Tainted Page 7

  He glances my way as he zips up the duffel bag. “Let’s grab something to eat, and then we’ll work on that this afternoon.”

  There was something in the way he’d said it that has me studying him. “What’s the catch?”

  He picks up the bag, and his eyes meet mine. “We eat out, in public.”

  Just the thought causes me to make a face. I’m hungry, yes. Feeling sociable? Not at all. I didn’t get any sleep last night, and he’s damned lucky I haven’t verbally torn his head off yet. I’ve been trying to hide my moodiness from him, not that my regular disposition isn’t temperamental, but I don’t want him asking questions. Questions lead to things that I don’t want to talk about.

  “We want to distract him from grabbing a new victim,” Holden reminds.

  I blow out a breath. “Right. Okay.”

  “Italian okay?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  Today, Holden is driving us around in his black Dodge Durango. We’re both quiet as he starts the engine and backs out of the parking space. The interior of the truck smells like his cologne, and it’s quickly becoming my all-time favorite scent. As he turns the wheel, his tanned bicep draws my eye, and I quickly look away and stare out my window.

  The day is dreary looking, and it matches my somber mood. It’s been steadily raining since this morning, but it isn’t easing the humidity in the air. If anything, the air seems thicker and heavier. I glance at the sky, noting the grayness. The color reminds me of Holden’s eyes. As soon as the thought crosses my mind, I give myself a swift mental kick. Spending all this time with him is beginning to take its toll. I tell myself that it makes sense that I would be aware of him, but this is getting ridiculous.

  Thankfully, I’m distracted as we pull into a half-filled parking lot. After finding a space as close to the door as possible, we make a run for the building. Once inside, we brush raindrops from our clothing before the hostess leads us into the main dining room.

  “Would it be possible to sit near the windows?” Holden asks politely.

  “Yes, of course,” the young hostess replies as she flashes him a friendly smile. She leads us to one of the booths located in front of a long row of windows that span the front wall, and we settle into opposites sides so that we can face each other. Once we have our menus, she tells us our waitress will be over shortly with water.

  I look around, more than just a little uncomfortable. After years of trying to fade into the background, this goes against my natural instinct.

  “Hey, nothing’s going to happen,” Holden murmurs to me.

  My eyes flicker to his, and I find that he’s watching me intently. Uncomfortable from his scrutiny, I look away. Instead of responding to his comment, I scan the dining room. The lighting is ambient thanks to low-hanging lights, and square tables are scattered throughout the room. Large paintings of scenic sites from Italy grace the walls along with rustic accented décor. The restaurant is half-full of people murmuring as they share conversations, and a child is babbling as he colors on his menu.

  Our assigned waitress arrives with a bright smile. As she greets us, she carefully places full glasses of ice water before us and silverware rolled-up inside napkins. After she sashays away, I pick up my menu—desperate to focus on something instead of the chill in the air. We’re sitting beneath a vent, and the cool air is gently stirring my hair.

  After scanning the menu and deciding what I’d like to order, I set it aside and reach for my water. My throat is dry.

  Holden places his menu on the table and looks at me with his piercing eyes. “What are you hungry for?”

  “I think I’ll try the baked ziti. You?”

  “I’m a lasagna kind of guy,” he says with an easy grin.

  His light mood begins to ease the tension, and after the waitress places our order, we’re alone once more. Needing something to do, I reach for a small jar filled with some sort of spice and unscrew the lid. When I sniff the contents, my nose wrinkles as my eyes water. I quickly put the lid back on just as a sneeze escapes me. I slap my hand over my mouth and feel my face turn red.

  Holden looks amused. “Bless you.”

  I quickly put the jar back with the others. “Thanks,” I mutter.

  “Your aim is improving,” he comments, referring to the gun range.

  “Thanks. The snap caps were a good idea.”

  He reaches for his water and takes a sip, his eyes still focused on me.

