Material Witness (12 page)

He dropped the bags on the porch and
unlocked the door. The way she clung to his back as he opened the door, as if
he was the last hold on earth to her peace of mind, gave him his answer.
She
was terrified.

The soft glow of light from the
kitchen in the back of the house shined beams across the deep-pile living room
rug. Jake reached up and skimmed his hand against the smooth-papered wall to
find the light switch. When he did, he flicked it on and bright light filled
the open room.

This safe house was called a cottage,
but one look and it was obvious it was anything but. The living room was square
and wide with a cream sofa and settee propped in the center of the room.
Against the inside wall stood a full oak-paneled entertainment unit. A
cushioned window seat in a floral design sat between a row of bookcases resting
against the far wall. The living room was open to the kitchen area, filled with
brightly shined stainless steel appliances and a white and gray marble
countertop that gleamed under the track lighting above.

The FBI had taken pains to make the
safe house comfortable. Jake knew that equal pains had been taken to hide the
state-of-the-art equipment meant for keeping both “clients” and agents comfortable
and secure for a dangerously long time.

He squashed down the feeling of being
impressed and went about searching the rest of the house. Cassie held tight to
his heels at every turn. He could feel the heat of her behind him as he moved,
heard each little burst of breath as she remembered to breathe. And she was
literally on his heels when she plowed into his leather jacket and stepped on
the back of his boot.

He'd felt it, but he knew she felt
the connection between his hard boot-heel and the toe of her canvas sneakers
more.

“Ouch,” she muttered softly as they
moved on through the kitchen.

“You don't have to follow that
close.”

She did it again.

Jake spun around. “Cassie, the lights
are on and no one,
but us
, is here,” he said delicately. “I know you're
nervous, but I assure you, here, more than anywhere else, you'll be safe.”

She opened her mouth to speak but
quickly clamped it shut.

The sound of the car engine firing up
drew Jake’s attention to the window. He quickly walked over to the window and peered
outside. Red taillights bounced down the driveway toward the road.

“Agent Bellows has finished his
perimeter check. See? All clear.”

Chewing on her bottom lip, Cassie
pointed down the hallway. “Shouldn't you have checked the coat closet?”

Jake heaved an exasperated sigh,
knowing his unrest was fueled by fatigue more than frustration.

He peered down at the delicate
features of her face. As it had last night, the small beauty mark to the side
of her full lips teased him. He'd wondered last night if she'd purposely put it
there for show. Now, seeing her cleanly scrubbed face and creamy complexion, he
knew for sure that it was something nature had blessed her with, a true mark of
beauty.

He needed some distance from this
woman, and the only way he'd get that was when they were both locked in their
own bedrooms for the night. Deciding the quickest way to achieve that would be
to appease her, he gripped the doorknob of the coat closet at the entry of the
hallway and yanked it open.

“See? No Bogey Monster in there,” he
said, trying to keep the grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth from
showing.

Cassie knotted her arms across her
puffed-out chest and glared at him.

“In one of my books—the one I was
telling you about at the station—there was a gunman waiting for the agent in
the coat closet.”

“How'd he get in?”

“He strangled the guard.”

Jake glanced at Cassie over his
shoulder. “Do you really think it was such good therapy for you to write crime
novels?”

Straightening her spine, she
sputtered, “Of course.”

“I think you were right last night.
You have an overactive imagination.”

Jake checked the remaining rooms
while Cassie stayed rooted behind in the hallway, fuming. He might have
imagined it, but he thought he'd actually seen steam rise from her head.

“Are you done making fun of me yet?”
she called out as he checked the last room.

Jake peered at her face and that
nagging emotion welled inside. His heartbeat hammered in his ear just seeing
her vulnerability, making it hard for him to breathe.

“I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt
your feelings. I’m just tired.”

She hesitated for a moment, looking
at the floor, the door and then at his face. “Did you check the closets in the
bedroom?”

He had to keep himself from laughing.
Bogey Monsters aside, Cassie was right about one thing. Everything about this
whole situation was absurd. Here he was, Mr. Keep-Yourself-Detached, looking at
an incredibly beautiful, sensual woman, and he was supposed to keep her safe?

What the hell was he thinking? And
Lord have mercy, that was just the problem. He was thinking way too much about
how much he wanted to take Cassie to bed when he should be staying focused on
the job he was sent here to do.

In all the years he'd been on the
force, all the women he'd ever known who'd come and gone from his life, he
never had trouble keeping himself detached and focused on his work. A mere
twenty-four lousy hours with this tiresome woman, and he was forgetting all
he'd worked so hard to achieve. He couldn't keep his mind focused on anything
except the way her bottom lip jutted out just slightly when she pouted. Or the
way her laughter bubbled up inside her.

How Cassie could even laugh at all,
given the situation they faced, was beyond him. But she did. And every time her
lips spread into a slow smile, Jake's mind went into a complete nuclear
meltdown. All he wanted was to crush her soft, tiny body against his and kiss
her until he couldn't breathe, until the rest of his body found the release
that would make all the craziness he felt inside make sense.

He needed to stop this madness right
now. As attracted as he was to Cassie, there was absolutely no way he was
taking this woman to bed.

“I think maybe we should go to bed,
ah, get some sleep.”

* * *

Cassie stared at Jake's face, trying
hard not to read into the multitude of expressions stretching and changing his
features. She was being ridiculous. She knew that. As much as she tried to
convince herself what Jake said was true, she couldn't keep the hairs on the
back of her neck from dancing on end.

