Touch of Red

by Laura Griffin

  He looked at her.

  “This summer when I heard you’d been shot . . . I couldn’t breathe. I felt like my heart was being squeezed in a big fist.” She settled her cheek against his side, and for a long, quiet moment they just lay there.

  Sean ran his fingers through her hair, and she closed her eyes to enjoy it. She loved the way he touched her. She loved the way he made her feel cared for, but not weak.

  “Brooke?”

  “Hmm?”

  “How come you never said anything about coming by my hospital room?”

  She opened her eyes and looked at him. “You knew?”

  “I saw you.”

  “I thought you were asleep.”

  “I was in and out.”

  “Oh.” She cleared her throat. “I don’t know.”

  She’d gone to the hospital without even deciding to. As soon as she’d heard what happened to him, she hadn’t been able to stay away.

  She couldn’t explain it now any better than she could then.

  “I don’t know why I never said anything.” Her words sounded inadequate, even to her. “When I was there, I thought you were out cold. And later . . . I thought you might think it was weird. It wasn’t like we knew each other that well then.”

  He pulled her closer. “I’m glad you came.”

  “Why?”

  “Gave me something good to think about when I was ready to throw in the towel on my physical therapy.”

  Her chest tightened. “Was it bad?”

  “Excruciating.”

  She stroked her hand over his pecs, hating that he’d had to go through that. She knew that he’d worried he might never make a full recovery, and she’d been elated for him when she heard he was back on the job.

  A hard lump lodged in her throat. He’d thought about her during his PT. Why did knowing that send a flutter of anxiety through her?

  She was so confused. All her emotions swirled together in a big tornado inside her—fear, dread, hope. What the hell was she doing? They’d established the ground rules for what this was, and she shouldn’t be having all these thoughts.

  “Hey.” He squeezed her shoulders. “You’re all uptight. What’s wrong?”

  She closed her eyes. “I knew I’d be bad at this.”

  “What?”

  “This casual-relationship thing. Just having fun.”

  He looked down at her and lifted an eyebrow. “You’re not having fun?”

  “No. I am.” She sat up and pulled away. “But I can feel myself getting attached to you.”

  “And that’s bad?”

  “Yes. I told you, I don’t want a relationship right now. The timing’s all wrong.”

  “Maybe the timing’s perfect,” he said quietly. “Maybe this is just what you need right now to move from an unhappy place in your life to a place where you feel good.” He eased her back against his chest and stroked his hand down her arm. “You deserve to feel good, Brooke.”

  His words put a knot in her stomach. “You sound . . .”

  “What?”

  She pulled back to look at him. “Are you really serious about this? About us?”

  “Yes.”

  The solemn look in his eyes when he said it made her chest ache. “But you said you wanted casual. I never thought . . .”

  “What?”

  “I didn’t think you wanted a big commitment or anything. You’ve always seemed like . . .”

  He smiled. “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Kind of a player.”

  “I’ve changed.”

  She looked at him for a long moment. Then she leaned her head against his shoulder because it was easier than looking him in the eye when he was telling her all this stuff. She didn’t want to hurt him. Or disappoint him.

  “I spent years steering clear of anything serious. I’d pretty much perfected the art of keeping things casual, playing the field.”

  She felt a tug of relief. It hadn’t been just her. He’d definitely projected that image when she first met him.

  “I basically dodged commitment of any kind—with the exception of my job. That had my full attention. But when it came to relationships? You’re right, I was like that. Was.”

  She tipped her head back to look at him. “What happened?”

  Seconds ticked by as he stared at the ceiling. Then he looked at her. “The shooting changed me, Brooke. It changed everything.”

  His whole body felt rigid now, and she waited for what he would say. He’d never talked about this with her, not in any detail. She stroked her finger over the scar the bullet had left on his shoulder.

  “I was there, pinned in that truck, clutching my Glock in my hand and waiting for that sniper to come finish me off.”

