Dangerous (5 page)

The inference of sex made Camille all too aware of the heat pressing into her shoulder where it connected with Drago's chest, but suddenly she went ice cold inside.

Angel: actually looking for Morrigan

Carol2: haven't seen her online

JeannR: forget Morrigan—why don't we meet?

No response from Angel.

Biting her lip, Camille took a quick look at the list in the room. “He signed off.” And feeling a bit relieved to be able to move away from the computer and from Drago. “He asked about
me
…my alter ego.”

“Because he knows he didn't get who he expected.”

Drago was still too close for comfort. And the familiar way he was looking at her, his eyes narrowed suggestively, reminded her of that hotel room.

“Then why did he take her? Why not leave Sandy alone?”

Camille felt herself start to unravel. Her knees threatened to buckle and her stomach knotted, and she wasn't sure which was stronger—her fear for the teenager or the unwanted attraction to her former one-weekend stand.

“Maybe it's a new game for him,” Drago said. “Using Sandy as bait to get to you.”

She could only hope it was that simple, that Sandy was locked up somewhere but untouched. Why hadn't she taken the time to talk to the kid, to know something more about her? Maybe she would have had a better understanding of her character.

She'd always told herself she didn't have time to form relationships because of her job, though on examining her own conscience, she knew it had to do with Emily. How she'd failed her childhood friend. She never wanted to lose anyone like that again. All through high school and college, she'd kept other students at arm's length. Acquaintances rather than good friends. She'd done the same with her fellow officers other than Justus, and when he'd quit the force, she'd let that friendship slide.

Distance made her feel safe. Or at least it should.

But, now, she'd failed Sandy, too.

“He disappeared from the chat rooms when he had the Grant woman for that week before he tired of her. Once he finished her”—she couldn't say
killed
—“he came back. That doesn't mean he hasn't done other things to hurt Sandy—”

Drago's finger to her lips stopped her. “It's too early in the game to make assumptions.”

She slapped his hand away. “Game? Is that what you think this is?”

“Investiga
tion. I should have said investigat
ion.” He moved closer. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to trivialize your concern or the case. I'm right there with you.”

The sincerity in his tone neutralized her anger. She came down quickly, so quickly she was shaking. Drago pulled her to him so that she was pressed to his chest, aware of his heartbeat. Aware of more than she wanted to acknowledge. The next thing she knew, she was clinging to him. He rubbed her back gently, wrapped his arms around her, murmured soothing sounds into her ear. Then his lips brushed the side of her neck and her world whirled around her.

“You have a good reason to be upset,” he said softly, “but you have to keep steady. You need to be able to tell the good guys from the bad.”

Closing her eyes, she asked, “Which are you?”

“Whichever you want me to be.”

He laughed, a whisper of air stroking her cheek, sending a flutter of something more potent she didn't want to recognize down her neck. Part of her wanted to push him away and refuse to work with him. But the other part—the part that feared she would ultimately be responsible for a young girl's death—couldn't let him go. She'd wrongly thought she could do this alone. Now look at the mess she'd made.

“No more jokes, Drago, please. I need to know you're with me.”

“I'm not only with you, I'm invested,” he said. “I've seen a lot of terrible things happen to people I knew and cared about over the years. I'm in this one hundred percent.”

“Good.”

Shivering, she tried to make her hands let go of his shirt, but they wouldn't cooperate. When she glanced up at him, Camille realized he was staring at her intently. His expression suddenly went hard, shooting an uneasy thrill through her middle.

Why couldn't she let go of him?

Why couldn't she turn away?

Why didn't
he
move?

His head moved closer, his deep blue eyes zeroing in on hers, making her think he was going to kiss her. Instead, he finally made that move—away from, not toward her—asking, “When was the last time you ate something?”

Relief fluttered through her. She thought about it a moment, then said, “Yesterday. I had lunch yesterday.”

“What about the last time you showered?”

Not today. Not yesterday. The day before, but…“What's your point?”

“You look like crap.” He was heading for the kitchen. “Go shower and get some clean clothes on and I'll make something to eat. You do have food in here, right? Or do I have to order takeout?”

The unflattering comment stopped Camille halfway through the dining room. He might have a point about what she looked liked at the moment, but that didn't make it okay for him to say so. She heard the refrigerator door open and still didn't move. Then he poked his head out the kitchen doorway.

“Found some out-of-date eggs, but I don't think they'll kill us.” His brow furrowed. “What are you waiting for? Go stand under some hot water and get some life back into you.”

Jaw clenched again, she bit back a response and headed for the bedroom, Max following. Good. He would protect her from Drago.

Just in case the man got any ideas…

“I have an idea,” Drago says when they finish their drink. “Why don't we go someplace where we can get to know one another better?”

Less than an hour together, and she already feels like she knows him. Intelligent. Amusing. Masculine yet gracious. Camille grows warm as she realizes she wants to be alone with him to get to know him in other, more personal ways. “Sure.” Totally unlike her, but she can't help herself.

