Meant to Be Immortal (Argeneau #32) - Lynsay Sands Page 0,19

back from the bathroom.”

CJ was moving before he finished speaking, heading back the way she’d come. Simpson was the only officer here. He was the only protection Mac had from whoever had set his house on fire. The man couldn’t leave. Well, she supposed he could, but it would leave her as Mac’s only protection, and while she didn’t mind helping out in a pinch, she’d be damned if she was going to be roped into playing bodyguard to a man like Macon Argeneau. He was just too damned handsome and charming for her own good. Besides, she wouldn’t be much protection. She didn’t even have a gun, for heaven’s sake!

The hallway leading to the back of the building was as empty now as it had been when she’d returned from the bathroom moments earlier. CJ peeked into each room as she rushed past, even opening the doors to both the men’s room and the evidence room for a quick look around, but there was no sign of Simpson, so she continued on.

The door to the cells was the very last door in the back wall, but as she reached it, she noticed a small narrow hallway leading to the left to what was obviously an exterior door. CJ immediately turned down it and jogged to the exit. The exterior door opened easily, and she stepped out to peer over what was obviously the parking area for police cars and any vehicles they impounded. She was just in time to see a white pickup roll toward the parking lot exit.

CJ let go of the door and took several steps forward, shouting and waving her arms in an effort to get Simpson’s attention. She could’ve sworn the man peered toward her as he stopped at the road to look both ways, but if he did, he ignored her and simply pulled out onto the street and drove away.

“I don’t think he heard you.”

CJ turned to find Mac standing in the open back door of the police station. The sweater that had been draped over his shoulders was gone, but he was still carrying the cup of whiskey-laced coffee. He was holding it under his nose like it was smelling salts and he was a Victorian miss feeling faint. Never one to let something go to waste, CJ snatched the cup out of his hand as she walked past him back into the building.

“Thirsty?” Mac asked dryly, letting the door clang shut behind him as he followed her.

“You didn’t look interested in drinking it,” CJ said, slowing to glance back at him in question.

“I’m not.”

Nodding, CJ immediately raised the cup to take a drink herself, but stopped when he added, “Because, I thought, since someone appears to be trying to kill me, it might be good to keep my wits about me.”

CJ lowered the cup, irritation rushing through her even before he added, “And since you are supposed to be guarding me, it might be good if you avoided drinking as well.”

She spun on him abruptly at that, her eyes wide. “What?” she asked with amazement, and then started shaking her head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Argeneau, but as I told you, I am not guarding you. That’s why I was trying to stop Officer Simpson. As the officer in control of your investigation, he should have seen to your safety before leaving.”

“But he didn’t,” Mac pointed out with a shrug. “I guess that leaves you.”

“The hell it does,” she exclaimed with dismay. “I’m not a police officer anymore.”

“But you used to be, and you did agree to help out tonight,” he pointed out. “Besides, there is no one else.” Arching an eyebrow, he added, “Surely you wouldn’t just leave a poor defenseless citizen to be killed? I mean, how would that look?”

CJ opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again, and then narrowed her eyes briefly on the man. She recognized manipulation when she saw it, and Mac wasn’t even trying to be subtle about it. She got the feeling he wasn’t really worried about an attack, or at all sorry Simpson was gone. She was getting the distinct impression that, for some reason, he just wanted to keep her close, and making her responsible for his well-being would definitely do that. She could hardly leave him here alone with Mrs. Dupree as his only protection. Someone had set his house on fire. If they’d stuck around the scene as arsonists tended to do, they’d know he still lived and might try