Covered By A Kiss

by Lisa B. Kamps

  He didn't bother to question why, he just strolled toward the pair, the soles of his sneakers squeaking against the polished tile floor. TR looked up, her smile dimming as frustration and something else flashed in those pale blue eyes. She uncrossed her legs and stood, her gaze narrowing the slightest bit as he approached.

  "Good, you're finally here. That means I can leave now."

  "Not yet. I want to take a look at the car first."

  "You can't. They already had it towed to a body shop."

  Mac shot a dangerous glare in Boomer's direction. "I told you to wait."

  "Um, hello?" TR stepped toward him, waving a slim hand in his face. "It wasn't up to him, it was up to me."

  "Actually, it wasn't her call. Amtrak police made arrangements for the tow not long after I got here. They didn't want it sitting around."

  Mac swore under his breath. He knew they'd want to have it towed but he figured he'd have had time to go over it first. Then again, he hadn't figured it would take him this long to get down here. Hopefully Boomer had been able to take a look at it, get some pictures.

  If he hadn't been totally distracted by TR, that is.

  "Why do you even care if it was towed? Never mind, don't answer that. I don't care." TR grabbed a lightweight jacket that was entirely wrong for the cold weather from the bench and shrugged into it, then slung a large tote bag over her shoulder. "The only thing I care about it is getting home and having a nice glass of wine. Now that you're here, I can do that."

  "Fine. I'll take you home."

  TR shot him an incredulous look. "I don't need you to take me home. I can get my own ride."

  "Why pay for a taxi when I'm offering?"

  "Because—" Her mouth snapped shut and she narrowed her eyes. Mac could almost see her brain trying to figure out a good reason for turning him down. And he knew, just as she did, that there wasn't. Not when they were heading in the same direction.

  Unless she simply decided to tell him to go to hell because she was still pissed about this morning. There was a damn good chance she'd do exactly that.

  Mac held his breath and waited, wondering what the hell he'd do if she did. TR must have decided it wasn't worth fighting him because she released a frustrated sigh and tossed her bag to the bench.

  "Fine. Whatever. You can take me. Just let me use the restroom first."

  Mac watched her walk away, pausing just long enough to enjoy the subtle sway of her hips before turning to Boomer. "Did you take a look around?"

  "Yeah, just like you wanted me to."

  "And?"

  Boomer shrugged and rose to his feet. "Nothing jumped out. Looked like a random break-in."

  Mac heard the doubt in the other man's voice. "Except?"

  "Except they didn't steal anything. They tore through the glove box and under the seats. Hell, they even pulled up the floor mats. But the only thing taken was some loose change in a cup holder. At least, according to TR. No idea why anyone would go to all that trouble just for a couple of dollars in change."

  "So you think it was random?"

  Boomer frowned, his eyes going carefully blank as he looked inward, no doubt reviewing every little detail he'd seen. That was one of Boomer's many talents—a photographic memory combined with an uncanny ability to put things together, even when half of the puzzle pieces were missing. A few seconds passed before the man's gaze shot back to Mac.

  "On the surface, it looks random, like maybe a couple kids were up to no good. Her car was parked far enough away that being seen wouldn't be an issue, and the security cameras were conveniently not working."

  "But?"

  "If that was it, why was it just her car that was broken into? Usually, in a case like this, you'd have a few cars being hit. My gut says something else is going on."

  "Mine too. Did you get pictures?"

  "Yeah." Boomer patted the phone clipped to his waist. "Not that I think they'll show anything. I'll get them sent over to you."

  "Thanks." Mac glanced over his shoulder then turned back. "You can get lost now."

  "Why did I have a feeling you were going to say that?"

  Mac folded his arms in front of him and leveled the other man with a dark glare. "Because you have a finely-honed instinct for self-preservation?"

  Boomer laughed then clapped him on the shoulder. "You think? Yeah, I figured there was more going on there. By the way, you owe me. Big time."

  "For coming down here? Fine, if you say so."

  "No, not for that. Well, not just that."

  "Then for what?"

  "For turning your girl down when she asked me out for New Year's Eve."

  The blood froze in Mac's veins for a long second, then quickly melted under the heat of his unexpected rage. His voice was deathly quiet when he spoke. "Excuse me?"

  "Calm down, He-Man. I told you—I turned her down. Apparently just like you did." Boomer stepped forward and lowered his voice. "But if you don't change your mind, I think I might take her up on her offer."

  "Only if you want me to snap your neck like a twig."

  "Zeus might get a little pissed at you taking out one of the team like that."

  "Fuck Daryl. He'll get over it. But you won't if you even think about—"

  "Then get your head out of your ass and tell her you changed your mind."

  "It's not that simple—"

  "The hell it ain't." Boomer stepped back then lifted his hand in a quick wave—not at Mac, but at someone behind him. He turned and saw TR a few feet away, her brows lowered in a frown as she watched them.

  How long had she been standing there? Had she heard anything they'd said? Mac turned back to Boomer to ask but the other man was already walking away.

  "What was that all about?"

  "Nothing."

