weapon. Resisted the powerful urge to snatch her hand back. To shove the drawer closed as if she could shut away the memories as easily.
Her fingers trembled wildly. And she couldn’t take the weapon out. Couldn’t grasp it if she tried.
But it was enough. With her free hand, she shut off the lamp. Left the room in darkness once again. She’d been fooling herself by thinking she could ease into an investigation the way a swimmer dipped a toe in dangerous waters. Either she tried to work with the dreams or she disregarded them. Either she was an investigator or she wasn’t. She couldn’t play half-court. It was all or nothing.
Just a few short days ago she’d been convinced it would be nothing. That she was done.
Now . . . the image of Randolph’s ID flashed across her memory again.
If it were going to be all . . . Her breath caught at the mere thought. Her palm dampened where it lay against the Beretta.
Then she needed to prove to her boss, to herself, that she was all the way back. Healed emotionally as well as physically.
And she couldn’t convince either of them as long as she still couldn’t bear to strap on her weapon.
Chapter 13
The impound lot didn’t open until nine, so once Nate got to work, he left a message on the office machine to call him back. By the time he’d finished doling out assignments to the task force detectives and updated Morales on what had been discovered on the tapes last night, he’d figured to find Risa waiting in his office upon his return.
When she wasn’t, he glanced at the phone. Considered contacting her.
And then called himself the worst kind of sap.
She wouldn’t welcome the inquiry, and she didn’t exactly need to punch a clock. Her role in the investigation was unofficial and ambiguous.
Her place in his head was just as ambiguous. And largely unwelcome. He’d never had difficulty setting aside thoughts of a woman when he was on the job. That had been his greatest problem, he’d been told loudly and at great length. One in a list, as it’d turned out. There was no reason in the world that Marisa Chandler should prove the exception to that rule.
Moving his shoulders uneasily, he blamed it on their proximity. Long hours sharing a cramped car coupled with late nights could imitate a growing intimacy.
The problem with that excuse was that he’d shared similarly long hours with Cass Recker, and his feelings for her were about the same he had for Kristin. Big brotherly, with overtones of protectiveness that both women frequently took him to task for.
Nothing like what he felt whenever Risa was around. Not by a long shot. And that should scare the hell out of him. There was too much riding on this case to allow for distractions of any sort. His relationship with his sister took more effort than he could afford right now just to keep it on an outwardly even keel. She hadn’t taken off again without telling him, but if she did, he’d have his nephew to care for while juggling the long hours required by the investigation.
Most men would consider that more than enough complication in their life to avoid the temptation of a woman, no matter how damn sexy she managed to look in those severely tailored suits of hers. Which, if he were making a suggestion, would be in bright bold colors rather than black, navy, and gray drab.
Not that he’d voice that suggestion out loud.
Resolutely, he turned his attention to jotting notes from yesterday’s briefing and managed to avoid thinking of Risa at all.
It was nearly nine by the time she entered his office. Deliberately, he kept his head down at her arrival, until a large foam to-go cup was set on the desk in front of him. “See, I’m much more reasonable about morning coffee. I even share.”
“I shared yesterday,” he said, finally looking up. “You just didn’t . . .” He stopped then. He had to because he was at serious risk of swallowing his tongue.
Be careful what you wish for. The old adage echoed mockingly in his head, which had gone otherwise blank. Because Risa wasn’t wearing a dark-color suit today. Women probably had a fancy name for the shade of suit and blouse she wore. The only one that came to his mind was nude.
Just a few tones darker than her skin, it suggested the softness and texture of flesh. It was