Page 13 of Concealed

“I’ll talk to Grant,” I say.

“Do that. He might take more convincing than me, but he’s a good man, a good leader, and he’ll give you a fair shot.”

Dispatch sends out a call for any cops in the area to try and head off a speeder going 140 miles per hour on the freeway, and Chris replies that we’re on the way.

“Thank you for telling me about the task force. It gives me some hope that I can still make a difference here,” I say, meaning it. This partnership is already off to a solid start, and it bodes well for my day-to-day life on the team. “Now let’s go play NASCAR.”

Grant isn’t at the station when we get back for shift change, so I’ll have to beg him to let me join the task force tomorrow. And now for my next uphill battle of the day – driving home and becoming friends with my new roommate.

When I open the front door, I catalog everything at once out of habit.

My place looks more like a home than a storage unit.

Country music is playing quietly, and not top 40 shit either – real country.

The aroma of delicious food makes my mouth water.

Andher.

Before I can steady myself, I absorb Rebecca as a man first.

She’s wearing a tank top and shorts, confirming my suspicions that she’s curved like a backroad with all her golden skin on full display. Her blond hair is piled on top of her head in a high ponytail, and I never realized until this moment how sexy I find a woman’s neck.

Her body is loose and easy while she sings along to Johnny Cash, swaying to the music as she prepares dinner. There isn’t an ounce of tension in her body, so she must be completely oblivious to my presence. Rebecca is just a beautiful woman in a kitchen, not a victim.

But then I take her in as a cop, and it’s like ice-cold water poured over my head.

There are angry welts on her biceps and wrists where a man’s big, strong hands gripped tight, forcing her to bend to his will. And when she spins around with a hand clutched to her chest, the bruises on her face are even more pronounced than yesterday because she didn’t bother covering them up.

If Matt was no longer trying to hide the marks he left behind, it’s a damn good thing that she got away when she did. Even if he kept her totally isolated, all she had to do was call the police or drive to the station. The proof she needs to charge him is all over her skin.

“Shit,” she gasps.

It’s not exactly the welcome wagon, but at least she’s making eye contact. I’ve never looked into irises quite so blue, and her beauty and strength underneath the pain make something stir loose in my gut.

“Hi,” I greet her, my mouth suddenly dry as cotton.

“Shit,” she repeats.

Chapter 4

Rebecca

Hidinginbaggyclothesfor the foreseeable future was my plan, but it got way too hot in the kitchen to tolerate sweats. And I thought that I was alone.

I scramble for the hoodie that I tossed on the wooden breakfast bar, desperate to shield my battered body from Wyatt’s laser-focused gaze.

Somehow, I need to get a copy of his schedule so I know when to expect him and can be hidden in my room. I could just ask like a normal person, but that would involve looking at him and having a proper conversation.

His eyes make me far too warm inside to entertain that idea.

“You’re early,” I say, looking at the walnut-stained hardwood floors.

“I work twelves. I’m actually a bit late.”

When I glance at the clock, it’s after seven, so apparently, I just lost track of time. He was probably having a beer after work with the guys, or maybe he’s already met a girl. Wyatt is certainly sexy as hell, so it wouldn’t surprise me.

Not that it matters.

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