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The Hunted. Rachel Lee
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He didn’t mind. He wanted her spunky as hell. “That’s me,” he agreed. Unbuttoning his cuffs, he rolled up the sleeves of his blue oxford shirt. “Hungry?”
“Not yet.”
“Stomach?”
“Unsettled.”
Her eyes followed him, and for some reason she reminded him of a cat watching a caged bird. On alert again. Returning to the strength and determination that had carried her this far.
He decided to let her watch him, and say nothing for now. He kept his belt holster and gun on, along with his badge, and went to the phone to call room service. “I can get you something later, but I haven’t eaten since this morning, and I wouldn’t want to become too weak to hold up my lance.”
One corner of her mouth curled upward in a smile. “Do they have French onion soup?”
He opened the loose-leaf binder by the phone, flipped to room service and scanned the menu. “One bowl coming up.”
“Thanks.”
He saw her pull the pill bottle from her vest pocket and went to get her a glass of water from the sink. As he handed it to her, he asked, “Do you always wear those safari vests?”
“Have you ever tried to carry a purse while taking notes on the fly, or even photos?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“I didn’t think so.” She downed one pain pill and drained the water glass before setting it on the end table. “A photographer friend gave this to me after I’d bitched about my purse for the thousandth time. I never leave home without it.”
He brought her another glass of water, then sat on the couch facing her. “I can see it’s handy.”
“Oh, yeah. It would be even handier if I kept to some kind of organization. I tend to drop everything in one or two pockets, though.” She pointed. “Phone, keys, gum, pens.” Another pocket. “Pads, tape recorder, wallet.”
“And the others?”
“Empty.”
“Kleenex?”
“Oh, yeah.” She patted a hip pocket. “Tissues are in there with the notepads. Easy to reach.”
“And now pills.”
She popped the bottle into a separate pocket. “They get their own space.” Then she touched a zippered pocket on the other side. “I forgot. Makeup. Lipstick. I don’t usually wear it, but sometimes…” She shrugged. “You do what you gotta do.”
Her hand wandered up to her neck, then slowly slid downward. “I feel naked without my press credentials.”
“I can imagine. About how I’d feel without my badge and gun.”
“We may be on the same wavelength. I can’t allow that to continue.”
He lifted a brow. “Why not?”
“’Cuz you’re a cop and I’m a reporter, which puts us on opposite sides of a huge divide.”
“Not really. I promise not to compromise your professional ethics.”
“You already have.”
He watched a look of mischief dart across her face. “How so?”
“I’m in a hotel room you paid for, about to eat food you’re paying for. That’s strictly a no-no. Print press never takes gifts, even if TV reporters do.”
“Ah.” He narrowed his eyes, trying not to smile. “Well, you’re not employed at the moment.”
“A saving grace.” She closed her eyes briefly, drew a deep breath, then opened them again. “I wish the guy with the jackhammer would clock out soon.”
“The pill should help send him on his way.”
“I hope. So.”
He raised his brows, waiting. That “so” had definitely been a segue.
“What are your bosses going to say about all this?” she asked, indicating the hotel room.
“That I exercised good sense.”
“Nice bosses.”
“Big expense account.”
A chuckle escaped her, causing her to wince. “I can’t believe you came all the way to Houston just to make sure I testified. You could have called the field office here and told them to keep an eye on me.”
“I knew you were going to be dangerous.”
She smiled. “It’s my job.”
“It’s your nature. Okay, I came partly because of you, and partly because there’s another case I’m working on.”
“I guess I got in the way of that. What’s the other case?”
He hesitated, unwilling and, in fact, unable to discuss an active investigation. But there was something she was withholding, something important, and he would never gain her trust if he didn’t give her some first.
“A teenage girl disappeared a few months ago.”
She cocked her head. “I don’t think I heard about it.”
“Most people wouldn’t. She was a runaway, working the streets. An older street woman had taken an interest in her. Called us when she went missing.”
Erin seemed almost to nod, yet barely moved her head. “You’re right, that’s not the kind of story that gets much coverage. Which is a damn shame.”
“I couldn’t agree more. Missing persons, especially children, are my specialty.”
Her eyes widened a bit. “You’re that agent I keep hearing about? The one who works all over the country on these cases?”
He nodded.
“Jeez, wouldn’t I love to interview you.”
“Maybe after we make sure you’re safe. But I can’t talk specifics about ongoing investigations.”
“I understand that. Still, you’ve got quite a rep.”
“Not enough that you recognized me right off, thank God.”
A half smile lit her face. “You haven’t quite reached your fifteen minutes of fame yet.”
“I hope I never do.”
A knock sounded at the door. In one fluid moment, Jerrod rose to his feet, indicated with one hand that she should go to the bedroom, and with the other unsnapped the guard on his belt holster. He was taking no chances.
Over the years, he’d realized something important about his psychology, and possibly the psychology of others: once the unthinkable happened in your life, there was never anything unthinkable again. Forever after, you always expected it.
And something about this situation had him at high alert. He and Erin McKenna needed to have a serious talk very soon.
“Be right there,” he called to the door, hand on his pistol butt. As soon as he was sure Erin was concealed in the bedroom, he went to answer the knock.
4
Erin kept the bedroom door open a crack so she could watch what happened. Part of her felt that all this was way over the top, utterly ridiculous, but then she remembered her apartment, and the throbbing from the back of her head reminded her that someone was pretty serious about something.
Maybe even serious enough to pursue her.
Still, it was a hard connection to make. She was one of those people who were accustomed to feeling comfortable and safe in almost any situation. Accustomed