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  “What are their names?”

  “Who?” More questions about the case more likely. Man, I was sick of it. If we were lucky, it would wrap up and the jury would return a verdict before the weekend.

  “Your kids.” Abigail opened the door, but didn’t get in the car.

  I stared down at her trying to figure out what she was talking about. “My kids? What kids?”

  “The ones you have with your wife in Indiana. You know, the little wife? She cashes your paychecks? You put yourself in danger so that the world will be safer for her and all of your kids. How many do you have? Two? Three?”

  “If you want to know I’m married, just ask me.” I stalked around the car and got in. By the time I closed my door, she was sitting next to me putting on her seatbelt. “Well?”

  She sat there in silence with her arms folded and staring holes through the windshield.

  I turned toward her wishing she’d look at me, acknowledge that I was even in the car. “You know? I don’t get you. You’ll strike up a conversation with f…Harold Wiggs, and you won’t even ask me a simple question.” With some effort I unclenched my hands from the steering wheel and started the car.

  “Who?”

  “The convicted rapist you were chauffeuring all over town, Abigail.”

  “I did not start any conversation with him. Just so you know.”

  “Well, he was the only one in the shelter you didn’t buddy up with. Ask me.”

  Silence.

  “Why not ask me?”

  “I’ve been asking you questions all night, and you won’t answer them.”

  “Every question you’ve asked has been about the fire or my work. I’ve told you I can’t talk about all that.”

  More silence. Why was I doing this to myself? She was just some woman who had caught my eye. I’d had it bad. But I didn’t want to play games. I said as much.

  “Eli, that has got to be the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  She didn’t sound amused.

  “Scott.” I supplied. I wished she’d quit calling me by the wrong name. It was really starting to bug me.

  “You lie to me about everything while you pretend to be homeless, then you tell me you don’t want to play games? Your whole life is a game.”

  Now it was my turn to be silent. And pissed.

  I turned on Washington Avenue toward her neighborhood. As a date, it had been a disaster. It was time to cut our losses, shake hands, and part ways. I couldn’t say it hadn’t been interesting. She had nearly gotten me killed more than once. Anything after this was bound to be a letdown.

  As soon as I parked in front of her apartment building, she bolted. Maybe I’ve been in law enforcement too long, but I reacted without even thinking. Somebody runs—you give chase. That’s just how it is. Never mind that I had just lectured myself that seeing the back of her would be good riddance. Who was I kidding?

  I caught up with her about ten feet from her door. The yard was dark. I made a mental note to call the apartment manager tomorrow and report the blown light on the pole next to the walk. I sprinted in front of her and blocked her path.

  “I’m not married, and I don’t have kids.”

  She lifted her chin and marched onto the grass to go around me. I moved in front of her again. She faked a left, then went right. I had studied that move in high school when I played football. I loved contact sports.

  “Let go of me, you jerk.” she demanded when I grabbed her around the waist.

  “Will you let me come in?”

  “No.” Abigail leaned forward and bit my shoulder.

  In shock, I dropped my hands and grabbed my shoulder. Pulling my shirt aside I tried to see if she’d left teeth marks.

  She smirked and stepped onto her front porch. “Still want to come in?” She pulled her keys from her purse and inserted one in the lock. I sidled up behind her pressing my crotch into her and pulling her back against me. She sucked in a breath, but otherwise was completely still.

  “How about a do over of the pantry? I know you were aware of me that night, but I had to keep you safe. I was doing my job. Tonight I can concentrate on you. Not work,” I murmured in her ear.

  She turned breaking contact, her expression serious now. Her brown eyes appealed to me for an honest answer. “But there is someone you’re involved with. A girlfriend at least?”

  “There’s nobody. I don’t have time to date, to have a family. There’s me. Only me.” I placed my hands on her shoulders and glided them down her arms until we linked fingers. “I’m either homeless, dealing drugs or running guns. Nobody can love someone like that.”

