“I wanted to show you my acquisition, all right? No big deal.” She had to say that. Just had to save face somehow.
His brows flew upward, and he almost coughed. “You wanted me to see the underwear you bought?”
“You’re my friend, aren’t you?” she countered.
He looked flabbergasted, his mouth hanging open for a moment. “I happen to know shit about women’s underwear!”
She said nothing, and Cody glanced at the door, then back at her. Slowly, as though he feared he would detonate with a touch, he set a big, cautious hand on her shoulder, and his voice went raspier by the second. “Aren’t women supposed to wear that kind of thing to their dates?”
Because she still wouldn’t look at him, and he continued touching her shoulder, a touch she was sure was not meant to be sensual but was, her blood sang—and this feeling of being alive after thinking she would die was exhilarating.
Megan wanted to wrap her arms around his thick neck, draw his plush lips against hers and bite and lick them. She was about to just kiss him, throw caution to the wind, when he asked, with a gentle squeeze, “Did he hurt you?”
This time he did not allow her silence, but tipped her head back until she answered,
“No. He—he put a rag over my nose, and I blacked out. That asshole!” she exploded.
Suddenly furious at herself, at the criminal, hell, at Cody, she stood and tossed Cody’s shirt aside, angrily pushing her arms into her coat. It had been an awful idea, to come here. Awful.
This sick intruder had ruined her perfect evening. He’d ruined the rest of her life! Now when was she going to gather the courage to try this again? Damn him. And damn Cody for acting like a detective when what she needed was … what you need is to leave, Megan Banks!
“Whoa there, where do you think you’re going?”
When Cody pulled out a camera—no doubt intending to take pictures of the “evidence” on her stomach—Megan closed her trench coat tight, knotted the belt around her waist, and shot him a scowl that could melt an ice pyramid. “Put that thing away. Last thing I heard, you needed to be dead to become one of your cases!”
“Meg,” Cody stopped her, his forehead creased in annoyance, “I understand you’re in shock and want to submerge yourself in hot water so there’s not a mark left on you, and I promise you when it’s time for you to leave, I’ll be the first to drive you home and scrub it off. But I’m afraid the procedure—”
And for the first time since they’d known each other, Megan let Cody know what she thought of him and his rules and procedures. She went around him, and from the door, said, “Fuck the procedure!”
* * *
It took Cody five seconds to register, digest, and act upon Megan’s parting words.
And no, he never, ever, fucked with his procedures. Or, okay, almost never.
He caught up with her on the stairs, his grip firm on her elbow. “Next time you invite me over for Christmas, I’m going to tell your mama all about that mouth of yours and all the words it can say. But for now, you’re going to put it to good use and tell me exactly what happened.”
Megan pulled away and jumped the remaining two steps to the first floor, then whirled around and shot him an acid smile. “I’m not saying another word to you, so arrest me if you must.”
She slammed the front door in his face, an inch away from his nose, and Cody was really, really reaching the end of his patience here.
Suddenly it dawned on him that Megan was the worst victim, the worst damned witness, Cody had encountered in all his years at the force. He yanked the door open.
“Megan Banks! I represent the law, and as a representative of the law, it’s in your best interest that I remain informed—if we screw up the evidence you screw with your chances in court. Now get back here and talk, dammit.”
She stormed back, but she was fuming. “I can’t believe all you care about is taking pictures of his … argh, forget it.” She poked a finger into his chest, her cheeks flaming bright red in fury. “But next time a woman gets accosted in your bedroom, do yourself a favor and drop the questions, ditch the stupid camera, and just hug her, you idiot!”
She dashed across the street.
“Goddamit, Meg!”
He chased two steps after her, then he stopped, torn between staying put for the team he’d summoned to arrive or following her. His male instinct said follow her. Chase her down and then—no, he wouldn’t pursue that train of thought.
Procedure told him to remain on the scene. He could gather the evidence himself, but that meant paperwork and a whole lot of trouble for a case that may or may not be treated with the importance it was due.
No. Damn procedure—this was one time when Cody had to trust his instincts. He could arrest the little chit for jaywalking but she knew damned well he wouldn’t do that. Maybe he should show her that he had the balls to—oh yeah, he had the balls all right. But she had them in her tight little grip, damn it.
Charging up the stairs for what he needed, he determined that this invasion of his home, his girl, was personal. If that murdering sonofabitch Ivan was out, then yeah, it was personal.