The Right To Remain Mine (17 page)

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        Raith was starving. Though it had been a scheduled day off for him, he'd just worked from noon to eight, and he'd been so swamped with calls, there hadn't been time to stop and take a meal break. He'd found a squashed pack of crackers under the seat of his patrol car and still been so hungry after wolfing them down, he'd licked the excess crumbs from the package.

        It was a good thing he'd eaten DeVane's cereal for breakfast. If he'd gone home for his own brand, he wouldn't have gotten any whole grain nutrition, and probably would've passed out hours ago.

        He wasn't feeling very stable as it was. And the only thing he could find in his cupboards that would make any kind of meal was canned tuna. Hands shaking from the hunger pangs, he opened the tin lid and scooped out the meat inside, only to stop halfway through the task. He cringed as he stared at what he was fixing for himself.

        "Hell, I could have leftovers better than this at DeVane's," he muttered aloud, yanking a spoon from the drawer and eating the tuna cold and plain.

        After tossing the empty can, he pulled a beer from the fridge and popped the cap. He turned on only one light in the living room and prowled the dimly-lit floor, not even bothering to watch the muted television as he drank heartily.

        He'd been serious when he'd said he could get better leftovers at DeVane's. Hell, that lasagna he'd eaten the first night at her place had been damn fine. Wondering what else she might have lingering in her refrigerator, he suddenly remembered seeing a reusable container next to the milk carton that morning.

        His stomach gurgled, letting him know the tuna hadn't filled his stomach at all. After finishing his beer, he headed out the back door. As he climbed into his truck, he told himself this wasn't about DeVane or her body or even getting a little companionship. This was only about filling his stomach.

        So, why did his heart race at the thought of seeing her again? And why did he make a quick detour by his bedside nightstand before leaving?

        The area about five inches down from his belly obviously wasn't so convinced this trip had anything to do with food. It clearly heard the handful of condom packages crinkling in his pockets with every move he made, and realizing where he was headed, it sprang to attention, impatient to reach their destination.

        Though her ritzy neighborhood was only about a ten-minute trek across town, Raith thought he'd never reach DeVane's place. Glad he was no longer on duty because he'd seen about twenty traffic violations on the way over, half of them his own, he couldn't seem to obey the speed limit until he finally turned down her street. Then he slowed so as not to look too eager.

        About to pull in her drive, he punched the brake when he found

another automobile already sitting behind her BMW. Eyes narrowing, Raith hit the gas and kept driving. He crept around the block, his mind whirling the entire way. Who the hell was inside with her? Instantly imagining her in the bedroom with some loser, he gripped his hands tight around the steering wheel. If it was DiAngelo, Raith was going to kill him.

        He blew out a breath. The damn fool woman. Maybe he hadn't been clear enough about the whole "exclusive" speech he'd given her the night before. Or maybe he'd been too clear, and this was her way of showing him his dominant male attitude wasn't going to fly with her. Or worse yet, maybe this was her saying she was done with him.

        Muttering curses under his breath, Raith slowed in front of her house and spontaneously pulled to the curb across the street, put his truck in park and killed the engine. Damn it, now he was staking out her house. If Lewis didn't serve him with a restraining order by the end of the week, he'd be surprised. He couldn't believe he'd turned stalker.

        There was no way he was moving until he found out whose car that was, though. Tempted to pull out his cell phone, call dispatch and give them the tag number of the maroon Lexus, he sat stiffly, barely stopping himself from using his connection for personal gain.

        A five-minute wait later, he hit pay dirt. Rubbing his frozen fingers together and blowing out a white cloud of frosty air, he paused in the middle of a body-trembling shiver and sat forward. At the side of the house, DeVane's back door came open. A shadowed male form stepped out into the night and started down her drive, dodging iced-over puddles formed from the rain earlier in the day that had frozen by sundown. His body went taut.

        So she was seeing someone else. Damn it, he couldn't believe she had screwed another man. The taillights flashed once on the Lexus as it was unlocked, and then Raith's mystery man opened the driver's side door. As the interior light flooded out and filtered over his face, he sucked in a startled breath.

        "What the hell," he uttered aloud, falling back into his seat.

        Dylan Taggart climbed into his car, shut the door and started the engine. After his encounter with the ex-con that first night at DeVane's, Raith had done a background check. He'd been bowled over to discover the scumbag he'd once known was now Dr. Dylan Taggart.

        The man had cleaned his act up years ago, gotten an education and become a veterinarian, a very good vet judging by all the awards and honorable mentions he'd won for his work. He'd opened a large animal, equine veterinary clinic on the north side of town and led a very distinguished career, frequently volunteering his time at the humane society and providing his services pro bono.

        He'd married DeVane's first cousin, Dr. Camille Fletcher, who was a child psychologist. She'd been plastered to Taggart's side in almost every picture of him in the newspaper Raith had found during his online research. The two were always holding each other close and grinning at the camera as one or the other of them posed with a plaque for their upstanding roles in the community.

        They'd seemed like the ideal loving couple at the theatre when Taggart had rushed to her side and bent over backward trying to placate his petite wife.

        Realizing that was all a sham, Raith sneered as the door to the car reopened and Taggart slid out again.

        "Oh, go back for more, asshole," he muttered under his breath. "Your sweet little pregnant wife is just sitting at home all alone while you're here, doing her..."

        His words died as the back door opened and his sweet little pregnant wife stepped outside, followed by DeVane herself. Taggart hurried to Camille's side and took her hand, helping her manage the icy puddles. Glancing back at his car, Raith suddenly realized exhaust was coming from its tailpipe. It was still running. Taggart had only been going out to warm up the car for her.

