Arouse Suspicion (5 page)

Nick joined her after leaning the door, which he'd kicked off the hinges, against the frame. She checked to ensure her camera was safely stowed in her backpack. They scurried across the motel lot toward the truck and paused to look for traffic before starting across the street.

A squeal of tires was Danni's only warning. She jerked around to see a car barreling through the storm directly toward them. She felt a tug on her arm and fell to the street. Then she was rolling across the wet pavement, another body glued to hers—a bigger and harder body that protected her on the concrete. They stopped abruptly, and Nick groaned, his breath hot against her ear.

Danni scrambled up to try to see the car that had almost run them down, but it had disappeared into the inky rain. She spotted her backpack lying in the middle of the street and grabbed it before it was run over by a vehicle. Hurrying back to Nick, she squatted beside him and laid a hand on his chest. His heart thundered as fast as hers.

"You okay?" she asked anxiously.

He nodded and, with her help, sat up. He rubbed his right arm, grimacing as the rain streamed down his face. "Nothing's broken."

Danni realized he must've hit the curb with his arm. She flinched, imagining the bruise he'd have. "Should I take you to the hospital?"

"No. It'll be okay."

They rose and stepped onto the sidewalk. Nobody was around, or at least nobody they could spot. The rain was easing up, but water saturated Danni's curls and worked its way across her scalp to her nape and rolled down her back. A shiver followed the cold rain's path on her skin.

"Let's get in the truck," Danni said.

Once inside the cab with the happily wiggling Gus, Nick tugged the blanket out from under his dog and wiped his hands and face. He handed it to Danni, and she found a dry corner without too much dog hair to mop the rain from her face.

"Did you see anything?" Danni asked, her voice low against the backdrop of rain pelting the truck's roof.

"No. It came too fast."

The aftermath of the adrenaline overdose coursed through her blood, and the shakes hit her. She clutched the steering wheel to hide her body's reaction. "Do you think it was a drunk driver?"

Nick shifted his shoulder and grimaced. "Do you?"

"If I thought so, I'd call nine-one-one and report it." Still trembling, she tossed the wet blanket behind the seat. She didn't reach for her cell phone.

Belatedly remembering her camera, she unzipped her backpack and lifted it out. Handling it carefully, she examined it.

"Did it survive?" Nick asked.

Relieved, she nodded and slipped it back inside the pack. "It's in better shape than you are." She eyed him closely, noting the scrape on his left temple where blood oozed. He held his right arm stiffly, telling her the bruise was worse than your standard owie.

With her tremors easing, Danni started the truck and turned the vent fan to defrost. She pulled onto the street, shiny with the watery reflection of the city lights. Her place was on the other side of town, but her father's house was only ten minutes away. It might do them both good to take a hot shower, dry their clothes, and have some coffee before driving another half hour to her office, where Nick's vehicle was parked.

They rode in silence as Danni tried to remember anything about the car or driver who had nearly turned them into roadkill. She didn't want to believe it was anything other than a reckless or drunk driver, but her gut wouldn't let her off the hook.

When Danni turned into her father's driveway, Nick shot her a look. "What're we doing at Paddy's place?"

"You've been here?"

"A few times."

That's right. Nick was the infamous Rocky, her dad's favorite juvenile delinquent. And the object of her first adolescent crush. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing away the bitterness.

"What're we doing here?" Nick repeated, this time with a shade of impatience.

Danni opened her eyes. "I thought we could dry our clothes and have something warm to drink before I take you back to your car."

"Are you trying to get me out of my pants, Ms. Hawkins?" Sultry heat wrapped his low voice in velvet, caressing her as if he'd touched her with his strong, square hands.

She kept her attention trained on the dim porch, trying not to imagine Nick Sirocco sliding out of those snug blue jeans....

Danni cleared her throat, and her mind with it. "In your dreams."

"Or yours."

Damn, the man was too good at this game. Or she was too long out of it.

"Do you mind if I bring Gus in?"

