Page 73 of Armed ’N’ Ready

“Frank Feldman?” Andi stared at him. “Meera’s boyfriend?”

“Frank’s always been cryptic about what he does for a living, and he shows up at the DPC for a late lunch nearly every day. Right around three o’clock, the same time that photo was taken inside the restaurant.”

“Here I was thinking Frank was such a sweet man.” Andi rose from the desk, shaking her head. “Then again, it seems I’ve been wrong about most of the men in my life.” Shooting him a dirty look, she slung her bag over her shoulder and began edging between him and the desk.

He wanted to grab her and shake some sense into her. Instead, he gently caught her arm. “No one is beyond suspicion at the moment, and you have to be careful of everyone.”

“I’m going home.” She jerked from his grasp then shot out the door past Tess and Eric.

He followed her. “I’m going with you.”

“No. You’re not,” she threw back over her shoulder.

“Humor me.”

…

Andi breathed hard, taking in the familiar, earthy smells of pine and moss as her feet pounded on the soft, winding, tree-lined path.

Even with the shade provided by the overhead tree canopy, her running clothes had darkened with sweat. Her muscles were screaming, and still she couldn’t seem to run fast enough. Or put enough distance between her and Nick.

Unfortunately, he’d had a spare set of gym clothes in the Explorer, and over her strenuous objections he’d not only accompanied her to her house but insisted on being her running mate.

His heavier footfalls sounded behind her. He wouldn’t say it, but she knew the real reason he was stuck to her like glue, and it had nothing to do with having any real feelings for her. After the botched kidnapping, he wasn’t taking any chances. He needed to ensure her presence at the courthouse tomorrow when Joe turned himself in.

She wiped the sweat from her brow, sucking in breath after breath as she tried in vain to increase the gap between them. Not likely. They’d been running for twenty minutes, and he’d more than easily kept pace, staying a few feet behind the entire time. On the rare occasions that she’d glanced behind her, he’d looked like a thoroughbred out for a light trot. His perfect body glistened with sweat, but he was barely breathing hard compared to her. The man looked like he could go on for miles. At least he respected her need for space.

A sharp pain jabbed at her right thigh, and she pulled up, leaning against a tree while she massaged the heat cramp in her leg. The pain worsened, and she uttered a muffled cry.

“I’ve got this.” He knelt in front of her. “Honey, let go.”

The pain was steadily worsening, so intense that she did as he commanded, barely registering the endearment. His large hands encircled her upper thigh, kneading and massaging. She’d been leaning on the tree for additional support, but when another spasm shot to her leg, her hands flew to his shoulders.

“Easy there.” His voice was low and soothing, giving her something else to focus on besides the worsening cramp. “The pain should go away any second now. Hang in there, baby.”

“Don’t you dare,” she gritted out through clenched teeth, “call me baby. Or honey. Or anything else.”

Through eyes narrowed in pain, she glimpsed the look of concern on his face, and it only irritated her more. He didn’t have the right to be concerned about her. Not as a person, anyway, let alone as a woman.

She wanted to hate him but couldn’t. He was only doing his job. Too well. What she had to do was block out any feelings she may have had for him. Still have, she had to admit.

God help me forget him. Because she wouldn’t be capable of doing it without divine intervention.

His strong fingers were magically working out the acute cramping in her thigh. Her breathing gradually returned to something resembling normal, and she closed her eyes as his hands continued massaging her muscles. They were totally alone, deep in the center of a secluded, forested area, far from any roads or houses. The only sound was the occasional whisper of leaves in the treetops.

The truth of her dilemma was horrible. Worse than horrible, it was absolutely, positively soul-destroying. After all he’d done…

…she still loved him.

His ministrations eased and turned into a gentle caress with his hands gliding up and down the front and back of her leg. Against her will, she was reminded of how deliciously talented his hands were, and how they’d once set every square inch of her naked body on fire until all she could think about was him moving inside her.

Lord, why did she have to be born with the self-destructive sucker gene?

Allowing him to touch her again was the weakest, most stupid thing she could possibly do. She regretted not having brought Stray and Saxon along, anything to provide a buffer between them. But Stray wasn’t healed sufficiently for such a long run, and both dogs would have had a difficult time not overheating.

When she opened her eyes, he was watching her with an intensity that made her squirm with the need for more space. “You can stop now.” Digging deep into what little remained of her emotional fortitude, she pushed at his shoulders, but he didn’t budge.

He stood and dropped his hands to her waist. His chest pressed against her as heat poured off them, and her measly effort at resistance began to crumble into a pathetic heap of mush.