Page 26

Ronan eased them onto the freeway, late-afternoon sun painting long shadows across the asphalt and turning the bumpers of the other cars into a sea of sparkling metal. The shadows felt longer still when he took an exit, but she was too tense to notice what the road sign said. Either way, she was stuck. This man could put her in jail any time he wanted. But for some reason, he didn’t seem to want to.
Was that good? Or very bad?
“Do I have to check the library cameras?” he said finally, eyes still on the road. “I have Mercer’s call logs on their way from the phone company. Whatever you’re trying to find on that cell, it’s only a matter of time before I have it. And you’re riding shotgun in my car, without handcuffs—play deputy for me. We can help each other here, Jenny.”
That’s not my name. She’d never wanted to hear her real name on someone’s lips so badly. “Deputy, huh?”
He cut his eyes her way, half a smile, then back to the road. “My partner thinks you were a distraction.”
She blinked. “A distraction? What does that even mean?”
“That you kissed Mercer so someone else could sneak up behind him and stab him in the back.”
Her jaw dropped. That was the second time he’d mentioned that theory—definitely a bad sign—but Ronan didn’t seem to notice that she’d stopped breathing. He was busy maneuvering the car onto a two-lane road, maple trees flaring red on either side, the culverts overrun with Queen Anne’s Lace, the grass gone to seed.
She cleared her throat and managed, “Are you actually suggesting that I conspired to kill a man? That my big plan was to let him kiss me, wait for someone else to stab him, and hope that no one noticed?”
Did he really think she had a reason to kill Jason? She did… if he was working for Daniel. But motive or not, she hadn’t killed him, and she’d be damned if she went down for it.
“You could have conspired to kill him—I don’t think you did. I know you went out with him the night before, but one bad date isn’t enough reason to murder someone in cold blood.”
Bile rose in her gorge. “I didn’t kill Jason—I didn’t have anyone else kill him either. I didn’t tell you I knew him because I didn’t want to be a suspect. But I guess I’m a suspect now anyway.”
“So you stole his phone… why?”
She took a deep breath, trying to steady her heart. She couldn’t use erasing her own number as an excuse—she didn’t have a cell, and he’d know it soon enough. And she certainly couldn’t tell him the truth.
“I’m not positive, but I think Jason took a photo of us at the bar. I didn’t want the police to find it.”
“I see.” The words were heavy with skepticism, as they should be—who’d break into the morgue for a single, innocent snapshot?
Ronan pressed harder on the gas.
“I wish I could help, I really do,” she said softly. “But we both know there’s nothing to go on. I saw that room—it was clean. And if you had a better suspect, you wouldn’t have dragged Waylon in.” She fiddled with a thread on her sweater, knotting it before it unraveled. It was too close to the feeling in her head right now—unraveling.
“But Waylon is an asshole,” she went on. “He should be locked up. If not for this, for other things.”
He glanced her way, eyes sharp. “You’re suggesting a frame job? To a cop?”
Her heart spasmed. “No, I mean… I’m just saying that he’s a dick.” Nice save, idiot.
But Ronan didn’t look angry. “Do you have evidence that he should be locked away? Have you ever seen him do anything illegal?”
“Not exactly… but there’s something wrong with him, and you know it the same way I do. You watch him, too.” Actually… “Is he the reason you’ve been coming to the club?” That thought definitely stung.
Ronan hooked a right but didn’t answer. He eased them through a narrow alley between a meat processing plant and… an abandoned milk-bottling factory? No streetlights out here—it’d be pitch-black once night fell.
The air shivered from her lungs. “Where are we going?”
“I want you to feel safe.”
“So, you’re taking me to the middle of nowhere?”
Ronan finally cut the wheel hard left and tapped the car into park. “I didn’t bring you out here to be alone with you. I brought you out here so you’d feel safe from whoever it is you’re so fucking scared of. Because despite what you just said, I know that person isn’t Waylon. And I’m damn sure you’re not scared of me.”
His steel-blue gaze bored into hers, melting her insides. “You wouldn’t strip naked for a man you’re terrified of… would you?”
Her heart fluttered—butterflies in her chest. Butterflies between her legs. Butterflies everywhere.