Darker Than Any Shadow - By Tina Whittle Page 0,98

happened, over and over again, all the while checking my phone out of the corner of my eye.

Trey hadn’t called back. When I’d finally gotten through to him, he’d asked if I were okay, if I’d called 911, if I were being taken to the hospital. All the pertinent questions. And then he’d told me he was on his way and hung up.

Business as usual. It was reassuring in some ways, but heart-emptying in others.

The cop reread my statement. “And then you hit her one final time with the soup pot?”

“No. That was Gabriella.”

“The suspect was tied up at this time, correct?”

“Correct. But she was trying to escape, so it seemed prudent.”

This was a big fat lie. Gabriella had delivered one final blow merely for the satisfaction of it. I”d made her promise we’d keep that one to ourselves.

I looked around the apartment. “Where is she anyway?”

“She went to the station to make an official statement.” The officer checked his notes. “She said to tell you she’d bring an herbal poultice by later.”

Great. Just what I needed.

“Did y’all find Lex’s box?”

“In the supply closet. It’s been processed and taken downtown.”

“Did you find out why she wanted it so desperately?”

“No, ma’am. That’s for the detectives to figure out.”

Suddenly, the door slammed open, and Trey blew in like the proverbial whirlwind. His head whipped side to side, scanning the room until he spotted me on the sofa. He slipped past the two officers at the door and the indignant detective trying to catch his attention, evading them as expertly as a matador. He covered the space between us in two seconds and dropped onto one knee right in front of me.

I adjusted the bag of peas so I could see him. “So much for doing things your way.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Dizzy? Nauseated? Any trouble seeing?”

He pressed two fingers against the side of my neck. I reached up and pulled his hand down.

“An EMT looked me over. He says I should have the injuries documented, but I’m fine for now.”

Trey didn’t seem to be listening. He was examining my face, my neck, my hands. At the rate he was going, we wouldn’t need to document anything—he would have every scratch and scrape memorized.

I saw Garrity out of the corner of my eye. He had his badge out and was working his disarming patient authority on the officer at the door. Suddenly there was another figure right behind him—the concierge, highly distressed.

“Mr. Seaver,” he said, “you cannot leave your car like that! It’s an extreme hazard!”

Trey shot a look at Garrity. Garrity flashed his badge at the concierge. “I’ll take care of it in a second, all right? Let the man see his girlfriend.”

The concierge grimaced and folded his arms. But he didn’t argue with the badge.

I was flabbergasted. Trey never abandoned the Ferrari, especially not where god-knows-what could happen to it. I looked him right in the eye, and for the first time since he’d burst in the door, he met my gaze directly.

And what I saw there took my breath away. His eyes burned like I’d only seen during high arousal, clean blue flame. I recognized it, yes, from the heat of passion, but not like this. And I knew what I was seeing was Trey, all of him, no persona, no safe wall, the real beating-heart whole of him.

I hitched in a breath, but still the tears came. He held my face, thumbs light on my temples. He was a little shaky from the adrenalin afterburn, but rock solid underneath. I snuffled my wet face into his neck, and with no prompting, his arms went around me.

“It’s not just sex,” I mumbled against his skin.

He froze. “This is about sex?”

“No, it’s not. That’s the point.”

“But—”

And then I kissed him full on the mouth, which hurt a little, but then he kissed me back, real gentle, and then it was a little about sex. But mostly it was the other thing, the big good thing. And when the kiss was done, he sat beside me on the sofa, one arm around my shoulders. I leaned into him, my warm good-smelling rock.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Garrity saunter over. He perched on the arm of the sofa.

“We took GA 400 at one hundred and twenty miles per hour. I thought I was going to die in a pile of twisted flaming metal, I kid you not. And then he drove the thing right up on the welcome mat and