She’d said those words while he’d been thinking about the ramifications of his lifelong assignment to Belclare. To her. And he’d felt the truth of her words sink deep into his system. Accepted. Known. In that moment he understood to the bone who he was: hers.
Nothing in his life had ever felt more perfect or so full of promise and potential than that moment. Damned if he was going to just give in and let her walk away from what they’d started. If the tables were reversed, she wouldn’t let him hide.
Riley stalked into the station, his irritation with her hovering like a dark cloud over his head. He gave his statement and accepted the thank-yous for saving her life and helping to solve the mystery. It seemed he wasn’t a stranger to anyone but her. He didn’t need a shrink to tell him why that stung so much.
His official task complete, he lingered at the station, knowing he had to talk this out with her now rather than later. They processed the artist-terrorist, though the man showed no signs of cooperating despite Gadsden finding a remote detonator for the bomb in his pocket.
While Abby remained locked in the conference room with the mayor and some suit from Homeland Security, Riley used his phone to check email.
She had no idea how good he was at the waiting game.
Chapter Sixteen
Abby closed the door, clinging to the last thread of her control. “You’ve been lying to me.” She pulled the cord on the blinds at the conference room window, blocking the curious gazes from her department. “About everything.”
“Not everything,” Riley countered.
“The only reason you aren’t in cuffs is because you saved Mrs. Wilks.”
“And you.”
Her breath stuttered at his audacity. She hated that he was right. That she’d been duped. “And me,” she agreed through clenched teeth. “Though I would have managed without you. My plan to draw out the terrorist worked.”
“Apparently, but you were up against—”
“What? Who?” She was shouting. Clamping her lips together, she stopped until she could regain control. “Sit down and tell me everything you think you know about the threats against me.” As he took a seat, she settled into her chair and carefully removed her .40 caliber Glock, placing it on the table. “Convince me you aren’t one of those threats.”
He glanced at the weapon before meeting her gaze. “I think you know better.”
She didn’t. Not now. She wanted to believe him, desperately, but that was thinking with her heart. Here, under these circumstances, being a cop trumped being a woman. Homeland Security had briefed her about a new task force that placed agents in suspect, high-risk areas.
Apparently Riley was a one-man task force. And though that didn’t make him the enemy, it made him the man who’d lied to her...used her. “You said you had confirmation of Deke’s involvement.” The feds had denied that claim. They were executing a search of his house now.
When this was resolved, when she knew what he was really doing in her town, then she could berate herself for sleeping with him, for falling for the lies—spoken and unspoken.
“Abby,” he began.
“Chief Jensen,” she corrected.
“Chief Jensen,” he echoed, tension in his tone. “You really don’t have the cl—”
“If you finish that sentence with ‘clearance’ I will shoot you on principle.”
“A stunt like that means a lot of paperwork.”
“Accidents happen. Firearms are dangerous.”
* * *
SO ARE YOU, Riley thought, deciding maybe he shouldn’t twitch a muscle. “So put it away,” he suggested. He didn’t think the weapon was nearly as deadly as the woman on the other side of the table. “Where are you holding Mr. Maynard?”
“That isn’t your concern.”
He should have told her last night, security clearances be damned. He’d wanted to tell her she wasn’t in this alone the night one of Maynard’s lackeys had pushed Calder off the ladder.
Now it was too late. Her gorgeous blue gaze had turned icy. She felt betrayed and he could hardly blame her. Ironic really, that when he knew just who he wanted to be and why, when his identity felt more real and true than any other time in his life, the woman he wanted to be real for wouldn’t believe in him.
“Mr. O’Brien?”
“Riley,” he said, frustrated by her insistence on reverting to these formalities. He couldn’t leave town even if he wanted to. Director Casey had planted him here for a reason. Belclare was still a ripe target. Whatever she believed, this wasn’t over yet.
“Start talking or I’m dumping you in a holding cell.”