Lover Undercover (McCade Brothers 1)

She complied, shielding her eyes with a hand. A clear, steady gaze met his.

“You’ll feel better if you stay hydrated. I’ll help you sit up when you’re ready, and you can drink some water.”

“I’m ready. I’m all right.” Her words sounded a little fuzzy, but her eyes remained clear and trained on his. Stacy Roberts might appear as fragile as a porcelain angel, but he already knew she was tougher than she looked. She’d stopped in the middle of the night, put herself at risk out of concern for her fellow man—and received a nasty reward for her bravery. Most women—and men, for that matter—would be heavily sedated by now. He couldn’t help admiring her guts.

Or the rest of her, which was, as of now, strictly off-limits. Keeping that in mind, he slid his hand under her shoulders and tried to repress the memory of her long, smooth back undulating in front of him.

“Okay, here we go.” He helped her into an upright position, and somehow ended up with an arm around her shoulders. The soft weight of her breast had nowhere to rest except against his side. Her cheek found a cushion on his chest. Clearing the tightness from his throat—and doing his best to ignore the tightness in vicinities farther south—he looked down at her. “How’s that?”

“I’m all right,” she repeated, and took a deep breath. “You smell nice,” she added, her voice a bit fuzzy, which told him she wasn’t exactly back to normal yet.

He laughed, mostly because he couldn’t smell anything except her—a sweet, tropical, positively edible scent. Whatever she’d slathered on her skin begged to be licked off, and his mouth watered to do the job.

You already have a job. Keep your mind on it.

“Tell me right away if you feel like you need to lie back down. See the paramedic over there?” He pointed and waited until she followed his gesture. “She thinks you’re gonna faint on me, but I’m betting no.”

“I’m not going to faint.” To prove it, she straightened and squared her shoulders. Her movements were as steady as her voice, which made him think she might be right.

“Good girl.” He pulled a bottle of water out of a cooler tucked against the wall of the ambulance, cracked the lid, and handed it to her. “Think you can handle a few more questions?”

She looked less sure about that, but took a sip of water and nodded.

“We’re almost done. I promise. Getting back to the victim’s identity, I know you said you didn’t recognize him. Not surprising, under the circumstances. What’s surprising is we found his ID in his wallet. His name was Carlton Long. Ring any bells?”

She rubbed the heels of her hands over her eyes, then sighed and shook her head. “No. I’m sorry. But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t a Deuces employee. I’m really not on a first-name basis with many people at the club. It’s not what you’d call a social workplace.”

“I’ll bet.” He glanced up and caught Detective Ian Ford’s deceptively lazy green stare. Ian whipped his slightly overgrown blond bangs off his forehead with a quick jerk of his head, and sent Trevor a questioning look. We done here?

Trevor nodded and shifted his attention to Stacy. “The officers have your contact information?”

“Yes,” she answered, staring at her feet.

“And you’re not planning any out-of-town trips in the near future, right?”

That brought her head up. “Am I a suspect?”

“You found the body. From an investigative standpoint, that makes you a person of interest. But, no, I wouldn’t call you a suspect.”

Wary eyes turned curious, so he explained. “Mr. Long was five-eleven, almost two hundred pounds, and, in my educated opinion, beaten to death. Limited defensive wounds suggest he didn’t put up an epic struggle, but he fought some. Unfortunately for him, his attacker was bigger, stronger, and overpowered him quickly. You’re what, five-six, maybe a hundred and ten pounds, soaking wet?” Without waiting for her confirmation, he went on. “Other than a bump on the head, you don’t have a mark on you. So, yeah, my remarkable powers of deduction tell me you didn’t do this to him.”

“I see.”

“We appreciate your cooperation with our investigation. I don’t have any more questions right now. Is there anything you’d like to add to your statement? Additional details? Corrections or clarifications?”

She paused, but then shook her head, and he got the feeling she was hiding something. Although he doubted pressing his hunch would yield any results, he pulled a business card from his pocket and held it out to her. “If you think of anything you want to add—no matter how minor—contact me.”

For a long moment she simply stared at the card, and he could almost hear her inner debate. There was something else. To his frustration, if not surprise, she took the card and said, “Am I free to go?”

Shit. Sometimes it sucked to be right. “Yep. You’re free to go. Would you like us to call someone to pick you up, or have an officer drive you home?”

“No, no. That’s not necessary.” She hopped out of the ambulance. “I can drive myself. I don’t have far to go.”

“Uh-uh. Bad idea. A few minutes ago you nearly passed out. Fainting and driving don’t mix.”

“I’m good now. Honestly. Check my pulse, pupils, whatever. I can’t leave my car here. I need to be somewhere first thing tom…today.”

He assessed her. Admittedly, she seemed steady. Wired and stressed, but not about to conk out. “Okay, fine. Far be it from me to stand between a woman and her wheels. Go wait in your car. I’ll have a black-and-white follow you home. You can take off as soon as you see it in your rearview mirror.”