  She shuddered at the image and pulled her hand away from his scar.

  “The gunshot wound, that wasn’t the worst part. My leg was so fucked-up, I can’t even describe the pain. And the whole time I’m trapped there, all these crazy thoughts are racing through my head. I’m thinking about my parents. My sisters. I’m thinking about my brother and my nieces and nephews, everybody. I was so sure I was going to die. I was certain of it. And I was smacked in the face with the realization that there was so much more I wanted to do with my life . . . so many things I’ve never done or never said to people. Things I never even thought about, because I was so cocky and arrogant and I always thought I’d have plenty of time.”

  She envisioned him pinned in that truck, bleeding and sweating and believing his life was about to end. Her pulse was racing just thinking about it.

  “And then by some miracle I didn’t die, but I ended up in that hospital and then in rehab, where I seriously wanted to die. . . .” He shook his head. “Rehab was bad, but I had a lot of time on my hands and I did a lot of thinking. I’m not proud of some of the things I’ve done. I took my family for granted a lot. And I hurt people, including some nice women who didn’t deserve how I treated them.”

  “How did you treat them?”

  “I basically took what I wanted and didn’t stick around for anything else. I avoided whatever wasn’t easy.”

  He shifted to look at her. “I’m not like that anymore. I don’t take anything for granted now. Not a single day.” He laced his fingers through hers. “Not one night.”

  Brooke stared at him, completely at a loss for words. She wasn’t sure what he was trying to tell her, and she had no idea how to respond.

  “This doesn’t happen every day, Brooke. We’re lucky.” He squeezed her hand. “Don’t throw it away because you’re afraid.”

  She sat up and scooted back against the pillows. “I . . . I honestly don’t know what to say. I’m confused, Sean.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I hear what you’re saying and I even agree with a lot of it. I know this—whatever this is—doesn’t come along all the time. At least, it hasn’t for me.” She sighed. “But every time I’ve invested in a relationship, every single time, I thought it was special and I thought it would work and I did everything I could and it still went sideways. And I just got out of a situation like that. I’m still getting out of it, and I can’t bring myself to trust anyone right now.”

  “That’s okay.”

  She gaped at him. “How is that okay?”

  “I told you, I’m a patient man.” He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles.

  Brooke stared at him, speechless. In all her life, no one had ever shown her such caring, such tenderness. Not Matt, not Joshua—no one.

  Until this instant, she’d considered tenderness a weakness. It was something that made her roll her eyes when she saw it in movies. But right now, in this moment with Sean, she realized it was an expression of strength. He was so confident in himself—and, even more amazingly, in her. He was so determined to wait for her to get over her fears and let this thing between them take its natural course. But she knew all too well that the course could result in hurt and disappointment for both of them.

&nb
sp; Where did he get this faith in her? In them?

  “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking . . . that I wish I could be more like you. More trusting.”

  He stroked his fingers down her hip and gently cupped his hand under her thigh to pull her lower on the bed. He hovered over her, watching her in the dimness.

  He smiled slightly. “Stop worrying so much.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Try.”

  “I knew you were faking it earlier.”

  “Faking what?”

  “I knew you wanted more than ‘keep it casual’ and ‘no pressure.’ ”

  “Okay, honestly? You’re right. What I wanted was for you to give me a chance.”

  “I feel like I’m a mess right now, Sean. Something’s wrong with me and I’m numb.”

  He traced his fingertips over her breast and down to her hip, and a warm shiver went through her. “Not everything’s numb.”

  “I’m not talking about sex.”

  “I am.” He glided his hand up her body, brushing his thumb over her nipple. “I found your weakness and I plan to take full advantage.” He lowered his head to her breast, and she felt the hot pull of his mouth as his hand slid between her legs.

  “Not fair. You play dirty.”

