Lover Undercover (McCade Brothers 1)

Now it was his turn to sigh. “I suppose if I wanted to, I could make something of it.” He glanced over and caught her eyes. “But I don’t.”

He watched as something—more relief, yes, but something else—flickered across her face.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I know I deserve to be brought up on whatever charges are available. I’m sure you’re angry with me.”

Ah, hell. Gratitude and guilt. Not exactly what he’d been going for. Reaching over, he took her hand, threaded his fingers through hers. “No, Kylie, I’m not. Am I disappointed it had to happen this way? Yes. However, I do recognize you were as honest with me as you felt you could be without betraying Stacy, whom you were trying to protect. From here on out though, you need to be completely honest with me, okay?”

“Yes. Of course.” Sounding abashed, she added, “I promise.”

“Good. To give you honesty in return, you passing for Stacy impacted our investigation very little. We might have identified Carlton as a client the night he died rather than the next day, but otherwise…” He shrugged.

She squeezed his hand. “Well, still, I’m very grateful. I wish there was something I could do to make amends.”

Perfect entry to his next topic. Linking his fingers a bit more tightly with hers, he replied, “Your wish is granted.”

She shot him a wary look. “You want me to continue dancing for you, so you can keep putting yourself out as bait.”

“Yes, but there’s more. We need to up the stakes or this charade isn’t going to work. Both Alex and Carlton manhandled Stacy—for want of a better term—and created a scene. That’s the next step. I think if we stage an altercation at Deuces, it will trip this guy’s trigger. He’ll come after me.”

The fingers between his went stiff and still. He pulled his attention from the road briefly to see her reaction. Eyes full of fear and dread stared back at him.

Her concern warmed something inside him, deep in his chest, even as her reluctance made him want to tear out his hair. After steering the Yukon through a turn and onto his street, he pointed out as matter-of-factly as possible, “I’ll be ready for him, Kylie. I’ll be armed. Ian will have my back.”

She turned away. Facing the passenger-side window, she said flatly, “What did you have in mind?”

Chapter Eleven

Kylie sat on the leather sofa in Trevor’s sun-dappled living room and coached herself through some deep, calming breaths. He sat directly in front of her on his sturdy wooden coffee table, his elbows resting on his thighs, his knees nearly brushing hers. Patiently, he waited for her to say something.

His plan was simple really—at least her part. Risk-wise, it was all on him.

“Where will Ian be?” she asked, amazed her voice sounded so steady when her heart threatened to pound its way through her chest.

“Parking lot, unless I give him a signal to close in. I can’t have him too close. We want to give our guy an opportunity to make a move. He’ll go for me in the parking lot,” Trevor said, all calm, confident cop.

“What if he doesn’t? If he doesn’t go for you at all, I mean. Then are you done?” She couldn’t keep the hope out of her voice.

“Let’s cross that bridge if we come to it.”

“That’s no answer.”

“You want me to say we’ll give up? We can’t, Kylie.” Frustration vibrated from him. “There’s a murderer roaming free. You want me to say we’ll switch me out, put another detective undercover instead and see if the killer takes the new bait? Would you like that better, giving another detective private dances?” The frustration swelled to something she couldn’t readily identify…something sharp and dangerous.

She looked down at the space between their knees, and then let herself get distracted by the way his soft, wash-worn jeans molded his thighs. She’d promised honesty, so she would give it to him. “In some ways, yes.”

After a pregnant pause, he asked, “Why me?”

Confused, she raised her eyes to his. “Why you…what?” Although after seeing his expression, she was afraid she knew.

“Why me last night? You’ve waited all this time, probably declined countless men.”

Yep, that’s what she’d been afraid he meant. “There really haven’t been countless men,” she offered lamely.

Those dark, penetrating eyes held hers. “Why me?” he repeated quietly.

Honesty, she reminded herself. “Because I wanted to, um”—she cringed a little and rushed on—“get you out of my system.”

For a moment he just stared at her. Then the side of his mouth kicked up in the lopsided smile—his jaded, can’t-be-disappointed smile. “Like a virus, huh?”