Critical Instinct(24)

“I think that pretty much eliminates my client as a suspect,” Christine told them. “We’ll make sure you’re given the contact info. But right now, I’m taking Ms. Jeffries home.”

Paige stood and followed Christine out the door. She could feel Brett’s eyes on her the whole way.





Back at his desk, Brett stared at the computer screen, but didn’t actually see anything on it.

The look in Paige’s eyes in the interrogation room was the only thing he could see right now.

The most Brett could do to help her had been to stay away. To let others —whose neutrality could not be called into question— determine that she was not responsible.

But that look in her eyes.

Anger he could’ve handled. She had the right to be pissed off at how Schliesman had blindsided her with the news of Teresa Cavasos’ death. Had the right to be furious at how they’d accused her of wanting attention. Had a right to be angry when she found out the man she’d just spent the weekend doing incredibly intimate things with, had been listening to the entire conversation and doing nothing.

Even though there was nothing he could’ve done that wouldn’t have made it worse.

But she hadn’t been angry. She’d been hurt.

That look in her eyes.

Brett rubbed his hand over his face, exhausted. He should’ve done something earlier. Should’ve insisted he and Alex go in instead of letting Schliesman try to set Paige up. Should’ve pulled the damn fire alarm for heaven’s sake. Anything to stop what was happening to her.

But Brett knew deep inside he hadn’t done any of those things because he’d wanted to see how Paige would answer the questions, how she would react to the news of Teresa’s death.

He wanted to know what the hell was going on with these pictures she drew.

If Brett hadn’t been there to see it with his own eyes, he would’ve never in a thousand years believed she had drawn it in her sleep. And Paige was wise enough to know not to mention that detail to anyone else. She’d learned her lesson from drawing herself.

Then a thought hit Brett: had she drawn the picture of herself in her sleep also? She hadn’t mentioned that. Of course, she wouldn’t have mentioned the sleep drawing at all if he hadn’t literally stumbled onto it.

He planned to ask her.

Alex walked over to Brett’s desk. “Just got off the phone with Hunter Barnes. Jeffries’ alibi checks out. She was with multiple people all day Thursday, actually most of the week.”

“Okay.”

Alex snickered. “Yeah, I’ll bet you’re pretty relieved to know your lady friend isn’t involved in a homicide.”

Brett never had any question about that. What he didn’t understand was the drawing. Brett and Alex both studied it where it sat on his desk.

“It’s strange, right?” Alex said. “How did she draw it if she didn’t know Cavasos? Why would she draw it?”

Drawing a random person in her sleep was weird.

Drawing a specific person in her sleep who had been abducted and killed in the very outfit she’d been wearing at the time went straight into Bizarroville. Brett knew there was no way he could mention it. Ever.

“She’s an artist.” Brett shrugged, attempting to be as casual as possible. “World renowned. Maybe her brain works differently than other people’s. Like she said, she saw Teresa in the parking lot and drew her later. Her subconscious picked her out to draw.”

“Well, Paige’s subconscious made a hell of a choice.”

“That’s for sure.”

“As far as I’m concerned, we’ve eliminated her as a suspect unless something changes,” Alex said.

“The captain will be less than thrilled.”

Alex raised an eyebrow, nodding. “Yeah. He doesn’t like her.”

“He doesn’t like that she gets special attention from higher ups.”

“Yeah, well, he doesn’t like that about you either. So watch your back.” Alex gave a little wave before walking back to his desk.

Brett didn’t care right now about the captain’s lack of love for him. What he cared about right now was Paige.

That look still haunted him.

When she left today he hadn’t been able to go after her like he wanted. Hadn’t been able to drive her home, explain his actions, ease that look in her eyes.

He hadn’t been able to go after her then, but he’d damn well be there as soon as he could.





Chapter Eighteen





On the long drive up to her house Brett prepared what he would say to Paige. How he would explain his actions at the station and why he hadn’t stepped in to help.

That he’d wanted to, but it would’ve made the situation worse. That he’d done what he could by getting word to her security team so they could get a lawyer in to her.

But to be honest, Brett didn’t even know if she was going to allow him past the guards to see her. And although he wouldn’t blame her, he didn’t know what the hell he was going to do if she did that.

So when the guards allowed him through, his relief was tangible. Perhaps she wasn’t as upset as he had thought.

She opened the door after his brief knock, but didn’t look him in the eye. Just like she hadn’t looked him in the eye since she’d realized he’d been present during her questioning at the station. She closed the door behind him and walked back to her living room to stand in front of one of the huge windows that looked out onto that magnificent view, resting her hand against it. She didn’t say anything.

Brett watched from the doorway. Paige wasn’t pouting, wasn’t pissy. He knew her well enough to know that. She wasn’t planning to lord over him what happened today.

But she was withdrawing.

Brett knew it with every fiber of his being. She was closing herself off to him. And although she’d probably never be rude or even unfriendly, she never planned to let him close to her —body or emotions— again.

That was just totally unacceptable. A fire burned through Brett, something carnal, primitive. She would not shut him out. He wouldn’t allow it.

Couldn’t bear it.

All the words he’d so carefully planned were not going to help him now. They were just words. To Paige words would always be secondary.

He needed to bind her to him in the quickest, strongest, most basic way possible.

He had his jacket and tie off before he was a few steps into the room. He draped them over the couch.

Her back was to him so she didn’t know what he was doing. Brett didn’t care. He would take every advantage —fair or unfair— that he could get. He unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt as he crossed the rest of the way towards her.

She had showered recently, he could tell. Her mass of golden brown hair was still damp, sticking slightly to her t-shirt. She had on soft gray pants, her feet were bare. She was still leaning against the window, looking out silently at the twilight in front of her.

Brett knew he had only one chance at this. If he gave her the opportunity to close him all the way out, she’d never let him back in.

He felt her stiffen when he took her hair and tucked it over one of her shoulders, leaving her neck exposed on the other side.

He didn’t give her a chance to protest. He brought his lips down to her neck, softly biting then easing the spot with gentle kisses over and over. His hand came down and slipped under her shirt and the elastic of her pants. One grabbed her hip, the other splayed wide over the soft skin of her belly, pulling her back against him.

His lips continued to nip and lick along her throat. Not wanting to give her time to think —only feel— he slid one hand up to her breast and the other down further to the juncture of her thighs.

She stiffened, but he didn’t stop. Felt her nipple pebble under his fingers before he slid to the other one. His other hand slid lower easing one finger inside her, immediately moving to touch the spot he knew would make her tremble. A sigh rushed out of her lips before turning to a soft moan.

He felt her arch her back into him as both his hands teased her, his touches too soft to give her the release she wanted. She tried to turn, but he wouldn’t let her.

“Put your hands on the window,” he whispered into her ear. “And leave them there. Just feel me. Feel us.”

She did what he asked and he rewarded her by dipping his fingers further into her wet center. She moaned as he kissed her ear on his way down her neck again, his other hand moving between her now erect nipples, rolling them between his fingers.

He eased her hips back with his hand so he could thrust against her through his clothing. But right now he planned to make her come apart with just his fingers.

He slipped them deeper inside her, touching her where he knew she needed to be touched. She stiffened and her arms fell from the window. He immediately stopped.

“Window, baby. Keep your hands there.”

She groaned and put them back up and he immediately restarted his movements. Applying more pressure; gently flicking that little bundle of nerves that tightened even as she became wetter. Soon her head fell against the window too and she was nearly panting.

“Brett, I can’t…”

She couldn’t get there. He knew. He was keeping her from her release on purpose and it was taking every ounce of his concentration because all he wanted was to ease the rest of their clothes off and take her right against this window.