Up in Smoke (Crossing the Line, #2)(14)

She breezed into the closed-down community center with a loose-hipped gait, a small smile playing around her mouth at the sound of her boots’ bells tinkling. They couldn’t silence her completely.

This morning, she’d woken up with a text message from Derek on her phone explaining that there had been a last-minute change of plans as to where they would be meeting. Yeah, sure. Like that guy didn’t have everything planned down to the tiniest detail. This recently abandoned building would be where they would meet from now on, and it suited her down to the ground. The fewer cops she had to deal with, the better. But when she heard voices coming from the basement, she stopped cold.

God, her Achilles’ heel hadn’t been tested this frequently in a good, long while. They had to meet in a goddamn basement? Erin took a deep breath and eased down the stairs. As long as she kept the staircase to her back, she could get through twenty minutes. If it got to be too much, she would make an excuse to leave.

And if they refused, she’d simply burn the place to the ground.

Although the thought of Connor being trapped in a burning building made her sick. She wouldn’t let herself acknowledge the pull of knowing he stood just beyond the door. What was it about this guy that fought off the noise, the flames? She shouldn’t be craving his presence so soon.

Erin pushed open the door. Derek broke off in midsentence and everyone turned to look at her. Her eyes unerringly sought Connor where he stood in the back of the room…prying plywood off a window? Sera stood a few feet behind him with a sympathetic hand outstretched, as if she could heal him with her Virgin Mother vibes. My job.

Connor held a metal crowbar, but it dropped to his side when he saw her, his gaze running over her as if checking for anything wrong. But she could only stare at the foot-wide space he’d opened up. A window. Obviously the building was on a slope, because through the wood he’d managed to pry free, she could see an empty parking lot, and an avenue lying just beyond. Her body could fit through it easily…from where she stood, there were approximately forty-eight steps between her and freedom. Breath filled her lungs. Had he done this for her?

Connor buried the crowbar into the final plank of wood and ripped it off the window. Then he tossed both of them to the ground with a clatter. “Where were you?”

She didn’t flinch under his barked question. “I had a hair appointment. You like?”

He gave a sharp shake of his head and threw himself down into a metal folding chair. Bowen gave a slow whistle from across the room as Sera returned to him and sat down. “When a woman asks you that question, the answer is always yes, man.”

Erin couldn’t take her eyes off Connor. Deep grooves stood out between his eyes; sweat beaded his forehead even though the basement was decidedly cool. He’d been…worried about her? And he’d used the time to make the space bearable for her. Why? Why would he do that for her? She didn’t know, but it made her feel wonderful. Like she belonged. Like someone had listened to what came out of her mouth and remembered it.

She searched around the room for the closest available chair and found it beside Austin. Challenging anyone to comment with a dark, sweeping look, she grabbed the chair and dragged it over to Connor, the rusted metal scraping a loud protest the entire way.

Connor watched her through narrowed eyes as she approached, obviously still angry with her for showing up half an hour late, or possibly for sneaking out of his apartment that morning without a word. It didn’t matter. She shoved the chair up beside his, close as it would go, and parked her ass right beside him. And just because it felt right, she buried her face in his shoulder.

“Thanks for the window.”



Connor ground his molars together against the adrenaline spiking through his nervous system. Had it really only been last night that he’d worried about his demons coming out to play? Here he was, less than twelve hours later and he felt dizzy with the need to expend energy. And not in a healthy way. This wasn’t good.

When Erin hadn’t walked in at ten o’clock for the meeting, his skull had started to buzz. It had been bad enough waking up this morning to realize she’d sneaked right past him, bad enough that she hadn’t answered the other apartment door when he knocked. She’d confessed to him last night that someone wanted to “trap” her, and the possibility of that happening on his watch had conjured up a feeling he knew too well. Helpless anger. Impotent rage.

If something happened to her…if somebody touched her…

No amount of breathing exercises or happy place visualization had been able to ease the buildup of rampant anxiety. He recognized this part of himself. Thought he’d had a handle on the hereditary violence that had whirred inside him since adolescence. But he hadn’t anticipated Erin blowing in and rearranging everything. If this didn’t send a loud and clear signal to his brain to stay away from her, nothing would. He required order or the careful layers he’d pasted together over his damaged insides would strip away, little by little, and reveal what was hidden beneath. Too bad she was chaos personified. Disorder on two albeit sexy legs. She’d rip those layers off so fast, he’d get whiplash.

Two other times in his life, he’d felt responsible for another person. One was his mother. She’d been through enough in fifty-five years and deserved to finally start over. Find some peace. That peace is why he continually sold his soul. First to the navy, then to his power-hungry cousin. Now, to the Chicago police. Anything to make up for what she’d been through at the hands of his father. Anything to atone for the fact that he’d been too small, too weak as a child to help her. To save her.