If You Know Her: A Novel of Romantic Suspense (22 page)

Nia shoved off the doorjamb, eyeing the office with no small level of curiosity as Law headed toward her. “So what’s the office used for? You don’t seem to use it.”

He stopped dead in his tracks, and unless she was mistaken, his face went a little pale and his eyes went dark and flat. Then he gave her a grim smile. “No. No, I don’t use it. Not anymore.”

“Why not?”

He turned his head. Automatically, she followed the direction of his gaze with her eyes, but she didn’t know what he was seeing.

“Just how far back did you go when you were reading about Joe Carson, Nia?” he asked quietly.

“Pretty far,” she said, shrugging. Abruptly, it hit her. Shock stiffened her body and although she couldn’t see whatever Law saw in his memories, she knew what he was looking at.

That empty space on the floor—it was where the deputy had died. He’d been murdered … in this room.

Wincing, she said, “This is where the deputy died, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Law was rubbing his forearm.

She wondered if he even noticed. Unable to take the dark, tormented look on his face, she made herself take the first step into the room—it hadn’t bothered her just
a few minutes ago, but now, well, she didn’t want to be in there. She did it, though. One step in front of the other, until she was close to him, close enough to reach out, offering her hand. “Come on. You still need to show me these maps that have you so worked up.”

He gave her a tight smile. “Worked up?”

“Yeah. Worked up, stressed, boxers in a twist.”

“I think I left the boxers at your place,” he murmured.

“Damn, I think you’re right. You’re commando under those jeans.” She winked at him. “Now how am I supposed to focus on anything?”

When she tugged on his hand, he followed along, shutting the door snugly behind him.

“So I guess you don’t much like being in there, huh?”

“No.” He sighed, absently rotated his neck, reaching up to rub it. “I’ve thought about locking the door and then just throwing the key away, but that seems a little extreme. It’s just a damn room.”

He shoved a hand through his hair. “Come on. We’re going back up to the attic.”

“Fun, fun …” She stepped aside and gestured to him. “I’ll let you lead the way. And I’ll think about you being commando under those jeans.”

Once they were back up in the attic, it took exactly four minutes to locate the maps.

They all but overflowed the top two drawers of one filing cabinet. He had six of them, all lined up against the far wall. Eyeing them with a curious gaze, she looked at Law. “You a packrat or what?” she asked as he handed her a thick binder. He grabbed another one before sliding the cabinet closed.

“Nah. Well, not exactly. This is just stuff I either need to keep for a while or stuff I’ll end up using.”

Nia snorted and looked pointedly at the six filing cabinets. “Exactly what would you need to keep that could fill six file cabinets? It sure as hell can’t be your taxes.”

“You haven’t seen my damn tax return,” he muttered. Then he sneezed. “Come on. We’ll look at these downstairs. Too much dust up here.”

Trailing along behind him, she flipped open the binder, eyeing the plastic page holders, labeled and stuffed with maps. “Somehow I don’t think you’re the one behind this organization here,” she said.

Law just grunted.

“You had Hope do all of this? Hell, Law, how lazy are you? And why is Hope the one organizing this shit for you?”

“Because that’s what I pay her for,” he replied.

“You
pay
her to organize your junk? Why don’t you just throw it out?”

“I pay her because that’s her job.” He shot her a narrow look over his shoulder. “I can’t toss it out—I’ll probably need it at some point, or I
could
need it.”

“What do you mean you could need it?” She studied one of the maps—she knew this one pretty well, actually. It was a map of Colonial Williamsburg. “Just what use could you have for a map of Colonial Williamsburg?”

He headed into the living room and flopped onto the couch, hunching his shoulders a little as he muttered something too low for her to hear.

“What?”

“Research.” He snapped the binder closed and dumped it on the table. Leaning forward, he looked at her, his mouth twisted in something not really a scowl, but not a smile, either.

If Nia didn’t know better, she’d think he looked uncomfortable.

“Research?” she echoed. She flipped through the binder. It looked like she had the back half of the alphabet, as far as states went. There were maps for Texas, North Dakota, South Dakota, New Mexico, West Virginia,
Virginia, Washington—state and the District of Columbia. “Okay, so are you a travel agent in training or what?”