  She stepped forward into my arms and kissed me. I wasn’t expecting that or how quickly I lost my mind tasting her. Lifting her, I backed her up against the door and returned the kiss. I swear, she wrapped her legs around me. She kneaded the skin of my back under my shirt while I ground my hips against hers. Man, we could get arrested doing this.

  With one arm I held her, and with the other, I turned the lock and the door banged open with our weight. I was ready though, bracing us against the loss of support. With a little difficulty, I pulled the key from the lock, dropped the key ring, kicked it across the floor, and slammed the door behind us. With a flick of my wrist, the door locked. Though it was dark inside, I had no trouble walking the few steps to the counter separating the living room from the kitchen. I took her there, took us there.

  She unwound her legs, and I set her on the counter’s surface. Our breaths mingled before our mouths fused again. Inside her shirt, the calluses on my fingers couldn’t quite absorb the softness of her skin so I explored her with my lips, moved her bra aside and heard with satisfaction when she gasped and arched her back to me. Ah, yes.

  In the eight months that I had been on the street, I could count on one hand how many people had willingly touched Eli without malicious intent. I could count on one finger. Abigail. Only Abigail. In eight months, she had been the only person. In ATF business, Bryant had handed me information disks. Occasionally Special Agents Mason and Conley had inadvertently touched me when I checked in with them. But that had been it. I lived and relived every single moment she had touched me. The bathroom. The pantry. The parking lot. Then there were the times I had touched her as I pulled nits from her hair and when I had stood here in this apartment trying to scare her from being little Miss Social Butterfly with the homeless men or when I had grabbed her the time she had followed Bryant and me into one of the Night’s drug holes. Man, what she had done to me in that pantry.

  I had her pants unbuttoned and was working on pulling them past her hips when she broke our kiss.

  Her breathy voice reached me in the dark. “Hey, what are you doing?”

  I had thought it was obvious. Bending down, I licked her navel and sucked the flesh into my mouth. I edged the waistband down another inch and ran my finger inside her panties.

  “Would you get up here and leave my panties alone? No matter what you think you know about me, I’m not easy.”

  I chuckled at the irony of her comment. No, nothing about Abigail was easy. I pulled her to the very edge of the surface before settling myself between her legs in case she didn’t know how ready I was to finish what we had started. She shivered again. I couldn’t read her expression in the darkness, but I think she got the message.

  “How long will you be in Clavania?”

  “At least as long as the trial. And I have a month of leave after that.” I moved to kiss her, but she moved her head to the side. That was fine. Her neck was worth spending a few minutes on. Or hours. I had all night. Man, I hoped she let me stay.

  “Where do you live?”

  “I’m staying at the Days Inn on the east side.” I licked a line from her collar bone to just below her ear.

  “Home. Where’s home?”

  “Originally, I’m from Tennessee. My mom still lives there.” I tested the weight of one of her breasts in my palm. So soft. Moving my thumb over her nipple, I waite
d for a cease and desist, but didn’t get one.

  “But where do you live when you’re not on assignment?”

  “Wherever.” I trailed a finger to the other breast.

  “No. I mean your permanent address.”

  “I move where ever my next assignment is.” Why did we have to talk? There were lots better things to do.

  “Where’s all your stuff?”

  I moved to taste her mouth again. She reached for the snap of my pants. Oh, mercy. I felt and heard the snap, but then her hands climbed up under my shirt, her fingers kneading the muscles of my back. Now, if we could lose the clothes. “What stuff?”

  “Your furniture, your high school yearbook, your computer, your books. Don’t you have a place where your stuff is?” She whispered against my mouth.

  I shrugged and moved my hand into her pants and under her panties. Mercy, but she had a nice ass.

  “You don’t have any stuff?” she persisted.

  “Not much.” I squeezed and thrust against her. Her breath hitched. Her nails grabbed the skin on my shoulders. Oh, man, we were close.

  “On your checks, what does the address say?”

  “I don’t use checks.”

  “Your tax form then. What do you put in the address box?”

