Page 121 of The Morning After (Savannah 2)

He was about to protest when she said, “Don’t give me any of that garbage about you being on duty, because we both know you’re not, nor are you officially on this case, nor should you be in my apartment, anyway, as it’s kind of like consorting with the enemy, right? So a glass of California’s not-so-finest shouldn’t be a problem.”

“I’m not much of a wine drinker.”

“Indulge me,” she suggested as she kicked off her shoes and left them in the middle of the kitchen floor. “Since you’re staying anyway, why don’t you take your coat off?” Even though she attempted another smile, there was no amusement in her voice and her dimple failed to appear. Her eyes, when she looked over her shoulder at him, were dark. Haunted. Worry and fear evident in their green depths.

He tossed his jacket over the back of one of the kitchen chairs and did the same with his shoulder holster and pistol. “You wear that all the time?” she asked, but knew the answer. She’d noticed the bulge of his weapon on more than one occasion.

“I like to be prepared.”

“A regular Boy Scout, are you?”

He snorted. “Been a long time since anyone even suggested it.”

“Then, forget I said it.” Some of the tension had eased out of her face as she eyed the contents of her refrigerator. “So…back to business. Now, let’s see…here we go.” She retrieved a chilled bottle, let the door swing closed, then rummaged around in a drawer, making a lot of racket before coming up with a corkscrew. “I’m really lousy at this,” she admitted. “Maybe you should do the honors.”

Grateful for something to do, he rolled up his sleeves, opened the bottle and poured two mismatched goblets of chardonnay. “Here’s to…better days.” He touched the rim of his glass to hers.

“Much better days. And better nights, too.”

“Amen.” He took a swallow. The wine wasn’t half bad and Reed felt himself unwind. The tension in his shoulders eased a bit; his jaw wasn’t as tight. Nikki, too, seemed to relax, if just a little. The haunted look didn’t leave her eyes but the lines of strain around the corners of her mouth faded and she managed to change into a nightgown and robe somewhere between the first and second glasses of wine.

Even the cat had mellowed out, taking up his vigil on the desk as the dog, after a small meal of dry cat food, had finally settled onto a bed of blankets Nikki had arranged near the door.

“So, where do you think Chevalier is?” Nikki asked as she finished her second glass of wine. She hitched her chin toward the window. “Outside.”

“Somewhere.” But he was bothered.

“You’re still not convinced he’s the Grave Robber?” she asked around a yawn.

“Would he be so stupid? Get out of prison and start knocking off the jury who sent him up the river?”

“Some killers can’t control themselves. The killing’s the thrill. It has nothing to do with l

ogic. God, Reed, I’m dead,” she said, then cringed. “Sorry. Bad choice of words.”

“Go on,” he said.

“What about you?”

“I’ll crash here.” He slapped the pillows of the small couch.

“You don’t fit.”

“I’ve had worse. It beats the El Dorado.”

She almost laughed as she crossed the room and placed a kiss upon his cheek. “For a crusty old cop,” she said, “you’re really a very sweet man.”

“Don’t let it get out. My reputation at the station would be ruined.”

She did laugh then, and he tried not to notice the way her robe gapped to show a gauzy nightgown, nor the hollow between her breasts, nor a bit of nipple that peeked out as she leaned over him. “Don’t worry. I’m fairly certain any reputation you’ve already earned is black as tar.”

“You’re probably right.”

“There’s no probably about it.”

He kissed her then. Grabbed her, pulled her close, and as she tumbled onto him, pressed his lips against hers with an urgency he hadn’t anticipated. She didn’t fight, but opened her mouth to him and returned his fervor. Closing his eyes, he felt the blood rush through his veins, the heat on his skin, the hardness in his groin.

Don’t do this, Reed.

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