Page 78 of Fire Fight
The change in his expression with those two words was subtle, but I was watching closely enough to see it happen. The slightly furrowed brow smoothed out, his dark eyes cleared, the tightness around his mouth relaxed.
And I knew why: he’d heard my silent admission.
Hewas different.
My parents were genetically predisposed to care what happened to me—and my mom, in particular, usually took it about twenty steps further. Like because she’d given me life, she could also control it.
Crew Lawless did not fall into that category. He cared because he chose to, because he worried about the woman he knew, the woman I wasright now, not the amalgamation of every version of Aspen McKay I’d been all the years I’d been alive.
Silence stretched between us as we stared into each other’s eyes, and I angled my head to the side.
The answer to an unspoken question and a silent invitation.
The corners of his beautiful mouth twitched, as though he was amused by me, and he started moving closer. Slowly, clearly trying to give me the chance to back out, to back down.
I stood my ground.
His lips brushed faintly against mine, a teasing taste—and then a beeping rent the still air around us.
Crew leapt back like he’d been electrocuted, scrubbing a hand through his hair as he turned away, looking everywhere but at me.
“Oven timer,” he explained, then set about removing the pizzas from their shrink wrap so he could get them cooking.
I blinked in confusion, having no idea what happened. Why was he suddenly acting like kissing me would be the biggest mistake of his life?
I sighed.Men.
Needing to get away from him and the cloying awkwardness that hung in the air around us, I let him deal with the food while I disappeared to my room.
For every investigation, I kept a notepad of random thoughts, odd bits of information, and seemingly innocuous occurrences that may wind up being important later. Tucked in the back of this one was that note I’d found under my wiper the day I’d picked Black Betty up from impound, and I spent a few minutes detailing my findings at the library, then jotted down a couple paragraphs about the email, the people on the street, and the disappearing man.
A light knock came at the door as I closed it and returned it to the drawer of my bedside table.
“Yeah?”
“Can you come out?” Crew asked. “I want to show you something.”
“I guess,” I sighed, quiet enough that I knew he wouldn’t hear, and went to meet him.
When I opened the door, he jerked his head in the direction of the office.
“Oh, are you finally going to show me what had you locked in here all day?” I asked, awkwardness forgotten in my excitement as I followed.
“Yes, ma’am.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Don’t call me ‘ma’am.’ I’m thirty-three, not sixty-three.”
Crew chuckled. “Fine. Then little phoenix it is.”
Little phoenix.
I turned it over in my mind for the few seconds it took us to reach the office door and couldn’t find fault. It made me feel powerful and strong. Reminded me I was a survivor, not a victim.
Reminded me of the man who ensured I continued to draw breath.
Crew stopped in front of the still closed office door, hand gripping the knob.
“You ready?”
