Chapter Seven
The call from the lieutenant came shortly after Kinley hung up with Lambert. She was officially placed on administrative leave. The department wanted to investigate her involvement in recent events and protect her from potential harm while on the job now that all signs were pointing to someone specifically targeting her. Bitterness was a smoldering coal in her gut, one that she couldn’t pace away in Easton’s living room. The leave didn’t feel like protection. She felt like a suspect. Of all the things that had happened to her, this somehow was the hardest to bear, the most unfair.
“You need to work off some of that anger.” Easton sat in an armchair, eyeing her with an unreadable expression. He was adept at masking his emotions on a whim. Suddenly, she felt like an outsider. Would Easton still be willing to help her now that she’d been placed on leave? Maybe he’d shut her out of the investigation altogether.
“I don’t think that’s possible.” She paused in front of the sliding glass doors. The sky was a blinding blue, illuminating the piles of colorful leaves padding the ground. How ironic that the day was so vibrant when her mood was so dark.
“Won’t hurt either way. Follow me. I’ll show you my favorite room in the house.” In a fluid movement, Easton stood and walked toward a door off of the living room. He must’ve been certain she’d follow because he didn’t glance back to see if she was on his heels. Of course, she was. What else could she do?
He was already heading down a flight of stairs when she caught up. The wood squeaked beneath their weight as they moved. Basements weren’t her favorite place, in fact, she went out of her way to avoid them, but she kept her mind occupied staring at Easton’s broad shoulders. At the muscles that rippled beneath the material of his shirt. There was no musty, damp smell here—something that still made the fine hairs on her nape raise and her stomach queasy. No shadowed corners or dirt floors. The space before her did elicit a different reaction though. Shock.
“You put Planet Fitness in your basement,” she remarked, taking in the equipment stationed around the room. A treadmill, stationary bike, and an elliptical machine rested on gray-planked flooring facing a floor-to-ceiling mirror. There were free weights, a bench press, and two punching bags positioned over a mat.
“I was a scrawny kid. Easy prey. Isaac was always bigger, but not by much. We learned fast how important self-defense was to our survival.” A dark storm brewed in his eyes, but he blinked it away. “You’re welcome to use any of the equipment, but I thought throwing some punches might help.”
Easton kept alluding to his story. Maybe that meant he was getting more comfortable with her and eventually would share with her as much as she had with him. She wasn’t sure why, but there was a strong sense of comradery between them. She did her best not to form close relationships, not wanting to have to place her trust or faith in anyone. The day those police sirens wailed outside her captor’s home and then faded into the distance was the moment she resolved to save herself. She didn’t want to depend on anyone, but she wanted to know Easton’s story. Actually, she wanted to know everything about him, and that was troubling. “I think so, too. Thanks.” She blew out a long breath, temporarily easing the lump that had formed in her throat when the barracks notified her that she was on leave.
They crossed the room to the bags, and Easton removed a set of hand wraps from a shelf stocked with water bottles and towels. He turned, and she nearly collided against his solid chest. The air in the room thinned as she struggled to fill her lungs. His masculine scent tickled her nose, making her yearn to bury her nose in his shirt or the crook of his neck. Easton’s pupils expanded as he searched her face until his eyes were an inky black. Warmth broke through the anger bunched inside her chest, and it seeped through her belly to settle between her hips.
“Let me.” His voice was hoarse as he unraveled the wraps. The weight of his touch steadied her trembling hands, grounding her. Easton took care winding the fabric from her wrists to knuckles and back again. God, he was beautiful. She’d known it before, but being this close to him was intoxicating. Her heart was firing in rapid succession. The only thing that made her feel marginally better was the pulse pounding at the base of his throat. His focus broke from the wraps on her hands and traveled up her body, pausing when their eyes locked.
For a moment, nothing but the intensity blazing over his features mattered. If he was the flame, she was the tinder. The fire reflected in his eyes jumped to her, igniting an indescribable need. These feelings were too much. Too overpowering and honest. For someone who had known true life-or-death fear, it seemed silly to be frightened of whatever was happening within her, but she was terrified. Clearing her throat, she retreated toward one of the punching bags.