A streetlight illuminated Nick's eyes, as vivid and blue as a mountain lake. She almost forgot the question. But then her gaze shifted to the swollen and bloody bump on his forehead, reminding her why they were here. "No, that's fine."

The rain had diminished to a light mist, but Danni still hurried to the covered porch. Nick and Gus joined her as she unlocked the door. Danni flicked the switch, and light flooded the interior, bringing an avalanche of memories.

Nick closed the door behind them, and Gus trotted into the living room, where she plopped down on the carpet.

Danni set her backpack on the floor, then removed her jacket, revealing her shoulder holster and damp T-shirt. Glancing up, she noticed Nick eyeing her chest. He was probably comparing her attributes to Bambi's. Danni didn't have a prayer with her 34Bs pitted against a pair of 38Ds.

She resisted the urge to cross her arms, to cover her puckered nipples clearly visible through the damp cloth. A wet T-shirt contest queen she wasn't. She told herself it was merely her body's reaction to the cold. "There's a bathroom at the top of the stairs with towels in the linen closet. Go ahead and take a shower," she said. "If you toss your clothes outside the door, I'll put them in the dryer."

"Thanks," Nick replied.

Danni watched him trudge up the stairs, taking guilty pleasure in eyeing his tight, denim-encased backside. She was surprised he wasn't moving more stiffly, since he'd taken the brunt of the pavement's punishment.
Her
muscles were beginning to feel like she'd hiked up Mount Rainier.

Ignoring her body's demands for a few more minutes, she removed her revolver from the shoulder holster and efficiently wiped it down. It didn't matter if she was a cop or a PI, she had to be able to count on her weapon.

When she was done, she removed the shoulder holster and placed it and her gun on the kitchen table. She put on a pot of coffee, then leaned against the counter. Her gaze settled on the teapot-shaped clock that had hung above the stove ever since she could remember. The pale yellow walls used to make the room cheery even during overcast days, but now they made the kitchen seem old and outdated. The forest green carpet and the heavy furniture throughout the house also spoke of an era when
All in the Family
and polyester leisure suits were in vogue. It seemed her father had stopped time in his own world when Danni's mom left them.

Danni shoved away from the counter and trotted upstairs, passing Nick's pile of wet clothes in the hallway. The shower was running, and Danni could imagine Nick, his head tipped back, as the water sluiced over his hair, down his broad shoulders, and across his muscled back and buttocks. She blinked aside the tempting picture and went into her old room. After removing her T-shirt and black jeans, she tugged on an oversized Oregon State sweatshirt and faded blue jeans with holes in the knees that she found in a dresser drawer.

Nick would need some dry clothes, or he would have to sit in the bathroom for forty-five minutes. Her clothes obviously wouldn't fit him, which left her father's.

She paused in front of his bedroom, her feet suddenly anchored to the floor. She'd only been in there once since her father's death—when she'd gotten his dress uniform for the burial. With her hands clenched tightly and her heart thundering, she pushed open the door and paused.

Her gaze settled on the bare bed frame. The mattress and box spring had been removed, but Danni could almost smell the thick scent of blood. Against her will, her attention shifted to the scrubbed walls, where the blood spatter could still be seen as faint pink stains on the light blue wallpaper. Her stomach rolled, and bile rose in her throat. She forced back the sickness and breathed through her mouth in slow, calming breaths.

Danni found her father's old bathrobe hanging on its usual hook in the closet. She clutched it to her chest and buried her face in the terry cloth. The faded scent of his aftershave surrounded her. She tried not to breathe, to ignore the bombarding memories invoked by the scent, but the sensations were too strong.

When she was four years old, her father used to sit her on the vanity so she could watch him shave. The whole process had fascinated her, from applying the white foam, which he allowed her to help with, to watching him drag the razor across his face, leaving smooth bare skin behind. Then he would tap three drops of aftershave in his palm, rub his hands together, and slap his face. The final act would be the test; her father would rub a freshly shaven cheek against hers. Then she'd giggle and proclaim him ready for work.

