If You Know Her: A Novel of Romantic Suspense

by Shiloh Walker

  Roz gave her a smile. “Wow. You’re an early riser.”

  “Can’t sleep,” Nia replied, trying to keep the edge out of her voice. “Was going to try a run, see if it cleared my head.”

  “Running to clear the head? Oh, honey … just try coffee. Lots of it.” She stood up, brushing the dirt from her knees and stretching her back. “Early mornings aren’t meant for exercise.”

  “Well, I’d rather run than garden.” Nia glanced at the tools spread around the other woman.

  Roz laughed, stripping her gloves off. She tossed them down on the little green bench—it was a strange looking contraption, Nia thought, but what did she know?

  “Gardening isn’t so bad, once you get it going.” Absently, she toyed with her necklace and shrugged. “It’s just the getting it going that’s a pain.”

  “And the weeding. Fertilizing … whatever you have to do.” Nia made a face. “No, thanks.” She gestured toward the main road and said, “You figure the road’s okay for my run?”

  “Should be, especially this early. We’ve got other crazy people who like to run and most of the people around here are courteous enough drivers.” She tugged her phone out of her pocket and checked the time. “The kitchen doesn’t open until lunchtime, but there’s a continental breakfast every day. You’re welcome to grab you some coffee or something if you need it. It’s not included in your rent, but I imagine you haven’t had time to stock up on basics or anything.”

  “Thanks.” Nia forced herself to smile before she turned and headed for the road, determined to run that dream out of her head—to outrun that nasty, clinging evil, the fear.

  The run didn’t do it. Two cups of coffee and a shower didn’t help much either. The dream clung like the nasty dregs of a hangover.

  In desperation, Nia did something she hadn’t done in years.

  She went to church. Her parents had been devout believers. Nia, not so much. But there was a peace she often found within the walls of a church, and right then, more than anything, she needed that.

  Something, anything to wipe those images from her mind.

  Ash First Methodist stood on the square, pretty and quaint, the sun glinting off the stained glass windows, people gathered in little groups of twos and threes and more on the steps as she quietly slipped inside.

  Or tried. Should have waited until the service started. A dozen people tried to say hello. Tried to welcome her.

  She gave them a tight smile and pretended to be invisible. She didn’t want a welcome. She just wanted peace.

  Peace …

  Hope and Remy slid into the back pew just before the sermon started. With her cheeks flushed and her body humming, she was almost certain that everybody knew why they were running late.

  Remy just settled next to her, that easy, lazy smile on his face, his arm wrapped around her, staring toward the front like he didn’t have a care in the world.

  Not a one.

  Hope knew they were staring—she knew it.

  Remy leaned over, pressed a kiss to her brow. To anybody watching, it was just an absent kiss, soft and easy. But he lingered long enough to murmur, “Relax, angel.”

  Relax—

  Damn it, they were supposed to have lunch with his mom. And she was …

  “Nobody is looking at you,” he murmured as she tugged on the hem of her skirt.

  The skirt he’d pushed to her waist not that long ago. Man, they were in church. She had to get her mind where it belonged.

  “Relax,” he murmured again, catching her hand. “Nobody even noticed us.”

  But even as he said that, Hope stiffened, abruptly aware of somebody’s gaze.

  A very intent, interested gaze.

  Just across the aisle.

  Hope stiffened when she found herself staring into a pair of familiar golden eyes. The sight of that woman’s face was enough to chase every last bit of embarrassed heat, embarrassed humor away. Her spine stiffened and the heat that flooded her had nothing to do with embarrassment now.

  What in the hell was she doing here?

  Next to her, Remy took notice—of course, he noticed everything. His hand came up, curling over her neck. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she whispered, giving him a tight smile, one she didn’t feel.

  But she couldn’t really go into it here.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked the second they cleared the crush of the crowd.

  Lifting her eyes to his, Hope wondered what to say. Of course, she’d gone through a hundred possible options over the past hour, and she’d discarded all of them.

