Bonnie - Iris Johansen [18]
“He’s moving fast.” He fell to his knees, took her left foot out of the water, and enveloped it in the towel. “It’s not that urgent, is it? Not to the CIA.”
“No. And Venable has no real reason to come down here. He knows I can take care of it. Which means that he has another reason to move in.”
“You’re obviously valuable to him.” He was gently patting her foot dry. “He wants to make sure nothing happens to you.”
His hands were warm through the terry of the towel, and his position at her feet and the action itself were unbearably intimate. She felt a rush of heat go through her.
Not now. The searing sensuality was unexpected, and she felt the tensing that was now familiar. Pull away from him.
She didn’t move. She watched him slowly move the terry over her foot. Each stroke was causing her to tense, the blood to rush beneath the skin at his touch. “Venable isn’t that protective. He wants something.”
“What?” He placed her foot on the floor and lifted her other foot from the water. He began to dry the top, then cradled it in the towel. “You have beautiful feet.”
“No feet are beautiful. Some of them are just not ugly.”
“You’re wrong.” His hands tightened around her foot, his eyes focused on the towel. “I never dreamed I had a foot fetish. I keep thinking where I’d like to put—” He drew a deep breath. “That’s not where I meant this to go.” He began to dry her foot again. “I’m constantly becoming distracted when I’m around you.”
“Where did you mean it to go?” she asked unevenly. “I’m curious to know, Gallo.”
“I wanted to tell—” He lifted his gaze to meet her eyes. “I never wanted him to kill you, Catherine. No matter what Quinn says, I’d never do that. You trusted me when no one else did, when I didn’t even have faith in myself. I was planning on taking him out earlier. I thought I’d have time. But then everything went to hell.”
“Why?”
“I wasn’t expecting him—” He broke off and threw the towel aside. “Shit.” He jumped to his feet. “I never meant it to be that close, Catherine. But I had to target his hand. I tried, but I couldn’t do anything—” He was striding to the door. “But I wouldn’t have let him hurt you. I couldn’t stand that either.” He looked at her over his shoulder, and she was shocked at the torment she saw on his face. “That damn Quinn was right about almost everything else, but he was wrong about that. Believe me, Catherine.”
Before she could answer, he was gone.
She collapsed back in the chair and drew a shaky breath. She felt vulnerable and hot and bewildered. Those moments with Gallo had been explosive, and she had not come out well. She had responded, not been aggressive. She had not been in control. She should have asked him questions instead of trying to puzzle him out and being swayed by what he was clearly feeling.
What she was feeling.
Dammit, she’d have to go after him and make him—
She heard the sound of a car starting outside.
“No!” She jumped to her feet and ran out of the kitchen, down the hall, and threw open the front door.
Gallo was already driving the car out of the driveway and toward the road.
“Gallo!”
He didn’t answer, and, the next moment, the car disappeared around the curve of the road.
“Catherine?” Eve was behind her. “What’s wrong?”
Catherine threw her arm out toward the road. “That’s what’s wrong. He’s gone. He took off.”
“Gallo?” Joe said as he came out of the living room.
“Who else? Did he say good-bye? Did he explain more than muttering a lot of disjointed garbage? No.” She went back to the kitchen, tossed the water from the pan out the door, and sat down. She glared at Eve and Joe, who had followed her from the front door. “But he’s not going to get away with it. I’m going to go after him.” She opened the first-aid kit she’d set out in readiness to bandage the cuts on her feet. “But first we’re going to find out everything we can put together about the man who killed Jacobs. Dammit, Jacobs was scared