Undercover Passion. Melinda Di Lorenzo
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than anything about your kid. I’d say that’s all the prerequisites needed for sobbing.”
“Ah. If that’s the measure, then I guess I’m okay.” Her hand came up to rest on the back of his, and she spread her fingers over his knuckles. “It’s not even that I don’t want to tell you what’s upsetting me. I can’t.”
The feel of her skin moving over his was distracting. “Can’t?”
“Sounds crazy, right? It feels crazy.” Her hand slid up his arm, and he wondered if she was even aware that she was touching him.
He swallowed, trying to focus on their conversation. “It’s only crazy if you believe that the can’t comes as a result of someone casting a magic spell on you, preventing you from spilling your guts.”
“I actually wish it were that straightforward. An evil spell would explain so much.” The tips of her fingers had reached the crook of his elbow, and she looked down as if just noticing their placement, then started to jerk them away.
Harley reflexively brought up his hand to grab hers and stop it from slipping away. For a second, they sat still, both their gazes fixed on their locked palms. Then—also together—they lowered their hands to rest together on the table beside them.
“Can I ask you something, Harley?” Liz asked softly.
“Definitely,” Harley agreed.
“If you thought—even for a second—that me telling you what I’m worried about might backfire and hurt Teegan, would you still want to know?”
He didn’t even have to think about it. “No.”
Liz’s eyes lifted to his. “That was a pretty quick answer.”
“What kind of man would I be if I thought endangering a kid was the way to go?”
“Not the kind I’d want to have over for dinner, I think.”
Unconsciously, Harley inched forward. “It’d be terrible to have missed that beef stew.”
Liz’s free hand came up to the outside of his thigh. “And the dishwashing.”
Their faces were inches apart now, and detective-Harley was urging artist-Harley to put some space between them. But artist-Harley was too interested in studying the little flecks of gray in Liz’s otherwise blue eyes. They were tiny. Unnoticeable, until he’d gotten this close. Just like the floral scent he’d observed earlier. He inhaled and wondered what else he might’ve been missing by keeping a professional distance for the last ten days. The warmth of her lips, maybe?
No. Not maybe. Definitely.
He could definitely feel the heat of her mouth now.
His detective side was fighting a losing battle.
He leaned forward. So did Liz. Harley heard her breath catch and saw her lids drop just a heartbeat before his eyes closed, too. He bent in, anticipating the soft, sweet taste of her kiss.
And for a moment, he had it.
Delicate heat.
A burst of need.
A desire to deepen it.
Then, as quickly as it started, the kiss was ripped away by an explosive bang that rocked the room and sent Liz flying from her chair.
Liz’s ears rang. Her eyes watered and her leg felt like it was on fire. Her head spun. And the world around her seemed to be moving in slow motion.
Plates spinning and wobbling.
A spice rack in pieces, green and brown particles settling among the shards of glass.
But in spite of it all, the only thing Liz could think about was Teegan. Where was her daughter? Still in her room? Was she hurt?
Oh, God. Please don’t let her be hurt.
Liz tried to stand, but the pain—seemingly everywhere now—made her stumble. She wanted to cry. Not from the way she hurt, but from the sudden certainty that under the circumstances, she might not be able to reach her daughter in time. She wouldn’t be able to protect her from whatever threat had just rocked their little apartment.
Maybe if I crawl...
But she no sooner dragged herself forward an inch than dizziness struck. The room swam, and her arms slipped, and her head started to slide toward the ground. She braced for impact. Thankfully, before it could come, a warm, rough hand landed on her shoulder and pulled her back. It only took her a second to clue in.
Harley.
Relief surged through her as he lifted her from the ground. Something told her he’d know what to do. So she let herself exhale as he pressed her body to his wide chest and carried her from her spot on the ground across the room.
Then panic hit again.
Across the room. No. That was wrong.
“Teegan!” Her gasp sounded far away and waterlogged.
His voice, on the other hand, was low and rumbly, and right in her ear. “On it already, sweetheart.”
Liz breathed out, and the world seemed to speed up again as Harley put her down and grabbed a hold of the small kitchen table, tilting it on its side right in front of her.
“Stay there,” he ordered, sounding far more in charge than Liz would’ve been able to manage. “I’ll grab the kid. If someone comes in, play dead. I won’t be more than a heartbeat away.”
Liz nodded her understanding. Partly because she couldn’t form any words, and partly because Harley darted away so quickly that she wouldn’t have had time anyway.
Play dead.
The only reason the frightening possibility didn’t render her completely useless was that her mind was preoccupied with her daughter. She needed to hold on to some semblance of sanity. But it felt like a lifetime was passing as she waited. Had passed already. Liz knew that in reality it’d only been a minute. Maybe less. The proof was in Harley’s phone. The black device had flown off the table, and it now sat on the floor, propped against the bottom of the stove. She could see that there was still almost a minute left on the countdown, and the pre-bang conversation had to have lasted for at least fifteen minutes.
But knowing just how short a time had actually passed did nothing to ease Liz’s sense of urgency. She itched to get up and make her way toward the hall that led to Teegan’s bedroom, and fixing her gaze on the doorway instead seemed like a shoddy substitute for action.
Please hurry.
She had to trust that Harley would be successful in retrieving her. He was stronger than she was. Obviously not as scared.
But he’s not her mother.
The thought spurred her to try to push up from the ground, but pain shot up her leg once again. And a glance down told her why. An inch-long gash in her jeans glared up at her. Crimson liquid oozing out a slash in the denim. It looked bad. Maybe not deadly, but definitely stitch-worthy.
Wincing at the way it hurt, she reached across the floor and grabbed a wayward tea towel. She balled up the fabric and shoved it into the cut in her jeans to stanch the flow of blood. Thankfully, the bit of counterpressure offered a small amount of pain relief, too. She breathed out and gripped the edge of the table.
“Liz.”
At the sound of her name, she dragged her gaze up, and her whole body sagged with relief. Harley stood at the edge of the room, one hand grasping Teegan’s and the other holding her favorite purple backpack. Liz’s throat constricted. Her daughter looked tiny beside the