  TR's brows shot upward in disbelief but she didn't push—maybe because she realized it would be an exercise in futility. She made a small humming sound then scooped up her tote bag. "If you say so. Are you ready?"

  "Whenever you are." He swept his arm out, motioning her to lead the way, then fell into step behind her.

  Ready? Hell no. When it came to TR, he'd never be ready.

  Chapter Eight

  The oversized tires hugged the wet asphalt, the constant humming sound muted from the interior of the truck. Traffic was still heavy, the red glow of taillights snaking in front of them as far as Mac could see. Rush hour should have been over by now—would have been, if not for the arrival of the cold rain. If the temperature continued dropping, the wet roads would turn icy and create an even bigger driving headache.

  Mac planned on having TR home before that happened.

  He glanced over at her, watching as the streetlights along the side of the highway cast her profile in alternating pools of light and shadow. She'd been quiet ever since they'd left Penn Station, her gaze focused on something ahead of them that he couldn't see. Her mouth was pressed tight and tension radiated from every line of her stiff body. Anger? Maybe. At him? Probably.

  But something told him there was more to it than that. What he saw—what he felt—was more than anger. There was an aura of frustration and disappointment surrounding her, thick enough that he wanted to reach over and pull her into a hug and tell her everything would be okay.

  Yeah. Because pulling TR across the truck's console and into his lap would really help things.

  He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and studied the traffic around him, watching for drivers trying to merge to the right. This section of the inner loop, where I-83 and 695 ran next to each other, could be treacherous at the best of times. Add in the fact that it was dark and raining, and you had a recipe for a collision just waiting to happen.

  No sooner had he had that thought than the car next to him tried to whip over into his lane. Mac tapped the breaks, swearing softly as horns blared around him. The car zoomed in front of him then immediately hit its breaks to avoid ass-ending the car in front of him. Mac slowed even more, muttering briefly to himself
before once again glancing at his passenger.

  TR hadn't moved, not even to grip the panic bar above the door. There was no indication she had even noticed the near-miss; if she had, Mac was certain she would have said something.

  But there was only silence.

  "You're awfully quiet."

  She turned her head toward him, her gaze barely meeting his, then went back to staring straight ahead. "I have a headache."

  His hand moved to the center console, ready to open it. "I've got some aspirin—"

  "I took some earlier. When I was getting off the train."

  "That was nearly three hours ago. Are you sure—"

  "Yeah."

  Mac moved his hand away from the console, let it hover between them for a brief second before grabbing the steering wheel once more. "You never said why you went to DC."

  "An interview. I told you that."

  Had she? Yes, she had—right before sending him into the small freak-out when she said her car had been broken into. "What was the interview for? A new story? Something else?"

  "A story. Nothing exciting."

  There was something in her voice that made him frown and look over. She'd been too bland when she answered, too controlled. "Why don't you tell me about it?"

  A pause, followed by the smallest shift as her body stiffened. "Nothing to tell. It's just a story."

  "You don't sound very enthusiastic about it."

  "Mac, can you do me a favor and just let it go? It's been a really long, really crappy day. I have a headache. I'm tired. My car is trashed. All I want to do is get home, change out of these clothes, have a glass of wine, and go to sleep. Okay?"

  "Yeah. Sure." He nodded and turned his attention back to the traffic. The flow sped up for a few minutes then slowed back to an agonizing crawl as vehicles maneuvered the sharp curve to northbound I-83. Traffic stopped, lurched forward, then stopped again as cars tried to push their way into the far-right lane to exit onto Timonium Road.

  "I, um—" He stopped, cleared his throat, started again. "I'm sorry."

  TR sighed then darted a quick glance in his direction. "For what?"

  "For, you know, getting your day off to a crappy start."

  "I never said—"

  "Not in so many words, no." He risked another glance in her direction. "But the inference was there. And I'm sorry."

  "Fine. Apology accepted."

  "Wow. Let me mark this day in my calendar. TR Meyers accepted my apology without a shit-ton of grief." Mac glanced over, caught the briefest of smiles curl her mouth before she hid it with her hand. A second later, that same hand shot out and playfully smacked him on the arm.

  "You're still a smartass, I see."

  Mac grunted, the sound part laughter, part disbelief. "You'd be the only one to think so."

  "Why don't I believe that?"

  Because you're the only one who sees this part of me. Mac didn't say the words out loud. They sounded too cynical, too bitter. And TR wouldn't believe him, anyway, even if it was true. Yeah, Daryl and Jon saw this side of him, but that was it. There were very few people he felt comfortable enough with to let his guard down—less than he could count on one hand. TR happened to be one of those people.

  She just didn't know it.

  Traffic was moving a little faster now as they approached the Warren Road exit. He glanced in the sideview mirror then eased his way to the right lane just as TR started to point.

  "This is the exit—"

  "I know."

  Two little words. They shouldn't have meant anything but from the expression on TR's face, you'd think he had just told her that Santa Claus was real. She watched him with stunned eyes, her mouth slightly ajar.

  "How do you know where I live?"

  "I've been there before, remember?"

  "Yeah, but that was over a year ago. For all you know, I could have moved."

  "Did you?"

