Touch of Red (Tracers #12)(44)

Brooke waited, shivering, on the porch, and Leila returned with a shiny set of keys.

“Here you go.”

“Thanks. And thanks for dealing with Kopcek. How was he?”

Leila rolled her eyes. “An ass pain, as usual. He noticed the cat food on my porch and pitched a fit.”

“Damn. Sorry to call him over here.”

“No biggie. That locksmith guy was hot, so I didn’t mind.” Leila winked. “I might have to lock myself out of my car next week.”

“Sounds fun.”

“If you change your mind about the wine, you know where to find me.”

“Thanks.”

Brooke let herself in using her new key. She closed the door and locked it behind her with a smooth snick. Then she looked around, noticing bits of sawdust on the floor. She glanced at the coffee table. No beer bottle this time.

Brooke pulled off her damp sweater, stripping down to a black tank top. She tossed the sweater on top of an overflowing laundry basket. She didn’t have the energy to think about chores tonight. Tugging her ponytail loose, she headed through the kitchen and into the utility room. She tested the new key and peered through the window, surveying the shadowy yard for a moment before closing the blinds.

Standing in the cool darkness, Brooke was reminded of the crime scene from a few days ago. Five days. So much had happened since then. It seemed like ages since she’d been on her knees in that utility room, surrounded by the stench of blood and fighting off nausea as she fingerprinted the doorknob only inches away from a woman’s butchered body.

Some guys are allergic to rejection.

A chill went through her as she remembered Sean’s words.

Over the years Brooke had worked hundreds of crime scenes. Some mundane. Some gut-wrenching. Samantha’s stood out because of the sheer emotion Brooke had felt just being there. Even on her second visit twenty-four hours later, she’d felt it. That crime was about rage, pure and simple. The motive might still be fuzzy, but the emotion behind it was crystal clear, at least to Brooke.

She stepped to the sink to wash her hands and glimpsed her reflection in the kitchen window. She looked shell-shocked, which shouldn’t have surprised her because she’d been shot at tonight.

Shot at.

Recounting the details to the first responder and then to Jasper, Brooke had felt detached, as though she were reporting something that happened to someone else. But now that she was in her own home, surrounded by familiar sights and smells, she didn’t feel detached at all. She felt an overwhelming sadness for her family over what had almost happened. Brooke knew better than most how guns could rip apart lives in only an instant. She’d seen the gurneys and heard the wailing mothers, and she was acutely aware of the stark finality of death.

Don’t go there. It didn’t happen.

Brooke grabbed a dish towel to dry her face and saw that her hands still had a tremor.

The doorbell chimed, and she turned around. She hesitated a moment, then crossed the house to check the peephole. Relief flooded her at the sight of Sean’s broad-shouldered silhouette on her porch. She flipped on the outdoor light and opened the door.

“Hi.” His gaze went to her bandaged elbow. “Can I come in?”

She stepped back to let him inside. His hair and his jacket were wet with rain, and he dripped water on her floor, just as he had the other night.

He closed the door behind him and gave her a long look before taking her hand and lifting it to brush a kiss over her knuckles. The unexpected gesture sparked a firestorm of nerves inside her.

“Come here.” He pulled her against his chest and wrapped his arms around her. His leather jacket felt damp and cold, and she rested her cheek against the warm flannel of his shirt.

He kissed the top of her head.

“What’s this for?” Her voice was muffled, but she couldn’t bring herself to pull away from him. He smelled way too good.

“This is what I should have done earlier instead of standing there arguing with you.”

She took a deep breath, absorbing his scent, his strength. She loved the way his arms felt around her.

“Tell me the truth. Are you all right?”

“Better.” She didn’t say fine this time because that would have been a lie. That shooting had shaken her to the core.

She pulled back and looked up at him. “How are you?”

“Tired. How’s the dog bite?”

“All bandaged and disinfected. It’s no big deal.”

Sean didn’t look as if he believed her.

“Where are Cameron and his mom?”

“Somewhere safe.”

“?‘Somewhere’?”

He looked at her for a moment before answering. “My sister’s an ER nurse in Austin. She helped me get them settled at a shelter up there. They’ll be fine for a night or two until we sort this out.”

Brooke felt relieved, but not completely. Who knew how long it might take to “sort this out,” as he put it? They couldn’t stay at a shelter forever.

“We need to talk, Brooke.”

She tensed. “About what?”

“Matt Jorgensen.”

She sighed and looked away. “I don’t want to talk about him tonight.”

“This can’t wait.”

“What happened to Sean Byrne, King of Patience?”