“Ah, no, nothing.” She pasted a fake smile on her face and turned toward him. “I don’t know why I came in here. I should let you get some rest.”
“I don’t sleep much.” He lifted his right hand. His tanned fingers had curved around a clear glass. “For you.”
“Thanks.” She put it to her lips and nearly choked when she took a gulp.
Whiskey.
“A few sips might help you to calm your nerves.”
Uh, no.
He downed his own glass in seemingly one swallow. “It’s been one hell of a night,” he muttered as he set his glass down on the nearby end table.
She put her glass down, too. The whiskey was burning her throat. When it came to drinking, she was way too much of a lightweight.
“You don’t want to take the edge off?” Cooper asked her, frowning slightly.
She sank into the couch. I should be heading for the door. “I don’t mix so well with whiskey.”
“I can make you something else...”
“No.” The leather was supple beneath her fingers. Tension still held her body tight, and she kept thinking—
“It doesn’t do any good to keep picturing the dead.” Cooper sat next to her. His thighs brushed against hers. “Turn around.”
“Wh-what?” Now that was just sad. He was making her so nervous that she was actually stuttering.
“You’re so stiff you’re driving me crazy,” he said.
She turned around. His hands reached for her shoulders. Oh, no, there was no way those fighting fists were going to give any kind of relaxing massage—
His fingers began to knead her flesh.
Gabrielle’s eyes nearly rolled back in her head. She was wrong. So very wrong. His fingers were magic.
“I can help you to relax. Just breathe. Don’t picture him. Get that image out of your head.”
The man was way too good with his hands. “Is this...how you usually deal with adrenaline?”
A soft laugh. “No, I usually use sex.”
The tension snapped right back in her shoulders.
“Relax,” Cooper ordered, “that wasn’t an offer.”
Oh, right.
“Unless you want it to be...”
Trouble. She’d known that the guy was serious trouble from day one.
“What cold case are you working on?” He asked before she could do more than suck in a shocked gasp of air. “I know you told me that you were starting to profile them.”
She had told him that, during one of their brief two-minute conversations when their paths occasionally crossed. “Kylie Archer. Her case isn’t as old as the others, but the cops don’t have any leads, so I thought I could try digging.”
“That digging led you to the body?”
“Keith Lockwood,” she whispered. The image of his body tried to push into her mind again, but she shoved it back.
He kept rubbing her shoulders. His broad fingers were sliding down her back.
Her thighs shifted restlessly.
“He knew who killed the woman?”
“I don’t know.” She would find out. As soon as the cops backed off, Gabrielle would be making her way back inside that apartment.
Her eyes drifted closed as he kept caressing her skin. His fingers skimmed over the edge of her arms. Then he returned his attention to her shoulders, started working down. Down...
He pushed lightly against her lower back.
Gabrielle had to bite back a moan. That felt so good.
But...was a massage supposed to turn a girl on?
This one is. No, correction...he is.
“You didn’t see any sign of anyone else in that place?”
“The door was open when I went inside. Someone had shattered the lock. When I saw that, I knew something was wrong.”
His fingers stilled. “You knew something was wrong, and you still went rushing in? You should have called the cops first!”
“Lockwood could’ve been hurt. That’s why I went in. As soon as I saw the body, I called 911.”
“Next time,” his deep voice rumbled as he started his massage once more, “do me a favor, okay? Call the cops before you rush in and find yourself facing a killer.”
She wanted to melt into a puddle. His hands were heaven. The tension was gone. Well, all but the sexual tension. The sensual awareness she felt was heating up.
And that’s my sign to leave.
His fingers were very close to her hips. And she was arching against his touch like a cat.
Get a grip, Gabrielle. It’s just a massage. It’s not lovemaking.
But she almost wished that it was.
Gabrielle jerked away from his touch. “I have to go.” She jumped to her feet.
He stared up at her.
“Thanks for the ride home. And the drink. And the massage.” She was rambling. “Good night.” Then she scrambled for the door.
“Gabrielle.”
His voice stopped her just as her fingers closed around the doorknob.
“If you get scared, if you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”
Good to know. She tossed him a quick, nervous smile, then she fled. No other word for it.
A smart woman ran from trouble.
* * *
THE WOMAN WAS going to be trouble.
He’d known that, of course, the minute she moved in.
Long, black hair, golden skin, dark eyes... And a body that sure made him want to sin.
Gabrielle Harper was the last person he’d expected to find in his life. A reporter, right upstairs?
Fate had a twisted sense of humor.
If Gabrielle ever found out what he really did for a living, if she found out about the secret government group known as the EOD—
Can’t happen.
There were only a few civilians with clearance to possess intel about the Elite Operations Division. Too-pretty and too-tempting Gabrielle couldn’t learn about his group.
Secrecy meant survival for the EOD agents. He would do anything to secure that survival.
Anything necessary. Those were his orders, after all. They’d come straight down from the top—from the director of the EOD, Bruce Mercer.
And anything necessary...well, that included a little breaking and entering.
Cooper had waited a few hours, until he was sure that Gabrielle had finally drifted into slumber. Then he’d commenced his B&E routine.
It was ridiculously easy to get inside Gabrielle’s place. Since he’d installed the locks right before she moved in, Cooper had a key to her apartment.
He also knew her security code.
Again,