If You Know Her: A Novel of Romantic Suspense (16 page)

She couldn’t just disappear. Should she die and the circumstances were even remotely suspicious … no. That would be bad. Very bad. He had to be careful here, had to decide if he needed to do anything at all—and unless something
had
to be done, he’d do nothing. He’d screwed up, and now he had to wait until things settled, had to be cautious. And no more mistakes.

From the woods, he watched Law Reilly’s house, waited. He didn’t like approaching in the daylight, even from this angle, although he knew nobody would see him, unless they were watching from somewhere in the back of the house.

Which Reilly could very well be doing.

Except Nia’s bike was out front. He’d seen her turn in. Had been following her, watching her.

Finally, he made a decision. He couldn’t keep waiting where he was, in the shade and safety of the trees. He’d come here to evaluate. He needed to do that, or leave.

Slipping out of the woods, he started for the house, keeping to the corner where he wasn’t as likely to be seen. He also kept at a slow, casual pace, hands tucked in his pockets. Harmless … he was just harmless, and wasn’t out there to cause trouble …

I
T WAS NEARLY AN HOUR BEFORE THEY MADE IT OUT
of the shower and downstairs to the kitchen, where Law put Nia at the island. When she would have climbed off the stool, he pointed and said, “Damn it, stay there. I need food.”

“You’re cranky.” She smirked at him and slid off anyway. “I was just thinking about getting my clothes. I need a cigarette.”

He frowned. “Those aren’t good for you.”

“Gee, really?” She made a face at him. “I know. I just … hell, I stopped years ago. Going to stop again, sooner or later. It’s just this mess with Joely …”

Law paused and closed the distance between them. He pushed his fingers through her hair. “If you stopped once, you can do it again, then. But do you really think she’d want you poisoning yourself? Not just with the worry, but with the cigarettes, too?”

“Stop.” She sighed and rubbed her neck. “We’ve had sex a few times—doesn’t mean you get to dictate to me about my health. And I already
know
this. Now are you making us food or what?”

“Making food.” He dipped his head and pressed his mouth to hers. “And I’m not trying to dictate. I can’t
help that I’m already stupid with how much I think about you. That’s your fault.”

“Is not.” She scowled at him.

“Yeah, it is. Has to be. Haven’t ever had anybody else tangle up my head the way you do. So that means it’s your fault.” He nipped her lower lip and moved away, heading back to the fridge. “Now be a good girl and I’ll make us some lunch.”

“A good girl,” she echoed, chuckling. Then she sighed. “What the hell. I’m hungry, anyway. Didn’t get much in the way of breakfast.”

“Hard to get a decent breakfast staying at a hotel. And eating at the café every day will get old,” he said, rooting around for the bacon he’d picked up, some tomatoes. He could cook well enough but he hadn’t exactly planned on company—the most he could do was BLTs and some soup. Hopefully that would work.

If she came back, though, Lena had taught him a few easy things that just might wow a woman. He found himself thinking about making Nia dinner—candlelight. Wine. Yeah, he liked that idea. Liked it a lot.

“… at the hotel now.”

“Huh?” He glanced up, realized she’d been talking and he’d been off in his own world. That wasn’t anything new, but it wasn’t like Nia was used to that. Frowning, he dumped the stuff he held onto the counter and said, “Sorry. Got to thinking about something else, didn’t hear you.”

She lifted a brow and although she didn’t say anything, he could tell she was a little put off.

“I wasn’t ignoring you,” he said, trying to keep the defensive tone out of his voice. “I was just …”

“I didn’t say anything,” she said, her voice cool.

“I know, I was just …” He felt the slow creep of red climbing up his neck and realized with no small amount of humiliation that he was blushing. Ah, hell. Turning
around, he started rooting through the cabinets even though it didn’t take five seconds to find what he needed, not with Hope’s meticulous organization. “I … ah, well, all I plan on doing is soup and sandwiches. My mind kind of wanders, and I got to thinking about making you dinner one night. If you’d want to come back out, that is. Started thinking about … I dunno, a date.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt like the world’s biggest jackass.

Shit. Grabbing a can of soup, he slammed the cabinet door with a little more force than needed.

“A date, huh?”

Her voice came from just an inch or two away.

