He nodded, and she breathed a little easier. She doubted whether he was convinced of the authenticity of Sandra’s talent, at any rate. He struck her as a very pragmatic man. He’d believe only what he could see, could prove.
“Wadrell’s a decent cop, but there’s not a considerate bone in his body. I can only think of one other reason he’d offer to help. And that’s to get close to you.”
“Do you think I don’t know that, Detective?” It was her turn to surprise him. She took a grim satisfaction in his reaction. “I’m not naive. I know exactly what motivated your buddy’s offer of assistance. And I don’t care what his intentions are, as long as I get what I want.”
With slow, deliberate movements he pushed away from the wall and approached her, one methodical step at a time. He set the glass down and braced his hands on the coffee table. Face close to hers, he murmured, sotto voce, “He’s not my buddy.”
His proximity leeched the air from her lungs. She’d underestimated the man. His presence was even more compelling up close, close enough for her to see the flecks of gold in his pale eyes, near enough for her to reach up a hand and trace every hard angle of his face.
Her fingers curled into her palms. She refused to let him see the effect he had on her, the cost of her careless shrug. “Sorry. From what you said it sounded like you knew him well.”
He gazed at her a moment longer, then slowly straightened. Her strangled lungs drew in much-needed oxygen. “I know him well enough to realize he’s not the type to do a favor without expecting something in return.”
He wasn’t saying anything she hadn’t already figured out for herself, but the words, spoken out loud, made her hesitate. She’d taken grim satisfaction in the idea of using Wadrell to answer the questions she still had about the accident. It was, she’d thought, no more than was due them. And if he expected more than she was willing to give in return, rejection was exactly what he deserved. Although, she remembered, with a faint shudder, having to dodge his interest tonight had filled her with nothing short of revulsion.
“I can handle Wadrell,” she said with more assurance than she felt. Her words clearly failed to convince Connally. He was regarding her with something like derision in his eyes.
“I guess it depends on your definition of the word. From where I sat tonight it looked like you were the one being handled.”
Meghan flushed. She looked good with temper flaring in her eyes and coloring her cheeks, Gabe decided. She wasn’t as emotionless as she would have him believe. Why that should matter to him he didn’t know, except that it would have been a shame if a woman who looked like her was really as cold and as closed off as she pretended to be.
He folded his arms over his chest. “Let’s look at your options here. As far as the department goes, your sister’s accident is a closed case. You said yourself Wadrell’s motives are suspect. Why would you trust him to follow through on his promise?”
“Are you worried about me, Detective?” Her voice was mocking. “Don’t be. I learned a long time ago that the only person I can trust is myself.”
Her statement hit him with the force of a punch. He could have echoed the words himself; certainly he believed the same. But he knew the kind of knocks it had taken to shape his cynical point of view. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he didn’t like to consider the kind of experiences that might have shaped hers.
He perched on her coffee table, retaining a position close to her. “There’s no use taking stupid chances if you don’t have to. Wadrell’s a slime. You know he’s more interested in your body than in your sister’s death.”
Her chin angled and she met him stare for stare. “Why do you care?”
Their gazes battled for long moments before Gabe finally answered. “Let’s just say that I don’t like to see people taken advantage of. And I’ve never been a fan of Wadrell’s.”
Meghan looked beyond his shoulder to the clock on the wall. It was after ten. Early, really. But all of a sudden she was weary, clear to the bone. The time she’d spent with Wadrell had put her on edge. She still didn’t doubt her ability to keep him at arm’s length, but she was beginning to question the wisdom of her plan. She would have only the detective’s word, after all, that he’d actually conducted another investigation into the accident. She’d have no reason to believe him. And no choice not to. When Danny was old enough to be given the details, the very least he deserved were the facts involved in his mother’s death. All of them.
She glanced at Connally again. Sitting atop her table, he was much too close. Much too…physical. He was big enough to project a subtle threat sheerly through his stature. The breadth of his heavy shoulders blocked her view of the room behind him, and the broad chest beneath his crossed arms depicted a certain power. In a studiedly casual move, she settled more deeply into the couch cushions. It was ridiculous to feel that the slight movement had put some much-needed distance between them. Ridiculous, because there was nothing about his actions or his expression to suggest she had anything to fear from him.
Except that he was a cop. He was in her apartment, and he was intent on dragging Danny into the middle of a police investigation.
“I have another option for you to consider.” His voice, coming after a minute of silence, seemed raspier than usual.
“Forget Wadrell. Let me help you instead.”
She looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. Maybe he had. He’d never be considered one of those white knights charging to rescue ladies in distress. He found jackets and ties confining enough; armor would be murder.
He shook off the fanciful thought. “You want something. So do I. I’ll take another look into the accident for you. In return, you’ll cooperate by allowing Danny to assist us in any way we need him.” As if sensing the protest she was about to utter, he went on quickly, “You get what you want, I get what I want. It’ll be strictly business.” Her cooperation would make his job easier. He didn’t want to chance her sabotaging him at every turn, maybe even coaching the boy to tell them nothing. He needed every lead he could get on this case.
Everything inside Meghan recoiled from accepting his offer. For different reasons, she was even more loath to spend time in his presence than she was in Wadrell’s. And there was no way, absolutely none, that she would let Danny get embroiled with the police. She knew nothing about raising children. But the one thing she did know was that her psychic ability had ruined Sandra’s life. If she could spare Danny only one thing, it would be that.
Connally was speaking again. “Of course, maybe you have other reasons to want to stick with Wadrell. Maybe you really wouldn’t mind if you and he…” He made a gesture with his hand which, along with his tone, made his message clear.
Meghan’s indignation overcame her caution. “Believe me, I find cops eminently resistible. For that matter, how can I be sure that I wouldn’t have to fight off your advances?”
He didn’t appear to take offense. “’Cause I make it a point to steer wide of your type. So if we partner up for a while, you won’t have to worry about me coming on to you.”
He watched her intently, but when she failed to respond, he said, “If you need convincing…” Before she could guess his intention, he leaned forward in one smooth movement and covered her mouth with his own.
Shock held Meghan motionless. The man was completely outrageous! She managed to raise her hand to his chest before her bones began to take on the consistency of warm wax. It was like kissing a flash of lightning, she thought fuzzily—all sizzling heat and banked strength. There was an unexpected measure of wildness to his taste, layered beneath a hint of tightly harnessed control.
He wasn’t a man to ask permission, and there was no entreaty in his touch. Her hand lingered, forgotten, on his chest as he angled his head and pressed her lips open. His tongue boldly swept in, exchanging her flavor for his own.
Her