All I've Ever Wanted - Adrianne Byrd [42]
He listened as she tried to pull herself together, but she was doing a lousy job of it.
“I’d better go now,” she said, sniffing.
“Are you sure? I’m a good listener.”
“Nah.” She sniffed again. “I’ve already said too much. Where’s Ms. St. James?”
“Here.”
“You’re joking?”
“No. She’s sitting in my living room as we speak.”
“Did she talk?”
“Of course not. I’m never that lucky.”
“What’s your next move?” She was starting to sound more like herself again.
He glanced around to make sure that he was still alone. “I don’t know. I’m pretty much playing this one by ear.”
The line fell silent again.
“I don’t like how this is playing out. I feel that we’re walking into a den of lions with blindfolds on,” she said.
“Keenan is just a punk. I’m on it.”
“I don’t know. I have a bad feeling about this one.”
“You, too?” He exhaled. “Dossman and I believe that Keenan and his gang are just hired hands—puppets, if you will.”
“You have anything to support those hunches?”
“Not a damn thing.” He listened to her weary exhalation.
“Do me a favor,” she finally said.
“Name it.”
“Be careful.”
He smiled. “That goes without saying.”
“And—”
“There’s more?” he asked.
“Yeah. Make sure you get Ms. St. James to talk.”
“You can count on it.” He hung up, and then glanced back toward the living room. The small voice of his conscience preached about doing the right thing. She was vulnerable, he knew, but he had a job to do.
Entering the living room, he groaned when he saw her holding the file he’d left on the coffee table—the file that detailed everything he’d learned about her.
She looked up, stabbing him her glare. “Some light reading?”
“I call it working overtime.”
“Oh, yeah,” she said, closing the folder and tossing it back down onto the coffee table. “I forgot that Tommy and I are just another job for you.” A cynical smile curved her lips.
Max locked gazes with her and took a swig of his beer before responding, “I’m a cop, Kennedy. And, believe it or not, I’m on your side. I thought I proved that much tonight when I saved your life.”
She looked away. “Maybe,” she said, and then took a swig of her own beer. “Maybe.”
He walked over to the La-Z-Boy and dropped his weight into the seat. “I’d say that I was the least of your problems. Wouldn’t you?”
Kennedy took another sip of beer and thought about Keenan, Tommy, her job, her classes, and had to admit she had little room on her list of troubles.
“Have you heard anything more about your partner?” She wanted to change the subject, plus she was genuinely concerned.
He nodded. “Actually, that call was from our Lieutenant. She says he’s awake now and the doctors believe he’s going to pull through.”
That was a load off her shoulders. Kennedy sat on the edge of the leather couch, continued to nurse her beer. “You’re trying to figure me out,” she stated.
“What gave me away?” His lips gave a small hint of a smile.
“Your eyes,” she answered honestly. She could feel herself relaxing under the influence of alcohol.
“Damn,” he said, but didn’t look sorry at all.
She smiled. “Half the time I don’t know whether to take you seriously or not. You have a habit of coming off like a professional comic.”
“Ah.” His smile became disarming. “Let me give you a hint.”
When he leaned forward in his chair, she followed his lead.
“Always take me seriously.”
A strange, yet familiar yearning fluttered in the pit of her stomach, and a sudden haze clouded her head. She frowned, uncertain whether it was the beer or the intriguing man that affected her. She had a sinking feeling that it was the man.
“You want another one?” he asked.
Kennedy looked up, confused. “What?”
“Drink.” He pointed to her empty bottle. “You want another drink?”
She blinked. When had she finished it? “Sure.”
Max got up and went into the kitchen. As he walked away, she took her time assessing him. His gait was confident, graceful, and he didn’t have a bad butt, either.
Her smile widened.
Moments later when he returned, she took in his direct profile. She looked at his