The vein in her throat jumped. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
“They were killed fifteen years ago.” She didn’t look at him. “Their case was never solved.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It happened a long time ago.” A deep sadness crossed her face and tears glistened in her eyes. “Can we change the subject?”
Marcus nodded, wanting to take her in his arms to keep her grief at bay. But he didn’t, too intrigued by what she kept hidden. “Fair enough. So, what makes you tick?”
She shrugged. “Easy. Justice. All victims deserve justice.”
He was surprised at how quickly she responded. “I agree, but something makes you tick on a deeper level. What is it?”
She folded, unfolded and then refolded her napkin. Without looking up at him, she rolled it between her fingers and shifted in her seat. Fascinated by the internal struggle he was witnessing, he waited. She sighed and flicked the napkin aside, and picked up her glass.
She took another sip of her wine and stared at the red liquid. “You really want to know what makes me tick?”
“Yes.” He reached for his own wine.
She gently lowered her glass to the granite counter and reached for his hand. “Come with me.”
Startled, he put his glass down and pushed back from his chair. She led him up the stairs, her hand warm in his. He shot a quick glance into her bedroom, spied the unmade bed and had to rein in the wild images that bombarded his mind. Given their conversation downstairs, sex was clearly the last thing on her mind. She stopped and faced the closed door to their right. She dropped his hand and glanced up at him. He couldn’t help noticing the fear and uncertainty in her eyes. What in the world?
“This is what makes me tick, Marcus. Like it or leave it.” She pushed open the door, then flipped on the lights.
Grisly crime scene photos, Post-it notes with hand-scrawled questions and newspaper clipping covered the largest wall. Perplexed, he looked at her for a moment before moving toward the wall. A calendar with one date circled in red jumped out at him. He walked up to it and stared. Was that the date of her family’s death? His head spun. If so, it was only a couple weeks from now. How the hell was she working this case? Why had no one mentioned this before now? He stepped closer, grimacing at the violent images.
Glancing over the old photos, his attention landed on the smiling face of a girl who remarkably resembled Evelyn. The photo butting up to it showed the same girl, hunched over a woman, bloodied, her throat slashed. He put two and two together. His chest tightened and his throat closed with unspoken emotion. The thought of losing his baby sister in such a violent manner made his stomach roll. What kind of hell had Evelyn lived through?
“I’m surprised you don’t know already,” she said from behind him. “Though I’m grateful Ryan and the captain kept their mouths shut.”
“I tried to get it out of Ryan, believe me. But the guy’s a vault.” Marcus glanced over his shoulder. “Though, I must admit, I’m surprised and a bit annoyed no one thought this important enough to mention to me.”
She leaned against the door frame, her arms wrapped tightly around her waist.
“What’s this all about, Evelyn?”
“You might want to sit.” She pulled out the large leather office chair and patted it.
He sat, and she plopped herself onto a small white sofa. Tucking her feet underneath her, she stared at the wall full of painful reminders.
“I had just landed a multimillion-dollar modeling deal and was at my first runway show in Milan.”
He whistled, though it didn’t surprise him. She was a knockout, the type who didn’t realize it, who walked around oblivious to how her looks affected people.
She rolled her eyes and a smile tugged at her lips.
“I received a DVD in the mail. My family sent them to me all the time. It was their way of keeping me connected, I guess. A few days prior, my sister had mentioned she’d be sending something, so I didn’t think anything of it. So here I was, eighteen, in another country, and naive as hell. I’d just gotten home from my first runway show and popped this DVD in, expecting to see my sister’s latest cheerleading event and my family’s smiling faces.” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. “Instead, I watched my family being brutally butchered. My sister was already dead. He’d slashed her neck from ear to ear before hitting Record. I was powerless to do anything as this faceless monster riddled my mother’s body with bullets, then sliced open my father’s throat. He bled out right before my eyes.”
“Holy shit.” Marcus tore his gaze from her for a brief moment to glance at the grotesque crime scene photos. How had she even gotten ahold of those? What heartless moron had hand-delivered a constant and brutal reminder of the darkest day of her life—to a teenager?
“In that moment, my life shattered into a million tiny pieces.” She spoke quickly, her voice barely more than a whisper. “The cops never found the guy, and by the time they saw the video, the press had already labeled my father a family annihilator. My family’s memory was ruined, and I lost everything.”
He moved—professional lines be damned— and crouched in front of her, cradling her face in his hands. He brushed away her tears, wanting to pull her into his arms.
She bit her lip and drew back. “I’m sorry. How embarrassing.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for.” He covered her hands with his and squeezed.
Marcus couldn’t believe it. Here she was, opening up about her family’s gruesome murder and apologizing for the emotions that came with it. He’d been impressed with her from day one, but he’d had no idea just how remarkable she was until this moment. He’d never met a stronger, braver soul in his entire life—doubted if he ever would again. He was falling hard for her, and there was nothing that could stop his free fall now.
