Fallon didn’t move. “We never talked much about the case when we texted and the deeper you got into it, the less we chatted.”
“Things got dark, and before I made the arrests, I was on this twenty-four-seven,” he said softly. “It was what they said to each other when a girl slipped their net or when one didn’t matter—only a single word was different. It was, you can’t have them all.”
Her hand tightened around the cup. “Jesus, that’s creepy.”
“I don’t like coincidence. But I like panic less. We’ll treat it like a thing. We won’t give it more than it earns.”
“We,” she said, before she could stop herself.
One side of his mouth kicked up. “Yeah. We.”
They sat with that—staring at each other with an intensity that had nothing to do with unknown texts and muscle cars and everything to do with the heat and the fan and the quiet weight in the room.
“You saw the news about the Jane Doe rescue,” she said, because easier topics were still topics and she didn’t know where to file Buddy when he used the word we and stared at her like he might want something other than conversation.
“Stacey has a type,” he said. “It’s called ‘Stacey.’”
“She asked Trent for an interview, but he said no on principle.”
“Good for him. He’ll give in tomorrow.”
“Probably,” she admitted. “He’s allergic to being bored.”
“And you’re allergic to being handled,” he said. “Which is what Stacey would’ve tried if she’d interviewed you.”
“I’m not a performance. I’m a job.” She groaned. “That didn’t come out right.”
“Perhaps not, but it landed.”
The air shifted. Not because the fan changed speed. Because he didn’t look away when he should’ve, and she didn’t when she should’ve, and then he inched closer. His breath hot and his gaze hotter.
“This could be a bad idea,” she said softly.
“Definitely.”
He reached for her hand, knuckles grazing the inside of her wrist, right where her pulse fluttered. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t even long. It still set something in her alight, hot and clean.
She leaned a fraction forward.
“Fallon,” he whispered, like her name was the only argument he had left.
His lips brushed hers like a spark igniting a fire in her belly. It was the kind of kiss that felt less like risk and more like an agreement they’d both been making in their heads since he’d rolled into town. Maybe longer.
When it broke, the fan sounded louder than it had before.
“I’m not sure where that came from.” He ran his thumb across her cheek.
She continued to stare into his dark, smoldering eyes. A million things raced through her brain, but only one stuck. “You haven’t wanted to do that for a while?”
“I haven’t seen you in two years.”
“We’ve texted and…” God, her ego couldn’t handle this.
“I know,” he said. “I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just… Hell, I don’t know.”
“Your muffin is going to get cold.”
“Tragedy.”
