“Oh . . .” She rubbed damp palms over her jeans. Why did she feel so guilty? She hadn’t done anything wrong. “I was just deciding whether to bother him or not.”
“He’s not in right now, dear.” She patted the door as if it were a beloved pet. “I keep a good eye on my neighbors. I do love my peephole.”
Unsure what to say to that, Aileen nodded in return. “That’s good. I’m sure Killian appreciates the help.”
“I doubt that very much.” With a wink, she opened her door wider. “I have the news on. Would you like to come in and watch while you wait for him?”
“Wait for . . . oh. No.” She took a step toward the stairs. “No, I’m not going to wait. I’m sure I’ll catch up with him somewhere else. Have a good night.” She turned to make a get away, and ran straight into solid mass.
“Freckles?” Killian’s voice floated down to her. “What the hell . . .” His voice hardened. “Were you talking to Mrs. Reynolds?”
“She was, sweetheart,” the neighbor, presumably Mrs. Reynolds, said helpfully. “I saw her through my peephole!”
“Doing what, exactly?” he asked, his voice low. A warning, if ever she’d heard one.
“Well, from what I can tell, she was gathering the courage to knock on your door.” Mrs. Reynolds gave a thin chuckle. “Poor dear must be scared. Women are forward these days, you know. No shame in chasing after a man.”
Aileen groaned and took a step back. She was about to bolt around Killian and head for Sybil the Car when he hooked an arm around hers and tugged. “Oh, no you don’t.” He pulled her into his apartment and pushed her ahead of him. “Goodnight, Mrs. Reynolds.”
“Goodnight, sweetheart.”
Aileen closed her eyes. “That woman is intensely protective of you, you know.”
“The feeling’s mutual.” The deadbolt locked with a loud click. “What were you doing talking to her?”
Aileen opened her hands, shrugging. “She’s a force of nature. I tried to say good-bye but she bulldozed right over me. She wanted me to come in and watch the news.”
One of his eyebrows winged up. “Did you get what you need?”
“Get what I . . .” Her hands vibrated with anger. “You think I knocked on her door? You think I was asking her questions about you, trying to get her to give up some sort of dirt or confuse her?”
“You’re a reporter,” he said, as if that was all that needed to be said on the matter.
“I . . .” She struggled to keep her breathing even. “I shouldn’t have come here.”
“No, you shouldn’t have.” He stalked closer, pinning her against the kitchen table. “But since you did, let me tell you what I think about reporters that bother my neighbors.”
“But I—”
“Don’t. I tolerate the bullshit at the practice field, after games, even on my way to the fucking car in the parking lot. Part of the job. But don’t come here and harass my neighbors. Mrs. Reynolds is a nice lady and she doesn’t deserve to have vultures pecking at her for things she doesn’t know anyway.”
“I wasn’t . . .” She watched him a moment. “I never knocked on her door.”
He eyed her from the side, hands still clenched. “You didn’t?”
“I didn’t even knock on your door. I was debating turning around and leaving when she opened her door and started talking. I was ready to take off when you came up the stairs.” She almost added “and caught me,” but it sounded too incriminating. And she hadn’t been doing anything wrong. Not technically.
Killian stalked closer still, pressing her back against the kitchen table. The lip of the furniture pushed into the small of her back. “Let me make this very clear. Don’t drag my neighbors down into the gutter for some tabloid piece of shit story. Just because I’m not cooperating like those little puppies you have on a leash at the stadium doesn’t mean you get to make other people’s lives—innocent people—uncomfortable.”
She wasn’t sure where to start with that. “I’m not sure who the puppies are in this instance, to be honest.”
“Josiah Walker?” He snorted. “Michael Lambert. Ringing any bells? The guys who seem to do whatever you want to be on your little Internet show.”
“Maybe they’re just nice guys, who have an accommodating spirit and a general understanding that I’m harmless.” She tried to cross her arms, but his chest was too close and it was awkward. So she gripped the edge of the table instead and thrust her chin out. “And I would never put my stories ahead of an innocent person’s life. That’s despicable. I was raised better, I was trained better. And damn it, I want better than that.”