“I hate it.”
I sit upright at his extreme response. Usually I laugh off his gruffness, but this time his words carry an edge. As though he’s not simply trying to get a rise from me.
“What don’t you like about it?”
“This is a dangerous job, Gemma.” He clears his throat. “Do you watch the news, or do you just read Nancy Drew?”
My heart stills. I haven’t read Nancy Drew in a long time, but I turned onMiss Congenialitythe other night. “I watch the news, and I turn it off when it gets too sad.”
“Of course you do.” His tone is still harsh, but I peer through the shadows to better read his expression. Rather than judging me in anger, his eyes are downcast. Maybe from watching too much news. Though with his job, this response more likely comes from real life.
I want to reach out and comfort him, but the last time we spoke, he threatened to tase me. “We find what we look for, Karson. And I prefer to look for the beauty and joy in life. It’s out there.”
“Yeah?” he asks, but rather than turn his face toward me, he turns it toward the precinct.
“Yeah.” I study his profile. Underneath the forehead lines that draw his eyebrows together with constant worry and the stubble around the firm set of his lips, I can see the young boy he used to be. I’ll bet if he shaved and got Botox injections, the smooth skin would make him appear years younger. Perhaps he doesn’t shave for that very reason. “It’s why I look for your smile.”
His eyes flash toward me at that. But they aren’t angry or smiling. They question me in the same way Mom did when I accused Jewel of rigging homecoming court. Like whether I’m telling the truth or not, he can’t win.
“When strangers look at you, they might simply see someone who is tough and mean, but I know anybody who protects others as fiercely as you do must care a whole lot.”
His gaze doesn’t waver, but his Adam’s apple bobs.
Maybe I’m reaching him. Maybe this is exactly what he needs to hear. I can’t touch him with my hand because of—you know—the Taser, but words of affirmation might be his love language. And I’ve been saving up these words for this very moment.
“When you busted into my apartment to rescue me, you were only doing your job. I now know how inconvenienced you were by that phone call, but in the moment, you made me feel cared for. Protected.” My throat clogs as if I need this connection as much as he does. As if I’ve been neglected. And if I think about it, I have been.
Jewel started it all. She’d been my other half, then she turned on me. I’ve felt alone ever since. That’s when I started getting attention from men, but because of that, women avoided getting close to me. I thought my image might help me in Hollywood, but it typecast me as the dumb blond. By the time I came home, my parents had moved away. So now I’m left with nothing but two roommates and my hopes and dreams.
I stare up at my hero. This is the man who would have risked his life to save me had I actually been kidnapped.
He hadn’t burst into the apartment looking for anything for himself. He’d been there to give.
The experience made me yearn for someone to care that much. It made me believe it could be him.
“In case nobody tells you this often enough …” My breath hitches as if I’m about to say something much more profound than two little words. But is there anything more profound than gratitude? “Thank you,” I whisper.
Though I can’t see his expression well, I feel it warm. The outline of his shoulders melts.
Do I invite him to meet me down the street for coffee where there would be enough light to read his facial expressions? Or do I keep sharing my feelings from the darkness like a witness in hiding? Because I do think I’m about to capture his heart in the same way he captures wanted criminals.
The shadow of his chin lifts. “Gemma?”
Just the way he says my name makes my pulse throb in the creases of my elbows and behind my knees. It’s full of too much familiarity for him not to care.
“Yes?”
A siren blares in the distance. It grows louder, preceding a cruiser into the parking lot. Blue and red flashers strobe over Karson, spotlighting the way his hand automatically reaches for his gun.
“You need to go,” he says.
I crane my neck to see if anyone is in the back of the police car. Probably, since Karson’s being all defensive again. “Am I in danger?”
“The only danger you’re in is needing to call Murphey’s Law with your one phone call if you don’t leave right now.” The outline of his features has hardened. The recesses of his eyes are masked by the strobing of shadows and light. He’s returning to his professional demeanor, though his warning tone is not as dismissive as I assume he means it to be.
I look for the positive, and so I’ve found it. He may not even realize it himself, but he’s protecting me again.
CHAPTER EIGHT