A tear rolled down Danni's cheek, and she swiped it away impatiently. That was almost twenty-five years ago, when she'd been Daddy's little girl.

"Do you have anything I can wear?" Nick's shout startled her, and she suddenly realized the shower was off.

"I'm coming." She walked down the hallway and knocked on the bathroom door. "Here." Her throat felt raw.

The door cracked open, and a hand thrust out to accept the robe. "Thanks."

Danni picked up his soaked clothes, gathered her own from her old bedroom, and carried them downstairs to the utility room. She tossed them into the dryer and set the timer.

She heard Nick's padding footsteps on the stairs and returned to the front room. The robe was wrapped almost double around him, but it ended just below his knees. She tried not to stare at the flexing muscles in his calves or his nicely formed feet as he descended, but her gaze kept traveling back to them.

She aimed her eyes above his neck and saw the angry-looking scrape on his temple. "I'll get some antiseptic cream for that."

Nick touched the injury and flinched. "No wonder my head's pounding."

"How's your arm?"

"Sore, but not as bad as my shoulders. They're stiffening up good."

Danni went back into the utility room, found the first aid supplies she knew were kept there, and returned to the living room. "Sit down," she ordered.

"What're you going to do?" Nick asked, making no move to do as she said.

"Nothing that'll ruin your reputation." Danni ushered him into a chair.

She moved to his front, her legs brushing his bare knees. The front of his robe gaped, and Danni was treated to a view of a thoroughly masculine chest with only a light smattering of coarse, golden brown hair. Closing her suddenly dry mouth and dropping her gaze, she opened the smaller of the two tubes. She pinched a dollop on two fingers and carefully rubbed it into the raw scrape on his forehead. "Ow!"

"C'mon, a big Army Ranger like yourself shouldn't even notice a little owie like this," Danni said.

"It's not the damned owie. Where'd you learn first aid, Atilla the Hun Medical School?"

Danni rolled her eyes heavenward. "Don't be such a wuss." She scrutinized the swollen gash, bringing her face to within an inch of Nick's. "It's still oozing some clear stuff, but that should stop soon." She moved around to stand behind him. "Now loosen your robe so I can check that bruise."

"It's okay." He attempted to stand, but Danni put her hand on his right shoulder, and he flinched visibly. "Damn it, that hurt."

"Lose the robe, or I'll take it off for you."

Grumbling, Nick untied the belt and eased the robe off his shoulders, and partway down his right arm. Danni stared at the smooth skin of his upper back and the delineation of muscle beneath it. Nick Sirocco was a visual banquet.

"Are you going to do something or just stare?" Nick asked.

Flustered, Danni muttered, "Don't flatter yourself."

She examined the ugly bruise on his upper arm. It would be sore, but didn't look serious. She opened the tube of muscle cream and squeezed a long line of it on her palm. After rubbing her hands together to warm it, she massaged the cream gently into his shoulders. As she kneaded the warm flesh with increasingly firm motions, Nick's head drooped forward, his chin touching his chest with only an occasional hitch in his breath.

Danni withdrew her hands, which tingled from both the muscle cream she'd used and the feel of Nick's sleek skin. She eased the robe back onto his shoulders.

"Does this mean you're done?" Nick asked, sounding like an overtired child.

Danni came around to stand in front of him. "And here I thought you didn't appreciate my nursing technique."

"I appreciate your technique just fine."

Surprised by his voice's huskiness, she dropped her gaze to his, only to be snared by the smoldering heat in the depths of his eyes. Her cheeks felt flushed, and arousal swamped her belly.

He raised his hand, brushed a curl back, and tucked it behind her ear. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she whispered, wanting to lose herself in almost-forgotten sensual delight.

And knowing she didn't dare.

Chapter Four

This was
not
part of the plan. Furthermore, Danni had no intention of getting involved with one of her father's past "projects." Especially this one. She forced herself to straighten, and Nick's hand fell away. Unwelcome coolness invaded the lingering warmth of his touch.

