THE GIRL NEXT DOOR, Page 2

  The motorcycle zoomed through the city, flying through intersections, cutting closely around corners. At one point, Gabrielle had to squeeze her eyes shut because she was pretty certain they were going to crash and become nothing but a mangled pile of limbs.

  “We’re here.”

  Her eyes cracked open. Sure enough, they’d made it to the brownstone. Located off the main streets and nestled in one of the few, quiet corners of D.C., the brownstone stood with its porch lights blazing.

  She loved that place.

  “You can...um, release that grip on me now,” Cooper told her.

  Gabrielle realized that her nails were digging into his shirt—into him. “Sorry,” she muttered and jumped from the bike. “I’m not exactly a motorcycle fan.”

  He shoved down the kickstand, and then took his time rising from the bike. “Really? And here I thought you liked to live on the wild side.”

  What? Since when?

  “Coming in at all hours of the night,” he murmured as he brushed past her and headed up the steps that would take them inside the brownstone. “Covering the most dangerous cases in the city. You sure seem like a woman who enjoys living on the edge.”

  She wasn’t going to touch that one.

  As they paused on the narrow porch, the wind chime that she’d hung up a few days before pealed softly. The sound soothed her, at least a little bit.

  Gabrielle followed him inside. A large, curving bannister led to the apartment upstairs. Her place was up there. His apartment was downstairs, right below hers. They both had a key to the main door, and she watched as he secured that door.

  He’d gotten her home, so this was where they should part ways. Only she found herself hesitant to leave him. Maybe it was the image she still had of poor Keith Lockwood. I can still smell the blood. No, she wasn’t in a hurry to rush up those stairs and spend the night all by herself.

  Gabrielle already knew sleep wouldn’t come easily. She’d be too busy remembering the sight of that body.

  So she lingered at the foot of the stairs, studying Cooper.

  He turned toward her and cocked his head. Then his eyes, a shade of a blue that electrified her, narrowed. “You’re scared.” He stalked toward her.

  Gabrielle stiffened at the accusation. “I’m a little shaken. I found a dead body. I get to be shaken.”

  He stopped less than a foot from her. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

  “Yes, well, I’m sorry that Mr. Lockwood is dead. Maybe if we’d met earlier, if I’d just gone by his place sooner instead of waiting for our meeting time—”

  “Then you might be dead, too,” he said, cutting through her words.

  Gabrielle pushed back her hair. “He asked me to meet him. He called and said that he had a tip for me.” So much blood. “I guess someone wanted to make sure he never got the chance to deliver that tip.”

  He took her hand.

  Her breath rushed out. In four months, he hadn’t touched her. Until tonight. He’d touched her at the crime scene, and now he was touching her here.

  She hadn’t expected his touch to unsettle her so much. But it did. Awareness pulsed through her as she stared into his eyes.

  “Come with me,” he invited softly. “You shouldn’t be alone after what happened.”

  “I’m always alone.”

  He frowned.

  Wait, those words had come out wrong. That was her problem. She was good at writing. When she was talking, Gabrielle had a tendency to say the wrong thing. She cleared her throat and tried again, “What I meant was that I don’t mind being alone. It’s late, and I should be getting upstairs.”

  He used his grip on her hand to tug her toward him. “It’s late all right, but I’m betting you’ve got so much adrenaline pumping through your body that sleep is the last thing on your mind.” His eyes glittered down at her. The guy easily topped six foot two, maybe six foot three, and he had the wide, broad shoulders that a football player would envy.

  When she looked up at him then, she didn’t see the danger that she normally perceived.

  She saw strength. Safety.

  “I know a thing or two about adrenaline rushes. I can help you ride it out.”

  He didn’t mean that sexually, did he? Because they were nowhere close to having a sexual relationship. No matter what a few heated dreams might have told her.

  “Come on.” He guided her toward his door. She’d never actually been past the threshold of his place, so curiosity stirred within her.

  Curiosity. It had been her downfall since she was a kid.

  He opened the door. The alarm immediately began to beep, and he quickly punched in a code to reset the system.

  “Why don’t you have a seat on the couch?” Cooper offered. “I’ll grab us both a drink.”

  Her gaze shifted around the room. Ah...there was the punching bag hanging from the ceiling in what looked like a workout room that branched from the living area.

  The hardwood floor gleamed in the apartment. A leather couch and armchair were centered around a very large TV. Typical. What wasn’t so typical...

  She didn’t see a single family photograph. Actually, there were no photographs at all in the place.

  The walls were bare and painted a light brown.

  A small hallway snaked off to the left, and she found herself leaning forward to peer down that dark corridor.

  “My bedroom is back that way. The guest room, too.” His breath blew against her ear and Gabrielle gave a little jump. She hadn’t even heard him approach. “There something in particular you’re hoping to see?” Cooper asked

  “Ah, no, nothing.” She pasted a fake smile on her face and turned toward him. “I don’t know why I came in here. I should let you get some rest.”

