by AJ Matthews
She laughed again. “You mean the jewels? Of course.” She pulled an old metal chain from inside her blouse—the kind he’d used for dog tags back in the day—but in this case it held a shiny platinum ring filled with a glinting icy diamond as big as a walnut. She waggled the chain, taunting. It was a bad habit of hers. She watched him watch the prisms of light. He drew the moment out wondering what the hell was taking so long.
In the next beat, the sound of heavy boots storming down the metal steps of the small jet boomed.
Cap shouted, “Stand where you are, hands in the air.”
Angelique had no time to do more than spin around in surprise before no less than three state troopers accosted her with Cap barking orders. They had her trussed in cuffs in moments; her mouth open and eyes round in disbelief.
Cap stood at Dane’s side and she was thrust around to stand in front of them.
She stared at Dane with accusation pinching her face, now closed and angry, creased in a frown. Cap reached a hand out and pulled the chain from its hiding place, checked the bauble and lifted the chain from around her neck and over her head. He didn’t tear it or break it or yank at it roughly—that wasn’t Cap’s style and Dane admired that. If it were Dane, he’d have made sure he tore the chain from her along with a hank of her silky hair. Angelique was no less than a viper, unworthy of his concern. He hated her for tempting even the most base and normal flicker of desire in him. More likely he hated himself for that, but hating her was easier, more convenient.
In Dane’s periphery he caught a glimpse of blond tresses billowing and heading their way across the blacktop from the nearby hangar.
He stepped back while he let Cap read Angelique her rights and seal the bauble into an evidence bag.
Walking slowly toward her, he tried reading Shana’s face. It usually spoke to him. Or her heat, her energy, her essence spoke to him. Something. Right now she was closed up tight. He didn’t bother resisting his compulsion to open himself up to her. She stopped four feet from him and he stopped. He let his face show how he felt. Apology, sorrow, self-loathing, and most of all his longing for her. He put that into his best smile and hoped he didn’t look like a forlorn fourteen-year-old. She didn’t change her expression or move, just stared him down with icy green cat eyes, looking wise and superior. Right now she was and he felt that like an icy sting of reprimand as if she’d lashed him with a whip.
In spite of that, and maybe because of it, because he was a sick one he supposed—something was wrong with him—he went to her, closing the gap entirely. He came to rest in front of her, wrapping his arms around her so that they touched from head to toe. If she hadn’t been stiff, if not resisting, he would have tightened and squeezed, but he’d wait.
“I’m sorry, girlie.” He whispered the words in her hair, breathing in the scent and taking in the softness. He hoped she’d heard the words. He didn’t know if he would say them again—if he could say them again.
He took another deep breath. She stirred in his arms. He tightened them but she stiffened more. He hoped she hadn’t heard him.
But he didn’t let her go.
And she didn’t push him away.
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Stephanie Queen Books
Stephanie Queen Books
Beachcomber Investigations Series:
The Beachcombers – Prequel Edition
Beachcomber Investigations – Book 1
Beachcomber Santa – Novella – Book 2
Beachcomber Valentine – Novella – Book 3
Beachcomber Baby – Book 4
Beachcomber Trouble – Book 5
Beachcomber Wedding
Let it Snow
Beachcomber Reckoning
Scotland Yard Exchange Series:
Between a Rock and a Mad Woman – Prequel
The Throwbacks – Book 1
The Hot Shots – Book 2
The Romantics – Book 3
The Beachcombers – Book 4
Small Town Romance Series:
Small Town Glamour Girl Christmas
Small Town Glamour Girl Wedding: a novella
Small Town Hot Shot Bride
Other Stephanie Queen books:
Playing the Game