Chapter Sixteen

Emmet’s anger felt like a hot coal in the center of his chest. Nicole hadn’t said a word the whole drive, and the pinched look on her face made it clear she was in pain.

He needed to talk to her about what happened. Not just talk—he needed to interrogate her and have her take him through every step of it, from the moment she’d crossed the intersection on a green light, according to witnesses, to the moment she’d ended up flat on her butt and bleeding all over the sidewalk—which was how she’d been when Emmet pulled up to the scene.

She rode beside him in his truck now, the seat racked back to make room for the big boot that went up to her knee.

Emmet pulled into the parking lot of her apartment building. The front-row spaces were full, so he created one on the end.

He looked at her. “Is the elevator here working?”

“Yes.” She wrinkled her nose. “It smells like dead fish, but I think it’s working.”

“Sit tight.”

She sighed. “No problem.”

He went around and opened the passenger door. She tensed as he reached across her to unclip her seat belt.

“I can do that.”

“I got it,” he said, reaching over the console for the crutches stashed in back.

She eyed them warily. “Would you mind giving me a hand with those?”

“Probably easier if I carry you up.”

“Uh, no. Definitely not easier.” She took one of the crutches from him. “Here. I need to get the hang of this.”

Tamping down his annoyance that she wouldn’t take his help, he stood inside the door, close enough to catch her if she lost her balance. Her uninjured foot was covered with a blue hospital sock, and he had no idea where her shoes had gone. She pivoted in the seat and positioned the first crutch under her arm. Her sweater rode up, and he ignored the flash of skin as he helped her get the second crutch under her arm.

“Got it?” He looked up, and her expression was tight but determined.

“Got it. Can you grab my stuff?”

He collected her purse and the bottle of pain meds off the floor. Then he eased back, and she crutched awkwardly toward the building with him beside her. She moved up the cement incline and crossed the sidewalk to the elevator bank near the storage closets.

Emmet jabbed the call button, and the silver doors rattled open.

She moved inside the elevator, and he stepped in after her, hitting the two button. She hadn’t been kidding about the odor. It smelled like a bait shop.

Nicole stared up at the ceiling and seemed to be holding her breath. To block out the stink? The pain? The elevator whined and groaned as it made its way up, then shuddered to a stop.

The doors parted, and he held them open. “Go ahead.”

She crutched out, then stopped and stared down the long outdoor hallway. Her apartment was near the end.

“I can carry you.”

“No.”

He knew it was pointless to argue with her. A lock of auburn hair hung over her eyes, and he tucked it behind her ear. Taking a deep breath, she started moving forward. He watched her, his fury building with every awkward step, until finally she neared the door. He took out her keys and unlocked it.

“Thanks.”

Emmet followed her inside, switching on the light. She made a little yelp, and he looked down to see her skinny black cat rubbing against her.

“Hey, Lucy baby,” she murmured.

The cat sniffed the boot, then rubbed her head against Nicole’s bare calf.

“Don’t let her trip you,” he said.

“She won’t.”

He locked the door and then scooted around her to move a pair of running shoes out of her path. He dropped them into a corner.

Nicole stood in the middle of the living room, wide-eyed, looking around her apartment like it belonged to someone else. He could see her wheels turning as she tried to envision life on crutches for the next five weeks.

He set her stuff on the counter.

“You want a drink?” he asked.

“God, yes.” She crutched over to the breakfast bar. “But I don’t think alcohol mixes with my pain meds. He said they’re pretty strong.”

She looked up at him. Her makeup was smudged, her hair was a mess, and the perspiration on her forehead told him the brief trip up here had taken a toll.

“You want to call your family?” he asked.

“I will.”

Lucy jumped up onto the counter, and Nicole stroked her fur. “Aw. She knows something’s wrong.”

“We need to talk, Nicole.”

She didn’t look at him. “I know.”

“I interviewed a bunch of witnesses.”

She leaned her crutches against the counter and pulled out a bar stool. Slowly, she lowered herself onto it.

He watched her face, hating that they had to have this conversation right now when she was in pain. But they needed to talk while this was fresh in her mind, and once her meds kicked in, he figured she’d be out.

“Four separate people told me that SUV didn’t just run the light.” He watched her, searching her face for clues. “He veered toward you when you lunged out of the way.”

She closed her eyes and bit her lip, and he got the feeling this wasn’t a surprise.

“Nicole?”

She looked at him.

“Is that how you remember it?”

“It’s kind of fuzzy but... yeah.”

“Did you see the driver?”

She shook her head.

No one had caught the license plate, so all they had to go on at this point was a description of the vehicle, a black Chevy Tahoe with silver rims.

“What do you think that’s about?” he asked.

“What do I think?” She shook her head. “No idea. Maybe someone drunk or high. Maybe someone I arrested who saw me and just, I don’t know, snapped?” She shrugged. “I really have no clue.”

He stared at her, frustration churning inside him. Why was she shrugging this off? She could have easily been killed.

Nicole closed her eyes. “Oh, damn.”

