What part of Eli’s words was Niederhaus agreeing with? “Sorry you got hurt, too.”
With a nod of their heads, the two detectives left, closing the door softly behind them. Julia curled her arms around her middle, wondering if her imagination had gotten the better of her. Had she read something into their visit that wasn’t there because she was already such an emotional wreck? She’d discovered she was a pro at misreading men and their intentions.
That’s when her skin started to burn beneath Mac’s hand.
Though the pressure of his hand never increased, what had seemed like an intimate stamp of possession, of protection, at the very least, now weighed down upon her like a confining manacle.
Maybe Mac sensed the change in her from wary to self-conscious. Maybe the involuntary shiver that shook her was enough to repel his touch.
He lifted his hand. The throaty whisper at her ear startled her, yet rooted her in place. “Easy, Jules. Your heart’s racing like a comet. Something wrong?”
She couldn’t help but think of that night, half a lifetime ago, when he whispered to her so gently. The voice was deeper now, more hoarse than it had been back then. But the effect was still the same. The unadorned words comforted her battered soul, and her mind raced with hopeless possibilities.
But she was no foolish teenager anymore. She was smart enough to recognize compassion for what it was. She was smart enough to walk away.
She walked all the way to the front door, where she locked the dead bolt and reattached the chain. “I’m okay,” she reassured him, trying to reassure herself. “I spooked myself somehow. Probably fatigue. It’s been a long couple of weeks for me.”
She turned around to see Mac’s questioning look. A crease formed in the scar tissue beside his eyes as he squinted to focus on something he could not see.
“You are a rotten liar.”
She longed to put a complimentary twist on his words, but could only come up with sarcasm. “Gee, thanks.”
“They spooked me, too.” He stepped out, stumbled through the obstacle course, with a clear destination in mind. Julia went to help him, but he clamped down on her arms when he felt her touch, and gave her a little shake. “Tell me exactly what Masterson was doing.”
The sharp clip in his raspy voice was a welcome relief to the tender touch of a moment ago. She could handle Officer Taylor, crime-scene investigator, a lot more easily than Mac, the hero, who triggered those silly, sentimental feelings from her youth.
“Nosing around. He seemed interested in the stuff on your bookshelves.”
“I have crap on my bookshelves.” He cast her aside with a sense of urgency, an intellectual ferocity that wasn’t directed at her. He headed toward the corner of the room, rammed his hip into the desk and cursed. Julia hurried to his side as he fumbled around the desktop, rearranging the existing mess by creating another.
“Mac, what is it?” This frantic burst of energy worried her more than her suspicions surrounding Niederhaus and Masterson. She captured both of his hands in hers to stop his search. “What’s wrong? What do you need?”
“Where’s the damn phone?”
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