  There’s something about the way he looks at me that makes me uncomfortable sometimes. I shift on the cushioned seat, and my eyes slide to the window to gaze out at the rain. I think I’d prefer being caught in a downpour than be sitting here.

  “You’re not much of a conversationalist, are you,” Holden comments.

  My eyes return to his, and I give him an unenthusiastic look. “What’s to talk about? You know my entire life story. It’s all in a neat, organized file for people like you to pick apart.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I wince and feel terrible. I wasn’t kidding about being moody today from lack of sleep. “That didn’t come out the way I intended. Sorry,” I apologize, and for once, I sincerely mean it. I may not like the situation I’ve found myself in, but he’s been good to me.

  Holden appears completely unfazed by my outburst. “Seems to me like I owe you,” he replies mildly.

  I look at him with confusion.

  He gives me a wry smile. “I’m sure I also have a file somewhere that outlines my life, but it’s hard telling whose hands it’s in. Feel free to ask me anything you want, I have nothing to hide.”

  “Really?” I ask with interest.

  He nods. “Go for it.”

  “Do you have a family?” I ask with interest. I’d obviously noticed he doesn’t have a ring on his finger, and he’s never mentioned a girlfriend. Though why would he? To him, I’m just a part of the job.

  “No, no family,” he says, responding to my question. “I was always focused on my career, so I never had time for relationships. I do have an older sister, she’s married and expecting her first child.”

  “Congratulations. I bet you’ll make a wonderful uncle,” I tell him.

  He smiles, flashing his white teeth. “A protective one, I’m sure,” he muses.

  “That goes without saying,” I laugh. Holden’s eyes scan my face, and I wonder what he’s thinking. “What?” I ask lightly.

  He just shakes his head and says, “Ellie’s only a few years older than you. She lives here in Little Rock, which is why I moved to the area.”

  I’m enjoying getting a peek into his life. “That’s right, you’re new to the area. Where were you before coming here?”

  He briefly scans the faces of the restaurant patrons as he replies, “I lived in New York.”

  Still feeling nosy, I ask, “I take it you were a detective there?”

  His eyes slide back to mine. “No, I worked for the DEA. I was an undercover agent,” he reveals.

  I am absolutely fascinated by this, and I lean forward, completely focused on the conversation. “You were DEA? Does that mean you infiltrated criminal organizations?”

  His lip curves upwards in the corner, no doubt amused by my obvious interest. “I did, yes.”

  I can’t help but look impressed. “I bet that was an exciting job.”

  “Sometimes. It’s actually demanding work because everyone’s always so suspicious, and there’s always something to prove.”

  “So why are you here and not still with the DEA?”

  Something shifts across his features. “A drug deal went south, and I caught a bullet to the chest. My chances for recovery were better if the bullet stayed where it is since it’s too close to my heart. The risks of removing it weren’t worth it. Needless to say, I wasn’t physically able to do the undercover work anymore.”

  My lips part, and I can almost feel the disappointment radiating from him. “That must have been horrible not only having to recover from such an injury, but also losing the ability to
do your job,” I say softly.

  He shrugs. “Yeah, it was dark times,” he agrees, his tone neutral.

  “How long ago did it happen?” I ask tentatively, knowing that after this last question, I need to let the subject rest.

  “Almost a year.” He brushes off his brief melancholy and gives me an easy smile. “I’ve come a long way since then, and I’m ready to start a new chapter in my life. Homicide was always my second choice, so I can’t complain too much. When a position became available here, I jumped at the chance to be closer to Ellie.”

  “Do you see her much?”

  He shakes his head with a hint of regret. “I won’t be able to see her until this case wraps up. I can call her, though, so at least I’m not completely MIA.”

  “I bet she worries about you,” I say quietly.

  “Probably,” he says lightly.

  We both look up as the waitress approaches with a large tray. She places our meals and drinks in front of us before telling us she’ll be back in a bit to see if we need anything.

  The baked ziti looks delicious, and I begin unwrapping my silverware. I savor my first bite. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a meal that was baked inside an oven.