        Mrs. Taggart paused to give DeVane a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek, to which her husband promptly followed suit, wrapping an arm around her waist before pressing his mouth to her temple.

        Suddenly glad he sat alone in his truck so no one could know what a fool he'd just made of himself, Raith watched DeVane shiver and pull her coat tighter around her as she stood on the back porch and waited for her guests to make it safely to their ride. Once Taggart opened the door for his wife and helped her into the passenger seat, DeVane finally turned and went inside.

        Raith hunkered in his truck and stewed. He'd been jealous. He'd been goddamn jealous, and he didn't like the sensation. Wanting to escape the emotions raging through him, he told himself to put his truck into drive and take himself back home before he got sucked into something deeper than he could handle. But he really wanted to see DeVane. So he loitered a while longer before coming to the decision he needed to get laid. And fed.

        Turning his truck off, he slid out and started up her walk to the back door, not quite sure what he was going to say. Just as he reached for the handle, the door opened and there she stood, in nothing but a silky, slinky black nightie thing.

        His mouth went dry.

        She leaned against the door where the slow, sensual spread of her sexy mouth did something entirely too dangerous to his sanity. "I wondered if you were going to sit out there all night or if you were ever going to come in."

        Raith came in.

        Willow closed her eyes as she pressed her cheek to Malloy's hot skin. His heartbeat echoed through her ear, still erratic from exerting himself. Her arms tightened as she held him.

        She feared she might've had a panic attack when Camille and Dylan had stood up to leave. She wanted to grab them back and make them stay longer. Forever. She loved those two. They were her closest friends. And when they moved, she was going to feel as empty as her house was.

        But Malloy had saved her from having to think about that tonight. Her heart had skipped a little beat when she'd noticed his truck parked across the street as she'd walked the Taggarts outside and waved them off. Her guests finally gone, she'd turned and hurried in, hustling straight to the bedroom, where she yanked a new piece of lingerie she'd bought earlier that very day out of her top drawer.

        She slithered into it and was pacing her house, wondering if he was actually going to come knocking or not. If he hadn't showed up in another two minutes, she probably would've walked out to him, through the blistering cold and still wearing her nightie. She'd never been as relieved as when she'd finally spotted him strolling up the back walkway.

        After she'd invited him in, they'd only made it five feet to the kitchen table. Glad she'd cleaned it already after supper, she wiggled a little under Malloy, trying to un-stick her butt from the surface of the tabletop.

        Malloy lifted his head. "I'm starving," he said, though his eyes were heavy and tired as if he'd been about to pass out on top of her.

        Willow chuckled as they both sat upright. Still feeling soft toward him for her little gift in the living room and for showing up just when she needed company, she leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. "There's leftover fettuccini alfredo in the fridge."

        His stomach growled in response, but his eyes shot her a confused look as if he couldn't understand her sweet attitude.

        The kiss was still tingling her lips, so she wondered if he could feel the impression of her mouth against his as well. It'd been a simple, dry kiss but the sensation that rippled through her left her breathless. She had a feeling he'd been similarly struck because he'd swayed forward as she pulled away.

        Lifting his lashes, he eyed her curiously, probably wondering what he'd done to receive such loving treatment.

        "Thank you for the gift," she murmured, the tops of her cheeks lighting with so much color she damn near glowed with happiness.

        His eyelashes fluttered with confusion. "What gift?"

        Her smile froze. "The figurine," she reminded him.

        He shook his head slowly. "You lost me."

        "The cop statue," she said with a little more force, her body going rigid and her eyes frosting with displeasure. How could he forget? "You left a figurine of a police officer in my living room."

        A prickle of unease rippled up the back of her neck when his eyes narrowed suspiciously. Sliding off the table and onto his feet, he said, "Show me."

        Willow blinked, uncomfortable about the direction of this conversation. "But—"

        "Where is it?" he cut in, his voice a little too hard, which only made her scowl.

        "It's on the end table by the couch."

        Brushing past her, Raith headed that way. He paused as soon as he reached the front room. Blindly, he turned, scanning all the knick-knacks on the two tables sitting on either side of her sofa.

        "It's right here," Willow told him, coming in behind him and moving around him to reach for the statuette.

        Raith caught her hand before she could actually touch it, startling her.

        "What—"

        "When did you notice it?" He crouched in front of the object and studied it with a trained eye.

        "I didn't," Willow explained, setting her hands on her hips. "Camille did tonight when she and Dylan came over. Why? What's going on?"

        Malloy shook his head. "I didn't give this to you."

        "But..." She looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. "It had to be you," she finally sputtered. "Who else would..." She pointed at the figurine, totally confused.

        Slowly pushing to his feet, Raith eyed her soberly. "Someone who knows about us, I'd say."

        Denying his reasonable suggestion, she merely swung her head from side to side. "It had to be you," she insisted. "I mean, I... I just gave you thank you sex for it."

        He grinned. "Too bad you can't take that back."

        DeVane blew out an incredulous sound. "Stop messing with me, Malloy. It had to be you. Now quit denying it."

        Raith frowned at the object on her end table as if it might be toxic. "How positive are you about turning your kitchen light off last night before you went to bed?"

        "A hundred percent," she said, frowning at him with irritation that he'd dare doubt her. "What does that have to do with anything?"

        Jaw going hard, he took her hand and tugged her protectively close. "Walk me though the house. Tell me if everything else is as it should be."

        But Willow, being Willow, resisted. Pulling to a stubborn stop, she scowled at him. "Just what do you think happened, Malloy?"

        He could only shake his head again. "I don't know. But something didn't feel right when I came in last night."

        She arched an incredulous brow. "Come again?"

        He glowered at her. "I haven't been a deputy for seventeen years without leaning to trust my instincts. And my instincts said something was off when I walked through your back door last night."