There is something mesmerizing about Drago Nance that she can't resist. A pull. A longing. A certainty that their being together would be somehow right. Gut instinct. She feels like she's known him forever. One of those things you read about but don't believe will ever happen to you.

Tension washes through her as they leave the bar and he leads her to his car, starts to open the passenger door for her, then stops. She glances up at him as he rests an arm against the hood. He simply stands there, staring into her eyes, his expression one of amazement. Her heart thuds in her chest, slow but insistent. Her breath stills in her throat. He's going to kiss her.

Instead, he brushes a strand of hair from her cheek. “Do you feel it?” he asks.

She gasps. “Feel what?” But she knows what he means before he says it.

“The connection. It's beyond anything I could imagine.” He trails his fingers down her cheek. Along her jawline. “If you don't feel it like I do, then we should go our separate ways. What happens next is up to you.”

What happened next was something she hadn't been looking for, something she hadn't been prepared for, something she shouldn't have let happen.

What happened next was that she fell for a man she didn't even know.

Drago didn't claim to be a good cook, but he did well enough on his own. He wasn't starving. And he wouldn't let Camille starve herself, either. He knew she'd take offense at the crap comment he'd made, but he'd felt it necessary to get her to take action. A shower and full stomach would reenergize her.

They needed to get started on this case full steam, both physically and mentally. They couldn't do that without eating. Or sleeping. Camille would have to do both, and eventually she would realize it. Thankfully, it seemed this Angel didn't do anything fast, including getting rid of his victims. Drago hoped that bought them some extra time. Camille only saw the goal, not what it would take to get there. He'd make sure she was refueled and ready to go, and when she showed signs of toppling, he would give her the added push she needed to get horizontal.

That made him think of the many things they could do together in that position.

Dammit, do not go there.

Pulling a few things from her vegetable bin, he heard the shower come on. His imagination lit with the memory of the one they'd taken together. They'd soaped every inch of each other's skin…

He had to stop this. Thinking about what happened between them would drive him crazy. The past was four years past. Practically forever. The only reason they were together was professional. Still, he couldn't help but think about what she would look like naked and wet. His body was already betraying him.

It took a trick he'd learned in jail to get her lush curves out of his mind and to focus on food, a form of meditation one of the old-timers had said worked for him. He cleared his mind of everything and concentrated on the sound of his knife chopping vegetables. The smell of the food. The anticipation of the texture and taste of the finished omelet. He visualized all of it.

But the trick didn't work for long. Suddenly he was seeing water raining down on Camille. Over her flesh. Along each and every crevice. He couldn't keep his mind where it belonged.

Damn! Get a grip!

Unless he was mistaken, Camille was on her last nerve. She didn't need him lusting after her any more than he needed to lust after a woman he shouldn't want. A cop. One who was now under investigation. She was loaded with guilt, even he could see that, but if she didn't find a way to deal with it, guilt would make her ineffective. More than anything, what she needed was sleep. She probably hadn't gotten much if any the night before. But he knew better than to suggest she nap. No way would she take a couple of hours of downtime. Not yet. But eventually, her batteries would wear down and just stop, and then she would have no choice.

While the onion and what was still good of a single green pepper were cooking on the stove, he put on a pot of coffee and then nuked some bacon. He'd just finished beating the eggs when he realized he had company.

“Hey, Max, what's up?”

The dog whistled through his nose and moved closer, his dark-eyed gaze on the counter where the bacon sat. Drago took the opportunity to win the big guy over. He took a piece of bacon, broke off a section, and held it out. Max licked his chops but didn't move.

Crouching down, Drago held the bacon a little closer to the dog. “It's okay, boy, c'mon and get it.”

Making a weird sound, Max gave in and took the treat. Drago gave him more and then ran his hand over the dog's head and scratched behind an ear. He and Max were bonding when he realized Camille was standing in the doorway, watching them.

“You look much better. Now you just need some chow.”

Dressed in clean jeans and a deep green shirt, she tucked her wet hair behind one ear and arched an eyebrow at her dog. “So women aren't the only ones you seduce.”

Drago snorted, wondering if she'd been thinking of their shower together, too. At least she was in a better mood. “I told you dogs like me.” He stood. “Grab a cup of coffee. Food is almost ready.” He poured the beaten eggs into the frying pan.

A few minutes later they were eating at the kitchen table, Max sitting between them, ready to capture any scraps coming his way.

Her plate almost empty, Camille asked, “What next? I assume you have some kind of plan.”

Between the shower and the food, she had some color back in her cheeks. And a spark of determination in her eyes. Good.

“When we're done here, you dry your hair and finish getting ready. I'll load the dishwasher before closing down my computer.” He grabbed plates off the table and turned away so she couldn't read him. “We're going to take it to a friend.”

“What friend?”

“His name is Gary Stone. He's a busy guy, but he said he would make time for this.”