UP IN FLAMES

There didn’t appear to be any security cameras at the garage entrance or inside, at least none that was obvious and would deter potential perpetrators. The lighting sucked in the garage, making it easy for anyone to be hiding. He didn’t like any of it.

As he parked the truck and killed the engine, he looked over at her. “Are you doing okay?” The question made him strangely uncomfortable because he shouldn’t care.

She finally met his gaze and nodded curtly. “I’m fine.”

That was debatable.

Clearing her throat, she reached for the door handle. “Thank you for taking me home.” She said,

“I came all this way, so I’m going to check out your apartment.”

She was out of his truck with surprising quickness, slamming the door. He cursed under his breath and climbed out, finding her standing near his side, hand extended.

“I’m going to need the note, please.” Her voice was clipped, professional, and cool.

His eyes narrowed. Instead of handing it over, he walked around her and headed toward the entrance. “I’m checking out your apartment and then we’re going to talk. And I’m serious. I’m not arguing with you.” There was a moment when he thought she was going to stand there and he was going to have to go back and drag her to her apartment.

“Damn it, you’re annoying.” She huffed, catching up to him. “It’s funny how you suddenly care when at first, you thought I was responsible for all of this. You’re such a pain in my ass.”

His lips twitched as he fought the smile. “I would love to be in your-”

“Don’t even finish that statement,” she snapped.

He chuckled, happy to see a little color returning to her cheeks. She was quiet as they started to enter the building, then she spoke again. “Are you taking me seriously now? Do you believe I’m innocent now?”

Alaric didn’t immediately respond, and she made a sound that reminded him of a disgruntled animal-a small, helpless animal. He suddenly stopped and turned to her, “I think you should stay outside and wait until I give you the okay to come in,” he said.

Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”Exclusive content © by Nô(v)el/Dr/ama.Org.

“Because I say so.” He started toward her door but stopped. “I mean it, Vanessa. Stay here.”

She inhaled deeply. “Fine. Staying.”

He held her stare for a moment and then headed toward her door. Trying the handle, he found that it was locked. That was a good sign. “Throw me your keys.”

Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the keys, smiled, and then threw them. Right at his face. He caught them a second before impact. She smirked when his eyes narrowed. He had a feeling that if he were in her presence for another fifteen minutes, she was going to end up over his knee. Grappling for patience he typically didn’t afford people, he unlocked her door and then slipped the keys into his pocket. He needed his hand free for something else. Reaching around to his back, he withdrew his Glock.

“You had a gun with you this whole time?” she hissed, eyes wide. “Even at the club?”

He shot her a droll look. “My job sort of requires that, remember? I’m a fucking Detective, and I said, stay out.”

She opened her mouth, but then clicked it shut as she backed away, holding that damn file to her chest. He sent her one last look of warning and then edged into her apartment. It was doubtful that anyone was still here, but he wanted to make sure before she stepped one annoying foot into the apartment.

Moving silently down the short entryway, he checked out the kitchen. A sliding glass door led out to a balcony, which was attached to a fire escape. Not good. The door was latched from the inside, but he knew from experience that anyone could strong-arm one of these motherfuckers right open. He then shifted his attention to the living room.

A small lamp was on next to a couch, casting a soft glow. He wasn’t surprised by the simple, minimalistic design and how there didn’t seem to be a pillow out of place on the couch or a single piece of anything on the floor. Ms. Stick-up-her-ass probably never had a shoe out of place.

Ruling the living room and kitchen empty, he proceeded down a hallway, checking out a bathroom and an office before entering the master bedroom. The room smelled of Vanessa. Lilac and vanilla, he realized, spying the small bottles of lotion on her dresser. And then his gaze fell to her bed.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

Lying across the neatly tucked comforter was a black nightie. A barely there slip of material that he imagined wouldn’t cover much. He forced himself toward the adjoining bathroom and then the walk-in closet. Both were clear. He’d just faced that damn bed when a voice came from the recesses of the hallway.

“Did you find anything?”

“Jesus!” Alaric whirled around, shoving the gun in the holster along his back. “Didn’t I tell you to wait outside?”

She ignored that question as she peeked her head into the bedroom. “Did you?”

Walking past her, he caught her by the arm and ushered her back into the living room. “Did you leave the lights on?”

“Yes.” She wrenched her arm free in a move so dramatic, he wondered how she didn’t yank her own arm out of its socket. “So, there’s nothing out of place?”

“You tell me.” He watched her look around, totally picturing her in that nightie. Yep. His cock was hard again.

“Everything looks fine to me,” she said.

Her lips pursed, and then she stalked off down the hallway. He lingered for a moment and then followed her, finding her standing before a medium-size oak desk. The file was still clenched in one hand, and she was holding a pad of stationary in the other as she faced him.

“See,” she said, and gestured as though she were holding the shredded files from Watergate. Her glasses were slightly askew on her nose. The urge to fix them came out of nowhere, and what the fuck was up with that? “This is my stationary. I had it specially made,” she added.