Sighs Matter Page 3

  “Oh, right, right, right,” he said, nodding enthusiastically. “Yeah, Sadie Lancaster. Sure, I remember her. Hey, she was big.”

  “It was the pictures that got small.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Never mind.”

  “And just where is the famous Sadie Lancaster now?”

  “She and her fiancé went away for the weekend to Victoria.”

  Aranca’s eyes narrowed. “She got a cell phone?”

  Claire wrinkled her nose. “You have to understand, my aunt considers modern technology suspicious. She thinks cell phones are evil, and that aliens use them to control human thought.” When Aranca lifted both his brows, she explained, “She’s from California.”

  “Ah,” he said, nodding knowingly. “Listen, is there anybody we can call who can vouch for you, maybe give you a ride home while we check this out?” His voice was gruff, but not unkind. “You told Officer Darling you were on your way to your house here in Seattle. Anybody there who can come and get you?”

  “Unfortunately, no.”

  “What’s your specialty, Doc?”

  “Internal medicine,” she said. “But the hospital in Port Henry is small. There’s a lot of overlap.”

  He nodded, then leaned forward as though to impart a secret. Softly, he said, “So, Doc, what’s it mean when you got a constant pain right here?” He pointed to the back of his neck. “At the end of the day, it’s just about killing me. The wife, she says it’s stress, but I’m a real laid-back guy. You’re a doc, what do you think it means?”

  She smiled. “It means you need to see a physician for a thorough examination.”

  He pursed his lips. “Yeah, yeah. Okay. I might just do that.” Rolling his pen between thick fingers, he said, “Look, I don’t feel comfortable just letting you walk out of here, especially without ID and a bump on your head. It’d be a good idea to have a friend or relative drive you to the ER.”

  “Really, my head’s fine, and I don’t know anyone who . . . oh,” she said suddenly. Relief rushed through her, and she began to relax a little.

  “Detective McKennitt,” she said. “Of course. God, where has my brain been? He’s my best friend’s husband, you see. I was their maid of honor. You might know him. He’s still attached to Seattle, but mostly works in Port—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hang on a minute.” Aranca put his hands up in the air, interrupting her outburst. His eyes squinted on her in obvious suspicion. “You know Detective McKennitt?”

  “Yes.” What in the world had happened to her mind? Maybe she should stop by the ER after all.

  Aranca shook his finger at her. “Okay, Doc. You wait right here.”

  As he rose and left his office, Claire glanced at the clock. Twelve-thirty. No wonder she was exhausted and brain dead. She’d been up since dawn, had driven a hundred-plus miles today, and had been in a horrible car accident. Her eyes ached, her body was sore—and she was facing trouble with the law for the first time in her life.

  After a few minutes, Detective Aranca returned with what appeared to be a genuine smile on his face.

  “Dr. Hunter,” he said, with more punch than when he’d left. “As we say here at the Seattle PD, all’s swell that ends swell. Detective McKennitt is on his way to pick you up. I’m going to release you into his custody, which will make both you and me feel much better.”

  Soldier was on his way. Thank God. Relief eased her muscles, and she slumped in the chair. Finally, this ridiculous, wretched nightmare would be over.

  “Thank you, Detective,” she said, smiling wearily up into his eyes.

  Aranca excused himself and left her alone.

  Exhausted, she folded her arms on the desk and lowered her head. She’d rest and wait for Soldier to arrive.

  But the moment Claire closed her lids, images began playing behind her tired eyes. Time drifted, she drifted . . . into brilliant, blinding light, the blast of a horn, the screech of metal scraping metal, tires squealing as she spun out of control. She tried to glimpse her pursuer’s face, get a look at the man who had done this to her, but all she could see was . . .

  “. . . honey blond hair, brown eyes. About five-six, one-twenty. Claire Hunter, M.D. In. The. Flesh.”

  Her eyes snapped open. Lifting her head, she blinked and slid a glance toward the open door of the office.

  And her heart seized.