She changed the subject abruptly. "Are you hungry?"

Nick stood, and her gaze dropped to the floor, right where his sexy feet were planted. Was there anything about this man that
wasn't
sexy?

"Is that an invitation?" he asked.

Unnerved by his proximity, Danni brushed past him. "To eat." She flinched. Why did every other sentence out of her mouth sound like some erotic play on words? Not that she was a prude—far from it—but she didn't want Sirocco to get the wrong idea. "I can scramble some eggs."

"Sounds good."

Danni searched her father's fridge and found eggs, portabello mushrooms, gingerroot, and several items she didn't recognize. For as long as Danni could remember, her father had enjoyed cooking—had even fancied himself a gourmet chef. He used to watch Julia Child, then try to reproduce her meals, using Danni as his guinea pig. Usually, the food was delicious. However, there had been a few occasions where it hadn't even come close to edible. Those were the times when her father had pizza delivered, much to young Danni's delight.

She shook aside the bittersweet memories.

Much of the exotic food had spoiled, and the rest was on the verge. She'd have to clean out the refrigerator in the next day or two. Fortunately, there were enough ingredients to spice up some scrambled eggs—Danni's one and only specialty, as she hadn't inherited her father's joy of cooking.

"What can I do?" Nick asked.

She jumped, having forgotten he was there. "Make sure Gus doesn't chew on the furniture."

"She won't."

"Then watch ESPN or something," she muttered.

She was acutely aware of Nick's scrutiny as she chopped an onion, but she ignored him. What had possessed her to offer him dinner? His clothes wouldn't take that long to dry, then they could leave and go their separate ways.

But was that such a good idea after the near hit-and-run?

"It might've been just a case of drunk driving," Nick suddenly said in a quiet voice.

How had he known what she was thinking?

"Maybe we should call the police and let them check it out," he continued with obvious reluctance. "Is there anybody you trust on the force?"

Danni tried to concentrate on preparing their dinner and not the trembling of her hands. During her last month on the force, it had never been a matter of her trusting her colleagues; it had been a matter of them trusting her.

Or maybe her trusting herself.

She scraped chopped onions, mushrooms, and peppers into the pan. They sizzled in the melted butter, and she stirred the mixture, glad to have something to do with her hands. "Before I talked to you, I would've trusted most everybody. Now, I just don't know."

Nick leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingers on the tabletop. "So what do you think? Should we report it?"

"I thought we already had this discussion," Danni said in exasperation. "It wouldn't do any good. There was no one but us around, and even if there had been, they couldn't have seen much in the storm. It was probably a reckless driver."

"Do you really believe that?"

Danni cracked four eggs in a bowl and whisked them with milk as she replayed their brush with the car. Her grip on the whisk tightened, and the mixture splashed onto the counter. She stopped her frantic mixing and stared down into the bowl, her thoughts and instincts taking her where she didn't want to go. "If it had happened a week ago, I would. But now... It's too coincidental. My gut's telling me somebody followed us and used the rain's cover to try to take one or both of us out. I think the appropriate question here is,
why?"

Nick pulled a hand across his face. "Because I stirred up things at the department, and the killer isn't taking any chances."

"He or she obviously thinks you know something." With a none-too-steady hand, Danni added the whipped eggs to the pan. She turned and met Nick's gaze squarely. "Do you?"

He bristled. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Is there something you haven't told me?"

"I wouldn't have asked for your help if I could've figured it out on my own."

Uneasy, Danni added some kind of cheese with a name she couldn't pronounce to the eggs. "Then we need to figure out what they
think
you know. Could you get a couple of
plates from the
cupboard behind you?"

Nick rose, and his sharp intake of breath revealed his discomfort. He retrieved two plates and placed them on the table. "Silverware?"

She pointed to a drawer, and he finished setting the table. She spooned out half of the scrambled eggs on each plate. They sat down and ate in a silence that was surprisingly more comfortable than awkward.