Turning around, he leaned against the counter and tried to pretend he was a lot more relaxed than he felt. “Yeah. You know, if you wanted.”

She’d slipped off the stool and stood close, too close. She was smiling, he realized. A soft smile that hit him straight in the gut, straight in the heart.

“A date … where you make me dinner.”

He glanced off past her shoulder, jerked a shoulder in a shrug. “Yeah. I’m no Emeril or anything, but I can cook okay. Lena … ah, Ezra’s wife? She’s a pretty good friend of mine and she’s a chef, taught me a thing or two after she figured out about all I could do was macaroni out of a box and …”

That was all he managed to get out before she pressed her lips to his.

It was a quick, easy kiss and then she backed away, leaning against the island and staring at him, still smiling that slow, easy smile.

“Law, I’ve got to say, that’s probably the sweetest invitation I think I’ve ever had. I’ve never once had a guy offer to make me dinner. Just tell me when—I’m there.”

Sweet
—his blush only got worse and he turned away, hands feeling too big, his throat dry and tight. Hell, she
made him feel like he was back in high school. Shit, middle school, when he had a crush on the cute teacher’s assistant—some blond bombshell who wore her sweaters just a little bit too tight. Only this was worse. So much worse.

This wasn’t just hormone-driven, adolescent-crazed lust. He might wish it was, but …

Clearing his throat, he busied himself with ripping open the bacon. “So what were you saying about the hotel?”

“I checked out. Some city cop, Kent Jennings, mentioned that there was a bed-and-breakfast not too far from here and the owner sometimes sublets the cabins. By the way, just how many Jenningses
live
around here, anyway?”

Absently, he said, “A lot.”

The Inn. She was staying at the Inn.

Once he had the bacon sizzling on the stove and his hands washed, he turned back and studied her, an uneasy feeling stirring inside his chest. “You’re staying at the Inn.”

“Yep.”

“I take it that means you’ll be around awhile? Roz only uses the cabins for long-term stuff, a month or longer, at least.”

“Yeah, I know. She gave me a sweet deal—three months for the price of two if I paid it all up front.” She grimaced and said, “I went ahead and did it, figured I might as well.”

Law was quiet, thinking it through. Roz probably had her sign some sort of short-term rental agreement. But she was a fair woman—compassionate. She’d let Nia out of the deal, and Law could help her find someplace else. Blowing out a breath, he met her eyes. “You sure you want to stay there?”

She blinked. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Nia … Lena works there.”

Something moved through those golden eyes, but before he could interpret it, she looked down. When she looked back up, just a minute later, the look was gone and her gaze was unreadable. “And your point would be …?”

“How easy is that going to be for you?” he asked, shoving away from the counter and moving to stand in front of her, reaching up to trace a finger down her cheek.

“It won’t,” she said flatly. “But
nothing
has been easy for me for almost a year and I don’t expect that to change now.” Then abruptly, she smiled, a sly smile, as she reached out and hooked her fingers in the front of his jeans, tugged him closer. “Although, actually, I can think of
one
thing that was remarkably easy …”

“You calling me a thing?” He wasn’t so sure he wanted to let it go as simple as that, but that was her pain and if this was how she wanted to deal with it … although he wished he could offer her something more, some sort of comfort, something to take the darkness and the sadness from her.

“Hmmm. I don’t know. Nah, you’re not a thing. Maybe you’re a fling. Yeah, that’s more like it. Is that what we’ve got going here? A fling?”

She nibbled her way along his bare chest and Law hissed as she bit lightly at his nipple. “A fling? Hell if I know. Can’t say I’ve ever been anybody’s fling before.” He was tempted to reach down, cup her hips under the hem of the T-shirt she wore.

But the scent of frying bacon hung in the air. Instead, he eased away, bussed her lips lightly.

“Maybe before we figure out what to call it, we should figure out what it is,” he decided, keeping his voice light, easy. Even though he definitely wasn’t feeling light or
easy right now. “By definition, flings are general short-term, right? But you’re not ditching town in a few days. You planning on trading me out for somebody else in a few weeks, Nia?”

She snorted. “Trading you out? You’re not a car, Law.”

Flipping the bacon, he shrugged. “Well, it’s a fair question. Otherwise, how can I figure out if this is a fling or not?”

