Strong, Sleek and Sinful - By Lorie O'Clare Page 0,97
was twenty-seven when her ID said she was twenty-three. “I’m sure you watched me back up when I decided to try breaking in. Make sure the next words that come out of your mouth are chosen very, very carefully.”
He hiked her dress up a bit more, barely noticing the pinch from her fingernails when she tried stopping him. The longer she stared at him, remaining stubbornly quiet, the more he feared the truth.
“Are you hiding from someone?” he demanded. “God, Kylie, if someone is stalking you.”
She pursed her lips, looking as though she wanted another kiss. On an impulse, he grabbed the gun, quickly unsnapping the strap that kept it secure in its holster, and slid it out. When he let go of her dress, she let go of his wrist but then grabbed the gun.
And not like a novice, inexperienced and ready to fight for a weapon that could go off and get one of them shot. Kylie’s smaller hand went around his, pushing the direction of the gun away from both of them.
“You can’t take that,” she said, sounding deadly serious.
He shook his head, refusing to let the sense of betrayal that bit at him when she still wouldn’t open up and tell him the truth.
“You forget, my dear. I’m an officer of the law. I sure the fuck can take this. In fact, you’re going to stand right there and not move while I call it in. Let’s find out who it’s registered to.”
“I can’t let you do that, Perry.” She looked at him as though she possessed the strength to physically take it away from him. “I’m not hiding from anyone. No one is stalking me,” she told him, her crisp, cool tone grabbing his attention. She blinked a few times as she chewed her lower lip, as if it took a lot of work on her part to force whatever she might say next out of her mouth. “I am looking for Peter. He’s not going to take another teenager. I’m really close to meeting him myself and when I do—”
“Goddamn it. Like fucking hell!” Perry yanked the gun from her and opened his car door, placing the gun on the seat and then turning to her. “And this is why you feed me lie after lie, denying your feelings for me, because you know I’ll stop you? Are you that obsessed with playing detective?”
“Perry, give me back my gun. If you call in to your dispatch and run those serial numbers, they will know you’re here with me. And I can’t allow you to risk your investigation, or mine, by doing that.”
“What the fuck?” He stared at her, digesting what she’d just said. “Why would my running those serial numbers hinder my investigation?”
“Please give me back my gun.”
Turning from her, he climbed into his car and flipped on his dome light. It surprised him and irked the hell out of him even more when she didn’t say anything as he wrote down the serial number. Kylie had just warned him against calling the number in to his dispatcher. But there were other ways to learn who owned this gun.
After writing down the number, he stood, holding the gun flat in his palm, and held it out for her to take. Which she did, and promptly checked to make sure the security on it was in place and then slid it back into its holster, not watching what she did but focusing on his face. Like she’d done it a million times—like a pro.
Suddenly the thought of her being incapable of feeling faded from his mind. Kylie’s story went a lot deeper than that, and it was about to get exposed.
“I’ll see you tomorrow night at five,” he informed her, sliding back behind his driver’s wheel. “Wear something nice but casual. No short skirts.”
He drove off with her blank, almost hard expression burned in his mind. It was as if she was resigned to something, and he wasn’t going to sleep until he knew every detail of what it was.
Thirty minutes later he endured the silence on the other end of the line, about done with people who he thought were his friends not telling him what he wanted to know.
“Noah, man, talk to me,” he insisted.
“I’m here, man. Where did you get this gun again?”
“Just tell me who the fuck it’s registered to.”
The loud sigh on the other end of the line crept over his skin annoyingly, like someone juicing up his nerves, exposing