"This is good," Nick commented.

"It's the only thing I can cook," Danni admitted with a shrug.

Nick rested his elbows on the table. "So what's the story with you and your father?"

Danni shot him an irritated glance. "No story. We just didn't have anything in common."

"You were both cops."

"I was a cop for two years. Dad spent over thirty years on the force." Her appetite fled, and she rose to scrape the remains of her meal into the garbage. She knew Nick had more questions about her bouncing around in his head, but she didn't like talking about ancient history. What's done was done, and regurgitating old news wasn't going to change anything.

She leaned against the counter and crossed her arms. "How old were you when Dad 'adopted' you?"

"Seventeen, and he never adopted me." His irritation was clear. He stood and set his empty plate in the sink. "Paddy kicked me in the ass when I needed it. He forced me to take a good look at myself, and what I saw, I didn't much like."

"So you joined the army."

"That wasn't the only reason."

Nick walked into the living room and Danni, curious, followed him. He settled gingerly on the sofa, and Danni dropped into the overstuffed chair, her legs folded beneath her.

"What other reason was there?" Danni asked.

"Let's just say there wasn't a whole lot at home for me, besides an old man who was a drunk. And a mother who did anything or anybody he told her." Nick picked up the TV remote and began channel surfing.

Danni knew all about those kinds of kids—kids from broken families, usually with one, sometimes two parents, and a string of "uncles" or "aunts." Those kids were the ones who ended up populating the jails and prisons once they became adults. Nick Sirocco had escaped that fate. Thanks to her father.

Gus snuffled, rose from her sprawl on the carpet, and went to Nick, laying her chin on his thigh. Nick gave her head a pat, and she dropped back down to lie by his feet.

Danni eyed the animal with something akin to amazement. She would've never expected a dog to be so attuned to a person's emotions. Obviously Gus knew her master pretty well.

The phone rang, startling Danni. She hesitated, and it rang again. She hurried into the kitchen to pick up the handset from the gold wall phone. "Hello."

"Danni?"

"Sam. How'd you find me?"

"I called your place first and didn't get an answer, so I thought I'd take a chance on you being at Paddy's." He paused, and when he spoke again, his tone had roughened with concern. "I wanted to see how you were doing, Danni girl."

She shrugged and gazed down at the blue and yellow tiled floor. "I'm all right."

"You don't sound all right. Why don't I take you out to eat, and we can talk?"

She glanced into the living room and met Nick's inscrutable expression. "I've already eaten. But I'd like to talk. How about breakfast tomorrow morning?"

"Our favorite pancake place?"

Danni smiled. "Perfect. Eight o'clock?"

"I'll see you then. Bye."

"Bye, Sam."

She turned away from Nick's too-perceptive eyes and stared out the window above the sink into the dark evening.

A few seconds later, strong, capable hands settled on her shoulders and kneaded them gently. Danni tensed, then relaxed, as she inhaled Nick's clean scent. Heat flowed from his hands to her shoulders and inward, to encompass her entire body. She wanted to lean back into the solid chest that she knew lay beneath the robe, which was crazy, because she'd known Nick for all of thirty-six hours. And what would he think of her if she suddenly went all soft and maudlin on him? Or if she turned around and kissed him—a wet, take-no-prisoners kind of kiss—that would help her forget for just a little while?

Her face hot from the spicy fantasy, Danni shrugged away from him and crossed her arms over her sweatshirt. "That was Sam Richmond."

"What did he want?" Nick asked, mirroring her pose as he leaned against a counter.

"To take me out to dinner. We're meeting for breakfast, instead."

"I'll tag along."

"The invitation didn't include you."

"I'm not letting you out of my sight until we find out who tried to kill us today."

"Not us. You."

He shook his head. "We don't know that. What if he was after
you?"

"Why?"

"Same reason he'd try to kill me—he thinks you know something."

Danni restrained a huff of denial. Her father had never confided in her about anything. "I hate this shit," she muttered to herself. She turned to Nick. "So, what do we do?"

