no points to show.

Sean retrieved the darts and lined up his next shot. “So, I have a question for you.”

The warm tone of his voice made Brooke’s nerves flutter.

“About this break you’re taking from men.” He looked at her.

“What about it?”

He threw a dart.

“Bull’s-eye for the win,” she said. “I must be getting rusty.”

He plucked the dart from the board and returned to the table.

“I’m wondering, is it like a brief hiatus? Or more of a long-term ban?”

“I don’t know. It’s as long as I need.”

He held her gaze, and she felt her heart thudding. His look was so intent, as though he had a lot riding on her answer.

“Sounds like there’s a story there. You want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

He nodded. “Your call.”

Your call. Two words Matt never said to her.

Sean gazed down at her, and the warm pull was back. He hadn’t touched her at all tonight. Not once, only with his eyes. But something about them was magnetic, and she couldn’t look away.

A server appeared with a giant pizza, and Brooke jumped on the distraction.

“Mushroom double pepperoni?”

“That’s us.”





CHAPTER 9


Sean drove through town, happy to have Brooke riding in the seat beside him, but not at all happy that he was about to drop her off.

“Thanks for not pressing the issue.”

He glanced at her. “Sure.”

“Honestly, I’m just sick of talking about it lately. Rehashing it with my friends. Maybe another time.”

“I’m a patient man.”

She laughed. “No, you’re not.”

“I am.”

She turned in her seat to face him. “The day I met you, you demanded I put a rush on your evidence for you. Less than twenty-four hours later, you were back with more evidence, and you needed it ASAP. Then you proceeded to pester me for daily updates.”

“Okay, but that was a double homicide. It was an unusual case. Anyway, I was talking about my personal life.”

“So, you’re a bulldog at work, but in your personal life, you’re totally chill?”

“Exactly.”

He glanced at her, and he could see she didn’t believe him. But it was true. Months of rehab had forced him to dig deep within himself for things he didn’t know he had. Patience. The ability to withstand pain. Gratitude.

Gratitude was a big one. He hadn’t realized how much he took people for granted in his life until they showed up to help him without even being asked. It was humbling as hell.

The experience of nearly getting killed and having to work to get his life back had changed him. He was more analytical now and took a longer view. He appreciated people and experiences more.

This thing with Brooke was a perfect example. The chemistry they had together—it wasn’t every day you felt something like that. In his thirty-three years, he’d never before felt it. It was rare, and he was clued in enough now to realize it.

Not that he planned to tell her. If he did, she’d probably run for the hills. There would be no more pizza or dart games or beers after work. She’d made it clear she needed some space, and Sean was determined to give it to her, even if it hurt—literally ached—to be around her and not touch her. He could make himself wait.

Sean pulled up in front of her house and parked.

“Thank you for the pizza,” she said. “And the darts. And the ride.”

“Anytime. Thanks for the beer.”

She opened the door, and he resisted the urge to do the same. He really, really wanted to walk her to her door.

“Good night, Sean.”

“Night.”

He watched her go up the sidewalk.

Regret pummeled him. He should have kissed her. He should have done it now, tonight, when last night’s kiss was still fresh in her mind. But she was on her porch now, rummaging for her keys, about to go inside alone, and who the hell knew when she’d agree to have dinner with him again?