The look in his eyes was flat, emotionless, but she still had the weirdest feeling he was uncomfortable.
Very
uncomfortable. “No, I’m not a travel agent,” he said.

“Okay. So what are you?”

He grimaced. “I’m a writer.”

“A writer.”

“Yeah. Books. I write books. I pick up things like maps and stuff when I travel in case I decide to base a book somewhere, because I can’t remember the details when I need to remember the details.” He shifted again, still with that vaguely uncomfortable look on his face.

“Okay?”

“A writer.”

“Yeah.” He reached for the binder again, focusing on it like it held the answers to the universe and beyond.

Nia looked around the cluttered living room/office, eyeing the haphazard pile of new books stacked against one wall. New books. All by the same author. She’d noticed it the other day, vaguely, but she’d been so focused on Law, she hadn’t paid it that much attention.

Now her eyes zeroed in on the name and she looked back at Law, then at the books.

“Law Reilly,” she muttered, shaking her head.

The books had a different name on them … but not so different from his legal name, which she’d looked up back when she was still checking out details on everybody she could think of who might have a connection to her cousin.

Law … short for Lawson.

Edward Lawson Reilly
.

Ed O’Reilly
.

“Holy shit—you’re Ed O’Reilly?”

Those lean shoulders hunched even more and if she
wasn’t mistaken, the tops of his ears were brilliant red. She couldn’t see his face, hidden by the shaggy fall of his bangs.

“Law?”

“What?”

She waited for him to look up, but he was still looking at the binder. Looking at it—but not much of anything else. She had the feeling it was there just to keep him from staring at his lap.

Sighing, she dumped her binder on the table and grabbed his away, set it aside as well. “Will you
look
at me?”

He blew out a breath and shot her a narrow look. “You know, you were all but breathing down my neck for the past two hours while I looked for these. Now you want to chat?”

“I just want an answer,” she said, feeling oddly charmed. He was embarrassed, she realized.

“An answer to what?”

“Are you Ed O’Reilly?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Now … the maps?”

Pursing her lips, unable to resist, she skimmed a hand through his hair. The thick strands, golden-brown mixed with strands of lighter blond, darker brown, were cool against her fingers, and soft. “You know, I’ve read a few of Ed’s books. I always pictured him the older sort—in his fifties, maybe. Balding. With a paunch.”

Law lifted a brow. “Your point?”

“You don’t look like an Ed.” She leaned in and kissed him, lingering long enough to nip his lower lip. “That’s my point. You just don’t look like an Ed. And it’s kind of cool. I didn’t know I was sleeping with some hotshot crime writer.”

He snorted. Then, with a sly smile curling his lips, he reached over and laid a hand on her inner thigh, stroking higher and higher until his fingers brushed against
her crotch. “Well, I need to do something to keep up with the sexy photojournalist, right? Hey, you got your camera? Maybe we could set it up and you could take some pictures …”

He stifled her laugh as he slanted his mouth over hers.

By the time he lifted his head, she was breathless and he looked pleased with himself. Having successfully distracted her, she figured.

“So … can we look at those maps?”

It wasn’t one of the many maps he’d picked up at stores or gas stations.

This one was older—one that had been hand-drawn, something he’d found at an old rummage sale. It was so fragile the paper felt like it was going to disintegrate just at his touch and he could have kicked himself for not doing something to protect it.

But it had been years since he’d picked it up and he’d been focused on another project at the time—just hadn’t been thinking.

Law unfolded it carefully, all but holding his breath until he had it spread open over his coffee table.

“A few hundred years ago, most of this land around here all belonged to one of two families,” he said absently.

“Let me guess … one of them had the last name of
Jennings
,” she quipped as she bent over, peering at the faded print on the map.

“Yeah. The other one was Ohlman. Lena lives right about where the line was drawn between their property.” He traced a line down between it, not quite touching the paper. “The house used to be right about here …”

He indicated an area on the map. It didn’t mean jack to Nia. Then he circled the area around it, a pensive look on his face.