  “Good?” Holden asks.

  I glance at him to find that his eyes are on me as he begins to dig into his lasagna. “Very. Thank you, this isn’t as bad as I thought it would be,” I confess, referring to our dining out.

  His eyes crinkle in the corners. “Sometimes my suggestions aren’t so bad,” he teases.

  I shake my head at him and concentrate on my meal. While we eat, the conversation shifts to lighter topics, like the weather and what we think so far of Little Rock.

  When we’re finished, Holden insists on paying for our meal, and then we drive back to the apartment. “My place or yours?” he asks as we make our way up the stairs to the second floor of the apartment building.

  I’m taken aback by his question until I recall that we’re going to work on self-defense moves. “Mine’s fine.”

  We enter my apartment, and I promptly turn the lock so that the door is secure. “We can move the sofa to the side of the room,” I tell him.

  Holden ambles further into the small apartment, and I help him scoot the sofa so that it’s out of the way.

  I kick off my shoes and look at him expectantly. “So, what do I do?”

  Holden chuckles. “Why can’t you be this accommodating all the time?”

  I fold my arms and give him a look.

  He shrugs. “Couldn’t resist.” He turns serious. “If you’re ever on your own with an assailant, you want to defend yourself with anything and everything that you possibly can. Be aware of your surroundings and the items that you could use as a weapon. If you were near a chair like the one in your kitchen, you could grab that and swing it at his head. A vase would work, a book, literally anything to distract him and to buy time,” he explains.

  I nod to let him know I’m listening.

  “When it comes to body contact, you want to aim for the most sensitive places. Always remember groin, eyes, nose, throat, solar plexus, and knee.” He moves closer to me, and his cologne immediately tantalizes my senses. “Show me your right hand,” he says, holding his hand out.

  I place my right hand in his warm one, curious.

  He adjusts my fingers and brings them to the base of his throat, and the pads of my fingers touch his skin. “A hit to the Adam’s apple will also buy you some time. You can use your finger and strike,” he says, pressing my finger further into his throat, “or you can curl your hand into a fist and hit him dead center with all that you’ve got,” he explains, releasing my hand.

  “But, if you really want to incapacitate him, I want you to go for the eye,” he continues, his expression serious. “You poke it as hard as you can, and as gross as you might think it is, push your finger in as far as you can get it.”

  My nose wrinkles. “Got it.”

  He looks at me grimly. “Do you really? If it comes down to destroying his eye or giving up your life, which would you rather choose?” he asks bluntly.

  “I’m not stupid.”

  “I know you’re not, but you can’t be squeamish if the time comes and you need to defend yourself.”

  “Holden, I’ve seen worse,” I say carefully.

  Softness lingers deep within his eyes as he says, “I know, but hopefully we can prevent that from ever happening again.”

  I nod in agreement.

  For the next five minutes, Holden shows me how I can execute the moves quickly before an assailant can realize what’s coming.

  “Moving on,” he says, his tone all business. “Say he comes for you from the front.” He steps into my personal space and wraps his arms around me just below my shoulders. “You’re going to want to make space between your body and his, so you bring both hands together and form a fist in front of your pelvis. Do it,” he orders.

  It’s hard to tear my gaze from his. Up close, he’s practically hypnotizing me with his good looks. I try to focus as I look down at our bodies and bring my hands together into a fist. Holden’s crotch is inches from my hand. Oh hell. This isn’t working. He’s just too damned distracting.

  “Push out with your fist and bring your forehead to my nose,” he directs.

  I push my fist out and come to a halt before my knuckles can brush the masculine bulge behind the fly of his jeans.

  “Use your head, Ren,” he orders.

  I pretend to slam my head into his nose as I try not to focus on the curve of his lips.

  “It’s going to hurt, I’m not going to lie. But it won’t hurt as bad as the guy getting his nose smashed in,” Holden’s saying as his lips move.