  He groaned against her skin. “Dirty? You have no idea.” He moved her thighs apart and settled between her legs, pressing his erection against her. “The first time I saw you at a crime scene, you were in dirty coveralls and work boots and you had soot all over your face, and I was hard for hours.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “I was.”

  “That was that house-fire scene. That was months ago.”

  “I know.”

  “You’ve really been thinking about—”

  “Yes, Brooke. I’ve been thinking about us for months, wishing we could do what we’re doing right now. And not just this—although I could do this all night. But there are so many things I want to do with you, if you’d give us a chance.”

  She felt a pinch in her chest. This wasn’t just sex to him. He wanted a real relationship. And he was steadily chipping away at the protective shell she’d grown around her naturally hopeful heart.

  Why was she letting him do this to her? She felt a renewed sense of panic. She wasn’t prepared to go on this roller-coaster ride again.

  “Stop.” He reached up and smoothed the crease between her brows. “I can tell you’re thinking again.”

  “I am.”

  “I told you, I’m patient. We don’t have to figure all this out now.”

  “I can’t help it! I analyze things, Sean. That’s what I do.”

  “I have an idea.”

  “What?”

  He kissed her forehead, then her mouth, then her neck. “How about less thinking and more kissing? Think we could try that?”

  “We could try.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Sean was already late for work, but he had a stop to make, and it couldn’t wait.

  It had only taken one phone call for Sean to learn that Matt Jorgensen belonged to a local gym popular with cops and firefighters. Pulling into the parking lot now, Sean immediately spotted the black F-250. He slid into a nearby space, checked his watch, and got out to wait.

  Sean no longer believed Jorgensen might be responsible for the drive-by shooting. Not only did his vehicle not match, but Sean’s contact in the Burr County sheriff’s department had told him Jorgensen had been on duty that night. It wasn’t an airtight alibi, but combined with what Brooke had said and what Sean had dug up on his own, it made him believe Jorgensen wasn’t a fit for the crime. Sean had done some subtle poking around, and the picture he was getting of Brooke’s ex was more consistent with that of a hotheaded asshole than a cold-blooded killer.

  Jorgensen emerged from the gym. Right on time. It was exactly one hour since the desk clerk inside had called to give Sean the heads-up. Jorgensen was distracted with his phone, and Sean took the time to look him over. The man was bigger than he had expected and pumped up from his workout, and Sean began to second-guess his decision to do this alone. He’d thought about bringing Ric or Jasper, but this move was strategic. It wasn’t about muscle.

  Even so, Sean knew there was a chance he was about to get his nose broken.

  Jorgensen glanced up and noticed Sean watching him. His gaze went to Sean’s badge and gun, but there was no recognition or even suspicion—which was good news because that meant he hadn’t been following Brooke’s every move.

  Sean pushed off his truck and walked over. “Matt Jorgensen?”

  Suspicion kicked in. “Yeah?”

  Sean stopped in front of him, blocking the path to his truck. The man had three inches and at least fifty pounds on him, but Sean’s detective shield counted for a lot in cop circles.

  “Sean Byrne, SMPD. You and I need to talk.”

  Jorgensen looked mildly annoyed. “What about?”

  “Brooke Porter.”

  The light came on as Jorgensen realized this wasn’t something work related. He crossed his arms, and Sean noted the scars Brooke had told him about.

  “What about her?”

  “Brooke’s a friend of mine. Which means I’m watching out for her.”

  Jorgensen’s gaze narrowed.

  “And when I’m not around, my friends are watching out for her. And when they’re not around, their friends are watching out for her. You need to leave her alone.”

  Jorgensen stared down at him. Sean didn’t blink. Several seconds ticked by, and finally Jorgensen looked away.

  “Look, you can tell Brooke I don’t give a shit what she does anymore.”

  Sean studied him, trying to get a read. To his surprise, the man seemed genuine. Maybe he had come to terms with the situation and decided to cut his losses. Or maybe not. Only time would tell.