“What?”

“I’m supposed to interview that witness in the morning. Liam Shaunessy.”

“What time?”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “He’s coming in at eight a.m. to give us a sworn statement.”

“I’ll handle it.”

“But I told him—”

“Don’t argue,” he said. “You’ve got enough to deal with right now.”

She shifted on the bar stool and winced.

“Is your pill working?”

“A little,” she said, obviously lying. “I’m supposed to elevate my leg.” She glanced at the living room, then looked at the hallway to her bedroom.

“I can get you set up,” he said.

“I need to rinse off first.”

“Aren’t you supposed to keep your cut dry?”

“Yes. But I’ve got iodine all over me. And dirt. And this disgusting street grime.” She glanced down and seemed to notice all the little scrapes on her legs. She grabbed her crutches and moved toward the hallway. “I at least need to wash up.”

“Wait,” he said.

The bathroom door was ajar. He opened it wider and stepped inside.

It looked like a makeup pi?ata had exploded. Pencils, tubes, and brushes covered the counter. Little foam pads were scattered around the sink. The room smelled like coconuts—probably the shampoo she used that always made him think of sex on the beach.

“It’s a mess,” she said from the doorway.

He picked up the hair dryer in the sink, shaking his head as he unplugged it. He opened the vanity drawer and swept all the makeup shit into it. Then he pulled back the shower curtain. He grabbed a bar of soap and set it on the side of the sink, then pulled a hand towel from the rack and put it by the soap.

He looked at her. “You really need to do this?”

She nodded. Her eyes looked a little glassy now, so maybe the medicine was starting to kick in, finally.

“You want help?” he asked.

She shook her head.

He scooted past her, careful not to bump her boot.

“Yell if you need anything.”

She hobbled into the bathroom. “I will. Oh, I need some clothes. Do you mind?” She turned to him. “Just a T-shirt or whatever to sleep in. They’re in my second drawer.”

“Sure.” He started to pull the door shut.

“Emmet?”

He looked back.

She bit her lip. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Nicole sat on the side of the tub, closing her eyes and listening to the water run as she fought the wave of nausea. Maybe it was the pain meds on her empty stomach. Or maybe it was the lie she’d just told her sister.

She looked down at her cracked phone, which had somehow ended up underneath a car. Everything after seeing that big silver grille zooming toward her had been a blur. And then she’d been on the sidewalk bleeding, and David was there yelling at people to move back, give her space. And then there were sirens, and EMTs, and a terrible shooting pain.

He veered toward you when you lunged out of the way.

She closed her eyes, thinking of Emmet’s words as the memory emerged from the shadows. It had been there for hours, lurking, but she hadn’t let herself really look at it until now.

She set her phone on the counter beside the folded T-shirt Emmet had put there while she’d been on with Kate. She hated lying to her sister. Well, she hadn’t exactly lied—she’d told Kate what had happened, but she’d downplayed the hell out of it so her family wouldn’t come rushing over here. Her mom would freak out, and Nicole couldn’t deal with it right now. The meds were taking effect, and she was starting to feel out of it.

She finished washing her arms and legs and draped the damp towel over the side of the tub. Then she turned off the faucet. She reached for her crutches, and they clattered to the floor.

“Nicole?”

Emmet was just outside the door.

“I’m fine, just—” She leaned forward, and pain shot up her leg. “Shit!”

The door cracked open. “You okay?”

“Don’t come in! I’m changing.”

“Are you all right?”

“Fine,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Damn, what are you doing?” He stepped into the little bathroom and picked up the crutches. She pulled the bath towel up against her bra as he frowned down at her. He’d taken off his jacket and holster, and now just wore jeans and a black long-sleeved T-shirt.

“Why didn’t you call me to help you?” he asked, eyeing the heap of torn clothes on the floor.

“Because. I’m fine,” she said, even though getting the stretchy black miniskirt over the boot had been agonizing.

She held the bath towel to her chest. “Can you help me stand up?”

He reached down and gently slid his hands under her upper arms to lift her to her feet. She felt a rush of dizziness. His arm came around her waist, and she leaned against him.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, reaching for the T-shirt on the counter.

“Here. Lift your arms.”

The towel fell away as he helped her pull the shirt over her head.

“I can do this,” she said.

“Fine. Do it.”

He eased back, watching her as she tugged the shirt around her thighs and reached for the crutches. She tucked them under her arms.

“No comments,” she said.

“About what?”

“I’d better not hear you telling everyone at work how you saw me naked.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re not naked.”

“Close enough.”

He stepped into the hallway, and she took a moment to shake off the wooziness before crutching past him.

“I think the pill’s kicking in,” she said.

“I can tell.”

She stopped in the hallway. “Kate said she’d pick up my car tomorrow.”

“I can do it.”

“You’ve done enough.” She glanced at the living room and then at her bedroom down the hallway.

“I got your room ready,” he said.