  When my eyes lift upwards, they lock on his. I can see the gray flecks in his irises, and our lips are now mere inches apart. Mine instinctively part as I breathe him in. I’m much too aware of him…

  Holden blinks, and his eyes drop to my lips for a brief second before he abruptly releases me and backs away. “Let’s work on an attack from behind,” he says as the moment fades.

  Heat rises to my cheeks with mortification. Not only did I give away my attraction, but he’d rejected me—fast. Resentment rolls through me, and I feel myself shutting down. With gritted teeth, I focus on his next lesson and try to ignore the humiliation that’s chipping away at my pride.

  Thirteen

  Holden

  It’s almost three in the morning, and I’m cleaning one of my guns. I’ve never needed more than four hours of sleep at night, so it isn’t unusual to be awake. Typically, I just lie in bed until sleep arrives or my alarm goes off, but tonight, I’m needing a distraction.

  I attach the cotton mop to the cleaning rod and apply a few drops of lubricant. As I run it through the bore of the gun, my mind easily drifts to Ren. I could clean my guns in my sleep, so it doesn’t require much focus—which allows Ren to sneak into my thoughts.

  Her lips were inches from mine earlier and ripe for the taking. I know that if I’d made a move, she wouldn’t have denied me. For a millisecond, I was tempted to give into the attraction that I’ve been struggling to ignore. She’s a beautiful woman and so damn tempting. However, I don’t dare mix business with pleasure. I’m responsible for protecting her, and I can’t afford to be distracted by her curves when I need to be alert at all times.

  I set down the cleaning rod and pick up the luster cloth I’d unpacked. As I wipe down the rest of the gun, I release a low sigh. I’ve never been in a predicament like this. Sure, I’ve been attracted to women, even some when I was undercover, but I’ve never wanted to act on it.

  Until now.

  I find myself wanting to touch Ren, to look into her eyes when I know she’s trying to avoid mine. She’s a very guarded woman thanks to her father. Yet lately, she’d been letting down some of those walls, and I thought we were finally getting somewhere.

  Then that moment happened earlier, and I’d watched all those walls go right back up. I�
�d hurt her without meaning to. Damn it. All I’d wanted was to tell her that it’s okay and that I feel it, too. But if I acknowledge it, it’ll become a very real problem between us—one neither of us can afford. Once this is all over, maybe we can see if there’s something there, because I think there might be. But right now, it’s the wrong time to be exploring something like this. Too many lives are at stake.

  My head shoots up when I hear what sounds like raised voices coming from somewhere within the apartment building. After quickly assembling the gun, I reload it and cross the room to the door. I can still hear yelling, and I carefully crack the door and peer into the hall, my ears straining.

  The commotion seems to be located on the first floor. A planned distraction? Seeing that the hallway is clear, I step out and walk to Ren’s door. At night, I sleep with her apartment key hanging around my neck so that it’s always within reach. I quickly insert the key into the lock as I remain alert for any movement coming from either side of the hall.

  When the lock clicks, I try to push open the door, but it won’t budge. What the hell? I’d call for Ren, but if Donahue had somehow gotten past our surveillance, I don’t want to alert him to my presence. I push on the door with all my might, and it moves a mere half-inch.

  Fuck it.

  I brace myself and slam my shoulder into the door. There’s a splintering sound as whatever’s behind the door gives away. All the lights are on in the apartment, and I find a broken chair on the floor. I give it a glare before hurrying further into the kitchen, gun drawn and ready. Only silence fills the apartment with a faint murmur of yelling from the first floor.

  I look around, taking in every nook and cranny, searching to see if anyone’s lingering about. So far, everything looks secure. I make my way down the hall to the bedroom where the light is on, shining brightly into the hallway.

  Silently, I ease into the doorway, gun ready. Ren is sleeping in her bed, and nothing looks to be amiss. Not one to take chances, I carefully move around the room, searching for an intruder. After looking beneath the bed and checking behind the door, I slide the safety on my gun and slip it inside the waistband of my jeans.