in the end, I was acquitted. Not enough evidence. They couldn’t find the gun that’d been used to kill him.” The Beretta 92 pistol he’d kept stashed away in the linen closet of her childhood home. “Same as now.”
That gut-wrenching smile overtook his stubborn expression, and she struggled against the gravitational pull she experienced every time he came around.
“What are the odds someone has been accused of murder twice in their life?” he asked.
“In my experience? High. Normally? Zero.”
He stepped into her, setting her chin between his index finger and thumb as he had in her apartment. Her insides turned to molten lava. Hesitation gripped her hard as he studied her. “Whoever’s doing this is counting on you taking the fall for Alexis’s death.” He released her, the tingling sensation spreading behind her sternum fading. “I’m not going to let that happen.”
All she had to do was lean forward—just a bit—to press her mouth against his. What would he taste like? Feel like?
A dull ringing reached her ears. Waylynn blinked to clear the last few seconds from her mind. She rushed to retrieve her phone from the pocket of the grungy sweats Officer Ramsey had lent her. The screen brightened with the laboratory’s number. “This is probably my boss. I should answer.”
Elliot swept his arms wide and bowed before retreating toward the door and, just like that, the intensity in his body language disappeared. As though it’d never happened. “By all means, use whichever part of this room you prefer. I’ll grab the gear from the truck.”
She stared after him as he closed the door. A small burst of disbelieving laughter escaped up her throat. No. Nothing was happening between them. That hadn’t been a connection. It’d been her body’s automatic reaction to a stressful situation. She and Elliot were friends and she’d keep it that way. They didn’t have a future together. There was no future with her.
The phone vibrating in her hand brought her back into the moment. She swiped her finger across the screen and brought it to her ear. “Dr. Hargraves.”
“Waylynn, I can’t believe it.” Dr. Matthew Stoker’s frantic tenor intensified the stress lodged between her shoulder blades. “The police were here at the lab. They wanted copies of your reports to match your handwriting—”
“It’s fine, Matt.” Waylynn ran a hand across her forehead. Dr. Matthew Stoker had been her boss for close to ten years. He’d given her the opportunity to conduct her research and convinced Genism’s board of directors to fund her projects. He was on the path to put the lab on the map for genetic research all before he hit forty. The entire company depended on him. But getting dragged into a murder investigation threatened his promising future. “You were doing what you had to for the best of the company. I don’t blame you for handing the reports over. I’m sorry they came to you.”
“Don’t worry about me. Are you okay?” Static reached through Matt’s end of the line. Or was that the sound of broken glass in the background? “I called the company lawyer for you. Blake Henson told me you’d been arrested, but they couldn’t keep you in custody. Where are you?”
“I’m…” She didn’t know what to say. She’d found her assistant dead in her bathtub and all the evidence Anchorage PD had recovered pointed at her. Someone had framed her for murder and the only reason she’d come out into the middle of the woods with Elliot was for her own protection. Should she trust Matt with the location?
The front door clicked open.
Elliot hauled another duffel bag inside, tossing it onto the floor, and her awareness of him rocketed to an all-time high. The zip-up hoodie he wore did nothing to hide the bulk in his arms and across his chest. The air in her lungs stilled. She’d never noticed his physique before.
What had changed?
“Waylynn?” Matt asked over the line.
She took a deep breath to restart her system as Elliot maneuvered around her in the small space and headed for the back of the cabin. His clean, masculine scent worked deep into her lungs, became part of her, and she had the feeling that was only the beginning as she studied the rest of the tiny space. He’d brought her here to keep her safe from whoever’d killed Alexis, but what if it was him who needed protection from her? “I’m somewhere safe.”
“Good. Keep it that way, because there’s something you should know.” The tension in Matt’s voice failed to drown out the tinkling of shattered glass over the line. “Someone broke in to the lab. Somehow a fire broke out and… Everything, all of your research from the past ten years… It’s gone.”
“Good news. I found an unopened box of peanut butter Oreos stashed under the bed.” He tossed the package a few inches into the air, then caught it. Her favorite guilty pleasure. Elliot pounded down the small set of stairs and rounded the corner into the main living space from the back of the cabin.
The color had left Waylynn’s cheeks, her knuckles white around the phone in her hand. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end at the sight of her. Forget the cookies. Tossing the package onto the counter, he pulled the weapon from his shoulder holster beneath his sweatshirt and clicked off the safety, ready for war. “Tell me whose ass I need to kick.”
“Somebody doesn’t just want to frame me for Alexis’s murder. They’re destroying my life.” Her voice barely reached across the small space. Confusion deepened the color in her ocean-blue gaze. “Elliot, my research… It’s gone. Everything I’ve worked for—for the past ten years, is gone.”
His gut tightened. Hell. That’d been her life’s work, her career. And it was gone? Elliot didn’t believe in coincidences. First, her assistant’s murder in Waylynn’s apartment. Now this. She was right. Whoever’d set her up to take the fall was ensuring she’d never get back up. He scanned the perimeter from the nearest window, then centered back on her, approaching slowly, and lowered the gun. Locking on the phone still clutched in her hand, he holstered his weapon. “Who was on the phone?”
“Dr. Stover. Someone broke in to the lab. There was a fire.” Her voice hollowed. She somehow went even paler. Her attention snapped up as he closed the distance between them and everything inside him heated. The delicate column of her throat flexed on a swallow. “The fire department thinks it was arson. There were traces of accelerant all over my desk. Chemicals we keep in the janitorial closets.”
He denied the urge to wrap her in his arms. While he hadn’t taken her on as an official client—yet—the same rules applied. No getting involved with clients. “Just yours?”
She nodded but refused to let go of that damn phone. “Yes. Someone burned it all. My handwritten notes, my digital files, a decade’s worth of studies and genetic testing… It was all in my desk or on my computer. What am I going to do?”
“What about a backup?” There had to be something salvageable.
“Genism doesn’t allow employees to have backups other than the company server, but Matt said that’s been tampered with, too.” She swiped at her face, shoulders rising on a deep inhale as though her emotional reservoir had run dry. “We can’t bring any foreign devices into the lab, take files out or save them to the cloud.”
