Falling For Him. Morgan Hayes

rapidly becoming enticing.

      But he wasn’t here to be enticed.

      Claudia began switching on lights in the adjoining kitchen and the living room. He watched her scan the apartment as if checking that everything was in order.

      “Sorry for the mess,” she stated, even though there wasn’t one—only her jacket and holster slung over the back of a chair, and a few newspapers strewn about the room. Even the kitchen was spotless in comparison to his own. A toppling stack of mail was the only sign of disarray.

      “Why are you here, Gavin?”

      “I tried to call.” He curbed the impatience in his voice.

      “I had the phone turned off.”

      “And your pager?”

      “It’s in my briefcase. I mustn’t have heard it.”

      Again she lifted a hand to her mussed hair. “Can I get you something to drink?”

      He’d definitely woken her from a sound sleep; her voice held that sleepy quality, deep and a little raspy.

      And undeniably seductive, Gavin thought.

      “No, I’m fine.” He watched her move behind the breakfast bar to the fridge and take out a bottle of water.

      “So what is this about?” she asked, twisting open the bottle and taking a long drink.

      “I’m looking for the journals.”

      “The journals?” she repeated.

      “You know, Silver’s date books.”

      “Looking for them? Why? They’re in Evidence Control. I told you I was going to submit the box after I dropped you off this morning.”

      “I thought maybe you’d brought them home instead,” he offered, still struggling to contain impatience and anger, trying to give her the benefit of the doubt.

      “Why would you think that?”

      Confusion tightened her face then, and Gavin could only wonder if it was genuine. She set the bottle on the counter, the force sending a few droplets of water spraying onto the thin fabric of her shirt.

      “Because they’re not in Evidence Control, Claudia.”

      Her expression tightened another notch. “What do you mean they’re not in Evidence Control?”

      “Exactly that. I went down there, figuring I’d take a closer look at the journals myself, and when I searched the box there was no sign of them.”

      In his years with IAD, he’d done his share of staring corrupt cops in the eye. He’d watched them attempt to lie their way out of a variety of situations. But none of them could come close to Claudia’s convincing performance. She stepped around the counter, the look of disbelief deepening, creasing fine lines at the corners of her eyes and furrowing a small series of ridges along her forehead.

      When he’d rummaged through the box and discovered the journals missing, the flare of suspicion had been immediate. There had been no doubt then that Claudia had disposed of them in order to eliminate evidence of her connection with Silver, not to mention her possible motive for wanting him dead.

      But now, seeing her standing before him, her eyes and voice heavy with sleep, and that soft femininity and allure accentuated by the warmth of her own surroundings…Gavin wished the surprise on her face was real.

      “Where are they, Claudia?” he asked, unable to drop the accusation in his tone.

      She maintained a calmness he’d not expected.

      “Look, Gavin, there’s obviously been a mix-up. I don’t know what you think I did with those journals, but I can assure you the last time I saw them they were in that box. And I submitted it.”

      “So you don’t think they might have…accidentally fallen out?”

      “Fallen out? No. That’s ridiculous. I didn’t even open the box, so if they’re not there, then maybe they got mixed up with some other evidence submitted at the same time. Or maybe Sarge took an interest in the case and went down to see for himself what we brought in. I don’t know. Maybe you didn’t even look in the right box.”

      “It was the right one. I checked the inventory list.”

      “And?”

      “And there wasn’t a single notation indicating anything resembling a journal.”

      Her awareness of his suspicion was clear. She studied him, as though sizing him up. Then she shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re implying, but I am not going to let you stand in the middle of my apartment and accuse me of something I didn’t do. This is insane.”

      He caught the brief flash of anger in her gray eyes, before she turned on her heel. Pulling the hem of her top from the waist of her pants, she stalked from the living room and headed down the short corridor, switching on lights as she went.

      “Where are you going?” he called after her.

      “To shower and change.” The light came on in the room at the end of the hall and through the half-open door Gavin saw a four-poster pine bed with a matching trunk at its foot. And before he could look away, he saw Claudia’s naked back as she stripped off her top and pulled it over her head. Even at this distance, there was no mistaking the toned lines of her shoulders and slender back caught in the warm yellow glow of the bedroom lamp.

      Gavin tried to look away but couldn’t. Either Claudia wasn’t in the least bit shy, or, more likely, she was too upset by his accusations to realize she was in plain sight.

      “I’ll find the journals myself,” she called out as the shirt joined the tangle of sheets and duvet piled high on the bed. She moved away from the door, but Gavin could still see her in the reflection of the full-length mirror. Only when she reached behind her for the clasp of her bra, did Gavin at last look away, ashamed at his voyeurism.

      “Give me a few minutes and I’ll ride over with you,” she shouted. “Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge if you want.” If she said anything after that it was drowned out by the sound of running water, followed by the hiss of the shower.

      Gavin moved to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, his gaze falling to the near-empty shelves. Claudia needed to do some serious grocery shopping. It was as bad as his own fridge, he thought, reaching for the last can of Coke. Mayo, pickles, several shriveled apples, an unopened bottle of wine along with a couple beers, and some questionable containers of juice and milk. No wonder her place was so tidy; Claudia was probably never home to mess it up.

      Snapping open the can, he wandered into the living room. Traces of Claudia’s personal life—what little there must be, given the hours he knew she worked—were scattered aesthetically on several side tables and shelving units. Family photos, trinkets and keepsakes—some were precious, while others had obviously been found on the beach. He scanned her shelves of books, wondering where she found the time to read, or if she even did now that she worked Homicide.

      The light from the two stained-glass lamps gleamed against the few patches of polished hardwood floor that weren’t covered with elaborate woven throw rugs. Pacing the narrow room, Gavin marveled at the sense of home around him—everything from the half-empty cup of tea on the coffee table to the throw blanket flung over the back of the couch. He’d bought his handyman’s row house two years ago, and with all the renovations, coupled with his hours, the moving-in process was still very much under way. He’d almost forgotten that a home wasn’t normally cluttered with half-unpacked boxes.

      He rounded the coffee table and lowered himself into the ample sofa. Exhaustion quivered through his body. He’d been up hours, as well, and were it not for the twinges of suspicion he’d had all day regarding Silver’s possible connection to Frank Owens’s death, and now to Claudia, he might have succumbed to sleep himself. Certainly given the soft invitation of Claudia’s sofa and the immediate comfort