  “I don’t sleep much.” He lifted his right hand. His tanned fingers had curved around a clear glass. “For you.”

  “Thanks.” She put it to her lips and nearly choked when she took a gulp.

  Whiskey.

  “A few sips might help you to calm your nerves.”

  Uh, no.

  He downed his own glass in seemingly one swallow. “It’s been one hell of a night,” he muttered as he set his glass down on the nearby end table.

  She put her glass down, too. The whiskey was burning her throat. When it came to drinking, she was way too much of a lightweight.

  “You don’t want to take the edge off?” Cooper asked her, frowning slightly.

  She sank into the couch. I should be heading for the door. “I don’t mix so well with whiskey.”

  “I can make you something else...”

  “No.” The leather was supple beneath her fingers. Tension still held her body tight, and she kept thinking—

  “It doesn’t do any good to keep picturing the dead.” Cooper sat next to her. His thighs brushed against hers. “Turn around.”

  “Wh-what?” Now that was just sad. He was making her so nervous that she was actually stuttering.

  “You’re so stiff you’re driving me crazy,” he said.

  She turned around. His hands reached for her shoulders. Oh, no, there was no way those fighting fists were going to give any kind of relaxing massage—

  His fingers began to knead her flesh.

  Gabrielle’s eyes nearly rolled back in her head. She was wrong. So very wrong. His fingers were magic.

  “I can help you to relax. Just breathe. Don’t picture him. Get that image out of your head.”

  The man was way too good with his hands. “Is this...how you usually deal with adrenaline?”

  A soft laugh. “No, I usually use sex.”

  The tension snapped right back in her shoulders.

  “Relax,” Cooper ordered, “that wasn’t an offer.”

&n
bsp; Oh, right.

  “Unless you want it to be...”

  Trouble. She’d known that the guy was serious trouble from day one.

  “What cold case are you working on?” He asked before she could do more than suck in a shocked gasp of air. “I know you told me that you were starting to profile them.”

  She had told him that, during one of their brief two-minute conversations when their paths occasionally crossed. “Kylie Archer. Her case isn’t as old as the others, but the cops don’t have any leads, so I thought I could try digging.”

  “That digging led you to the body?”

  “Keith Lockwood,” she whispered. The image of his body tried to push into her mind again, but she shoved it back.

  He kept rubbing her shoulders. His broad fingers were sliding down her back.

  Her thighs shifted restlessly.

  “He knew who killed the woman?”

  “I don’t know.” She would find out. As soon as the cops backed off, Gabrielle would be making her way back inside that apartment.

  Her eyes drifted closed as he kept caressing her skin. His fingers skimmed over the edge of her arms. Then he returned his attention to her shoulders, started working down. Down...

  He pushed lightly against her lower back.

  Gabrielle had to bite back a moan. That felt so good.

  But...was a massage supposed to turn a girl on?

  This one is. No, correction...he is.

  “You didn’t see any sign of anyone else in that place?”

  “The door was open when I went inside. Someone had shattered the lock. When I saw that, I knew something was wrong.”

  His fingers stilled. “You knew something was wrong, and you still went rushing in? You should have called the cops first!”

  “Lockwood could’ve been hurt. That’s why I went in. As soon as I saw the body, I called 911.”

  “Next time,” his deep voice rumbled as he started his massage once more, “do me a favor, okay? Call the cops before you rush in and find yourself facing a killer.”

  She wanted to melt into a puddle. His hands were heaven. The tension was gone. Well, all but the sexual tension. The sensual awareness she felt was heating up.

  And that’s my sign to leave.

  His fingers were very close to her hips. And she was arching against his touch like a cat.

  Get a grip, Gabrielle. It’s just a massage. It’s not lovemaking.

  But she almost wished that it was.

  Gabrielle jerked away from his touch. “I have to go.” She jumped to her feet.

  He stared up at her.

  “Thanks for the ride home. And the drink. And the massage.” She was rambling. “Good night.” Then she scrambled for the door.

  “Gabrielle.”

  His voice stopped her just as her fingers closed around the doorknob.

  “If you get scared, if you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”

  Good to know. She tossed him a quick, nervous smile, then she fled. No other word for it.

  A smart woman ran from trouble.

  * * *

  THE WOMAN WAS going to be trouble.

  He’d known that, of course, the minute she moved in.

  Long, black hair, golden skin, dark eyes... And a body that sure made him want to sin.

  Gabrielle Harper was the last person he’d expected to find in his life. A reporter, right upstairs?

  Fate had a twisted sense of humor.

  If Gabrielle ever found out what he really did for a living, if she found out about the secret government group known as the EOD—

  Can’t happen.

  There were only a few civilians with clearance to possess intel about the Elite Operations Division. Too-pretty and too-tempting Gabrielle couldn’t learn about his group.

  Secrecy meant survival for the EOD agents. He would do anything to secure that survival.

  Anything necessary. Those were his orders, after all. They’d come straight down from the top—from the director of the EOD, Bruce Mercer.