“The Ohlman family had a lot of people who sympathized with the Northern states during the Civil War—helped hide runaway slaves. I was thinking about doing an alternate history story once, basing it here. Did some research—apparently the old Ohlman place had some underground areas—cellars, that sort of thing, where they’d hide the runaway slaves.”

Cellars …

Nia hissed out a breath and shot up off the couch.

Good thing he’d been prepared for that. She wasn’t the type to sit and wait around, was she? But before she could take even two steps, he caught her, his hand snagging the waistband of her jeans. He set the map aside with his free hand.

She craned her head around, glaring at him. “Let go.”

“No.” The distant, distracted look on his face was gone, replaced by one of flat and focused determination.

“
Let
go,” she repeated, jerking against his hold. “Don’t you get it? That could be where he did it. If I can find something—”

“I
do
get it. And that’s why I’m not letting go.” He jerked against her jeans—jerked hard until she ended up on his lap and then he wrapped an arm around her. “If he had a place there, he’s too likely to be watching for you and you are
not
taking off into those woods by yourself, sweetheart. Not happening.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. That was all the warning he got—and fortunately, it was about all the warning he needed.

She ended up stretched out under him on the floor, their bodies wedged between the coffee table and the couch. Her eyes snapping, her mouth twisted in a snarl, she glared at him. “Get
off
,” she ordered, bucking against him.

“Why, so you can take off into the woods again and
maybe this time do something that really pisses the killer off so he comes after
you
?”

She bucked under him once more.

He pressed his hips against her, used his weight to keep her trapped.

“You son of a bitch.” She twisted against his hold and the fury in her eyes gave way to heartbreak. “Damn it, I can’t
not
do something.”

His own heart ached—damn near shattered as tears glittered in her eyes. Lowering his head, he pressed his lips to her cheek, caught a tear. “I’m not asking you to not do anything … I just don’t want you running off blind. I want you
safe
, Nia. Hell, I
need
that. I need you …”

I need you …

The words hung between them, but he didn’t take them back. Didn’t try to explain them away. He did need her. He couldn’t explain how it had happened this fast for him, couldn’t explain just what
this
was … he just knew from the time he’d laid eyes on her, he’d felt something, and it had been growing ever since then.

“You can’t need me,” Nia said, her voice quiet, sad. “You don’t even know me.”

His mouth twisted in a bittersweet smile. “You can’t tell me what I need, what I don’t need, baby. That’s kind of up to me.” He eased the grip he held on her wrists, fully prepared for her to try to slip away.

But all she did was ball up her fists, press them against his chest. Her head turned to the side and she blew out a breath.

“What do you want from me, damn it? I can’t just ignore this,” she said, closing her eyes.

“Not asking you to.” He caught one wrist, lifted it to his mouth and pressed his lips to the reddened flesh there. “I’m sorry.”

“You haven’t answered me.”

“I’m going to call Ezra, have him come over. We talk to him, see what he says.” He kissed her other wrist, wincing as he saw the angry red marks left by his grip. Damn it. He wasn’t sorry he hadn’t let her take off blindly, but he didn’t like seeing that he’d left marks on her either.

Easing back, he watched her face, wondered if he’d torn what he was just now realizing he needed from her.

She sat up and he reached up, stroked a hand down her face. She stared at him, scowling. “I ought to deck you,” she muttered. But she turned her face into his hand, rubbed her cheek against him. “Jerk. Most of the guys I know can’t take me down that fast.”

Law grimaced. “I … shit. I can’t even say I’m sorry straight up, because if you try to make for the door, I’ll do it again. But I didn’t mean to leave a mark on you. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t.” Nia sighed and glanced at her wrists, flexed her fingers. “I just bruise easy. Only thing hurt is my pride. And I still ought to deck you. But I suspect you could stop me pretty damn easy.”

“I won’t.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s no fun if you
let
me.” Then she scooted back and stood.

Law remained alert, ready to grab her again. She wasn’t running off on him, damn it. He didn’t care if he had to tie her to a damn chair. But all she did was settle down on the couch, eyeing the map with a sidelong look. “Fine. Call Ezra.”