I walk you out?” He couldn’t offer round-the-clock protection, but he could see her to her car.
“You don’t have to bother.”
“It’s no bother.” Without giving her a chance to respond, he crossed to the door, opened it, and waited.
She propped a hand on her hip and squinted at him. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not giving me a choice?”
Because he wasn’t.
But Eve wouldn’t tolerate high-handedness. That much was already clear to him. Better to reposition his “offer” and let her make the smart, rational choice—which she would, given everything he knew about her.
“If you prefer to walk out alone, I’m not going to stop you—but I don’t know why you’d turn down an armed escort.” He pushed his jacket aside to reveal his Sig Sauer.
Her gaze dropped to his weapon. Returned to his face. “Excellent point. I’m ready whenever you are.” She picked up the tote bag from beside her chair and eased past him.
The ride down in the elevator they shared with several other people was silent, but as they walked to her car she spoke again. “They do have decent security in the garage, you know.”
Given the downtown location and the crime rate in the city, that wouldn’t surprise him.
But decent wasn’t adequate if someone was determined to get in.
And he suspected she knew that.
His assumption was validated moments later when a car backfired and she jerked, losing her grip on her tote.
After giving the garage a fast sweep, he bent to retrieve the bag.
She did the same.
Their heads bumped.
“Ow!” She pulled back, rubbing her temple.
“Sorry about that.” He handed her the tote and did another swift scan.
Nothing was amiss.
“I must be a little jumpy.” She clenched her fingers around the handle of the bag.
“That’s not a negative in light of everything that’s happened. It means you’re on alert and ready to react if the situation warrants it.”
“Or overreact.” She pointed to his forehead. “You may end up with a bruise once that red spot fades.”
“I’ve dealt with worse injuries.” He took her arm and guided her forward, picking up his pace. “Let’s get out of the traffic.”
She stayed close while they completed the short walk to her car—and he tried without much success to ignore the faint, spicy hint wafting from her hair.
“Thanks for the escort.” She fished her keys out of her bag and hit the button on her autolock fob.
“Happy to do it. I’ll be in touch if we uncover anything worthwhile—and let me know if there are new developments on your end. You have my direct number, right?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t hesitate to use it, night or day. I don’t punch a clock.”
“Thanks.” She tossed her bag onto the passenger seat and slid behind the wheel.
Say goodbye, Lange.
He retreated a step. “Lock your doors and drive safe.”
“Always.” She smiled. “I have a perfect record—as you must know from your background check.”
“Keep it that way.” He hiked up one side of his mouth, turned, and headed for his Taurus.
Behind him, her engine came to life.
The temptation to watch her drive away was formidable—but he fought the urge. It was important to maintain a professional distance.
And not just because she was the victim of a crime he was investigating.
Getting close to any woman wasn’t in his plans.
An extreme position, admittedly, given that most of his colleagues were married.
Yet after what he’d put Karen through, subjecting a spouse to the constant worry of whether or not this would be the day he was killed in the line of duty didn’t seem fair.
While the odds were in his favor . . . and the majority of law enforcement professionals played them . . . he’d come close enough to being a statistic to know there were no guarantees about tomorrow with this job.
Maybe one of these days, if the loneliness pressing in on him these past few months became too oppressive, he’d trade his badge for a ring.
But he’d never really given that option any serious thought.
Or he hadn’t, until a gorgeous redhead with a passion for commendable principles entered his orbit five days ago.
“Hi, Doug. Sorry to bother you in the middle of the workday, but I heard about the last-minute caller on Eve Reilly’s show this morning. If you have a minute, could you give me a ring and fill me in? This may deserve a follow-up to my Saturday story. I’d have texted, but I can talk faster than I can type. Thanks.”
Doug erased Carolyn’s message and leaned back in his desk chair, phone in hand.
Of