She laughed through the tears. “My therapist kept telling me I needed to share my story with people other than Kate and Ryan. That it’d be good for me, for my healing and all. Who knew that someone would be you?”
She pulled her hands from his. He instantly missed her warm touch. Stepping away to give her space, shock ripped through him. Had he just been granted access to her inner circle? His palms got clammy.
“I think I need another glass of wine.” She rose and walked to the door.
He followed her. He had so many questions, but she’d shared all she could right now. He sensed that in the way she moved to distance herself from the wall, the memories. He’d respect her privacy.
She let him leave the room in front of her, then flipped off the light and tugged the door closed. They stood close in the tiny hall.
Tipping back her head, she looked up at him, eyes misty. “Tread lightly, okay?”
She turned and went down the stairs in front of him. Tread lightly? Of course he’d tread lightly. She’d endured more pain, more heartache at the tender age of eighteen, than most people experienced in a lifetime. The sheer thought that she’d have to endure any more made him see red. He’d kill anyone who tried to hurt her.
They sat in her living room. He lounged in one of the armchairs. She was curled up on the sofa, cradling her Malbec, her feet tucked up underneath her. The fire crackled in the fireplace as they finished the wine. His mind reeled at what he’d just seen in that room, at what she had gone through and how extraordinary she was.
There was still just one question that bothered him. He didn’t want to push, but she’d let him into such an intimate, precious part of her life already that he couldn’t see her minding just one more question. At least he hoped she wouldn’t. He swallowed hard.
“None of that’s in your file. Why?”
“I know.” She ran her finger around the edge of her glass. “It was part of a two-part deal to come here.”
He cocked his head.
Two-part deal? What the hell?
“I’d been in San Diego, a fresh-faced rookie. My captain kept mentioning how much potential I had. Coming from my background, you have two choices—let it cripple you, or harness it and you define it. I’d chosen to take my experience and channel it into my job. It seemed simple to me. Apparently my captain saw me as his golden child.”
That same coolness he’d seen when she’d gone toe-to-toe with him that first day in the conference room descended now.
“Then my training officer found out about my past and everything changed. When other people, especially other law enforcement agents—male, female, it didn’t really matter—found out about my past, I changed in their eyes, went from being this sought-after officer to a helpless victim. Infuriating. But, human nature, or so at least I’m told.” She rolled her eyes and took another sip. “I don’t know if it’s because we’ve all seen so much evil on this job that it’s hard to believe anyone can separate themselves from such personal horror. But I hate it.”
He couldn’t blame her.
She stared into the fire. “Anyway, my captain in San Diego and the chief here, who was a captain then, are great friends. He asked me to think about transferring to Seattle under Diaz. I agreed to come here as long as that part of my past was classified. It wasn’t meant to be misleading or deceitful. I simply wanted the opportunity to stand on my own, to prove myself as a solid cop, because of who I am now. I didn’t want my past clouding people’s perception of me.”
Marcus nodded. “That seems fair.”
She shook her head and laughed. Then she set her glass down and smiled at him. The tender look melted his insides. He wanted this woman more than he’d wanted any other woman in his life. It took every inch of willpower not to go to her right now.
“Thanks for stopping over tonight, Marcus.”
And just like that, he knew she’d ended their evening. He sighed. Probably for the best. If he stayed much longer, he’d be taking her back upstairs, and that would most definitely be crossing the professional boundary she’d so firmly set in place.
There would be time for that. He’d make sure of it.
He put down his glass on the side table, got up and stretched. He grabbed his jacket on the way to the door, but before he turned the knob, he said, “I can stay.”
Smooth, Moretti. Smooth.
“Marcus.” His name came out in a soft whisper, one that held so much promise and so much pain.
He turned, could see her internal struggle and felt like a jackass. He knew she held herself responsible to these families. Hadn’t she just finished telling him so not two hours ago?
She twisted her hands in front of her. “I want you, too. I do. But not until this case is closed. I couldn’t live with myself if this—” she motioned between the two of them “—whatever this is, jeopardized the case.”
A strange mixture of disappointment and pride crushed him. He wanted to stay, to take her in his arms and take away the hurt she’d carried all these years. But he also respected her too much to ask her to choose between her dedication to this case and him. So he’d wait.
Her inner strength amazed him. She was definitely worth the wait.
He nodded, then opened the door. “Okay, then, after this case.”
“Marcus?”
He turned.
She stepped onto the porch. Shutting the door behind her, she walked into his embrace. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. She smelled like lavender. He breathed deeply, seared this moment into his mind. He felt the rapid drumming of her heart, its beat matching his own.
How was it that he’d fallen for this woman so completely?
She sighed into his chest, drew back and looked up at him.
