Catch Your Breath (27 page)

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey.”

“What are you doing here? I told you I had a work thing.” The not complete truth tugged
at her.

“I wanted to see you.” Jimmy’s gaze ran the length of her. “You look amazing. No shoes?”

She dangled the shoes from her fingers. “My feet are killing me. Too many hours in
these damn things.”

He levered himself against the door and stood. “How about a massage?”

She thought of where a foot massage would lead and couldn’t withhold the hum in her
throat. He took the keys from her and opened the door.

Jimmy pushed the door open into the living room, and when Moira walked past him, he
grabbed her and pulled her into a kiss. He meant for it to be a quick hello kiss,
but his tongue had other ideas. Once he tasted a little of her, he immediately wanted
more.

But tonight he had a mission. He needed to talk to her about the story she was working
on. So with his hands on her hips, he pushed her away from him. “Why don’t you go
take a quick shower? I’ll grab us a couple of beers and find something on TV.”

“Want to join me?”

He sighed. If he got in the shower with her, he’d never get to the damn conversation.
“Not tonight.” He kissed her nose and turned her body toward the bathroom.

In the tiny kitchen, he grabbed the beer and a bag of chips and took them to the living
room. Her apartment was blessedly quiet. One of his favorite things about spending
time at her place—besides being with Moira—was the quiet. He’d lived with his dad
for so long, he’d forgotten how quiet a home could be.

With the sound of the water running in the other room, he flicked on the TV and flipped
through channels looking for something Moira would like. He settled on some old black-and-white
movie on AMC.

He settled into the corner of the couch and drank his beer. Moments later, the water
turned off, and he sincerely hoped Moira would return wearing something more than
the short little robe she favored. When the bathroom door opened, steam billowed out
and she rounded the corner wearing shorts and a tank top.

Thank God.

Her face scrubbed clean of all makeup made her look even younger. She smiled and sat
near the center of the couch, stretching her legs to set her feet on his lap. As if
he would forget offering a foot massage, she wiggled her toes to get his attention.
He took another swig of beer and then touched the cold bottle to the arch of her foot
to mess with her.

She jerked her foot away with a yelp. “That wasn’t nice.”

“Couldn’t help it.” He put his bottle down and began to rub her feet.

She leaned back, closed her eyes, and sighed. “That feels so damn good. I think every
woman who has to wear heels should have a personal masseur waiting when they get home.”

“I can be your personal masseur.” The words slipped out, and then he thought about
the implications. Was he willing to be here every day?

Moira reached over and grabbed her bottle of beer. “You never told me why you’re here.”

“I need to talk to you about the story you’re working on.”

“I thought we agreed talk of work was off limits.”

She started to tug her feet away, but he held fast to her ankle. He rubbed his thumb
down the arch of her foot, and a look of pleasure stole across her face.

“My boss thinks I’ve fed you some information that will interfere with our investigation.”

“You haven’t. In fact, you’ve been pretty damn tight-lipped since early on, when you
weren’t even sure if it was going to be a case.” She drank from her bottle.

“I need to know what this other story is that you’re working on. When we went to the
carnival, you said you had me to thank for it. You’re doing a piece on the Viagra
Triangle. What exactly are you doing?”

“I can’t tell you.”

Tension tightened his shoulders. Why couldn’t she make this easier ? Moira normally
talked nonstop. The one time he needed her to talk, she decided to clam up. “Why?”

“I have a whole host of reasons. The first being that you’ll be pissed off and I don’t
want to ruin a perfectly good foot massage.” She said it with a smile as if she could
lighten the conversation.

“How about I keep massaging even if I get pissed off? I need to know.”

This time she did pull her feet away and stood. “You don’t need to know. You want
to know. Why?”

“I just told you.”

“And I told you my story isn’t part of your investigation. Why can’t you trust me?”

Why couldn’t he trust her? He had no easy answer. “You’re a reporter.”

“So? Do you treat every reporter that comes along this way? Do you go to the newspaper
and grill the journalists to see what they’re working on? No, of course not. But because
you know me, you want information. Why?”

“I have to know with certainty that your story will not clash with what I’m working
on.”

“How about you tell me all about your case and I’ll verify that we won’t clash?”

The frustration grew and he stood. “What’s the big fucking deal about telling me about
the story, Moira? Since when do you keep anything a secret?”

“I shouldn’t have to justify my work or my decision not to share that work.” She paused,
staring at him. “I think it’s time for you to leave.” She crossed her arms, bracing
for a fight.

He didn’t know how to respond, so he walked out. He stopped briefly in the hall to
wait for the click of the lock. Satisfied when he heard the snick, he stomped down
the stairs and out to his car.

By the time he started the engine, he was grinding his teeth. He had no idea what
to tell Kittner. He wanted to believe Moira wasn’t doing anything that would interfere,
but he couldn’t be sure. But he did know he hadn’t given her any details.

He thought about how he’d approached the situation to see if there had been a better
way. A way that wouldn’t have gotten him thrown out. Maybe if he’d lulled her with
the massage a little longer or waited until she drank more of her beer. He’d come
on pretty strong.

