Speak No Evil_ A Novel - Allison Brennan [92]
If she’d had her way, Nick would be in the shower with her right now. What had gone wrong last night?
She had felt how much he’d wanted her. Maybe she’d pushed too much. And his knees—he’d been in pain half the night and hadn’t said anything. Why hadn’t she thought about that when she’d been thinking about taking him to bed?
Nick was also a gentleman, and she had suggested they go upstairs. Above her parents’ house. Not smart, Kincaid.
She’d never once asked any man to bed under her parents’ roof. In fact, when she’d lived in the apartment above the garage she’d never had a man over. It felt wrong, somehow. But that had completely slipped her mind when she’d been kissing Nick in the car. All she’d thought about was him, how much she wanted to make love to him. Common sense had disappeared.
What was she doing even thinking about becoming involved with a man who wouldn’t be around? He would go back to Montana in a few days, maybe a week. Could she do that to herself? She’d never been able to have sex with someone and just walk away as if it meant nothing. She’d never wanted to have sex with a man she didn’t feel something special for.
She shivered. The thought of Nick leaving made her uncomfortable. But wouldn’t that be best? Have a great, sexy affair, no strings attached?
Was that what she wanted?
She turned the shower off and grabbed her towel. She didn’t know what she wanted anymore, except somehow Nick had become involved in her life and she didn’t want to extract him. One day at a time. Close this case, have sex with Nick, then maybe she’d figure it all out.
She wrapped the towel around her body and walked toward her bedroom.
“Hey, sis.”
She jumped, holding her towel tight, and twirled around. Her brother was standing in the kitchen, looking straight down the hall toward her. “Dillon Kincaid, you’re lucky I don’t have my gun.”
“And you’re lucky I’m not an intruder. Taking a shower with the door unlocked?”
She ignored the jibe. She’d forgotten to lock it when she came in from the porch. “Give me five minutes.”
She dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt with “Beach Bum” stenciled in blue across the front. She wasn’t on duty and had already logged all the overtime hours she was going to get for the week, but since she was going down to the station to put in time on the three homicides and observe another autopsy, she holstered her gun and tossed a blazer over her shoulder.
She went into the kitchen for a second cup of coffee and to find out why Dillon had stopped by.
“You make great coffee, sis,” Dillon said, taking a sip. “Too bad it doesn’t extend to your cooking.”
“Tirón,” she mumbled. Jerk.
Dillon grinned.
“Did you stop by just to annoy me?”
“I had breakfast with Mom and Dad and thought I’d stop by and tell you Andrew and I are petitioning Judge DuBois at noon to obtain a warrant for IP addresses that match the ones on the MyJournal list.”
“DuBois? That’s good. She’ll give it to you—wait! Are you saying Patrick had a breakthrough? Why didn’t he call me?”
“Not yet, but he’s close and didn’t want to have to drag a judge out in the middle of the night. He called me because I’m going at it from a psychiatric angle—that the killer is going to strike again based on what we know, and that obtaining the private information of citizens who may not be involved in order to learn the identity of the killer is essential to protecting the public, yada yada. DuBois will give it to us, but we have to jump through the right hoops. If we get the warrant thrown out after an arrest, I don’t have to tell you how screwed we are. We’ll get the warrant, then it’s all up to Patrick.”
“I owe him one. He’s been pulling all-nighters for me.”
Dillon drained his coffee and put the mug in the sink. “I saw Sheriff Thomas over at the house. I’m surprised he’s stayed on.”
“Why?”
“He’s a sheriff, for one. He has a busy job.”
What was she supposed to say? She’d been wondering about the same thing just this morning.
“Have you noticed any physical limitations?”
“You mean his knees.”
Dillon nodded.