“I have to be with you, Bella.” As soon as the words left his mouth he saw her eyes widen, her lips part. And darn it, he looked down at where her breasts pressed against her shirt, the hard nipples pushing her response through the thin material.
“That sounds like a personal issue, Agent St. Clair.”
“No, I don’t mean it that way. I mean yes, there’s clearly some chemistry here, which is to be expected. I mean, we’re adults, both single, on an intense case.” As he bumbled he watched her and instead of being revolted by his faux pas she appeared...delighted. Bella Colton let out a belly laugh that proved her lack of self-consciousness and her ability to live in the present moment. Good traits for someone who was a potential target of a serial killer.
“You’re refreshing, Holden. I’ve no doubt you’re a crack agent or you wouldn’t have been sent here. But you’re real. I like that.”
He ignored his embarrassment, the racing thoughts that he’d never be worthy of this woman’s attention. Holden considered himself too devoted to his job to deserve a woman like Bella, a woman who deserved a man who’d give her nothing less than one-hundred percent. He stopped his thoughts with expertise gained from years of investigative work that required complete focus. Had he forgotten that she was a reporter, just like his ex?
You’re on the clock, man. Get it done.
“You’re a target, Bella. The killer likes women with red hair and green eyes, and you’re the only one with both.”
“I have blond—” She fingered her ponytail and her face crumpled. “Crap. I forgot. I do have red hair. I thought it’d help me stand out from all the other contestants, especially the blondes.”
He nodded. “It does. And it was smart, for the pageant. Except you may have drawn the attention of the killer already.”
“I’d say I did by getting attacked.” She spoke matter-of-factly and he let it go. It wasn’t the time or place to remind her that he wasn’t so sure her attacker was the serial killer. The killer’s modus operandi was to lay low until he either poisoned or shot his victim. It made Holden think that the killer didn’t seem to care how his quarry died, just that they did. Something he wasn’t going to let happen to Bella.
“The truth is, Bella—I need to stay with you. At your house, and possibly elsewhere if we decide you need to move. It’ll probably amount to nothing more than me sleeping on your floor by the front door for the next few weeks, with no further interruption from any bad guy. But we can’t take the risk that they know your identity or where you live.”
Her face stilled, then she laughed again. “Oh, just wait until Spencer finds out that his buddy is sleeping with me.”
“Ah, not with you, specifically—” All he needed was Spencer coming down on him for moving in on his sister.
“Chill out, Holden, and let me have my sibling fantasy. My brother means well, but he’s always telling me how to stay safe and live my life. He’s absolutely livid I signed up for the pageant, as I’m sure you figured out already.”
“I don’t blame him. There are a lot of moving parts here. And another thing—you can’t tell your work colleagues or supervisor who I am, or that you’re working with me. No one but you, Spence, and the state pageant director know I’m on the case. No one on the Ms. Mustang Valley Pageant board knows who I am. I’m deep undercover here.”
“Not so deep, Agent. I know who you are and I’m a member of the press, remember?” She looked away, lost in thought for several moments. He let her process his request. It was a lot. Sure, she’d seen his badge, Spencer had vouched for him, they’d survived a possible abduction attempt already.
He’d helped her—she knew that. But she was about to let a strange man into her home, no matter that he was Spencer’s army friend. Holden wasn’t her friend, nor could he ever be, not during this investigation, anyhow. It would compromise his work, because he’d want to trust she was telling him all she discovered with the pageant and that just wasn’t reality. Not with a reporter. He’d already learned that lesson.
Holden had his priorities, and Bella had hers.
“If there was another way to do this, instead of having to be with you 24/7 and staying at your place, I’d make it happen.” He needed her to know that he wasn’t taking the easy way out at her inconvenience.
Steady green eyes met his. “I know.” Her mouth was a half-smile and she let out a sigh of surrender. “I’ve got one brother who’s a rancher and one who’s a cop. They both deal in reality every day, as do I. If I’m doing my job right, anyhow. You can stay with me, and I’ll do my best to stay in your sights or whatever you need for my security. Because it’s not just about me, Holden. This is about the pageant, its contestants, the women who really need the scholarship. I’m doing it for them.”
“And for your best friend.”
She nodded and he saw the glisten of tears in her eyes, but she didn’t let one fall. Add stubborn to independent, passionate, intriguing.
“Yes. For Gio.”
* * *
Bella didn’t like that in the span of six short hours she’d gone from being completely undercover, working her report as part of the pageant, to Holden knowing so much about what she was trying to accomplish. But after being attacked, warned off the pageant and now being unable to shake the sense of someone watching her, she gave in to what her brothers called her killer instinct. She had a gut instinct for a story and was good at sizing up character. Holden might never appreciate her vocation or support her article, but he wanted what she did. Answers, and no more people hurt.
“Let’s get into your vehicle.” He took charge the minute they left the diner. “We’ll come back in the morning for mine. This way if anyone’s trailing you we’ll make it look like—”
“Like I’m picking up a stranger in the local greasy spoon.” She unlocked the passenger door with her keys.
“This car is the oldest running antique I’ve ever seen.” Holden’s observation brought a smile to her face but she didn’t reply until they were both inside her beloved twenty-year-old station wagon.
“This was my mother’s car. She and Dad were killed in his car, in a crash. One of their family friends bought this one from our aunt and kept it in his garage until my brothers and I were sixteen, and the day we got our driver’s licenses he drove it up to the house.” She couldn’t stop the giggle as she moved the gear, on the steering wheel, into Reverse. “Our aunt Amelia was fit to be tied, because she didn’t want us being that independent so soon, but when she realized we’d be asking her for a lot fewer rides, she gave
in.”