Page 70 of Midnight Secrets

“So would my knees.” Easing away, I met her gaze with a broad smile. Shifting, I moved to get up. “Come on.” I offered her a hand.

As we rose, the musical trill of a phone filtered in from the living room.

“That’s my cell.” Claire frowned, looking toward the sound.

“Ignore it.” I gathered her close, not wanting anything to intrude on our evening. The world could wait.

I planted my lips along her jaw, working my way down the long line of her neck.

The phone quit ringing.

She relaxed into me.

The trill started again, and she stiffened, pushing at my shoulders.

With a sigh, I let her go. Back-to-back calls likely meant it was important.

“I’ll try to be quick.” With an apologetic look, she hurried out of the kitchen as fast as her booted foot would let her. The ringing stopped, but I didn’t hear her answer. A moment later, my phone rang from the cargo pocket of my pants.

A shiver of trepidation skated over my nerve endings. What were the odds?

It took me a moment to find the right pocket, but I got to the phone before it quit ringing.

“Chief Riggs” appeared on the screen when I lifted it.

Now I was even more concerned.

I slid my thumb over the screen. “Quartermaine.”

“Are you with Claire?” His voice held no censure, just concern.

“Yes.” My forehead wrinkled. “Why?”

“Her real estate office is on fire.”

The breath stalled in my lungs.

“I’m standing outside it now. When the call came through dispatch, the fire was flagged as suspicious, so they called me. One of her employees, Savannah Smith, is the one who called it in. She saw someone driving away, she said.”

“Ozzie!”

Claire’s voice carried through from the living room. The offbeat slap-thump of her feet on the hard floor soon followed. A couple seconds later, she appeared in the kitchen doorway, phone to her ear.

“We’ll be right there,” I told Riggs, then hung up. “Is that Savannah?” I nodded to the phone in her hand.

“Yes.”

“Tell her we’re on our way.” I set my phone on the counter, then shook out my pants. Standing on one foot, I shoved my other one into the pant leg.

She relayed the message, then ended the call.

Her phone hit the countertop with a clatter as she hurried around to pick up her own clothes from the floor.

My shirt came sailing over her head as she whipped it off.

Mouth going slack, my brain hiccupped, and I could do nothing but stare for several beats.

The flannel smacked me in the chest, spurring me back into motion. Setting the shirt down, I turned away, removing thetempting sight from my field of vision. I needed a clear head so I could think.

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