Screw the professional line. He cupped her chin with his hands, stared into her eyes and got lost in their sapphire depths. He lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers. He wasn’t sure how she’d respond to his kiss, but he sure as hell wasn’t expecting the reaction he got. Instead of withdrawing from him, she threw her arms around his neck, pressed her body close, with no hesitation, and returned his touch.
He came up for air first, then grinned at her. She sheepishly returned the gesture, color staining her cheeks.
“After this case,” he said. It was a promise.
Her eyes lit up. “After the case, then.”
She laughed, the sound light and free in the cool air of the quiet street. Fumbling for the doorknob behind her, she opened the door with one hand, without breaking his gaze. She stepped over the threshold, touched her lips, playfully winked and shut the door.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
EVELYN SLUMPED AGAINST the closed door, heart pounding. She hadn’t been prepared to rehash her family’s murder tonight. But Marcus had come after her, to check on her despite that ridiculously embarrassing blowup with Sanderson, hadn’t he? And seeing his car at the curb had not only shocked her—if she were being completely honest with herself—but had also sent a thrill down her spine. She could have ignored the doorbell and all that followed, including the conversation that ripped her heart to shreds—again. She could have. But she hadn’t. She’d made a decision to open the door. With that one motion, he’d walked straight into her home. And her heart.
She couldn’t blame him for asking what made her tick. She’d have done the same. And she could’ve given him some stock answer. But he’d been sitting there, looking all handsome, kind, safe.
Not to mention that she’d been the one demanding they lay everything on the table when it came to this case. And this—the pain, the brutal memories, the blackest recess of her soul laid bare—was part of that. That wall and what it represented made her the woman she was, the detective she was. Over dinner, she’d known she needed to come clean and let him in.
And she didn’t regret that decision. She just hadn’t realized that, with each word she spoke, a hot dagger would slice deeper and deeper into her heart. Then he’d been there, not shrinking back, but moving toward her, touching her, giving her the thing she craved the most. Soft human contact.
Her heart had surged when he’d asked to stay. She wanted him to, more than she’d wanted anything in a very long time. She’d let him into her past, and that meant something. But she wasn’t sure she could let him into her present. Not with her family’s case still cold. She couldn’t ask him to walk that with her, could she? So she’d said no.
Kate’s question—Isn’t that his choice?—had played back in her head as she watched him walk out her door. So she’d moved to him, into his arms and off a cliff.
Now she was falling. She hoped he’d be the man she thought he was and catch her.
She leaned her head against the door. She’d just let the sexiest man she’d ever laid eyes on walk out the door. After he’d asked to stay. Clearly she was insane.
What the hell was wrong with her?
“Just open the door, Davis,” she mumbled, eyes still closed. “It’s not rocket science.”
The job had always taken precedent over every area of her life. And if it wasn’t the current investigation that denied her the soft contact she secretly craved, it was her family’s cold case that separated her from the rest of society, left her alone. She’d never thought it an issue.
Until now. Until Marcus.
But it didn’t have to be. At least not tonight. It was his choice, and he’d asked to stay. So why the hell was her door still shut? She took a deep breath, threw open the door and flipped on the porch light.
“Marcus?”
He stopped and turned around. His head cocked to the side, but he didn’t move. Her heart sank at his hesitation. Please come back.
He walked toward her, his gaze never leaving her face.
Her stomach tightened. “Marcus, I—”
His mouth found hers. A h
elpless breath escaped her as Marcus reached under her tank top and caressed her ribs with one hand. She hadn’t realized how much she wanted him—needed him—until his lips met hers. A sharp desire surged through her. Her skin burned where he touched.
Showering her with kisses, Marcus pushed her inside, kicked the door closed behind them and nuzzled his lips against her throat.
She pressed herself closer. She couldn’t tell where her body ended and his began. Marcus pulled back. A soft whimper of protest bubbled up from her. He tipped her head up and locked eyes with her. Everything else fell away as she got lost in the fire staring down at her.
“You sure?” His voice sounded hoarse, strained.
She looked up at him and studied his face, then nodded.
Passion pooled like dark ink in his warm chocolate eyes. She’d never noticed the tiny flecks of gold that flickered in the deep brown before. Then again, she’d never been this close to him, either. His five o’clock shadow peppered his face and emphasized his strong features. This was exactly where she wanted to be: with this man, in this moment. Nothing else mattered but being here with him. She needed him, craved not just human contact, but his contact. A deep, primal hunger to be touched and loved by him sent tremors through her. She stretched out her hand tentatively.
He seemed to sense her need and cupped her face, gently kissing her. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting when she’d asked him to stay, but the soft, tender touch surprised her, propelled a wave of electricity through her. Every cell sizzled, burst with desire. She couldn’t move.
“Evelyn.” He dropped his hand.
“Don’t talk.” She shook her head, reached for him. “Just kiss me.”
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