Maybe Jake was right. Maybe she had
been writing about crime too long and it had tainted her, making her unable to
deal with reality. She wasn’t living the story in one of her books.

But then most people didn’t live with
the reality of getting showered with bullets as they had last night at Rory's.
That was not something out of one of her books. That had been real.

She rolled her head on her shoulders,
easing out some of the tension plaguing her. Last night and the long drive had
taken its toll. She needed a hot bath and some distance from this incredible
pull she felt toward Jake, so she could regroup.

“Okay. Where?” she conceded.

“The center room here,” he said,
reaching dangerously close to her in order to open the door behind her. “It has
a private bath with no windows. You’ll feel safe there.”

Stepping inside, he reached for the
light switch. Cassie was completely unprepared for such a beautifully decorated
room. Sure, the rest of the house was gorgeous, but this room looked as if it
had been decorated just for her. A queen-sized bed rested against the interior
wall. The mound of floral throw pillows piled high against the wooden headboard
looked like a huge welcome bouquet. The soft violet of the carpet brought out
the delicate stripes in the wallpaper. In the corner by the bathroom door sat
an empty secretary’s desk, just waiting for her and her laptop to set up home.

Cassie had always dreamed of writing
in a secluded place, free from noisy traffic jams and telemarketing calls. But
never once in her wildest fantasies had she dreamed it would be like this. She
had all the peace and quiet she needed now.

She drew in a short breath, amending
her thought. How could she have any peace when Angel Fagnelio was still out
there? Until that was resolved, she didn’t know if she’d ever find peace.

“I'll take the room right across the
hall. Just knock if you need anything.”

When she turned to the sound of
Jake's voice, she saw that he was by the doorway, stepping back into the
hallway.

“Are you going to bed now, too?”

He stopped and looked back at her
over his broad shoulder. “Just as soon as I check in with Bellows and tell him
we're all locked up for the evening.”

“I'll just get my bag then.”

She eased past him, filling her head
with the scent of his lingering aftershave and the faint smell of the coffee
they'd drunk on the drive up. He was still rooted in the same spot when she
returned with her suitcase and her laptop.

“I guess this is where we say
goodnight,” she said, finding it hard to meet his gaze. She knew if she did,
she'd see the same heat she'd seen last night when she'd gotten out of his car
all dressed in that wild outfit Maureen convinced her to wear to Rory's. It
would be her undoing because then he'd see the erotic fantasies that had been
swirling around her head during the drive.

If she closed herself in her room and
locked the door, she'd feel safe from Angel Fagnelio and his ugliness. She'd
also be safe from the emotional whirlwind she was caught in every time Jake
flashed his drop-dead-sexy smile.

“Goodnight,” he whispered.

For a minute, one nanosecond, she
thought he was actually going to bend his head and kiss her. His gaze dropped
to her lips and lingered there. As powerful as her fear had been all day, the
desire to have Jake dip his head and cover her lips with his was wildly
intoxicating. She wanted to feel the power of being wrapped tightly in his arms
again, feel the heat of his strong body crushing her without the fear of
bullets and flying glass and death. She wanted his passion and strength. That
would keep her safe.

But Jake didn't kiss her. He stood
ramrod still, his penetrating eyes echoing what she felt as his gaze washed
over her.

“Goodnight,” she said. “Could you do
me a favor?”

“Sure.”

“When you're finished with your phone
calls, could you just come by my room and knock on my door before you go to
bed?” She dipped her gazed and chuckled softly. “I know it sounds silly—”

“No. It doesn't. I'll be done in a
few minutes.”

“Thank you, Jake,” she said softly.

Cassie closed the door to the bedroom
and was alone for the first time that day. Something deep inside, call it gut
instinct or woman's intuition, just didn't feel right. And no matter how tired,
she wasn't going to sleep until she allayed her feelings.

Turning from the closed door, she
hugged her middle. Not from a sudden cold chill now that the heat of being near
Jake was gone. What she felt was spine-tingling jolt nagging her insides.

But she was being ridiculous.
Wasn't
she?

Bogey Monster.

Jake had teased her to try to ease
her irrational fear, but they were still there, nagging at her. Cassie’s
sensible mind knew there was no such thing as the Bogey Monster. There was only
Angel Fagnelio and whoever it was that leaked her name to the press, making her
as wide open a target as a duck at a carnival shooting gallery.

She'd silently watched him sleeping
in the the car during the ride. She'd even allowed herself to brush her fingers
across his forehead to push a thick lock of hair out of his eyes, giving in to
the wild temptation she'd felt all day.

Jake wasn't a man she'd run away with
on a romantic weekend. He wasn't going to be her lover for the weekend or even
for one night. He had a job to do. To protect her, keep her alive. That was the
only reason either one of them was there.

Cassie dropped her laptop case on the
desktop with a big clunk, not caring she could have ruined it. The suitcase was
heavier. She used two hands to lift it to the bed, then zip it open. She
grabbed her nightgown and turned toward the bathroom door. But her eyes settled
on the big oak closet door instead. There was a hook for her bathrobe and
suddenly her mind raced to her suitcase and the fact that in her haste to pack
she'd forgotten her bathrobe completely. What else had she forgotten? How much
of her life had she left behind?

She walked over to the enormous bed
and plopped down at the foot of it, staring at the closet door. Bringing her
hand to her cheek, she chuckled.

Bogey Monster.

“In
Hidden Evil
,” she muttered
to herself, thinking about her third book. “There were no bad guys in the
closet waiting to shoot CJ.”