“Witness protection means I have to leave town?” she asks and I nod, causing her brows to furrow. “And where is this new place? Is it far from here?”
“Not very far. But somewhat.”
Her face screws up in disagreement and she shakes her head. “I can’t. I don’t want to go.”
“You would be safe,” I contradict but she throws me a defiant glance.
“I don’t care. I’m not leaving, I’m not...”
“I will be there,” I say and she gasps, her face flushing. “You would be under my protection...”
Another gasp comes out of her, her lips quivering. “Yes,” she breathes, swallowing, “then yes.”
She said no, because she thought I would leave her. Thought I would separate us and leave her vulnerable. She shouldn’t think in those terms but it is understandable. She doesn’t know how invested I was in her case, her face on the photograph haunting me every minute of the day.
Doesn’t know that I was in her house even before I knew her, paid attention to every little detail about her. Learned that she loves bagels with sesame on top, reads bridal magazines and has rows and rows with different kinds of hats up in her closet.
And my fists clench when I remember the arousal oil, I found hidden underneath layers of racy lingerie. It smelled of jasmine and now I can’t help but imagine her rubbing that oil in circular motions on her clit, extracting more and more of her own pleasure...
“Detective...?” Melody says with a questioning glance, sounding very innocent and my eyes go to hers. She blushes as if she’s reading my mind and I get up, jerking at Harvey to do the same.
“I’ll come by again in the evening. Have your bags packed until then.”
“We’re leaving so soon?” she asks in surprise and I nod.
“The sooner the better.” If I didn’t have the scars I would have given her a comforting smile but smiling has a tendency to highlight the scarring and I don’t want her to focus on them. “Racket,” I say and we leave, going out to the street.
“You’re skeevy, Byrne,” Harvey says and I frown. He shakes his head. “Never thought I’d say this but Leta is right. What’s going on between you and Miss. Michaels is not good.”
“Nothing is going on,” I say in a flat voice but Harvey rolls his eyes.
“Tell it to some blind guy. For fucks sake you’re calling herloveand you’re way too invested and way into deep. This will end in a disaster.”
Maybe. But it’s not my career I’m worried about. If push comes to shove, I can always find work somewhere else. What I’m more worried about is going back to my hometown. For years I have been trying to be good, tried erasing my dark reputation but the people there know me.
And I have a feeling that no matter how much I try to erase that town’s memory, it will always remember what I’ve done.
7
Melody
Once they leave, my heart starts thrashing in my chest.Or maybe it was doing it all along while Callan was here and it’s not until now that I noticed. He’s going to take me away. To some place far away where I will be safe and I take a deep breath, running a shuddering hand through my hair.
When I was a girl, I’d read tales about princes and princesses and I always dreamed of one day finding my own. I always thought he’d have tousled hair, twinkling eyes and a charming smile.
But that’s not what I got because my prince is scarred, with hard eyes and he rarely smiles. And yet he still makes me feel like the most important thing he’s ever come across, the way he looks at me, speaks to me.
The gentle yet possessive way he calls me love.
Every time he calls me that my insides melt. They’ve never done that for a man before and I swallow when I think of how young and inexperienced I am compared to Callan. When I asked how old he was, he told me he was thirty-eight.
Our age difference doesn’t change anything between us. It even makes me more attracted to him because I don’t think that a guy my age could protect me as good as Callan in case something would happen.
Walking into my bedroom, I grab a small suitcase and start filling it up with clothes. I pack the regular stuff, tights and some thicker sweaters because the weather is turning for the colder. But I don’t stop there and I find myself reaching for some dresses that are low cut and tight across the curves and I grab some heels as well.
Why, I don’t know. It’s not like this is a romantic getaway. I’m under witness protection, I should be packing plain clothes and boots with steel soles that can do some damage when kicking another person.
Problem is that I don’t own that kind of stuff. And the other problem is that I care a lot whether Callan finds me pretty or not and I grimace when I throw a look at myself in the mirror. My hair is fine but I still don’t look well rested and there are bruises on my body.