Desperate Girls (Wolfe Security #1)(89)

“Thanks,” she said as he handed it to her. Her phone was inside, but she refrained from checking it. Today she’d done enough talking to last two lifetimes, and the only person she wanted to think about was standing beside her, digging a room key from his pocket. Silently, he led her through the lobby to a first-floor room, then opened the door and let her inside.

The room was dark but smelled clean. He switched on a lamp, and she surveyed the space in the dim glow. Two queen beds. Table. Chair. Dresser and television. She noted the army-green duffel bag on the floor in the corner.

Brynn set down her attaché case. “Is it just you?” She looked at him as he tossed his suit jacket over the chair.

“Just me.”

He removed his holster and set it on the dresser, and for a moment they just stood there, watching each other, a few short feet and miles of distance between them.

She glanced at the beds again and felt another flurry of nerves.

“Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back.” He took the key card off the dresser and walked out.

Brynn glanced around the room again, and her gaze landed on the duffel. It wasn’t even full, and she thought of the ridiculous number of suitcases in her apartment a few blocks away. He traveled light, which didn’t surprise her. He was on the move constantly, going from place to place with his job.

She heard the traffic outside and the faint hum of pipes upstairs, and a wave of sadness hit her as she checked out the dull space. She stepped into the bathroom and switched on a light. Glancing in the mirror, she was stunned by the reflection looking back at her.

Her hair was windblown—but not in a good way. Her blouse was missing a button and stained with blood from when she’d held Hayes’s head in her lap until the paramedics arrived. Around them had been chaos, but Hayes had lain there, blinking up at her and gurgling his own blood as it seeped into his throat.

Brynn switched on the faucet. She washed her face and her neck, then noticed the blood on her bra, too. She kicked off her shoes, took everything else off, and turned on the shower, casting a furtive glance through the door to see if Erik was back. She kicked the pile of clothes into the corner and stepped into the tub to stand under the hot spray.

It felt good, but she didn’t linger. She rinsed off and then grabbed a too-small towel from the rack. The towel didn’t even begin to cover her as she wrapped it around her body and stepped out of the bathroom.

She spotted some of Erik’s clothes hanging in the closet. Dress shirts, mostly, and a pair of dark slacks—attire for his shifts at the courthouse. One of the white shirts was wrinkled and had clearly been worn recently. She grabbed it off the hanger and slipped into it.

Erik’s scent enveloped her, and she soaked it up as she stepped into the bedroom to snoop again. She glanced around, buttoning the shirt as she surveyed the place he’d called home all this time he hadn’t been with her. She felt deeply lonely for him, living this way.

Brynn had no business getting attached to this man. But too late. She was already attached. And the bitter fact that he was leaving soon didn’t seem to matter to her heart.

She stepped to the dresser, flipping up the cuffs of Erik’s sleeves. His sleek black pistol was there in the holster. Brynn ran her fingertip over the grip, imagining him holding it in his big, capable hand.

The more you sweat in peacetime, the less you bleed in war.

She startled as the door opened and Erik stepped inside.

She smiled. “Hi.”

He stopped cold, looking her over.

He eased the door shut behind him and flipped the latch. He had a can of Coke in his hand and a bottle of bourbon tucked under his arm, and the heated look in his eyes sent a ripple of excitement through her.

Brynn summoned her confidence and sauntered over. “What’s this?” she asked.

“Jeremy’s stash.” He stared down at her. “You’re in my shirt.”

“You mind?”

“No.”

She took the Coke and the bourbon from him, then turned and set them on the table beside a pair of plastic-wrapped cups. She felt his gaze on her as she tore open the plastic.

He popped open the Coke.

“Straight for me,” she told him.

He poured a generous shot in each glass, then handed her one. She tossed it back, squinting her eyes shut as the liquid scorched her throat.

“God,” she said, choking.

He smiled and shook his head, then leaned back against the dresser as he drank his down in a smooth gulp.

“Pretty good at that for a teetotaler,” she said hoarsely.

“I never said I was a teetotaler.”

He set the cup aside and watched her, his heated gaze moving slowly from her bare feet to her freshly scrubbed face, lingering on everything in between. She recognized the look—she’d been dreaming about it, in fact, since their very first kiss—and anticipation rushed through her at the thought of what it meant.

Still watching her, Erik unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a snug-fitting white T-shirt. He tossed the dress shirt onto a chair and then paused to look her over again.

“What?” she asked.

“What?”

“Why are you staring?”

He shook his head. “Because.” He stepped closer. “I’m afraid if I touch you the way I want to right now”—he reached out and traced the back of his finger over her nipple, sending a jolt of heat through her—“I’ll freak you out.”