Deadly Past. Kris Rafferty

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СКАЧАТЬ touching the third rail here, inching closer to broaching the topic of their kiss again, and Charlie knew if that happened, somehow, she’d find a way to make it his fault. She nudged his arm, but he wouldn’t meet her gaze, suspecting the question was a trap.

      “Charlie? Didn’t you think my behavior was odd?”

      Her behavior was more of the same, continuing fallout for a drunken kiss she gave him, one more frustration layered on the rest. But how to tell that to Cynthia? Not possible. She didn’t want to hear it.

      “A bit,” he temporized. “But then you called, and I figured…” Trap, his mind asserted. Dropping truth bombs now would be a mistake. “I don’t know what I thought.”

      “You thought I was in trouble and came to the rescue, but I was nowhere to be found.” Cynthia slumped back as she moved her crumbled suit jacket behind her head again to protect the couch leather.

      To Charlie, her gloomy attitude contradicted her words. Wasn’t being rescued a good thing? And he’d hunted her down despite her ghosting him ever since she’d kissed him. That should have earned him points. Why didn’t it? Nothing about that night, or what happened since, made sense to Charlie. He’d resisted Cynthia’s kiss because she’d been drunk. He was supposed to resist.

      And he had, at first, anyway. Was that what bothered her? That he’d been weak, and gave into pleasure? Circumstances had long ago dictated he take on the role of big brother, and with her two tequila shots past sober, stopping their kiss had been the right thing to do. Her reaction was proof positive of that, because apparently, his briefly kissing her back had put their friendship on the rocks.

      “You’d do the same for me,” he said, and was relieved to see her nod.

      She’d rescue him, because they were best friends, had history. He’d be damned if he allowed his moment of weakness to take that from them. He just hadn’t found the right way to muscle through the awkwardness, and suspected it was because the moment still felt so raw. It’d happened months ago, but his instant arousal at her touch was fresh in his mind: her hands roaming his body, clutching his ass, and her lips on his. The kiss had hit him with the speed and effect of a mule kick, so there was no wonder why the memory refused to fade.

      He blamed her moan. It had triggered his breakdown of reason, and had him ignoring the booze in her bloodstream, and the surety that she’d never have kissed him sober. It had him ignoring their friendship, and his obligation to protect her. That night, months ago, Charlie had ignored everything but his need to kiss Cynthia back.

      Truth was, he couldn’t help himself.

      He’d lingered, and drunk her arousal as if it were intended for him, not caring about anything but finally tasting her, feeding his hunger. When he couldn’t stop, his helplessness had hit him like a cold bath of reason, clearing his mind enough to thrust Cynthia away and end their kiss, if not his panic. He’d lost control, and knew his desire for Cynthia wasn’t going away. Willpower in tatters, was it any wonder he feared revealing his feelings? She’d cut him from her life with surgical precision over a kiss she’d instigated. She’d called it a “disaster,” and said she “didn’t like it.”

      Telling her he loved her would be insane.

      “Let’s go to the ER,” he said, shifting to face her more squarely on the couch. “You could have a concussion.”

      “That would be the least of my problems.” She gave no indication she was willing to move from her slumped position on the couch. “I’m in a ton of trouble, and I don’t know what to do.”

      He told himself to be patient, to reason with her. “I’m a doctor giving you sound medical advice. Let’s go.” He nudged her shoulder, but she just rolled her eyes and slapped his hand away.

      “You work with dead people. When I’m dead, I’ll listen.”

      As a forensic pathologist, Charlie had a medical degree, was qualified to determine the time, manner, and cause of a death, perform autopsies, and collect medical and trace evidence from bodies for analysis. He was also trained in toxicology, firearms and ballistics, trace evidence, blood analysis, DNA technology, and procedures regarding evidence collection to coordinate with law enforcement operations. A beating heart didn’t disqualify him from understanding the medical implications of a knock to the head. She was not being reasonable.

      He narrowed his eyes. “Do you really want me working on your dead, naked body? Taking pictures?”

      Cynthia gave him a sidelong glance. “Perv.”

      “Stop arguing. We need to go.”

      Cynthia pulled her gun from its holster and held it out to him grip side forward. “I think… I think there is a chance I’m the shooter, Charlie, and you should take my gun and run tests on it.” He studied her eyes and saw she was totally serious. His shock rendered him silent. “I remember the vics alive, and now they’re dead, but I have no idea who they are, or why I’d kill them.” She dropped her gaze to the gun, still holding it out to him. Charlie refused to take it, because he understood taking it fed this wackadoodle fantasy. “We need to test it against any shell casings found at the scene.” Charlie folded his arms over his chest, shaking his head. No way he was taking that damn gun.

      “Cynthia, if you shot someone it would be in self-defense or in defense of another. Lost time doesn’t change a person’s character. My team has been in contact with me twice since they arrived on scene. Those men were executed. You didn’t do it.”

      “Things happen. You can’t know.” Her tone was fierce, but her expression betrayed her hesitancy. “Take the gun. Evidence doesn’t lie,” she said. “The safe house video doesn’t lie. I put hoods, duct tape, and zip ties in your trunk prior to the murders. We both know that reeks of premeditation.” She took a deep breath, then released it slowly, struggling to regain her composure. “Take the gun, Charlie.” Her eyes narrowed, daring him to deny her.

      “No.” He reassessed his caveman plan and decided kicking and screaming might do her some good. “We’re going to the ER now,” he said.

      “Fine.” Openly rebellious, she nonetheless followed him, shrugging into her destroyed suit jacket. “I’m telling you, I’m… I’m remembering.” Clearly upset, Cynthia’s face crumbled as she paused in the hallway, as if hit by a wave of emotion. “The hooded victims.” She pressed her hand against the wall, leaning. “Their screams. They were on their knees, bound, all lined up. I was there, Charlie. What if…” A hitch in her breath stopped her words. “What if…” Charlie couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled her into his embrace, not knowing what to expect. Would she fight his touch? Sob? Crap, he hoped not.

      Cynthia’s fingers clutched his shirt’s collar, then she did something she’d never done before. Standing on tiptoes, she pressed her face to his neck, burrowing close. Charlie froze, super aware of her warm lips against his skin. It took a moment, or two, to move past the shock and relax his body, to act as if it were one of their usual, brotherly hugs, though it was something new.

      “It’s the same memories on a loop.” Her lips brushed his neck as she spoke, sending tingles clear down to his thighs. She clung to him as he held her close, admonishing himself to focus on her needs, rather than how she was making him feel. “Then nothing,” she said, shuddering, as if a chill assaulted her. “I woke this morning at the safe house, and I’ve been struggling to remember since.” She tilted her head back, sniffing, searching his eyes. “There’s no denying my gun was fired six times, and six people are СКАЧАТЬ