Page 12 of Marked

“Mommy, why’s your face wet?” The tiny little voice crackled over the speaker he held. “Are you crying?”

Detective Aldridge was on her daughter’s bed, half leaning on the girl. A muscle twisted in his chest, and an unfamiliar pain—heartburn?—tightened his esophagus as he watched. He inhaled through his nose as he listened to her weak explanation.

He scrubbed his hand over his face and sat on the edge of the bed. He hadn’t come here to kill her. Just fuck with her.

Killing a cop wasn’t exactly out of his scope. He’d do whatever necessary to stay out of jail. He’d made it this damn far. He wasn’t about to go down now.

But a woman? Any other day and he’d probably say he could do it if he needed to. But seeing her face, her delicate femininity beneath her capable exterior, had changed things. Their little encounter behind the pub had been eating him up.

Part of him wanted to redo the scene so he could get rid of her for good. The other wanted to explore her fuckable mouth.

How could he make the threats necessary to keep her off his case when there was no way he could follow through? He couldn’t rough her up. Couldn’t sever a finger. Besides, warnings weren’t really his thing.

Add the fact that she had a four-year-old, and he was in a pathetic state.

“I mean it, honey. Stay in bed. I’ll be back in ten minutes, and I’ll sleep with you tonight.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. Now shhh.” The squeak of a bedroom door reached his ears, the sound coming from both the hallway and the monitor at the same time.

A few beats later Sophia breezed into the room. Her damp hair spilled over her shoulder, and her eyes were red rimmed, but she didn’t look the least bit vulnerable. Instead, fire blazed from her golden orbs, and if he didn’t know she was a cop, he’d expect her to gouge out his eyes.

“Satisfied?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest and tightening the dark-blue robe around her tits. She was more covered than before, and for some messed up reason that made his dick even harder. Making him want to get her naked quicker.

“I’d be a helluva lot more satisfied if I didn’t have to fucking be here.” He didn’t mask the displeasure in his voice. Goddammit, it was her fault things had played out this way.

She cocked her head to the side and ran her tongue along the inside of her bottom lip as if holding back a slew of words. She shut the bedroom door behind her and advanced on him.

“You don’t have to fucking be here. Matter of fact, you should be in jail.”

He stood and tossed the baby monitor on the mattress. “Maybe, but here I am. I told you to forget you saw me. I warned you.” He wagged his finger in the air, and it might have been the most ridiculous thing he’d done in his life.

Now what? He didn’t want to go through that scenario, even in his head.

Her mouth twisted, and she held out her arms. “So what are you going to do about it, tough guy?”

His temper racked up a notch. Jesus, the woman had balls. “I’m going to give you one last warning, Detective. Forget you saw me. Forget my name. Trust me—you don’t want me to come here again.”

“Or what? C’mon. Give me a solid threat, so I can add it to your growing list of felonies.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

Don’t hit a woman. Don’t hit a woman.

Where the mantra had come from he’d never know. That’s all his father had done to his mother, after all. But the idea of even raising a fist to her—the fact that he’d aimed his gun at her—sat heavy in his gut with some kind of emotion that told him he’d need an antacid when he got home.

Which was stupid. He wasn’t one to feel many emotions. Anger. Tension. Impatience. Yeah. But whatever this shit swirling in his stomach was, it felt worse than the aftermath of slamming back a whole bottle of tequila in Mexico last year.

He needed to get out. To put space between him and this mind fuck in front of him.

He dropped his hand and kept his gaze glued on her feet. Slim, olive-toned legs peeked out from the hem of her housecoat. Her knees were sleek and round, her calves perfectly shaped, and a bright red colored her toenails.

It took everything in him not to wrap those sexy legs around his waist and fuck her brains out against the wall.

He dragged his focus to her face. “I mean it, Detective.” The threat made his voice thick and raspy with regret. He had to protect himself. His brothers. He didn’t want to hurt her, but Jesus, he needed to drive home the point that she didn’t know who she was messing with. “Forget me.”

Her throat bobbed on a swallow, and her gaze hardened. He slipped past her, and part of him anticipated her attack. It didn’t come.

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