  “I …”

  “Ms. Carson.”

  That low, husky voice caught her attention and she turned her head, found herself staring at Nia Hollister.

  She set her jaw against the nerves, against an instinctive kick of fear. Remy’s hand closed around hers.

  Nia’s eyes flicked from her face to Remy’s, then back. “Can I have a moment? I … ah, I need to apologize to you.”

  Hope’s gut response was to say no. Her second response was curiosity.

  She wavered back to saying no—the fear weighing strong, along with a healthy dose of disgust and anger after what this woman had done, how she’d accused Law, and the wedge it had driven between her and her best friend, even if it had only lasted for a few days.

  In the end, though, manners won out. Angling her head toward the square, she said, “Sure.” But she held tight to Remy’s hand. Hell, maybe this way, he’d work it out on his own and she wouldn’t have to work to figure out how to explain—because if he didn’t figure it out, she would have to explain.

  Already a lead weight settled in her gut, just thinking about it, because it felt, once more, like she was being pulled in two—Law’s strange fixation on this woman, and knowing that Remy would want to know—hell, should know …

  A shiver danced along her skin as Remy rested his hand low on her spine. She could feel the weight of his gaze and from the corner of her eye, she saw him studying both her and Nia—could already tell that the wheels were spinning for him.

  Those dark, dreamy blue eyes of his were narrowed and watchful, wondering. Already piecing things together, she realized. They came to a stop across the street in the town square under the shade of a towering oak and Nia didn’t waste any time—Hope had to give her credit there.

  “I owe you an apology,” Nia said, her voice flat, her gaze direct and although there was a faint flush riding on her cheekbones, she looked as cool as a cucumber. Too cool, too collected. “What I did to you was unforgiveable, I know, but I still wanted to apologize. I’m sorry.”

  How in the hell was this the same woman who had been standing in Law’s place months ago, all but ready to break as she held a gun on them?

  Taking a slow, calming breath, Hope tucked her hair back behind her ear and said, “Okay.”

  “Just like that? Okay?”

  Hope smirked. “Yeah. Okay. But I’m not looking to invite you out for a girl’s night or anything.” Then she scowled as a thought occurred to her. “Ah … you’re not going to be around here a lot, are you?”

  “Afraid I will be.” Then she looked away and some of that cool, calm façade shattered. When she looked back at Hope, something else glimmered in her eyes—something real.

  Something that Hope could almost relate to. “But don’t worry. I don’t plan on causing you any more trouble.”

  “And what about Law?”

  Nia’s lashes swept low over her eyes. “Law doesn’t need to worry about that happening again, either. You have my word on it.”

  Hope wanted to tell Nia just what her word meant—it shouldn’t mean jack, but Hope had a feeling it probably did mean something. There were still plenty of people in the world who meant it when they gave their word—she had a feeling this woman was one of them.

  Still, there was a weight to Nia’s words, a glint in her eyes … what was that …

  “Okay, then.” Nia nodded and glanced at Re
my, then went to turn away.

  “Nia,” Remy said quietly. “Nia Hollister.”

  Hope rested a hand on his arm and squeezed, looked up at him.

  Nia looked at him, a brow cocked expectantly. “Yes?”

  Remy looked from Nia back to Hope.

  And for some reason, she found herself echoing Law’s thoughts—this woman wasn’t going to be any sort of threat. At least not to her, not to Law. Trying to convey all of that, or even half of that, though, with just a look?

  Remy sighed. Then looked back at Nia, shook his head. “Nothing. Just recalled hearing the name. You enjoy your visit.”

  As he watched the woman walk away, Remy muttered, “I didn’t just do that. Shit, tell me I didn’t just do that.”

  “She’s not going to come storming up on me and Law again, Remy,” Hope said, absently stroking a hand up and down his arm.

  He was inclined to agree. Still, once he’d figured out who she was, anger had surged, swelled inside him, threatening to spill out and choke him.

  “It doesn’t matter if she’s likely to do it again—she shouldn’t have done it once,” he bit off.