  Laser blue eyes met hers, direct, probing—but they were not Soldier’s eyes.

  A masculine mouth twitched at one end into a wry grin—but it did not belong to her best friend’s husband.

  She tried to keep her eyes locked on his face, but they drifted over his body anyway. Running shoes, jeans, jacket over an open-collar white shirt.

  He seemed a little rumpled, a little sleepy, as if he’d just climbed out of bed—satisfied. Though he needed a shave, on him, stubble looked . . . oh, man.

  “You know,” drawled the man who was not Soldier, his voice sending vibrations deep into the core of her body. “Usually, I’m just called on to serve and protect. There’s a special form for bailing doctors out of a jam in the middle of the night.”

  “Taylor.” If she’d made her voice any blander, she would have sounded bionic.

  “Actually,” he continued, “I won’t really mind filling out the form because I just had to see for myself if it was really you, Doc. You know, before you disappear again.”

  Claire stared across the room at him. She’d forgotten how good-looking he was.

  That was a lie. She had never forgotten.

  Taylor McKennitt stood with his hip resting against the doorjamb. He grinned, like a wolf might smile at the furry, timid, terrified forest creature it was about to toy with, then devour.

  Rubbing her eyes, she peered past Taylor to Detective Aranca standing behind him. “Excuse me?” she said sweetly. “There’s been a mistake. This is the wrong Detective McKennitt.”

  “I get that a lot,” Taylor said, sighing deeply. “Good thing I have such a healthy ego.” His grin widened to show his white teeth. Charming and predatory, all in one perfectly constructed bundle.

  Claire’s brow furrowed. “Detective Aranca,” she insisted, a little louder now. “Really. This is the wrong Detective McKennitt.”

  Aranca snickered and nudged Taylor with his elbow. “You said she’d say that. What, you two have a big fight or something?”

  What does that mean?

  “Yeah. Or something,” Taylor drawled, his eyes never leaving Claire’s.

  Aranca laughed. “Hey. Kiss and make up, okay? You two’ll have beautiful babies. Listen, Mac. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Bobby,” Taylor said, his blue eyes still locked on Claire’s.

  Detective Aranca sauntered off down the hallway, whistling a happy tune, leaving her alone with the wrong damn McKennitt brother.

  His gaze touched her forehead, and he frowned. “How’d you get the bruise? Are you all right?”

  She reached up, her fingertips pressing lightly on her tender skin. “I played crash-test dummy with my aunt’s truck. I’m okay.”

  “Do you have any other injuries?” His gaze raked her from head to toe and he curled his fingers as though he wanted to check her out personally.

  “No.”

  “You sure?” He narrowed his eyes, gauging whether she was telling the truth. Flattening his mouth, he said, “You’re going to the hospital.”

  “No,” she rushed. “I’m fine. I just want to take a bath and get some sleep.”

  For a moment, neither of them spoke. Claire looked away, but she felt his scrutiny just as though he were running his fingertips along her cheek, and down her body, low, across her belly.

  Taking a reinforcing breath, she pushed herself to her feet, fighting a wave of dizziness that weakened her knees. Taylor lowered his arms and looked as though he wanted to help steady her, but he stayed where he was.

  “Thank you for bailing me out, Taylor. I appreciate it, but I haven’t done anythin
g wrong. I was set up.”

  He smiled sympathetically, sort of. “Yeah. We’ve got a whole jail full of innocent bystanders. But in your case, I guess I’m willing to keep an open mind.”

  “In my case?” She raised her eyes to meet his. “An open mind? But you know me.”

  He lowered his voice. “Yeah, if the biblical sense counts for anything. You know, Doc, I must have been a few beers short of a six-pack to have gotten involved with you. But, live and learn.”

  He clamped his jaw tightly closed and stared at her.

  She lifted her chin. “Well, sorr-ree. It was my best friend’s wedding. It was fun and romantic. You and I, well, we drank champagne, danced way too close, and one thing led to another. It happens.” That’s as much as she would ever confess to him about that night, about how she’d felt, and what had really driven her into his arms.