“You did?” She crutched the short distance and stopped in the doorway. The comforter was pulled back and a big throw pillow was positioned at the foot of the bed. The TV on the dresser was on, and a rerun of Friends played on mute.

Her heart made a weird little hiccup.

“Thanks,” she said.

She moved over to the bed, and he put his arm around her waist to steady her as she handed him the crutches. She sat down and slowly lifted her leg to rest it on the pillow.

“Too high?” he asked.

“No.”

She eased back against the stack of pillows.

“You’ve got your meds here and some ice water. When’s your next pill?”

It took her a moment to think. “Four a.m. I need to set an alarm.”

He took her phone from his pocket and set it beside the water glass. Once again, he was one step ahead of her sluggish brain.

“Thank you.”

He gazed down at her, and there was that concerned look again, the one from the hospital. It put an ache in the pit of her stomach.

She shifted her foot and flinched as pain reverberated up her leg.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just—” She closed her eyes and sighed deeply. “Fine.”

“You should rest.” He stepped back, and the ache intensified. “We can talk more about everything tomorrow.”

She gazed up at him, heart thudding. He picked up her hand and squeezed it, and a pang of yearning went through her.

“Call me if you need anything,” he said.

“I will.”

He leaned down and kissed her forehead.

She reached up, resting her hand against his face.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He gazed down at her, not moving. She shifted her thumb, stroking the stubble along his jaw. Heat flared in his eyes as the back-and-forth motion of her thumb set off sparks.

“Nicole—”

She reached up and kissed him, settling her mouth against his. His lips were warm and firm, and she licked against them. He made a sound deep in his chest and took control of the kiss, easing her back against the pillow as he leaned over her.

She was kissing Emmet. Emmet. She’d thought of this hundreds of times. Thousands, probably. But the reality was more intoxicating than she’d ever imagined. His fingers combed into her hair as his tongue moved against hers, exploring her mouth. The taste of him was new but somehow familiar, like the smell of him that she loved so much, and she pulled him closer, wanting more of it as she moaned against his mouth.

He jerked away and glanced at her foot. “Are you—”

“I’m fine,” she said, pulling him back.

The mattress sank as he sat beside her, and his warm hand settling on her thigh sent a rush of heat through her. His fingers slid to the T-shirt hem, and she knew he was thinking of the black lace underwear she had on.

That she had put on for her date with David.

Guilt swirled into her mind but then swirled right out again. Emmet’s tongue was in her mouth, and he tasted so good it was making her drunk. She moved her hand over his knee, squeezing his muscular thigh through the denim.

He tipped her head back. “Nicole. What the fuck?” He kissed his way down her neck, leaving a trail of fire along her skin as his hand glided under her T-shirt to cup her breast. His thumb found her nipple through her lacy bra, and she arched against him.

He pulled back, lust and confusion warring in his eyes.

She kissed him again, wanting to block all that out. His other hand slid up her thigh, and she kissed him deeper, willing him to touch her exactly where she wanted. His fingers grazed her underwear, electrifying every nerve ending, and then his mouth closed over her nipple, and the heat of it through the fabric made her nearly lose her mind.

He pulled back, and something in his expression made her go still.

“What?” she whispered.

He closed his eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

He reached up and unhooked her fingers from his neck. He clasped her hand and rested it on the bed beside him, then glanced back at her boot propped on the pillow.

“This can’t happen,” he said.

She stared at him.

He looked at her foot again and closed his eyes. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”

“For what? I kissed you.”

He squeezed her hand. “That’s the pain meds.”

The fog in her brain cleared—at least some of it—and she felt her cheeks flush. What had she just done?

“Hey.” He leaned forward, resting his palm beside her. “Don’t look like that.”

“But I thought you—”

“No, you’re right.” He stared down at her, and she tried to piece together what he meant. So he was turned on? Or he wasn’t? Or he was but he didn’t want to be?

Her head was swimming. She felt drunk and disoriented, and the one clear thought was that she didn’t want him to leave yet. If he left now, she wouldn’t be able to look at him tomorrow.

“Will you stay?” she asked.

He leaned back. “Nicole—”

“Just for a little while. We can watch a show.”

He gazed down at her, the muscle in his jaw twitching. Then he glanced at the TV.

He bent over and started unlacing his boots, and her heart did a joyful skip. He set his shoes by her crutches and walked around to the other side of the bed. He propped the pillow against the headboard, and the mattress sank as he leaned back, stretching out his long legs and crossing them at the ankles. He picked up the remote in the middle of the bed and unmuted the television.

He darted a look at her. “What do you want to watch?”

“Anything.”

“Basketball?”

“Whatever you want.”

She closed her eyes, and a feeling of warm contentment washed over her. The kiss was over. The weird, wonderful kiss that had left her mind swirling. Her pulse was calming now, and the blood in her veins seemed to be turning thick and sticky, like maple syrup.

She turned her head on the pillow, facing him without opening her eyes. The glow of the TV flickered, and a low sound drifted over her. Her head was spinning, spinning...

“Emmet,” she murmured.

His big hand closed around hers like a hug.