  "No, but—"

  "Then what's the problem?"

  "You've only been there once. How do you remember?"

  "I just do. Christ, TR, it's not that big a deal." Were the words too rough? Was his voice a little too gruff? Maybe. But he didn't want her to make a big deal out of it, didn't want her to get the wrong impression. So he remembered where she lived. Big deal.

  He thought she was going to say something else—it sure as hell looked like she wanted to. But she simply shook her head then leaned back in the leather seat, some of the tension he had noticed earlier leaving her.

  Neither one of them said anything else as he maneuvered the big truck along Warren Road, crossing over York Road and heading east to Bosley. Ten minutes later, he was pulling into the apartment complex where she lived, slowing down as he searched for a parking space.

  "You can just drop me off—"

  "I'll walk you in."

  She wanted to argue with him, he knew it just from that look in her eye. To his surprise, she kept quiet—although her expression let him know exactly what she thought of his suggestion. Well, she'd just have to get over it. He would have walked her in regardless—he'd done that the last time he had dropped her off, over a year ago. No way in hell would he let her go in by herself now, not after what had happened to her car.

  Not when those little hairs on the back of his neck were still standing at attention.

  He circled the parking lot twice, swearing under his breath at the lack of spaces. He finally made his own space along a grassy break and parallel parked near the curb not far from the hydrant. Yes, he was taking a chance of getting a ticket—but he wasn't going to be here that long, and he doubted there were many police officers driving around the numerous apartment complexes looking for parking violations.

  He opened the door and jumped out then quickly moved around the side to help TR. But she was already lowering herself to the ground, one hand wrapped around the inside door handle for balance. He took the tote bag from her and slung it over his shoulder then offered his arm. She hesitated then finally accepted it, holding onto him for support as she stepped off the running board. She moved her hand as soon as her feet touched the ground then motioned to her tote bag.

  "My keys are in my bag."

  Mac handed her the bag, listening as she rooted around the depths for her keys. He glanced around the lot, his gaze taking in the parked cars and the deep shadows between them. Watching. Studying. Searching.

  He saw only shadows. Not just between the cars, but along the walkways to the adjoining buildings and even around the buildings themselves. The complex was an older one, established and well-maintained with large trees and mature bushes—and plenty of spaces for someone to hide.

  "You really don't need to walk me in. I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."

  Mac followed her up the sidewalk then moved in front of her to open the door. "Never said you couldn't."

  TR muttered something under her breath. The words were indistinct but the tone wasn't. Mac didn't bother to ask her to repeat herself, not when he knew she was grumbling about him.

  TR lived in the last building of the complex, the one that backed up to a small patch of wooded land. Each building had three floors, with four apartments on each floor. And she, of course, lived on the bottom floor, in the apartment in the back corner. He had commented about it the last time he'd been here—the night of Jonathan's wedding. But she had simply shrugged off his security concerns, telling him she liked the sense of privacy, along with the ability to simply walk outside to her patio and enjoy the quiet allure of nature.

  He followed her down the steps, thinking of that night nearly a year ago. If he'd accepted her quiet invitation, would they be together now? Or would it have been nothing more than a fling, over before it really started? Would she have grown tired of the horrified stares and harsh whispers and pitying glances that accompanied him everywhere he went? Would she have grown frustrated with his silent tendencies or the sudden absences required by his job?

  Maybe. Maybe not. It didn't matter.
Not now, not after all this time. Not when he knew nothing had changed since that night. There could be nothing between them except friendship, not even now.

  Chapter Nine

  TR was completely unaware of his thoughts, his regrets. And that was the way it needed to be. If she ever found out, ever got just an inkling—no, he couldn't allow that to happen. She was the one person who had the uncanny ability to knock him off-balance and keep him that way. If she ever found out, she'd be relentless in tearing down his walls.

  So Mac kept his mouth shut and his thoughts—and regrets—to himself as TR unlocked the door to her apartment. She pushed it open, reaching out with her free hand to skim the light switch to the left. Soft light filled the entranceway, which was nothing more than a small extension of the living room, separated by a few square feet of tile instead of carpet.

  Mac entered behind her then stood just inside, his gaze scanning the living room. An overstuffed loveseat was pushed against the wall, throw pillows adding a bright splash of color to the neutral upholstery. A matching chair, also overstuffed, was placed perpendicular to the loveseat. The furniture was the same but the area rug—a large rectangle of blues and greens—was new. So was the small Christmas tree placed on an accent table near the patio doors.

  TR dropped her bag to the chair and tossed the keys to the coffee table with one smooth motion. She moved over to the small tree and leaned down, thumbing the built-in switch until clear white lights twinkled on the plastic branches. Then she straightened and turned, eyeing him with a wariness that caught him off-guard.

  "Okay. I'm safe inside. You can go now."

  Mac closed the door behind him, ignored her surprise. "Not until I look around."

  "Mac, there's nobody here." She spread her arms wide, encompassing the living room and dining room, the small kitchen, the short hallway. "It isn't that big."

  "Still plenty of places to hide. Closets. The bedroom. The bathroom—"

  "No. No, you don't get to do this."