know about her blackouts and to, perhaps, use them against her, yet neither was she ready to lie to a man who could have kicked her out but hadn’t. He’d listened to her, had asked her questions and truly seemed interested in helping her.
So, she said, “I’m struck by moments of absolute terror,” and gazed down at her feet. Her pink snakeskin boots were one of her favorite possessions. She’d had to sell four paintings to buy them, as well as live off peanut butter and jelly for a month, but she’d never regretted the choice. So pretty. “Moments I can almost feel the shackles around my wrists and my ankles.”
“Delusions hold that same power,” he pointed out.
Don’t act surprised, you knew it would come to this. And better this than the other avenue he could have taken: blame. “Well, I hope it is a delusion,” she whispered.
“Me, too, Miss … Harper?”
“Just Harper.” She would not be tricked into revealing her full name, thank you.
“Had to try,” he said with a shrug. “What if you discover you were the one on that table, that you somehow escaped but repressed what happened?”
“Impossible. I was only gone—” She pressed her lips together, stopping her hasty confession before it could fully emerge. “I would have had bruises at some point, and I haven’t.”
He sat there a moment, silent again, before nodding as if he’d just made a decision. He pushed to his feet and stuck a finger in her face. “Stay there. Do not move. I’ll get dressed and we’ll walk to your apartment together. Nod if you understand.”
“And there’s that lovely attitude again,” she muttered.
“Nod.”
Oh, very well. She nodded.
“Good. Disobey, and I’ll cuff you faster than you can say, ‘I’m sorry, Levi, that was the dumbest thing I ever did.’” Without waiting for her reply—because he clearly didn’t expect her to have one—he turned on his heel and headed for the hall.
“Uh, just thought you should know that your gun is showing,” she called.
Just before he disappeared around a corner, she thought she heard him say, “Honey, you’re lucky you’re only seeing the butt of it.”
She wasn’t that bad. Was she?
Harper waited. The click of a closing door never sounded. Well, she wouldn’t let that stop her; she stood with every intention of walking around his place and checking out his things.
Maybe she was that bad.
“I told you not to move,” Levi called with more than a hint of annoyance.
He’d heard the quiet swish of her clothes? “Tell me you don’t talk to your girlfriend with that tone.” The moment her words registered in her head, she groaned. Basically, she’d just asked him to marry her and have a million babies.
“No girlfriend.” A tension-ripened pause. “You?”
“Nope, no girlfriend, either.” The jest served a dual purpose. One, lightening the mood, and two, discovering whether or not he cared to know her lack-of-boyfriend status. If he pushed for more info, he might just be as fascinated by her as she was by him.
And she was, wasn’t she? Fascinated by this rough-and-gruff detective with the jewel-toned eyes. Thought you weren’t interested in dating anyone. She wasn’t. Right? She hadn’t taken one look at a grumpy cop and changed her mind, right?
“Boyfriend?” Levi barked out, and she nearly grinned.
You’re in trouble, girl. “Nope, no boyfriend.”
She scanned his walls. There were no photographs, no artwork, nothing hanging anywhere to inform her of his tastes so that she could peel back the curtain surrounding his life and reveal the man he was with others, when he was relaxed. Did he ever relax, though? Probably not. Judging by his perma-frown, it would take a miracle.
“Your decorating … did you decide to go with Minimal Chic?”
Stomping footsteps echoed, and then he was there, in front of her again, tall and dark and ruggedly delicious, an erotic dream come to life in a black T and black slacks.
She’d bet his gun was still at his back. He was a warrior, a protector. A danger. Sweet heaven, but she had to paint him, she decided. He wasn’t handsome in the classic sense, but, oh, he was so much more. He was interesting.
She’d always favored interesting.
“We’re not discussing my decorating,” he said.
“You mean your lack of decorating.”
“Whatever. Lead the way.”
“So you can stare at my butt?” Sometimes her tongue got the better of her, and now was definitely one of those times. There was no way he could respond to that without—
“Exactly.”
—making her sigh dreamily.
She was in big trouble. “I’m not interested in dating anyone, just so we’re clear.”
He glared down at her. “Good, because I was thinking about asking out your friend.”
Oh, ouch. Yet wasn’t that always the case? Men slobbered all over Lana like babies who’d just found fuzzy candy on the floor.
“Good!” she said with a huff. “Rude isn’t my type.” She turned, giving him her back, and marched out.
“But then I met you and changed my mind,” she thought she heard him grumble from behind her.
3
Harper was utterly baffled when Levi gave her painting a once-over, asked a single question, then turned and left her apartment. He did this after she’d overcome her urge to vomit and placed the wretched canvas—though perfectly painted—in the heart of her living room, just for his benefit. Sure he’d paused to eye Lana, as any man with a pulse would have done—and even some without, surely—but he hadn’t so much as called out a token “Don’t leave town.” Or even a very necessary “I’m on the case, no worries.”
The door slammed ominously behind him, echoing throughout the somewhat dilapidated two-bedroom apartment with plush furnishings Lana had restored with loving care, a hobby of hers. Their decorating style was Match Smatch. Every piece was an odd color and shape, and nothing harmonized.
Levi’s question played through her mind. “You said there was blood. Where is it?”
The answer was simple. Seeing the blood on the canvas freaked her out, so every morning, after her subconscious mind forced her to add it back, she erased it, leaving the walls pristine and clean.
“That has to be a record for you,” Lana said, her Lithuanian accent nonexistent because
