Page 39 of Say Yes to the Death

“You’ll send me the footage,” Detective Smith said, lowering his gun.

“Of course,” Luke said, still on his knees.

Detective Smith nodded to the other cops, who lowered their weapons and went back to canvassing Claire’s apartment.

Luke stood and walked over to where Claire sat on the floor, half under the table. He crouched next to her and pulled her into a tight hug.

She was still beyond furious at him, but their argument suddenly seemed less devastating than it had a couple of hours ago. While the identity of Luke’s mysterious brother remained a burning question, the note had shifted her perspective. The nightmare she thought had ended appeared to be ramping up again. There was time to argue about mystery brothers later. She melted into the hug, taking comfort in the familiar shape of Luke’s torso.

“Are you okay? Why the hell are you wearing an oven mitt?”

“There was a minor sword incident,” she admitted.

He tugged the mitt off and began unwinding her paper towel bandage. “I leave you alone for three hours and your apartment gets broken into and you, what, stab yourself with a sword?”

“I also fell over a wall and into a holly bush completely naked.” She flinched as he examined her forearm.

“What?”

“Never mind.” She was still mad at him. He hadn’t earned all the details.

“You need more pressure on this.” He shook his head. “Where’s your first aid kit?”

“At your house.”

“Shit. This is pretty bad.” He straightened up and tugged his T-shirt off.

“Luke, you don’t need to?—”

Luke ignored her and twirled his T-shirt between his fingers until it resembled a rope. He wrapped it tightly around her forearm and tied the ends together. The wound smarted.

“Ouch.” Claire flinched.

“You’re coming home with me.” As was often the case with Luke, it wasn’t a question.

“No,” she said firmly, thrusting the end of the bat in Luke’s direction.

“You can’t stay here. It’s a crime scene. Again,” he added, gesturing at the female cop, who was inspecting the floorboards with a black light. Claire hadn’t vacuumed since coming home from the hospital. The cop would be able to collect enough dog hair to knit a winter sweater.

“Then I’ll get a hotel room.” He and his tantalizing gray sweatpants weren’t about to cloud her judgment.

“You know the hotels around here aren’t dog-friendly.”

“Then I’ll stay at the warehouse,” she said stubbornly.

Luke lowered his voice. “If this creep knows where you live, he sure as hell knows where you work. And if the press hear about this, they’re going to swarm you even more. Do you really want to put Rosie in danger?”

Claire bristled. “It’s not like your house is any safer. Do I need to remind you what happened to Rosie at your house?”

“I’ve completely upgraded the security system since then. We have a gate to keep the press out. It’s much safer than the warehouse.”

She refused to respond.

“Half your clothes are there. I won’t even talk to you. And I have wine.” He extended a hand to her.

Claire sighed and accepted his hand. She loathed having to rely on other people. Luke helped her to her feet. She brushed against his bare chest as she stood and stubbornly ignored the butterflies that had suddenly taken up residence in her stomach.

Stupid, bossy, pathological liar with abs she could bounce a quarter off.

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