Mal recognized the panic in Pippa’s eyes. Jesus. What the hell was he doing, putting her on the counter?
Gently, he grasped her hips, lifted her, and set her on her feet.
She swayed and then caught her balance, so he released her and took several steps back. His heart beat as if he’d just run from a gang of drug dealers, and his cock was harder than he remembered it ever being. Which, considering he was doing nothing but manipulating her right now, showed what a deviant bastard he’d really become. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Did I hurt you?”
She blinked, her eyes an unfathomable blue. “No. I liked it.” Her feet shuffled. “I mean, the whole getting carried away.” Her chin lifted. “I’m not breakable, and I like that you didn’t treat me as such.” Her voice cracked at the end.
His chest ached. “It’s okay, Pippa.” But it wasn’t. Not at all.
She nodded, her chest panting out air. “I know.”
The nearly invisible earbud in his left ear crackled. “I’m clear from her house,” Clarence Wolfe said. “Will come approach your house from the rear. When you turn off the kitchen light, I’ll enter.”
Fuck. Wolfe had heard everything. Mal fought to keep his expression unreadable.
Pippa sidled by him, pressing her back to the counter. “I have an early morning tomorrow to meet one of my, um, clients. Thank you for dinner. I mean, for the wine.”
A meeting? But she wasn’t going to mention the town. Probably didn’t think he’d find that same diner. He tried to smile and took her arm, wondering what she’d say tomorrow when they accidentally ran into each other. “I may not have had a mama to teach me manners, but even I know to escort a lady home after plying her with wine.” He clicked off the kitchen light.
She stumbled, and he righted her, helping her out the front door. The woman was a lightweight because they still had half a bottle of the wine left, and she was definitely buzzed. A light rain was barely noticeable but did help cool his libido a little. When he got her to her door, he helped her unlock all the locks, set her inside, and waited for the locks to reengage.
Then he took a deep breath. One and then another. Hopefully, Wolfe was as good as promised and hadn’t left a trace in her house.
Setting his hands in his pockets, Mal whistled as he walked back to his place in his bare feet, just in case she was watching. Yeah, he felt like shit for keeping her busy while Wolfe tossed her place.
Once back inside his house, he double-checked that the blinds were closed. “Well?”
Wolfe had settled his large bulk on the sofa. His short dark hair was damp, and the outline of a knife sheath could be seen on his left calf. “She likes bright clothing, silk underwear, and spicy novels. Is trying to learn how to knit but sucks at it.”
Mal dropped into a floral chair, attempting not to be intrigued by the underwear. “What else?”
“I copied her hard drive and will get it to our computer guru as soon as we have one.” Wolfe’s brown eyes revealed nothing. For his breaking-and-entering escapade, he wore the same jeans and ripped shirt as he’d had on earlier beneath a leather jacket that no doubt hid a gun. Or two. Wet grass now covered his boots. “I did notice that she plays online games. Is pretty good at War Monger Two.”
Most introverts or shut-ins did the same. “So I’m just an asshole,” Mal muttered.
Wolfe leaned toward him, no expression in those dark eyes. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I heard your entire night. She kissed you, man.”
Yeah, but he’d kissed her back. And if she hadn’t looked scared, he wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t have taken it farther. “I’ve worn a wire or an earbud so many times, I actually forgot it was there,” he murmured, looking down at his hands. “That can’t be good.”
“Doesn’t hurt in this kind of situation,” Wolfe said. “I took a bite of the casserole on my way through. The woman can cook.”
Mal nodded. She’d cooked for him out of kindness, and he’d only kept her occupied so Wolfe could go through her underwear drawer. “Basically, this was a waste of time.”
“I didn’t say that.”
Mal stiffened. He looked up. “What do you mean?”
Wolfe tossed his phone over. “Found her go-bag. In a false bottom under the kitchen sink.”
Pippa had a go-bag. Mal’s gut churned, but he clicked on the photos Wolfe had taken. The bag held a gun, cash, a burner phone, and passports. “How many?” He flicked through the pictures, the investigator in him taking over.
“Two other complete identities,” Wolfe said easily. “And about twenty thousand in cash. If she needs to rabbit, she can do it quick.”
Mal tossed the phone back. A sharp pain pierced behind his left eye, promising a migraine. Not many innocent people had go-bags. “Make copies for the files and have the computer person research both of the other identities. See if Pippa has used them, and if so, when and for how long. And we need to find out where she got them.”
“Copy that,” Wolfe said, shoving the phone in his battered jacket pocket. “I didn’t find any evidence of explosives, but I wasn’t expecting to. Can I have some of the casserole?”
Mal stood, his chest feeling like he’d been kicked by a horse. This sucked. “Have it all. I’m going to bed. At least, I’m gonna try.” He felt as if there were weights on his shoulders, and he moved around the furniture like he was eighty years old.