  “It says, ‘P.O. Box 433, Wittenberg, Virginia.’ You want to write me a letter?”

  Her hands stilled.

  “That’s all you have? A post office box? Oh, Eli.” Her voice broke and she tucked her face into my neck so that I felt her next words against my skin. “You really are homeless.”

  That was equivalent to a bucket of cold water thrown on me. I don’t know what was more offensive. That she couldn’t get my damn name right or that she was accusing me of being destitute. I stepped back and nudged her further back on the counter. Adjusting my pants and buttoning up, I glared at her through the darkness. “I’m not homeless. I’ve got a healthy IRA and a balanced portfolio. I can go out tomorrow and pay cash for a house. I’m not destitute, and I don’t want your pity.”

  Stalking to the door, I opened it and looked back at her. “And stop calling me Eli. My name is Scott. Scott Thomas McIntyre.”

  I engaged the lock before walking out closing the door behind me and testing the knob to make sure it was secure.

  Women.

  Chapter Nine

  Delia my supervisor, Bryant who had worked undercover with me, and I watched security footage from a convenience store in Athens County. A kid resembling Ford Daniels waved a gun in some poor register jockey’s face. The camera time read seven twenty-two, roughly the same time Ford was supposed to be chaining up the doors at the community center and setting fire to it fifty miles away.

  I looked at Bryant while the technician rewound the footage.

  “It isn’t him. He was at the fire,” Bryant growled.

  “It looks like him.”

  “It does look remarkably like him,” Delia agreed with me.

  “Well, it isn’t.”

  Where the defense attorney found this tape, and why it was just now surfacing was a big pain-in-the-ass mystery. Special Agent Conley Arrington walked into the room whistling off key. He was coming back from the court house after meeting with somebody from the DA’s office.

  All of us looked at him and waited. He smiled. “They think they have an eyewitness who can verify Bryant’s story that Ford was there.”

  “Who?” Deila asked.

  Conley’s smile widened. “Joan of Arc. And here’s an interesting tidbit, she’s dating somebody on the force. That’s how he knew about it. Pillow talk.” Conley winked at me.

  My hand curled into a fist.

  “Easy, Joe,” Bryant murmured.

  “They’re bringing her in right now.”

  I stood up so fast the chair turned over. Bryant was with me. No need for us to say where we were going. Delia called for me to keep my head. I hoped I could follow orders.

  We got there before Abigail did and were sitting in the law library where she and I had been yesterday after she recognized me. The DA wanted to talk to her, and didn’t want to inconvenience himself by having to go to the station. I couldn’t believe this. I tried to exorcise the images of us against the wall over there. Sweat glued my shirt to my back.

  She walked in followed by some snot cop I hadn’t met before. But I knew who he was. Darvis Weilchek. I knew he had been helping her find Eli all those months ago. Geez, they were dating? Was she sleeping with him?

  Bryant ground his shoe on mine. When I looked at him, he moved his head in a brief shake. I must have been glaring. Weilchek better not touch her again. That’s all I had to say.

  Weilchek cupped her shoulder as he led her to one of the empty chairs at the table.

  She smiled her thanks at him, then she realized I was there. I had to give her credit. After the initial eye contact, she didn’t look my way again. The DA made the introductions. Another cop turned on a recorder.

  “Darvey said I wasn’t under arrest. I don’t have to answer any questions, do I?”

  “No, Miss Benton, but I hope you will. This has to do with something you saw the night of the fire.”

  “Maybe I should call my lawyer. I know how this works, you know.”

  Oh, did she? I almost snorted.

  Weilchek patted her arm and squeezed it. The prick.

  “Abigail, some new evidence has come up that might clear one of the suspects. I remembered you telling me about something that night which I believe will help the case. No one is accusing you. We know you’re innocent.”

  He’d better get his hand off her if he knew what was good for him. Bryant ground his shoe into mine again. I moved my foot out of his reach.

  “Miss Benton, can you tell us about the night the Clavania Community Center caught fire?”

