“Convenient.”
Her body jerked and the top of her head slammed against the table. “Sonofabitch!” She crawled out from underneath the table and rubbed the top of her head, tousling the strands of her already messy hair.
This was the first time he’d seen her hair down, and his fingers itched to tame the wild wisps around her face. He crossed his ankles as he leaned against the counter and plunged his hands in his pockets to keep from doing something stupid.
She scrambled to her feet and crossed her arms over her chest, pushing her cleavage up toward the scoop neck of her tanktop. He fought to keep his eyes on her face. Her eyes narrowed into slits. “Do you think I made this whole story up?”
“I don’t know.” His gaze stayed locked on her and he tried to keep his facial expression passive.
Her jaw tightened. “What could I possibly gain by calling you, asking for you to help me, and making up a story about a woman breaking into my house and trying to kill me?”
“Why’d you call me and not 911?”
She blew a long, slow breath out of her mouth and sank down into one of the chairs at the table. “After you left earlier, I went to Suzi’s and tried to talk to her.”
“What did she say?”
Moisture clouded over her tawny eyes and her shoulders dropped. “She’s pissed I brought Pete into Becca’s life, and then told me to leave. On my way home, I knew I had to do whatever I could to find her. There has to be something Pete said over the past four months that could help. So, when I got home, I planned to call you. I put your number in my phone, but the woman pressed a gun to my head before I could press send.”
“When you got away from her, you just called the number that was already there?”
“Yes. It’s not like it was a friend or something. You’re FBI. I figured calling you would be just as good as calling the cops.”
He nodded, taking in her words, but didn’t speak.
Her eyes widened. “You don’t believe me.”
“I’m trying to figure this all out. What did this woman say to you?” He wanted to sit down beside her, but he needed to keep his distance. His mind wouldn’t be focused on separating fact from fiction if he was consumed with figuring out what she did to smell so damn good all the time.
Mickey rested her elbows on the table and rubbed her temples, her eyes closed as her slender fingers massaged the spot. Graham took the opportunity to let his gaze roam from thetop of her vibrant red hair, down the smooth lines of her bare arms, over to the healthy curve of her breasts under her shirt. Her eyes flew open and their gazes locked.
Lust pooled in his gut and his chest tightened. A sexy blush engulfed her high cheekbones, and she quickly glanced away. “Umm…she said she needed to tie up loose ends before she and Pete left town.” Her fingers picked at the crumbled newspaper lying on the table and she avoided his gaze.
Her words snapped his mind back to focus. “Why would you be a loose end? You told me you didn’t know what Pete was up to.”
“I don’t!” Her fingers traveled from her temples to her hair and she fisted it in her hands before pushing herself up from the table. She faced him, a finger pointed at his chest. “I called you for help, and you’re treating me like criminal.”
“Then why was someone threatening your life to keep you quiet?”
If anyone had been here at all.
Tears spilled over her long lashes and ran down her face. She let them fall and dropped her hand to her side. “I don’t know,” she whispered.
He sighed and a war twisted inside him. Nothing about Mickey added up, but he couldn’t look past the nagging voice in the back of his head yelling at him to trust her.
Knock, knock, knock
Graham glanced up at the police officer pounding on the doorframe. He nodded a silent greeting and the police officer pressed his lips into a thin line. A second officer stood beside him, his hand on the butt of the gun in his holster.
“We were called in to investigate a possibly dangerous situation at this residence,” the older cop with the cool green eyes said.
“I’m Special Agent Graham Grassi with the FBI. Miss O’Shay.” He nodded toward Mickey who stood in front of him, her back to the door. “Called me directly.”
The younger cop with his hand on his gun glanced around the apartment. “Where’s the intruder? The roommate is downstairs and is a bit of a mess.”
Mickey whirled around. “Lydia’s downstairs?”
The older cop nodded. “She was told to wait downstairs until we allowed her access. We were unaware the threat had been taken care of.” One eyebrow raised, he stared at Graham.