  Jorgensen nodded at the door. “Do you mind?”

  Sean stepped back. Jorgensen slid into his truck, started it up, and drove away.

  • • •

  “You’re late,” Callie hissed as Sean dropped into the seat beside her.

  He glanced at the clock on the wall, then at the faces around the conference table. The whole team was here, with the notable exception of Christine, who’d pulled the overnight shift at the judge’s house, and Jasper, who was on surveillance right now.

  “It’s always better if you have the devices,” Alex Lovell was saying. The cybercrimes expert sat at the head of the table with a laptop open in front of her. “But since those haven’t been recovered, I used data from the phone company to get an overview.”

  Sean glanced at Callie, who was watching him closely. He’d gone by his house to shower and change, but something told him he hadn’t managed to erase the evidence that he’d been up most of the night.

  “Anything interesting in the phone records?” Ric asked Alex.

  “A lot. The records show that these victims were in contact with each other several weeks before they were murdered. I found phone calls on November first, third, and tenth.”

  “Any record of them texting?” Sean asked.

  “No.”

  “What about any calls to Eric Mahoney, our prime suspect?” Callie asked.

  “No, but I found some other communications you might be interested in.”

  Around the table everyone perked up.

  Alex tapped some keys on her computer. “Okay, so it doesn’t appear that Jasmine Jones owned a computer.”

  “We didn’t find one,” Ric said. “She was renting a room in a girlfriend’s apartment, and her possessions were minimal. She’d sold her car after losing her job a few months ago, and it looks like she was pretty close to broke.”

  Alex nodded. “But I was provided with a laptop belonging to Samantha Bonner. She had an email account through the university, where I understand she was a part-time student.”

  “That’s right,” Ric said. “But I thought we checked those emails. You’re saying we mis
sed something?”

  “That edu email wasn’t her only account. A detailed search of her browsing history turned up a Gmail account that she used infrequently.”

  “How infrequently?” Sean asked.

  “The in-box is mostly ads and spam. So I’m guessing it’s a secondary email address she gave out to stores and companies that she didn’t want cluttering up her primary account. The in-box is full of junk and the out-box is empty, however”—Alex tapped her computer and an email message flashed onto the large display screen on the wall—“the drafts folder contained this unfinished message, dated October thirtieth.”

  Sean’s pulse quickened as he read the words:

  Time’s ticking. You know what you have to do. We have the—

  “It cuts off in midsentence,” Callie noted.

  “Like I said, it appears to be a draft she never sent.”

  “Who’s johnjohn9987?” Sean asked, reading the recipient address in the header.

  “I don’t know.”

  “It says ‘we,’ ” Ric pointed out. “You think she’s talking about herself and Jasmine?”

  “Could be, although I found no email communication between the two of them, only phone calls.”

  Ric turned to Sean. “Sounds like some kind of extortion plan.”

  That had been Sean’s first impression, too. “We need more on this johnjohn person. Clearly, it’s a guy.”

  “You can’t necessarily assume that. But after running down this account, I’d say it’s a good bet.”

  “What do you mean ‘running down this account’?” Callie asked. “You hacked into it?”

  Alex smiled. “Let’s just say I accessed the account through creative means.” She tapped her computer, and another screenshot came up behind her. This one showed an in-box filled with unopened messages. “As you can see from the subject lines, whoever has this johnjohn9987 account is getting bombarded with ads for erectile pills, sex toys, online dating sites.”

  “I get some of that stuff, too,” Callie said. “That doesn’t make the account holder a guy.”

  “True. But as far as the username, the one attached to this account is a John Green.”

  “Sounds phony,” Sean said.

  Alex nodded. “I agree. So, we’re basically left scouring the account itself for clues. Thing is, there’s no record of an email from Samantha Bonner’s Gmail address in here. So, if she ever sent a message like the one in her drafts folder, it looks like johnjohn9987 deleted it. However—”