Easton turned on the sound system, increasing the volume until heavy classic rock pumped through the room. Standing with her legs staggered and shoulder-width apart, she began driving her fists into the bag with a series of jabs and hooks. The dull thud of her hands hitting the bag was a welcome sensation, as was the slight sting in her knuckles. Easton was positioned behind the other bag, but she wouldn’t look at him. One glance would, without a doubt, crush her focus.
“What’s bothering you the most?” Easton’s low, deep voice rippled over her as she landed a right hook.
She gritted her teeth. “Having my life interfered with.” She panted. “Being punished over and over for the actions of the person who hurt me.”
Jab. Jab. Hook.
“Get it off your chest, Kins,” he murmured through his movements. “What else are you pissed about?” The chain anchoring the heavy bag to the ceiling rattled as Easton delivered a series of kick combinations.
“I’m mad that I’m afraid.” The winded whisper couldn’t have come from her mouth. Wasn’t she done being petrified of what was lurking around the corner? Or was she able to be more honest with Easton than she was to herself? “That I’m still under his thumb. Weeks, months of detective work being taken from me while I’m on leave. It’s not fair.” Acid churned in her gut, burning along her esophagus as she choked out the bitter words. “Then my prints show up out of nowhere at the crime scene.” She stilled, chest heaving. A cold bead of sweat trickled down her back.
“You remembered something.” Easton paced across the room and killed the amplified music with the touch of a button.
“Someone wouldn’t have needed to plant my fingerprints at the crime scene if the clothes the victim was dressed in were already mine.” A slab of ice plummeted to the depths of her belly. “I had thought someone was trying to frame me for something. Maybe they’re just sending a message.”
“Of how close they can get to you.” Silence surrounded them, the only noise their quickened breaths. “That’s assuming those actually were your clothes at the scene. Who might’ve had access to your things? A gym locker? Laundromat? Friends who visited recently?”
A metallic tang coated her tongue. Shit. She’d bit her bottom lip. “I keep a few outfits at the station. Sometimes I get to the barracks early to work out before my shift. It’s just easier to keep some stuff there instead of hauling things back and forth.”
“Do you remember what you have at the barracks now?” Easton began unwrapping his hands like he was getting ready to drive there himself.
“With everything going on, it’s hard to remember what I did yesterday.” She released a long breath, flipping through her mental calendar from the past week. “I picked up my clothes from the dry cleaner. Wednesday maybe? I’m not sure. I took two of those outfits to the barracks and tossed them in the closet for emergencies.”
“And did you wear either?” he asked, tossing the wraps back on the shelf.
“No. I’ve been so busy with my cases, I haven’t used the weight room in weeks.” Pain wedged into the base of her throat. Getting to the locker room closet at the barracks required access. If her clothes really were taken, it was most likely done by someone she knew, maybe had worked side by side with for a very long time. Wouldn’t she recognize him, though? His voice?
“We need to see if those clothes are at the barracks.” Easton’s voice was hard, and something cold passed over his eyes.
“What was that look? Because you think the killer is closer than we thought or because our perp could be someone we trust?” The same thought was weighing on her. Was the person responsible for stealing so much of her childhood working with her on a daily basis? And if so, why begin tormenting her now?
“We talked about our suspicions that this person is someone in law enforcement, or has a family member helping them stay one step ahead, whether they know it or not. This is just one more supporting argument. I know you’re angry about being placed on leave. You have every right to be, and it sucks. But I can’t deny that I feel much better having you here, especially now, than being targeted at work.” He stood before her, skin coated in a light sheen of sweat, muscles corded beneath his shirt. Looking at Easton like this and experiencing this indescribable pull wasn’t where her thoughts should be focused, but damn.
Not only that, but the protectiveness heating his features comforted something inside her. It felt good not to be so alone. She wasn’t imagining the interest flashing in his dark eyes—that much she knew, but even he had told her it wasn’t a hardship to help her because it would get him close to catching the notorious Kingston Town Killer. Imagine what that would do for his career with the bureau. Maybe she wasn’t totally a means to an end for him, but they wouldn’t be here together if there wasn’t a monster on the loose. Getting involved with Easton would be a self-destructive decision. Not because she was attracted to him, but because she liked and respected him. Those extra feelings could get complicated.