  “You’re right,” Hope said quietly. “But she went through something you and I don’t want to even imagine. She didn’t deal with it well. Although I’ll admit, she reacted the way I’d probably want to.”

  “What … flip out on a couple of innocent people?”

  “She took action,” Hope replied, shaking her head. “And once she figured out it wasn’t us, she walked away. She didn’t let her anger or grief dictate everything. And more … she just apologized. Something tells me that wasn’t easy. She wears her pride better than I wear my shoes.” With a smirk, she glanced down at the cute silver sandals Remy had bought for her.

  He sighed and stroked a hand up her back. “You wear your shoes just fine.” Dipping his head, he nipped her lower lip and murmured, “More than fine. Those shoes were the reason we were late to church, remember?”

  “I thought it was my skirt.”

  “Skirt. Shoes.” Curling a hand around her hip, he kissed her, soft and slow. “You … always you.”

  She sighed into his kiss, opening for him.

  He tore himself away, though, reminding himself—he had plans for the day. Important ones. And he wasn’t about to let his aggravation at himself, his anger with Nia Hollister, or anything else interfere.

  Sliding a hand down her arm, he made himself stop thinking about Nia Hollister. “Come on … we need to get over to my mom’s house. Lunch and all of that.”

  It wasn’t lunch that had him in a hurry. It was what he had planned after.

  CHAPTER

  NINE

  SOME PEOPLE BITCHED ABOUT THE BLUE SCREEN OF death—the computer locking up on them.

  Law’s current problem was the white screen of death. It wasn’t writer’s block. He knew where he needed to be going with the story and he was getting there—slowly, but surely. His deadline was getting close, but he wasn’t worried about it. He’d get there, he always did.

  The problem was every time he paused to think through something—and that was often—he found his thoughts drifting. Shit, screw drifting. That made it seem aimless, like there was no destination.

  His thoughts were on a zipline, drawn straight to one place—to one person. Nia. And instead of the story, he’d find himself thinking about her.

  Thinking. Wanting. Craving. Twice, he even found himself thinking about heading to the hotel. Once, he even made it all the way to the door before he stopped himself. He couldn’t be doing that.

  Not yet. What he needed to do was get his head on straight—as far as Nia went, whenever he saw her, the thought process stopped and he needed to get a grip on that before this went any further.

  It seemed like a good, simple, straightforward plan. One he could stick to easily enough. After all, she wouldn’t be in town forever, and it wasn’t like he had to go into town, right?

  At the sound of an engine rumbling down his drive, Law’s body sprang to immediate reaction. Swearing, he shoved back from the desk he’d crammed along one wall and headed to the window, staring in disbelief as Nia came cruising down his drive.

  “Nia,” he muttered. “Fuck.”

  Oh, hell—that was a bad couple of words to use so close together, because that was exactly what he thought whenever he thought of her.

  Mouth dry, he raked his nails over his stubbled jaw, glanced down at himself. He’d showered that morning—only way to wake up—but he hadn’t shaved since Friday and the jeans he was wearing had seen better days. Hell.

  This was stupid. He was not going to stand there and worry about his fucking jeans, any of that shit—he wasn’t Remy, damn it. What in the hell did he care what clothes he was wearing, as long as they were clean? He’d showered, he was dressed, and that was all that counted, right?

  He didn’t even know why she was here, right?

  But when she knocked, his body was already one tightly coiled spring and his blood boiled, burned. Walking was an agony, his cock aching, thick and ready, even before he opened the door. He could still taste her kisses, still feel how tight, how hot she was.

  “Get a grip,” he muttered as he reached out, opened the door.

  Nia was staring off to the side, giving him another microsecond to get a grip, not that it helped much. As her head turned and her gaze settled on his, he was left standing there, floundering, burning … aching.

  “Hey.”

  A smile curved her lips.

  “Hey, yourself,” she murmured, cocking her head. “You up to much today?”

  Law jerked a shoulder. “Not much that has to be done, really.”