  Her eyes widened when she looked at Bryant, then she narrowed them to slits. “Why do you need to be here?” She snapped.

  Bryant’s youthful face lit up with his most charming smile. “I’m with the Bureau of—”

  “What do you care what I say? What’s your role here?”

  She didn’t like Bryant. Had she figured out who he was?

  Bryant did his ‘Aww, shucks, Ma’am’ routine. She didn’t buy it, sitting there with her suspicious eyes, back straight, and her arms crossed over her breasts. My mind jumped back to last night and her on the counter. I remembered how sweet her skin smelled and tasted. Oh, mercy, I was in trouble.

  She bore holes into Bryant. “Want to have a spitting contest, Special Agent?”

  Bryant’s dopey smile morphed into a look of admiration. Bowing his head to her in respect, he never lost eye contact.

  No one spoke for ten seconds.

  Finally, Weilchek laid his hand on her arm. Was it a gesture of protection, or was he claiming his property? I bet he didn’t know I’d almost claimed her last night. “What is this about?”

  Abigail didn’t take her eyes away from Bryant. They were having some sort of staring contest. “The ATF likes to play dress up, Darvey. Special Agent Bryant Smith here was undercover in the Nights.”

  The DA spoke, “Then you know that he’s on our side. He’s put his life on the line in the interest of justice. We want these men who burned the building and put two hundred and twenty lives at stake to go to jail. We think you can help us do that, Miss Benton. Will you tell us what happened that night?”

  Finally, taking her eyes off Bryant, she rested her arms on the table and stared at her clasped fingers. Heaving a big sigh, she described every detail ending with when the fire fighter carried her from the building. She almost hadn’t made it. Geez, she had almost died there.

  They put five photographs on the table in front of her. She picked out Ford Daniel’s photo.

  Weilchek spoke. “Are you sure, Abigail? Are you sure that’s who you saw that night?”

  “I know who he is. Yes, that’s him.”

  The DA clapped his hands together. “We’ll need you to testify
.”

  “You already subpoenaed me.”

  “Of course.”

  “I hope you guys know I have to make up the work time I’m losing by being here and at court.”

  I wanted to laugh at that. We had Dale Potter so scared, he wouldn’t dare go to the bathroom without checking with us. Special Agent Delia Travers had intimidated the man into giving Abigail her job back with a raise. It was nice when people bowed to authority. Unlike Miss Priss here.

  “You wasted my whole day here yesterday,” she continued.

  “I wouldn’t say it was a waste.” I said it before I realized what I was doing.

  Her eyes met mine and held. “And what’s your role here, Scott?” She emphasized my name.

  “I want to hear the truth.”

  Abigail scoffed. “You and Special Agent Smith are professional liars. You wouldn’t recognize the truth if it smacked you in the face.”

  I rose from my seat, gripping the table to keep from climbing over it to where she sat. “Trust me. You will cooperate fully. You will testify willingly, or we’ll run you in for obstruction of justice. You want to spend tonight in jail?”

  Her eyes glittered at me, but she kept her seat. Reaching her hand up, she traced a finger from below her ear to her collar bone and back again. Oh, mercy. I had forged that trail with my tongue last night. I couldn’t help it. Entranced, I watched that finger as if my life depended on it. “Hit me with your best shot, Special Agent Scott Thomas McIntyre.”

  “Now. Now.” The DA cleared his throat. “Special Agent McIntyre, let’s all settle down here. Miss Benton has been very helpful. She’s what we need.”

  The irony of his last sentence was not lost on me. Prying my fingers off the table, I glanced to make sure I hadn’t left dents. I walked to the door on stiff legs. “I’ll be outside,” I muttered. Bryant followed me. As we walked outside, he chuckled.

  “Dumb ass.”

  I told him what he could do with his comment.

  ****

  Abigail called me two hours later.

  “Special Agent Scott Thomas McIntyre,” she greeted me.

  I waited. I had no idea what to say.

  “Why don’t you come over tonight? I’ll fix us dinner.”