Lawman Protection. Cindi Myers

She had a sudden memory of the feel of his body on hers, a heavy shield from danger.

      “I’m sorry if I came across a little gruff earlier,” he said. “I’m used to giving orders all day, and when I see a problem, my natural approach is to try to fix it.”

      “Except sometimes it’s not your problem to fix.” She sipped the wine and watched him over the rim of the glass. The apology had surprised her. She admired a man who could admit when he was wrong.

      “Since I was with you when those shots were fired, my instinct has been to protect you. Call it sexist if you want, but that’s how I feel.”

      “I’ve gotten used to looking after myself,” she said. “But I appreciate everything you’ve done. If I’d been alone, I’m not sure I would have reacted so quickly to those shots.” She shuddered, and set aside the glass.

      “Hey, you did great.” He set aside his own glass and slid over to her. “You kept your cool under pressure. That’s one of the things I admire about you.”

      “Oh.” Her eyes met his. “What else do you admire about me?”

      “Would you think I was superficial if I said you have a beautiful body?” He caressed the side of her neck and brushed his lips across her cheek.

      “Superficial can be good.” She turned her head and he covered her lips with his own. The kiss was hot and insistent. So much for holding back on their mutual attraction.

      She slipped her arms around him and pressed against him, deepening the kiss. His body was big and powerful, and the need she sensed in him made her feel powerful, too. Maybe this was just what she needed, this physical distraction...

      The strains of an Adele song jangled in the evening stillness. Graham raised his head and looked around. “My phone,” she said, and reached for her purse.

      Unknown number flashed on the screen, and she clicked the icon to answer, prepared to give a phone solicitor a piece of her mind. “Hello?”

      “You need to stop now, before you get hurt,” said a flat, accentless male voice.

      “What are you talking about? Who is this?”

      “If I’d wanted to kill you this evening, I would have,” the voice said. “Next time, I won’t miss.”

      The line went dead. Emma stared at the phone.

      Graham took the device from her hand and set it aside. “I heard,” he said. “Who has access to this number?”

      “Lots of people,” she said. “I mean, it’s not listed, but it’s on my business cards. People at the Post have it. Friends. Business contacts.” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, suddenly cold. “Maybe this is just a prank. Somebody trying to unsettle me.” She gave a shaky laugh, perilously close to hysterical tears. “And they’re doing a good job of it.”

      Graham stood and pulled out his own phone. “I’ll have someone trace the call, though I doubt it will do much good. It was probably made from a throwaway.” His eyes met hers, and the hard look she found there frightened her all over again. “This isn’t a joke, Emma,” he said. “I think you’re in real danger.”

       Chapter Four

      Though Emma couldn’t think of a safer place to be than Graham’s spare bedroom, sleep still eluded her. Every time she closed her eyes, visions of what might have happened at the restaurant and the memory of that flat, menacing voice on the phone kept slumber at bay until the early hours.

      Graham tapped on her door and awakened her a little after seven. “I wanted to let you sleep, but I have to get to the office,” he said when she answered his knock. “I wasn’t comfortable leaving you sleeping and alone.”

      His gaze drifted over her, and she was aware of her disheveled hair and the open robe over her nightgown. He wasn’t leering or anything so crass, but she had the feeling if she’d suggested it, he wouldn’t have hesitated to remove the crisp uniform he wore and join her back in bed.

      She resolutely shoved aside the thought, tempting as it was. As much as her body might have enjoyed the release, her mind wasn’t ready for that kind of involvement with the intense captain. “Thanks for the coffee,” she said, accepting the steaming cup he held out to her. “Do I have time for a shower?”

      “Take all the time you need. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

      By the time she’d finished the coffee, showered and dressed, she felt she had a better grip on her emotions. Janey curled up on a pillow and watched as Emma brushed out her hair and completed her makeup. Unlike her mistress, the cat had seemed perfectly content with their temporary quarters. “I’ll agree the curmudgeonly captain has a certain charm,” Emma said as she slipped on a pair of gold hoop earrings. “I just haven’t decided if that makes up for the fact that he doesn’t approve of what I do for a living.” Though he’d probably never admit it, she was sure Graham still viewed journalists as his adversaries.

      Janey followed her into the kitchen, where they found Graham serving up eggs and toast. “It’s nothing fancy,” he said, and set a plate in front of her.

      “It looks great. Thanks.”

      He refilled her coffee, then set a bowl of water and another of food on the floor by the sink. “I opened up one of the cans of cat food you brought over.”

      Janey rubbed against his ankles, her purr audible across the room. “She never gets quite that enthusiastic when I feed her,” Emma said, amused.

      “I get along with most animals.” He took the seat across from her.

      “Just not most people,” she said.

      The corners of his mouth quirked up in acknowledgment of the gibe. He had nice lips, full and expressive. Her memory flashed to the kiss they’d shared last night, before the threatening phone call had destroyed the mood. What would have happened if the phone hadn’t rung? Would she have spent the night in Graham’s bed? And then what? They weren’t exactly on the same side of things right now. Yes, she’d agreed to help him as much as she could, but she wasn’t naive enough to believe he’d be even half as open with her. She’d have to dig and fight for information as much as ever. It didn’t strike her as a good formula for a healthy relationship.

      “Were you able to trace the call to my phone last night?” she asked.

      He shook his head. “No luck. Anyone who watches television these days knows to use a cheap throwaway phone that can’t be traced. And if the caller really was the same person who shot at us yesterday afternoon, he’s a professional.”

      “I still don’t get why I’m a target all of a sudden,” she said.

      “What was in those notes that were stolen from your house?”

      “Nothing that wasn’t in the articles I wrote.”

      He took a bite of toast and crunched, a thoughtful look on his face. “You must take notes on some things that don’t make it into the articles,” he said after he’d swallowed.

      “Oh sure—little details, background information—but nothing important.”

      “Were the notes you took during the weeks you spent with Richard Prentice in those files?”

      “They were. Along with notes for a lot of stories. Everything I’d managed to pull together about Lauren Starling and her disappearance was in the file on the table. But why would they take everything?”

      “Because they weren’t certain what they were looking for? Or maybe they wanted to disguise their focus—take everything so it wouldn’t be obvious what they were really interested in.” He mopped egg from his plate with a triangle of toast and popped it into his mouth.

      “It’s