CHAPTER FOUR
JEFF HAD TO lock his arms to his sides as he and Tara rode the elevator to her high-rise condo in Arlington’s busy Courthouse area. She stood in front of the button panel, arms straight, face expressionless, and he wanted nothing more than to wrap her in his embrace and tell her things would be okay.
But he couldn’t do that. He knew all too well that he couldn’t makethose kinds of promises, and he didn’t trust himself to touch her without wanting more.
Once the elevator doors opened on the eleventh floor, he followed her down the brightly lit hall, keeping his eyes anywhere but on her slim hips.
Given how clean she kept her workspace at Steele, he’d expected the same when they entered her home. Instead, half-folded laundry covered the flowery couch, stacksof magazines nearly hid a glass coffee table, a pair of heels lay forgotten beneath the breakfast bar, and dirty dishes filled the sink.
“Sorry it’s such a disaster,” she said, shutting the door behind them. Pink washed her cheeks. “It’s usually just me, so I clean when I’m in the mood.”
“And you’re never in the mood?”
“Hey,” she said on a bubble of laughter that briefly chased away theworry-line between her brows. “I’ve been busy.”
“Sure.” He couldn’t resist a quick smile. Which triggered the usual guilt.
Clearing his throat, Jeff said, “Give me a minute.”
She sobered. “Okay. Just, uh, maybe close your eyes when you go through my bedroom.”
He gave her a get-real look and passed through the first doorway to his left. The bathroom. Not super neat—a tattered novel andseveral makeup containers were scattered on the counter—but the surfaces were sparkling clean, so props there. It wasn’t likehewas the world’s best housekeeper.
Another doorway led to Tara’s room. The queen bed was unmade, showing off sheets covered with large, pink flowers that somehow seemed a fitting place for her to lay her beautiful head. He would absolutelynotimagine joining her there.
Or give more than a fleeting glance to the colorful bras hanging from a knob on her dresser.
He swallowed hard and crouched down. The only thing under the bed was a set of long, plastic containers that held who-knew-what.
He checked the walk-in closet. Jesus. How many shoes did one person need? There were at least thirty pairs of heels in various colors and materials, several sets of tallboots, some flip-flops, sandals, and a single pair of cross trainers. The exact opposite of his closet. Not that he had heels, but half of the six or so pairs he owned were athletic shoes, especially now that he’d tossed his old Air Force uniforms.
He quickly riffled through her dresses and tops, but found no intruders. Her building was relatively secure, but after today’s attempt on her life,he wasn’t taking any chances with Tara’s safety. Hell, he made a living defeating “secured” buildings. Anyone determined enough could find a way around the keycard readers.
Back in the living room, he checked the small balcony that overlooked the busy street below. Unlikely anyone could get in that way. “All clear. Does anything look out of place?”
She’d removed her jacket, dropped her purseon the counter, and kicked off her heels. In bare feet, the top of her head barely hit him at mid-chest. “You’re wondering if I’d be able to tell, aren’t you?”
“No judgment.”
She retraced his steps and then returned to the living room where she caught him studying a collection of gray ceramic kittens that marched across the fireplace mantel in various playful poses. “Everything looks the wayI left it.”
“You’re an aspiring cat lady, huh?”
She bit back a smile. “Yes, but I’m allergic. Since I can’t have a real one, my friend bought me the kitten playing with yarn for my birthday one year, and it became a thing. Now I get one every year.” On a head shake, she said, “I’m not the collector type, but I secretly adore my cats.”
The sad note in her voice plucked a chord in him, buthe suppressed it.
“You have any pets?” she asked.
“No.” He’d been waiting to get a dog until Evan came home. If Jeff ever found him.No. Fuck that thinking.Whenhe found him. He’d never stop looking. “You sure you’re going to be okay here alone?”
“I’ve been alone for years.” A note in her voice hinted that she meant more than just her living situation.
From what he’d picked up duringthe last few months, Tara didn’t have much of a social life. Surprising, because she struck him as the kind of woman who got energy from being with other people. The kind who could walk into a room full of strangers and leave with a dozen new friends. Or dates.
The complete opposite of him. He liked people fine, but he was slow to make friends, slow to trust, and ultimately drained by even themost enjoyable social events.
“I’ll be all right,” she said.
