True Colors (Elder Races #3.5)(7)

Those beautiful eyes of hers were stark with too much emotion and remembered horror. He came to another one of his quick decisions and told her, “I’m taking you home.”

Surprise bloomed like an unfurling flower in her tense, closed-down face. She asked, “You’re not going to question me?”

“Yes, but you’ve been through one hell of a shock. Anything we have to say to each other can be done in the comfort of your own place,” he said.

He put an arm around her shoulders and steered her toward his vehicle, a black, unmarked, late-model Jeep Cherokee. She didn’t protest but moved at his side like an automaton. He unlocked the doors with the key fob and opened the passenger door for her. Once she was settled, he moved swiftly around to the driver’s side.

With a quick sidelong glance, he made sure she had fastened her seat belt before starting the Jeep and pulling out. He could feel through the steering wheel how treacherously slick the road had become. The engine was still warm, so he turned the heater on full blast for her. If he had been by himself, he wouldn’t have bothered. In most instances, he generated enough body heat for his own comfort.

Riehl had come to realize just how used he had gotten to roughing it since he had taken the new job. A recruit at age twenty, he had been in the army for longer than most human life spans. His wolf was still not comfortable with the decision to retire. Whenever he was in compact living quarters like the vic’s—like Haley Moore’s place—he often felt as if he might knock things over if he moved too quickly.

In fact, these last several months he had been entertaining serious doubts about his decision to leave army life and settle in the city. He hadn’t been sure he could make the adjustment. The wolf had been satisfied with a roaming lifestyle, and the army had given him the sense of pack that he needed. It was the man who had gotten restless and decided it was time to make a change, but the restlessness hadn’t subsided when he had relocated and changed jobs.

In fact, it hadn’t subsided until just now.

He sent another thoughtful sidelong glance at his passenger. The storm was really dumping it outside, and white snowflakes had caught in her hair. They were melting in the warmth of the car. The remaining moisture sparkled on her like a net of tiny jewels. The line of her profile was sad, even stern, her delicate mouth straight and unsmiling. She was grieving, and he was the hind end of a donkey because he couldn’t stop staring at her, and all he could think about was what it might take for him to get her naked.

He felt it again, the shift of the world’s axis, the conviction that true north had moved and nothing would ever be the same again.

He felt it. He just had no idea what it meant.

The drive to her apartment should have been a short one but the weather made it much longer. Alice glanced at Riehl a few times when he took the correct route without asking. Her hands tightened as she clasped them together in her lap but she remained silent. He hadn’t had time to do much when dispatch had contacted him, but he’d done a quick search on her name. Alice Clark, age thirty-five. Hell, he’d been in the army for longer than she’d been alive, for over twice her lifetime. DMV records stated she owned a Prius. He wondered if, like a lot of city dwellers who were car owners, she was a weekend driver.

Her address turned out to be a garden apartment in a brownstone near Prospect Park. After they parked, he followed her down the shallow, ice-slick steps to her front door. The decorative wrought iron security grille on the front window was coated in ice. Heat blasted him in the face as they stepped inside. He was already stripping off his jacket as she locked and bolted the front door.

Her pretty hazel gaze rose to his face and skittered away as her hands moved to unfasten the buttons of her black wool coat. Christ almighty, watching her disrobe even that small amount hit him like a mule kick. He sucked air and pivoted away to stare at the wall.

“If you don’t mind,” she said, “I would like to change into some dry clothes.” She sounded breathless, her voice barely over a whisper, and it was so sexy it was as if she had run a finger lightly down his bare spine.

He shuddered, made a herculean effort and managed to articulate a few words. “You do that.”

She switched on every light as she left. In her absence the room seemed too empty. As Riehl waited, he prowled through her living room and stood in the doorway to peer into the kitchen/dining area. The apartment was too hot, of course, but he knew it would be. Alice’s home was larger than Haley Moore’s apartment. It looked like it might actually have two bedrooms, and there was a back door. The spacious room was decorated with a few colorful sunflowers strategically placed to accent sage green cabinets. A stacked washer and dryer sat in an alcove that could be hidden by a wooden folding door cover. A sturdy, plain oak table with four chairs sat in the dining area.

He moved to look out the back door’s window, noting with approval that it was covered with a security grille as well. What he could see through the storm’s white-out was a small back garden surrounded by a privacy fence, now shadowed and covered with a thick blanket of snow. That tiny piece of real estate would be a refreshing haven in the spring, summer and fall.

So she didn’t flaunt it, but she had more money than her friend. She could afford a bigger place with a garden, and to keep a car in the city.

Riehl moved back into the living room. Plain, comfortable furniture in earth tones, a couch, a rocker and one of those long chair thingies—what were they called? A chaise lounge. Lots of bookcases filled with a variety of hardcover books and paperbacks, potted plants all over the place, truly beautiful handmade quilts folded and laid along the backs of the couch and chairs, and in one corner another half-finished quilt was in a round hoop set in a floor stand. Several pieces of original artwork hung on the walls, lush jungle scenes filled with rich greens and the occasional spray of exotic flowers. Riehl wasn’t, by any stretch of the imagination, an art aficionado, but they all had a similar style and seemed to be from the same artist. A glass-paned gas fireplace was set against one wall.