“Call it whatever you want. Just feed me. And don’t worry … I’m not much for flings myself.”

He glanced over his shoulder at her, a smile tugging at his lips.

The sight of that smile had her heart skipping a beat or five. Waiting until it leveled out, she tucked her hands in her lap, discreetly wiped her sweating palms on the T-shirt she’d swiped from him. It smelled of him and she knew she’d be smelling him on her all day.

“Don’t see that it matters what we call it, anyway,” she said, striving for casual. “They are just words anyway, you know.”

“Words.” He turned around, once more leaned against the counter, hands braced on it. “Words can do a lot of things—as much as you want, or as little as you want, if you think about it.”

Nia arched a brow. “Sounds like you spend a lot of time thinking about words.”

He shrugged and shoved off the counter, ambled over toward her. Her heart did that weird little skip, but all he did was reach over her head, pull a small saucepan down from the rack hanging over the island. “You okay with soup?”

“As long as it’s nothing gross like split pea or something like that.”

He laughed. “Nah, you’re safe. I can’t touch split pea without thinking of
The Exorcist
.”

Nia groaned and squeezed her eyes closed. “Oh, thanks so much for that image …”

“You’re welcome,” he said cheerfully. “I always feel better when I share an image like that. Helps lessen my mental agony.”

Popping one eye open, she stared at him as he opened the red-and-white can. “Your mental agony. You’re a strange character, Law.”

“Yeah. I’ve heard that a time or two.”

She shuddered and tried to scrub her mind of that image—thankfully it had been years since she’d tried split pea soup, so she wasn’t inclined to gag, and she had a pretty strong stomach anyway. The shit she saw in her job … well, it wasn’t for the faint of heart.

“Since we’re not going to define just what we’re doing here, I’ve got another question for you.”

“Yeah?” She was almost afraid to hear, seeing as how his humor obviously ran to the twisted.

But when she glanced at him, his expression was serious.

Heavy, even.

He took his time, putting the soup on the stove, flipping the bacon again. Her belly rumbled at the scent and she thought about getting up to try to steal a piece.

Then he pinned her with that intense hazel gaze. How those eyes could look so dark and brooding, she didn’t know, but he managed it. Her knees felt a little wobbly and all of a sudden, her heart was racing.

“Just why are you back in Ash, Nia?” he asked softly.

“Pardon?” Even as she forced the word out, she wanted to kick herself. Playing dumb wasn’t going to work with him. But she didn’t know how to answer that question.

Tell him the truth
, a small voice inside her heart whispered.

Her head screeched,
No
.

Everything else demanded she do just that.

The truth—give him the truth.

But what if he laughed? What if he didn’t believe her?

What if—God forbid—he pitied her and patted her back and sent her on her way?

Swallowing, she swiped her hands on the overlong hem of the shirt again, staring past his shoulder at the window. The blinds were down, but the window was open and occasionally, the blinds would move, pushed in by a small breeze. She focused on the small undulation, tried to get her thoughts in order.

Where to start … hell, where did she start?

Did she tell him the truth?

“Nia?”

She swallowed, jerked her eyes back to his.

Abruptly, she knew.

Yeah. She would tell him the truth. Somehow, she knew he wasn’t going to laugh. Wouldn’t pat her on the head and send her on her way. Whether he’d believe her or not, she didn’t know, but he wouldn’t dismiss it, either.

“My cousin,” she said.

Law nodded. “I had a feeling it was about her. No other reason for you to come back here, is there?”

She swallowed again—there was a knot in her throat, huge and awful, and she could hardly breathe around it. But swallowing almost made her feel like she’d choke—choke on the tears, the pain. “You’d think it would get easier, right? I mean, according to the investigation, they found the guy who killed her. That’s the closure I should need, right? What makes it easier for me to move on?”

For a long time he was quiet, nothing breaking the silence but a quiet sigh and the sizzle of bacon. Then he turned around, switched the soup to low, used the fork
to transfer bacon from the skillet to a plate he’d lined with a couple of paper towels.

“You’re trying to make it a process, sounds like, Nia. You can’t. There’s no right or wrong way to go about healing that sort of pain, to get over that kind of loss. You have to cope with it in your own time,” he said as he turned back, coming to stand in front of her. He cupped her face in a gentle hand, stroked a thumb over her lip.