  And anything necessary...well, that included a little breaking and entering.

  Cooper had waited a few hours, until he was sure that Gabrielle had finally drifted into slumber. Then he’d commenced his B&E routine.

  It was ridiculously easy to get inside Gabrielle’s place. Since he’d installed the locks right before she moved in, Cooper had a key to her apartment.

  He also knew her security code.

  Again, because he’d installed the system.

  She’d left a light on in her hallway. The faint glow spilled into the living area.

  Her place was an exact copy of his. Only instead of a workout area, Gabrielle had an office in that side space.

  The office was his destination. But first, he had to make sure that he wouldn’t be disturbed.

  He crept toward her bedroom. Cooper pushed the door open just a few inches.

  Another light was on in there. A closet light this time.

  Gabrielle didn’t like the darkness. Odd, considering that her job sent her right into the dark path of criminals every day.

  The glow fell on the bed, on her.

  She’d kicked away her covers, and she lay on her side. Gabrielle wore a pair of jogging shorts and a faded college T-shirt. Her legs were long and bare and perfect.

  Killer legs. Truly killer.

  Her eyes were closed. Her right hand curled, palm up, on the edge of the bed. Sexy and vulnerable—a dangerous combination.

  He took a deep breath and smelled her. A light scent. Lilac. He knew it only because she always smelled that way. He’d had to figure out the scent because it was driving him crazy.

  The first day he’d met her, she’d come to him, a sweet smile on her face and a tray of chocolate chip cookies in her hands.

  He’d gobbled up the cookies. He’d wanted to gobble her up. He still did.

  Focus on the job.

  Carefully, Cooper backed away from the door. Then he made his way to the office. Booting up her computer was easy. Figuring out her password was a bit harder. Luckily, he’d had some help from the EOD on that end.

  Another agent, Sydney Sloan Ortez, had created a program that let him bypass most security walls on systems like Gabrielle’s.

  It took sixty seconds, and he was in.

  He found Gabrielle’s files on Lockwood. With a few clicks, he transferred copies of those files to his flash drive.

  Then... Sorry, sweetheart, I hate to do it but... He uploaded a virus to her computer.

  The EOD didn’t want Gabrielle getting involved in Lockwood’s murder. Mercer had given him an order to throw her off the killer’s scent.

  Now they had her case notes. Her files.

  She’d have to start over from scratch once again. That would buy him some time.

  Enough time to hunt a killer.

  * * *

  WELL, WELL, WELL...

  It seemed that Cooper Marshall was the agent on his trail.

  He’d seen Cooper in the crowd outside of Lockwood’s place. He’d known the reporter was going to meet Keith, so figuring out that the police would be called after midnight hadn’t been exactly hard.

  He’d watched the scene with interest.

  He certainly hadn’t expected to see Cooper Marshall rush through the crowd and go straight to the reporter’s side.

  Then to leave with the woman...

  Interesting.

  Perhaps Gabrielle Harper was more important than he’d originally thought.

  He would learn more about her. Then he would determine...was she valuable enough to bring into his game?

  Or was she a pawn that could be eliminated?

  Chapter
Two

  Gabrielle slid under the yellow police tape that blocked the entrance to Keith Lockwood’s apartment. The cops had tried to repair the lock on his door, but their attempt hadn’t been exactly successful.

  That lack of success made getting in much easier for her.

  She’d waited for night to fall once more. Waited to make sure all the cops had cleared out of the place.

  She wasn’t waiting any longer.

  Gabrielle tiptoed into the apartment. She didn’t turn on any lights. Lights would be seen from the street below, and she wasn’t about to advertise her B&E stint.

  So instead of turning on the overhead lights, Gabrielle pulled out a small flashlight. She crept carefully through the apartment. Her first stop was the desk near the kitchen. She opened the top drawer.

  Empty.

  The second drawer—

  Empty.

  The third—

  Totally cleaned out.

  Her eyes narrowed. There had been a computer on that desk last night. It was gone now, so she’d have to check in with Lane to see if the cops had confiscated it. No doubt, they had. Their tech department would search it and when they were finished, she’d just call in a favor from said tech department and get them to spill their results to her.

  She turned away from the desk. There were other places to search.

  Like the room where she’d found the body.

  Her shoulders squared as she headed down the hallway. The scent of death still hung in the air. She hated that smell.

  Her foot pressed down on the wooden floor. The long, low creak made her stiffen, but she kept going.

  Then she was in the bedroom. Her flashlight illuminated the floor and the outline of the body. The blood had stained the wood.

  So much blood.

  Gabrielle exhaled. She hoped that Lockwood had died quickly. No one deserved to suffer.

  She forced herself to look away from that outline. Her gaze and her light darted around the room. She could see a chest of drawers, a dresser and a nightstand. No photographs. Just like Cooper’s place.

  That wasn’t normal. She edged closer to the nightstand positioned to the right of the bed. People usually kept photographs of family and friends in their homes. Light touches to personalize the place.