  “One thing led to another three times.” He arched a brow.

  “You’re being unfair—”

  “I think I’m being damn fair,” he interrupted. “More than fair, considering. I’ve heard it from my brother that his wife told him that you don’t particularly care for my line of work.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “My point is,” he said, leaning forward to glare into her eyes. “My line of work seems to be coming in pretty frigging handy tonight, getting your delectable little ass out of a jam, wouldn’t you say?”

  She took in a full breath, and let it out slowly.

  “I’ve already said thank you, Detective.” Attempting to moderate her anger was like trying to put out a fire with an ice cube.

  He made a sweeping motion with his arm. “I should probably leave you here. Let them toss you into holding so you can see how the other half lives, but my brother would have my nuts on a platter if I did that.”

  She scowled. “If that’s the case, maybe I’ll stay. I think I’d like to see your nuts on a platter, even though I’d probably need a microscope to find them.”

  “If memory serves, you had no trouble with my anatomy eight months ago.”

  “Taylor—”

  “If we’re done discussing my nuts,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “can we go now? I was in bed having a really hot dream, and I’d like to get back to it.”

  “Fine,” she snarled.

  “Fine,” he snarled, louder.

  She glared at him. How dare he show up here instead of Soldier. How dare he have mutated from the nice, easygoing guy she’d met a year ago into this surly, overbearing, macho jerk simply because she’d . . .

  Dammit. This was the millennium of casual, mutually satisfying, no-strings-attached sex, wasn’t it? They had both been consenting adults that night. Words like love and commitment hadn’t entered the conversation, what conversation there had been. So why was he so defensive?

  Claire concealed her hurt with a mask of nonchalance. Though she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing it, his attitude toward her stung. She had romantic memories of making love with Taylor. He’d been a caring and generous lover, tender, endearing, and it had torn her to pieces to leave him in the morning, to decide never to see him again when what she wanted with all her heart was to stay wrapped in his arms night after night.

  What did a woman do when she found a man like Taylor, and realized she had to give him up? The only thing she could do was go, and not look back.

  As she stood there, her knees gave out and she slumped back into her chair. He was beside her before her bottom hit the seat, his hand gripping her arm, concern in his eyes.

  “You’re not okay. Dammit, I knew it.” He crouched in front of her. His worried gaze flitted over every inch of her face and body. “I’m taking you to the hospital, whether you—”

  “Not necessary,” she groused. “I’m fine. It’s been a long day, and I’m exhausted.” She eyed him. “What did you say to that detective? He sure treated me a lot nicer after he talked to you.”

  With a broad and charming grin, he said, “I told him you’re my fiancée.”

  She blinked about a thousand times and widened her eyes to stare up at him.

  “You what? Why?”

  He shrugged. “Felt like it.”

  “That is so stupid.”

  “I know. But I thought it might be easier to convince him I wasn’t going to let you out of my sight until I got you home, safe and sound. They’re still checking out your story, so you’re not clear quite yet.”

  He grinned into her eyes, and her anger melted just a teensy-weensy bit.

  “So when we leave,” he instructed, “keep your mouth shut and your eyes adoringly on me—at least until we get to my truck.”

  “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “You need to use the bathroom?”

  “Not really,” she said dryly. “It’s just the thought of being engaged to you has had an adverse effect on my digestion.”

  Tilting his head, he eyed her and sighed. “Damn. And to think we used to be so close.”

  Chapter 3

  Enema

  Unfriendly female.

  Taylor stood over Claire, assessing her condition. Her posture told him she was beyond exhaustion. Her beautiful brown eyes were red and swollen. The bump on her skull had to be throbbing.

  Maybe he should carry her.

  Yeah, and maybe he’d like a knee to his groin, he thought. Unless she was unconscious, he’d be wise to proceed with caution.

  But the thought of Claire’s body in his arms again sent his heart knocking against his ribs. Even after all these months, he was attracted to her as strongly as if she were magnetic north.

