should head there. Hang out with his real teammates. Get away from the dogs and their handlers.
Skye still wasn’t looking at him. She seemed tense, and her shoulders were shaking as she stared toward the mass of funeral attendees below.
A loudspeaker began to blare the service. The minister praised Wes, his courage, his life…and expressed great sorrow over his death.
Trevor didn’t consider himself an emotional sort, but he felt his eyes mist, and he blinked. Damn! Now he really needed to get down the hill to his team.
But Skye was openly sobbing now. None of her own compatriots seemed to notice, or if they did they gave her no solace. At least she had her dog, who obviously sensed her grief. Bella sat so close to Skye’s legs, nuzzling her, that she seemed attached.
It wasn’t his job, but even so, Trevor drew closer to Skye. “You okay?” he whispered.
She nodded curtly, but as he repositioned himself at the side opposite Bella, he saw tears still streaming down her face.
Most women he’d seen crying got all red and puffy.
So how could Skye Rydell look so damned beautiful with the wetness bathing her skin, her blue eyes half shut in pain?
Almost instinctively, Trevor put his arm around her.
And just as instinctively, she leaned into him, put her head on his chest and shook as she wept even more.
Had she known Wes that well? Or was it the idea of a funeral? A cop’s funeral? Would she have cried this way if he, too, had died?
He tightened his arms around her. Skye pulled away.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. As he watched, she pulled a tissue from her pocket and wiped her face as she bent to hug her dog. She stood and watched stoically as the funeral continued.
Trevor wanted to keep holding her. Tight. No matter that he wasn’t at all touchy-feely. He found her hot, but there was nothing sexual about this feeling of connection. Was there?
Enough of this. “See you later,” he said in a low voice. “I’ve got to be with my team.”
“Of course.” The glance she gave him seemed poised now. Cool and remote, despite the tears still illuminating her eyes. “Thanks for your support, but I’m fine. I just hate funerals.”
“Who doesn’t?” He made himself hurry away at last, edging past tightly packed people as he headed downward.
His team greeted him silently, with nods and frowns that asked if he was okay. He gave them a thumbs-up and went to stand beside Greg Blanding.
Soon, the twenty-one-gun salute signaled the end of the funeral.
When the crowd began to disperse, Trevor couldn’t help glancing back up the hill, toward where the K-9 unit had stood. They, too, had scattered, probably allowing their dogs to meander through the throngs, seeing if they picked up the scents of any interesting suspects.
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