Her head rested against his chest and she could hear his heartbeat, steady and sure as hers was not. He kept right on being rock solid even with the world falling apart around them.
And in the back of her mind, a crazy thought entered. She wondered what it would be like to kiss him. He moved against her, just slightly, as if checking his balance, and she shook herself and started to pull back.
Something cold and hard stuck out of the waistband of his jeans, beneath the cover of his jacket, as she drew her hands down and away. Something cold and hard and metal…
Her heart stopped and total fear slammed back in on her. She felt him freeze, and she moved quickly before he could, grabbed it in one hand and stumbled back, knowing what she held. Not needing any light.
She was holding a gun.
Chapter 4
He felt the cold metal slide away from the waistband of his jeans and before he could move, she was gone, nothing but a ragged gasp in the darkness. He lunged forward then stopped cold at the low, fearful, shaking sound of her voice.
“Don’t come near me. I’ll shoot.”
“No, you won’t.” He hoped she wouldn’t. Hell, he didn’t know. He didn’t move.
He could feel his heart thumping hard against his ribs. And he could have sworn he could hear hers, thumping, too. She was scared and he didn’t blame her, but he needed to get back in control of the situation. Scaring her more wasn’t the way.
“I know how to use a gun,” she said, that soft, low voice of hers still uneven. “What I don’t know is what you’re doing with one.”
“It’s licensed,” he told her, keeping his voice steady, reassuring. “I have a right to carry it. There’s no need to be afraid.”
“I’m trapped here with you and a gun. I think I can decide for myself if I should be afraid or not.”
“You already pointed out that everyone in town knows I’m here. My car is still outside. Rescuers will get here eventually. Why would I want them to find me here, in a cellar with a dead body and my gun? I’m not going to shoot you. I’m not stupid, remember?” Reason, he had to use reason on her. She was already frightened, for good cause, by the quake and the destruction of her house and their desperate situation.
She was silent for a beat and he could hear the house creak over them again. She could hear it, too, and he heard her feet shift on the rubble, knew she was unnerved even more, wondered if she was trying to decide whether she needed to hold his gun, or hold him, to feel most safe.
“Do you think I want to spend God knows how many hours alone down here, waiting for help, with a dead body?” he asked quietly. “I don’t want to shoot you, Keely. I—”
His throat closed up a bit and the next words were hard to admit, but he had to make a choice, too. Risk a little of himself, or risk his life if he let a very frightened woman continue to point a gun at him. Situations got out of hand sometimes. He knew that too well.
“I like you,” he finished finally. “Why would I want to shoot you?”
She didn’t say anything for long seconds. He felt the electric pull of her even through the dark. She was thinking, he knew. Thinking about whether she could trust him or not.
It appeared she wasn’t so naive, after all.
“You walked up to my door with a gun,” she said. “And I want to know why.” Her voice strengthened.
She was pulling herself together. That hadn’t taken long, and it occurred to him that she had a tough spine inside that very sweet, hot, bombshell-quality body of hers.
He did like her, he realized with a shock, even though she had annoyed him quite a bit, from the first time he’d spoken with her on the phone about the rental, with questions he didn’t want to answer. He liked her in spite of himself because she was nice. Even when he was rude to her, she was nice. In fact, she was too nice. Too nice for him. His instinct to get away from her as quickly as possible had been a good one.
Now he couldn’t get away from her and she was going to take her opportunity to ask questions again, and he was going to have to give her answers whether he liked it or not. And he didn’t like it at all.
“I’m a cop.”
The house lay so still around them, he could hear the very low intake of her breath, sense the tension emanating from her body as his words sunk in. His gut tightened, waiting for her to respond.
“A cop?” She didn’t sound like she really believed him.
He figured she’d thought he operated on the opposite side of the law, based on his appearance. He’d worked undercover most of the past few years and his wardrobe had suffered in keeping with his cases. Not that he cared or that it mattered. He was supposed to be resting and relaxing, not dressing for success.
In truth, he was just biding his time. He didn’t need rest and relaxation. He needed to get back to work. The damn thing was, the chief wouldn’t let him. The department shrink had said he wasn’t dealing with his grief. Go to the country, the chief had ordered. Get some perspective. Unwind. One month. Then he’d let him come back to work. He’d suggested Haven. The chief had grown up here.
Jake had thought he was dealing with his grief just fine. How the hell was someone supposed to take it when they were responsible for their partner getting blown up right in front of them? And people had called him a hero. He’d just wanted to get back to work. He still wanted to get back to work. He wanted to bury himself in work. No thinking. No feeling. And certainly no consorting with the locals. He didn’t want any entanglements.
But here he was in Haven, trapped in a cellar with a beautiful woman. How had that happened?
“Charleston Police Department,” he told her.
“And I’m supposed to know that’s the truth how…?” she asked.
“Because I’m telling you it’s the truth….” he said. “I’m one of the good guys, Keely. I promise.” He waited a beat. “If you don’t mind, I don’t really like it when people point guns at me,” he said. “It makes me worry about whether I’m going to get to keep breathing. You stop pointing the gun at me and we find a candle, then I’ll show you my badge and ID. Deal?”
He heard the soft click of the chamber pushing open.
“I’m going to take the bullets out. You don’t mind, do you?” she asked.
“Not at all.”
She hadn’t lied about knowing how to operate a weapon. And she might believe him—or might not—but she wasn’t going to leave the gun loaded. Again, not so naive, after all.
It wouldn’t do her a whole lot of good if he wanted to wrestle the empty gun away from her and find the bullets, but it would buy her time. Better, he supposed she was figuring, than letting him wrestle the gun away from her loaded.
She’d probably just put the bullets in her back pocket. There weren’t a whole lot of other options available.
He heard the gun drop on the debris behind her.
“I know you can pick it up,” she said then. “I know you can get the bullets away from me. But,” she added dryly, “I suppose you’re right. You’re pretty stuck if help comes and I’m laying here in a pool of blood. Wouldn’t be too smart on your part. I just don’t like loaded guns, so let’s not keep it that way. Okay?” She still wasn’t completely trusting him.
“Okay.”
Tentative truce. Fragile, very fragile, he’d guess.
He’d take it.
“They’d know you did it,” she added.
“Yes.”