  “Can you make it out to my truck?” he ventured. “Maybe I should carry you.”

  She sent him a miffed glance, fiddled with her hair, and straightened her shoulders.

  “Detective, there are only two conditions under which I’d let you carry me anywhere.”

  “Okay.” He sighed. “I’ll bite.”

  She held up her index finger. “One involves a toe tag . . .” She closed her fingers into a fist. “And the other a white dress and a threshold.”

  “Dead or wed, huh?”

  “Mm-hmm.” She pressed her lips together, then smiled far too sweetly. “And since neither event is likely to happen, lead the way. I’ll be right behind you.”

  She still looked woozy to him, so he reached for her arm. She shook him off. Jesus, she was as stubborn as a premenstrual mule, and would probably rather die than let on she was hurting.

  “Dammit, woman,” he snapped. “Lose the attitude, put your weapons away, and relax a little. Let somebody who has not been in a car accident, who has not had a head injury tonight, and who may be thinking more clearly than you, take care of you.”

  She blinked up at him and raised her brows. “Dammit . . . woman? That is so eighteenth century.”

  “Yeah, well I would have said dammit pain in the ass, but I’m nothing if not frigging progressive!”

  “Taylor,” she bit out between clenched teeth. “I’m a doctor. I would know if I were symptomatic. My reactions to the trauma are typical, and nothing more. The adrenaline rush left me shaky, but my pulse is normal now, my vision is clear, there is no headache or nausea present, and no broken bones. Worst-case scenario, I might need a sedative and bed rest.”

  “Physician, heal thyself?”

  “If I thought I needed treatment, I’d get it.”

  “No you wouldn’t,” he said flatly. “You’re afraid this’ll leak to the press and your reputation will be dog food.”

  She looked like she wanted to scream. “I know you think I’m a real tight ass—”

  “It would be ungentlemanly of me,” he said, leaning near her ear, “to comment on how tight your ass is, because it might raise a question as to how I came by such intimate knowledge.”

  He cocked his head in silent challenge for her to pursue the issue at her own risk.

  She set her jaw and stared at him. Man, if looks could kill, she’d
need a permit for those eyes.

  Slipping his arm around her waist, he said, “C’mon, Doc. Enough of this BS. Time to go. And remember, you love me.”

  “Oh, right,” she drawled sourly. “We’re engaged.”

  “You say it like you don’t worship the ground I walk on. I’m crushed, sweet cheeks.”

  “Enough to break our engagement?”

  He smiled at her like he knew a secret she could never begin to guess.

  As they made their way through the crowded station to the door, they received wry grins and curious stares. He tightened his arm on her waist and tugged her just a bit closer.

  “Opportunist,” she muttered under her breath.

  Through clenched teeth and a frozen smile, he said, “Shut up or I’ll kiss you.”

  She pressed her lips together.

  He didn’t release her until they’d exited the building and crossed the lot. Nodding at the officers who had parked their unit next to his truck, he helped Claire into the passenger seat.

  “Buckle up, hon.”

  Clicking her restraints in place, she gave him a sad little smile. “I’ve changed my mind, stud muffin. I don’t want to marry you after all. I think we should break up.”

  “Ah, hell,” he said dismissively. “You say that now, but you’ll feel better after you’ve had a hot meal, a good night’s sleep, and some top-quality, grade-A sex.”

  Behind him, one of the officers mumbled something to the other, and both men chuckled.

  “Oh? Did you finally pick up that prescription?”

  His eyes widened innocently. “The one for your spells? Sure did, funny face. We wouldn’t want you to have another unfortunate episode, would we? Next time they might not let you out.”

  Before Claire could elbow him in the gut, Taylor shut her door and moved around to the driver’s side. Sliding in, he buckled his own seat belt, cranked the ignition, and turned left out of the lot.

  Beside him, Claire was silent. He saw her shoulders rise and fall, as though she’d taken in a big breath and let it out. Not facing him, she muttered, “You’re an idiot.”

  “I’ve been called worse,” he said, smiling. “So tell me what happened.”