looked at her scarf. “Why, yes. Where did you find it?”
“Here in the lobby. By the door.”
“I must have dropped it on my way home from work,” she said.
“It’s damp.”
She reached a hand through the crack in the door. “Yes. The rain, you know. I’m surprised one of my neighbors didn’t pick it up.”
He gave her the scarf. His face was closed, but suspicious, she believed. “Be careful, ma’am. You’re a nice lady, I can see.” He glowered. “You don’t want any trouble.”
Her pulse stuttered. Was it a warning? A threat?
Devlin pressed against her so close she swore she could feel his heartbeat. She narrowed the door another inch.
“I will be careful, thank you, Officer. I hope you catch the, um—” She stopped, swallowing nervously. “What’s he done, anyway?”
“Just about everything,” the older cop said, looking at her with lidded eyes that were as flat and expressionless as a lizard’s. “Murder, theft, assault…you name it. The guy we’re after is no lightweight criminal. He’s an ex-con. Rotten to the core. You don’t want anything to do with him.”
2
DEVLIN EXPECTED Mackenzie to scream, fight, run. Instead she calmly said goodbye to the “officer,” then closed and secured the door, turning locks and sliding bolts with a certain steady resolution. Snick, chunk, chunk.
She turned to face him. Her eyes were huge and glistening. Her lips were puffy, deepened in color to the bright pink of arousal. She kept touching the raw red spot at the corner of her mouth with her tongue.
Guilt over hurting her threaded through him, but he ignored it. She was a big girl. She could take it.
Her expression had become mulish. She was finally getting ticked by his high-handedness. “All right, now, Devlin. No more lies. I want to know why you kissed me.”
What? He almost laughed. That was what she asked? “Not who I killed?”
“Did you? Kill someone?”
“No.”
“And the other charges?”
He dropped his chin a notch, ran a hand through his wet hair. His entire body ached, but he was trying to seem unworried, as if he had no concerns over trusting her with his life when he was beginning to realize that Mackenzie Bliss had changed. She wasn’t as reliable as she used to be. Nor as meek.
“Guilty,” he said.
She sucked in a gasp. “You’ve been in prison.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re in trouble again.”
“Yes.”
“And you—” her tongue flicked over her lip “—you came to me.”
“Only because I knew you lived in this area.” And I was running for my life.
“So I’m a convenience.”
“One night,” he said. “That’s all I need.”
“What happens in the morning?”
“Not your concern.”
“Argh.” Making an irritated sound at his stonewalling, she closed her eyes and rested her head against the door. He wanted to stay there and keep looking at her—keep an eye on her, that was—but Sloss and Bonaventure might still be lurking outside. If he was lucky, they hadn’t seen which building he’d entered and were going door-to-door up and down the entire block, as Mackenzie had suggested.
Devlin went into the living room and checked out the front window, parting the moss-colored velvet drapes the smallest sliver. Sloss and Bonny were standing on the street, arguing. Sloss would win, but Bonny wouldn’t know it until tomorrow. He was more concerned with dabbing at the watermarks on his hundred-dollar silk tie.
Sloss took out a cell phone and had a brief conversation. Devlin knew what the command from their greedy boss, Boris Cheney aka Fat Man, would be: get the ruby back from Devlin by any means necessary. Sloss was the man for the job. Even the most drastic method wouldn’t cost him a wink of sleep, though he didn’t look happy about the long night ahead as he flipped up his phone. He and Bonny waited for a delivery van to go by, spraying rainwater from its wheels, before stepping off the curb. Sloss stopped to fish something out of the gutter, but Devlin couldn’t see what had interested him. Bonny had already sprinted across the street and was buzzing apartments on the other side, trying to get into another building. That was good. They hadn’t pinpointed his location.
Devlin watched until they disappeared inside. There was always some idiot occupant who’d let a stranger in just to stop the buzzer noise from disturbing their TV program.
He turned. Mackenzie was there, waiting, curled up in a big, plush armchair. She’d wrapped her arms around herself to contain her shivering. Cursing the unexpected tenderness she made him feel even now, he took a blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over her.
The room was filled with shadows, but his eyes were accustomed to the dark and he was able to examine her furnishings. Matching decor, flower arrangements, family photos in silver frames. It was exactly the kind of place he’d expected Mackenzie to live in—aside from the lack of smiling hubby and two cherubic children.
He squinted at her. “Thanks for not turning on the lights.”
She shrugged.
He sat. No use waiting for an invitation anymore.
Mackenzie was silent. Although she’d calmed down as he’d known she would, she still didn’t look particularly accepting of his story. Smart girl.
She put a hand to her hair, restlessly fingering the short strands. He couldn’t get used to Mackenzie Bliss with short hair. She’d always had a long, luxuriant mane, the color of sable. Sometimes, back in high school, he’d caught himself wondering how her hair would feel, brushing over his bare chest. And how Mackenzie would feel naked, so soft and warm and curvy no pillows would be necessary if they spent the night together.
She opened her mouth. “I still want to know why you kissed me.”
“It was an impulse.”
Her eyes glinted like steel. That was new. “No, it wasn’t. You had a purpose.”
“You’re right.” She was much sharper than the dreamy girl he remembered. “I needed to convince you.”
“And you thought kissing me was the way to do it?” She tried to sound insulted, but the quaver in her voice betrayed her. “Do I look that des—that stupid?”
“Not stupid,” he said. And not desperate, either.
“Then what?” she snapped.