"We can either go to your place or mine, but we stay together." His tone brooked no arguments.

Danni wasn't too keen on being apart either, not if someone was out to get Nick. The thought of him laid out on a stainless steel table in the morgue made her stomach churn. "Why not stay here?"

"I didn't think you'd want to after..."

Nick trailed off, but Danni could fill in the blanks.

After your dad died in this house.

Danni suppressed a shiver and snapped, "I can handle it, Sirocco. Besides—" she calmed herself. "This place has more room."

"It's too big to defend effectively."

"Spoken like a true soldier," she remarked, half serious. "We'll both be upstairs, and the guest room is across from my old bedroom."

"It would be better if we slept in the same room."

Danni glared at him. "You're not that irresistible."

Nick grinned. "So you won't have a problem sleeping in the same bed and keeping your hands to yourself?"

"Don't even think about it, Romeo."

His innocent look was ruined by the dangerous glint in his eyes. Danni decided on a preemptive strike. "You want to wash or dry?"

"Wash or dry what?"

Her reply was to fling a dish towel at him. She filled one side of the sink with hot water and soap.

"I want to pick up my Jeep tonight," Nick said after taking a rinsed dish from her soapy hand.

"It'll be fine until tomorrow."

"Not in that neighborhood."

"We'll get it tomorrow." She stacked the rest of the dishes in the drainer.

"Are you always so damned stubborn?"

"Only when I'm right."

"And you're always right."

"Not always. Only ninety-nine percent of the time."

"Cocky, too."

"Part of my charm," she said with a shrug. She finished washing the dishes and watched the soapy water swirl down the drain. It was safer than looking at Nick Sirocco.

With a wry smile, he dried the rest of the dishes and placed them in the cupboard. Danni took the towel and hung it over a chair. "Your clothes are probably dry by now," she said.

"If we aren't going to get my Jeep, I don't need them." His eyes glittered. "I sleep in the nude."

If he intended to get her all hot and bothered with his little announcement, he succeeded. The thought of his lean body spread out between two cool, crisp sheets was a hell of a lot more enticing than sleeping alone in her pink-trimmed room surrounded by frilly curtains.

"TMI, Sirocco," she muttered.

He grinned unrepentantly.

Damn! She was an independent woman, not some blushing virgin.
Definitely
not a virgin.

So why did Nick Sirocco make her feel like a high school nerd with a crush on the star football player?

Nick shifted, barely containing a moan of discomfort when his shoulder protested the movement. His head, too, was pounding despite the three aspirins he'd taken before going to bed.

He punched his pillow, willing himself to ignore his body's buzzing and throbbing. If Danni Hawkins was sharing his bed, he had a feeling he wouldn't have any problem getting his mind off his aches and pains. But Danni was sleeping across the hallway with her door closed. She probably had a chair jammed under the doorknob, too, to keep the sex-starved Sirocco out of her bedroom.

So maybe that wasn't so far from the truth. Nick had little opportunity to meet women, much less date, in his solitary writer's life. In fact, Gus was the only female who'd been in his bed in months. He reached out and encountered Gus's soft fur. The dog was stretched out along his left leg, where she normally slept at home.

Nick touched the bump on his temple gingerly, wondering for the hundredth time who'd tried to run them down. He'd been going over each and every encounter he'd had at the police department but was unable to come up with a viable suspect.

Why would someone go to the trouble of making Paddy's death look like a suicide? What had he known that had gotten him killed?

God, he missed Paddy. He missed the man's common sense and straightforward advice. Paddy was never one to pull a punch if a punch needed to be thrown. He was a firm believer in taking responsibility for your own actions. He would've been the first to tell Nick that the rift between himself and his daughter wasn't the fault of one of them alone, but a combination of their stubborn natures. And Nick could see Paddy in his daughter so easily—the same blunt honesty and wicked sense of humor.

But Danni was a whole lot easier on the eyes than her father.