The Girl Next Door (Shadow Agents 6)

He laughed. “You sure are pretty when you blush. And, yes, they were from me.” His fingers brushed back a lock of her hair. “I’m glad you liked them.”

She had those lilacs upstairs, sitting in a vase on her kitchen table. Every time she looked at them, she smiled.

But you’re here on business. Don’t get distracted. Gabrielle cleared her throat. “I need to ask you a few questions.”

His hand lowered. She was hyperconscious of the strength of his body next to hers. “Sure. Give me just a minute, okay?” He rose and disappeared down the hallway.

She didn’t move. She wanted to move. She wanted to pry and search—

Hold that curiosity back.

She stayed locked to the couch. He returned quickly, pulling a black T-shirt over his head. The man certainly seemed to enjoy wearing black.

“I was about to make some dinner. Want something?”

Gabrielle shook her head.

A half smile lifted his lips. “Come on, I make a mean spaghetti. It’s a recipe I stole from Rachel. Her family’s Italian, and no one does spaghetti better.”

Her stomach growled.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he murmured.

Then he headed into the kitchen. She heard pots and pans clanking. Gabrielle rose and followed after him. “I didn’t come here so that you would fix me dinner.”

He already had the water set to boil. Tomatoes were spread out on the counter.

“That’s right,” he said easily. “You came here to ask me questions. So ask.”

While he cooked? She’d expected something a little more...businesslike.

“Ask.” He sliced the tomatoes. Fast and with almost fanatical skill. She’d never seen anyone be so good with a knife.

“I...um...” She exhaled slowly. Stop being frazzled with him. “Did you see anyone else in that alley with me?”

He stopped slicing. He glanced at her, held her gaze. “It was dark. I could only see you.”

That didn’t mean that no one else had been there. “Did you hear anything?” Gabrielle asked carefully.

He dropped the pasta then came toward her while the sauce simmered. “No, I didn’t hear anything.” He propped against the counter and studied her. “Why?”

“Because I don’t remember falling.”

“After a head injury like yours, I know it’s common to forget—”

“What I do remember,” she said, speaking quickly and cutting through his words, “is a man’s voice.”

“What?”

“I told Lane—Detective Carmichael, but he said the alley was searched thoroughly, both before and after my ‘accident,’ and there was no sign of anyone else there. Anyone else other than you, anyway.”

Lane wasn’t exactly a fan of Cooper’s. In fact, he seemed pretty suspicious of Cooper. But then, Lane was suspicious of most folks. That was his nature.

“If you’re trying to ask me if I slipped into the alley and slammed your head against a wall...” She saw Cooper’s knuckles whiten as he clenched the edge of the countertop. “The answer is no, I didn’t do that.”

Gabrielle quickly shook her head. “That wasn’t the question I was asking. I know you didn’t do it. You’re the guy who keeps rushing in to save me, not hurt me.”

He blinked. A furrow appeared between his brows. “That’s a whole lot of trust to give someone. You don’t know me that well.”