If she’d come at him like he’d done, he’d be pissed. But he was a cop trying to solve
a crime. She was a reporter.

In that moment, he knew he was as guilty as everyone else in her life of not respecting
her job.

Shit. He’d screwed the pooch on that one.

By the time he pulled up at home, he was feeling guilty.

He hadn’t given Moira’s career much thought. He didn’t actually know what she did.
In truth, he saw her much as everyone else did: a partygoer who slapped some words
on a page. Which was completely unfair to her.

Inside the house, he slipped into his room and grabbed his laptop. In the dark quiet
of his living room, he stared at the glowing screen as he searched and read articles
Moira had written.

They went on for pages. Her name appeared on blogs, in magazines, and in newspapers.

By two in the morning, he had a new appreciation for what she did. Her words did more
than tell the story of rich people at parties. She managed to make him laugh, tug
at his heart, and in some cases, make him want to pull out his wallet.

She definitely did more than type letters on a screen.

Now he needed to figure out how to show her he understood that. He stared at his phone.
Moira usually stayed up late working, but he had no idea if she’d still be up. He
sent a text:
You awake?

She answered with a quick yes, so he called and hoped she wasn’t still so pissed off
that she wouldn’t answer.

“Why are you up so late?” she asked instead of saying hi.

“I could ask you the same.”

“I’m almost always up late. It’s a good time to work. Plus, I was too cranky to sleep.”

“Sorry. I’m awake because of how I handled things. I stayed up reading all of your
articles. They’re really good. I wasn’t talking shit when I said you’ve been writing
real stories for a long time.”

“Yeah, my party attendance makes for excellent reading.”

“Don’t.” It came out harsher than he had planned, but he despised when she put herself
down. “You’re a good writer. I’ll admit that until tonight, I didn’t pay attention
to what you do. But it’s more than just parties, so don’t belittle it. Be proud of
what you do.”

She was so quiet he thought he’d lost his connection.

Her voice was small when she asked, “You really read them?”

“I’ve got the bleary eyes to prove it.”

“Why?”

“Because I realized after we argued that I was doing the same thing as everyone else.
Treating you like your job doesn’t matter.”

“Compared to a job like yours—”

“Stop. If you want people to respect what you do, you have to take it seriously first.
You flit through life acting like nothing matters, but when I read your articles,
I heard your voice and I knew that it all matters too much. Instead of talking about
the parties as your job, which I know you don’t even like all that much, tell people
about the causes and charities. They’ll listen.” Again, she became so quiet, he was
sure he’d angered her. She never liked being told what to do. “You there?”

“Yeah. I’m just stunned.” There was a slight creak in her voice. “You’re pretty amazing
when you do more than bark orders or speak in one-word answers.” She sighed instead
of laughing. “All jokes aside, thank you.”

“Don’t tell anyone or you’ll destroy my image.”

“Don’t think that’s possible, O’Malley.” She paused again. “Good night, Jimmy.”

Jimmy went to sleep hoping Moira understood his position, that he wasn’t trying to
hold her back from her career. He needed her to be safe and away from his investigation.

But as he dozed off, Liam’s voice bounced around his brain. He couldn’t imagine Moira
walking away from her career. Moira was such a twist in his life plan that he no longer
knew what to expect. Could he learn to live with her having the career she loved if
it meant he could be with her every night?

After her argument with Jimmy, Moira worked on her notes for the article because she
couldn’t sleep. She wasn’t even sure why she fought with him. She’d never been secretive
about her work, but this felt different. And part of her deep down knew he’d be mad,
not because her story interfered with his case, but because of what she was doing
to get the story. He’d given her an opening when he called and apologized, and she
probably should’ve taken that chance to tell him.

But he didn’t ask about her story again, and it was the last thing on her mind after
he talked about how good she was at her job.

Of course, all the arguing and talking and not sleeping meant she overslept, which
led to her running around like a maniac all day trying to prepare for her evening.

She shopped for a new dress, makeup, and a wig, and by the time she got home, she
began to doubt every purchase. Unfortunately, Kathy was busy working on a big wedding
order, so Moira called Elizabeth for help.

Elizabeth arrived with a confused look on her face. “Why do you need help getting
dressed for a party? Don’t you do this every week?”

Time to bite the bullet. “It’s complicated, and I’m going to explain it to you, but
you have to promise not to tell Colin.”

Tossing her purse on the couch, Elizabeth cocked one eyebrow. “How bad is it?”

“Not that bad, but if you tell him, he’ll tell everyone else and my brothers will
all freak out. It’s a work thing and they won’t like it.”

“I agree conditionally. If I think you’re being unsafe, my promise goes out the window.”

“Fair enough. I’m working on a story about high-class escorts and the men who hire
them. In order to get the inside scoop, I applied to work at an escort service.”

“You did what?”

The alarm on Elizabeth’s face was priceless, and Moira immediately knew her brothers
could never find out. She decided the best course of action would be to spill the
whole story. “I’m not going to actually be a prostitute if that’s what you’re thinking.
Some escorts really only go on dates. I went on one last night. Tonight, I’m going
to an event with a few girls to work a party. The problem is, it’s an event where
people might know me, so I can’t look like myself.”