Page 14 of Lethal Deceit (Hightower Security #2)

I’m not about to be lectured to by a criminal. Even if she does have a point.

I shouldn’t have gone with her. I knew better, but my attraction to her overrode my common sense.

“Don’t you have a conscience?” I ask.

She waves a hand through the air, cutting off my question.

“Don’t you have any morals?”

The answer’s out before I can stop it.

“I was raised a Christian.”

She barks out a bitter laugh.

“So what? You don’t even live like it. Hypocrite. You’ve got no right to judge me.”

The word stings more than I want to admit. I don’t flinch, but I feel it.

She leans in, eyes hard.

“You’re just like all the others. Holier-than-thou on Sunday, and hanging out with women like me the rest of the week.”

I clench my jaw.

“Is that what this is now? You flipping it on me?”

She shrugs.

“I’m just saying, don’t sit there acting like you’re better than me. You’re not.”

“What do you want? An apology?”

She gives a half-smile.

“I don’t want anything. But if you really believed God was watching, you never would’ve even thought about sleeping with me.”

That lands like a punch to the gut—and this time, I do flinch.

She’s working her way under my skin. Making me think about things I’d rather not.

“You’re right. And I regret it. Every. Single. Day,”

I say, grinding out the words.

She snorts.

“Likewise.”

I need to get away from her. She’s already driving me nuts, and it’s been less than an hour since I pulled her out of the water.

I reach for the TV remote and switch it on, anything to distract me from her presence. She doesn’t protest, just glares at me, but when the local news comes on, her eyes snap back to the screen.

Just like Brooke promised, my plea to find her airs along with an update about how the PD have received almost a hundred possible sightings of her. None of them are anywhere near the marina. Nor is there a story about the shooting or a dead body found on the jetty.

A commercial plays, and I hit the mute button.

Samantha speaks before I can.

“If you’ve caught me, why is that still playing?”

I tap my finger on my thigh.

“It’s complicated.”

“Who’s the liar now?”

I’m done with her questioning my integrity.

“I’m not going to tell you the details. You should be grateful you’re in a safe place.”

“Wow. Really? I should be grateful I’m being held against my will?”

“You should be grateful I didn’t let you drown,” I mutter.

She shoots to her feet, then wobbles. I’m up in a flash, catching her by the arm.

“Hey—easy. I was joking.”

A low groan slips from her lips, and whatever irritation I felt vanishes. She looks like she’s about to pass out.

“You breathing okay?” I say.

I haven’t heard her wheezing, but I’d be the first to admit I’m not one hundred percent focused.

With a quick bob of her head, she collapses in the chair again.

“Just… lightheaded.”

I sit alongside her and grab her wrist so I can check her pulse. Her skin is a little clammy, but after a minute, I’m relieved to find her pulse is strong even though her hands are trembling.

“When did you eat last?”

She jerks her hand away from mine and swipes it on her robe.

“This morning.”

That explains it.

“Stay there. Don’t try to move.”

She barely acknowledges me, so I hurry to the kitchenette and locate the hot chocolate. The sugar-packed liquid will be the fastest way to raise her blood glucose. I dump in another teaspoon of sugar and stir before handing it to her. “Drink.”

When she hesitates, I sigh and take a sip.

“Satisfied?”

She squints at me but holds out her hands so she can take the mug. Rather than stand over her, I sit where I was, close enough to keep an eye on her but far enough away that if she decides to throw the hot chocolate at me, it won’t do too much damage.

Probably should have thought of that earlier.

She gulps the drink so quickly, she’s probably burned her tongue, but when she puts the mug on the coffee table alongside her empty coffee cup, it’s empty.

“You want another one?”

She tosses her head.

“I can get it myself. I’m not an invalid.”

“No, just prone to collapsing.”

She shoots me a glare sharp enough to slice.

“Funny. When are the clothes showing up?”

I glance at my watch.

“An hour. Maybe two.”

She groans.

“Can we call a truce? I’m exhausted.”

“Truce.”

“Good.”

She leans back with a sigh.

“Now turn down the volume. You’re not exactly soothing.”

I grab the remote and lower the sound without a word.

She curls deeper into the chair, her head tipping back as her eyes flutter closed.

And for reasons I’m not ready to admit, I watch her a little longer than I should.

Just to make sure she’s breathing.