  She sauntered forward, closing the distance between them, and he tried to remind himself—he had just decided he really needed to figure out what was going on here, whether there even was something here … it was the smart thing to do. The logical thing. The adult thing.

  But as he breathed in, her scent hit him, low and hard, spreading through him, heating his already overheated blood, fogging an already fogged brain. She lifted one hand, rested it on his chest. “Maybe I can come in for a while …”

  “Maybe.” The fog in his brain heated, turned to steam, melting brain cells, turning everything to mush, and it only got worse as she stroked her hand up, curled it around his neck, tugging him down for a kiss. “Depends on why you want to come in, though. Not looking to sell me anything, are you?”

  Nia chuckled against his lips, then she pulled back and stared into his eyes. “I was thinking about settling up on that rain check.” Then she pulled out a strip of condoms.

  Shit. Screw logical. Screw mature. Screw adult.

  Staring into Nia’s eyes, he took the rubbers and slid an arm around her waist and hauled her close. Keeping her locked against him, he stumbled inside, unwilling to let go, not even for a second. He fell back against the door, using his body to shut it as he tangled a hand in her hair.

  He didn’t waste a single word as he slanted his mouth over hers—what was the point, anyway? They both knew what they needed to know. He wanted her—she wanted him or she wouldn’t be here, right?

  She opened for him, but when she would have taken control of the kiss, he refused, wouldn’t let her. This hunger, it was killing him.

  Eating him alive and had been ever since he’d walked away from her. Jerking her head back farther, he groaned, feasting at her mouth like a man starved. Her hands slid up his back, her nails raking lightly over his flesh.

  The way he touched her—hell, there was something so unbelievably erotic, so mind-blowing. His fingers skimmed along her sides, then one hand came around, gripped the back of her shirt, dragging it up. Nia shivered as he slowly bared one inch after another.

  She leaned back to let him strip it away and when his eyes went wide at the sight of the red satin bra, a thrill rushed through her. A harsh breath escaped him and he settled back against the door, spread his legs wide, drawing her into the ve
e of them.

  “You’re out to drive me nuts,” he muttered, cupping her breasts in his hands. “I know it.”

  She might have said something—anything, but then he pressed his mouth to her flesh, to the sensitive valley between her breasts, nuzzling her, then blowing a puff of air over her skin and watching as she shivered.

  Hell—even if she’d planned to drive him nuts, it wouldn’t matter. Any plans she might have tried to make, they would all fall apart—plans required thought, further planning … execution …

  She wasn’t able to think enough to do that, not when he was touching her, not while he had those long-fingered, agile hands gliding over her body, stripping her clothes away. And not with his mouth cruising southward down her neck and lower.

  As he nibbled his way along the slope of one breast, Nia curled an arm around his shoulders, struggling just to maintain her balance. The other hand, she slid up, then down one of his arms, tracing the hollows and swells, learning the feel of his skin, his muscles. Long, rangy, and lean—so nice.

  When he went to his knees in front of her, she just about went to hers—hard to think, hard to breathe—could barely manage to keep her eyes open as he pressed his mouth to her pubic bone, his breath stirring the curls between her legs.

  The first light brush of his tongue against her clit had her shuddering.

  The second touch had her groaning and she braced both hands against his shoulders, tried to stand despite the fact that her legs seemed to have turned to water.

  Then he curled his tongue around her clit and Nia could have sworn she saw lights exploding. Her breath caught in her lungs, the muscles in her body went rigid. Nothing, absolutely nothing seemed to exist except for the way that man was teasing her closer and closer to climax, using his tongue in a way that was nothing short of diabolical.

  One hand stroked up her calf, pausing just long enough to nudge her legs farther apart and she wobbled, almost fell, so focused on his mouth and what he was doing. Law steadied her with his free hand, muttered something against her flesh, but she didn’t know what, nor did she care, holy hell, that mouth …

  Then it wasn’t just his mouth—he pushed two fingers inside her and twisted his wrist, screwed them in, out …