Page 26 of Into the Veins
No answer.
He reached for the doorknob. The mess of dried paint on the front of his shirt shifted in one hardened move as he shouldered into the bathroom. He slowed at the sight of the long waterfall of red hair draped over the edge of the clawfoot tub and leaned against the doorframe, arms folded over his chest. Black and white penny tile created a flower design across the floor with subway tile strategically placed along one full wall behind the tub. White wood ran the length of the ceiling, holding up a black circular shower curtain bar above the tub with a drape of white reaching down to the floor.
Head resting back, neck exposed, Blair had escaped into unconsciousness. Her chest rose and fell in even intervals and popped the layers of bubbles filling the space between the water and the rim of the tub. Her expression relaxed, soft and peaceful, as he took a seat on a small wooden barstool nearby. Pressure built as he memorized every line, every curve, every freckle above the surface of the water, and he couldn’t think of a single moment in his life he’d been so content to just…be.
The constant reading, optimism, and obsession with new experiences had given him focus when everything around him had fallen apart. Until this moment, there wasn’t any one adventure in the world that would’ve gotten him to stop searching for the next best thing, the next milestone, the next accomplishment. But right then, there was only Blair. She’d become his focus. Not the investigation. Her. She’d settled the frenzied restlessness under his skin. She’d gotten him through one of the most painful and potentially traumatizing attacks of his life. If he hadn’t met her, where frustration burned, the rage associated to the status of his bank account would’ve already ripped him apart.
He’d driven across the country in his SUV for years, perfectly satisfied with his living situation after he’d practically raised himself. It’d been convenient, a quick getaway if needed, and hundreds of thousands of dollars cheaper than his own permanent residence. But looking at her now, so at peace, he’d never felt more at home. He skimmed his fingers across the surface of the water and visually followed the ripples to the other side of the tub. His gut knotted, and Colson sat back against the perfectly painted cabinetry behind him.
He was falling in love with her.
He wasn’t sure when it’d happened. The moment she’d squared off with him at Rachel Faulkner’s crime scene, when he’d realized she’d been using her art to escape reality, or later when she’d taken on a psychopath to give him a chance to escape, he couldn’t be sure. Did it really matter? Colson silently laughed. He’d slept with the woman once and already he was rearranging his life. None of it would make a damn bit of difference though. Her past with private investigators would never allow her to trust him completely. He wasn’t that piece of shit who’d gotten her parents killed for profit, but there were some wounds that couldn’t be healed. No matter how many years went by.
Water dripped from his fingers as he grazed her jaw with the back of his knuckles. Paint dislodged under his touch and broke away in pieces. A wispy moan escaped past her lips as she turned into him, and his nerves kicked into overdrive. He’d never been the stay-after-sex type, but there wasn’t anywhere else he had to go, anywhere else he wanted to be. He targeted a plush robe hanging near the door and shoved to his feet. Tugging the robe free, he reached down into the tub between Blair’s feet and pulled the stopper. He shook lukewarm water from his forearm and hand. “Come on, Sleeping Beauty. You’re going to turn into a prune.”
She rolled her head to one side and cracked open her eyes to stare up at him through thick, dark lashes. “Prunes can be sexy.”
“Maybe in retirement homes.” He wedged his hands under her shoulders and ran down the length of her arms before pulling her upright. Water coursed down her curves, and Colson quickly wrapped her inside the robe. As much as his body demanded another round of pleasure and distraction from the danger lurking outside these walls, he had more respect than that. Taking her weight, he ignored the gut-wrenching pain in his side and scooped her into his arms. The world threatened to go black as he maneuvered her through the narrow doorway and gently laid her across the bed.
Blair’s eyes fell closed again as she settled into the ridiculous number of decorative pillows, and the significance of this moment drilled through his detached core. How many people had the sheriff allowed to see her like this? Vulnerable, at ease, uninhibited. The bruising along the left side of her face sharpened the angles of her jawline and hollowed her cheeks, but she was still the most brilliant and beautiful woman he’d ever met.
“There you go, Sheriff. Nice and cozy.” The pain receded as Colson tucked her feet beneath the covers and raised the comforter over her. He backed away, his throat tight at the thought of not climbing in after her, but there was something he had to do first. Five days ago, he’d manipulated his way into this investigation out of pure selfishness, only he wasn’t that man anymore. Because of her.
She was everything real in a world built of make-believe, lies, and followers.
He held his phone in his jeans pocket, and the plastic protested under the pressure. Then again, maybe he was like that private investigator she blamed for tearing apart her family. After all, he’d accepted a deal with a victim’s father for a payday that would set him up for years. Acid charged up his throat. Colson closed her bedroom door behind him, unpocketing his phone.
Swiping his thumb up the screen, he tapped the messages icon and replied to the last text telling him his accounts were now in the hands of a grieving father with too much power.
Deal’s off.
He hovered over the send button. The blue line at the end of his message pulsed in rhythm to his heart rate as he considered the fallout two words represented. The bastard had to have called in some high-powered favors to make his point. His accounts would remain frozen, he wouldn’t get paid for finding the killer responsible for Rachel Faulkner’s death, and he’d be stuck in Seattle for as long as it took him to make his next few thousand dollars. As much as he’d enjoyed working with the King County Sheriff’s Department on this case, it’d been a one-time invitation. He wasn’t police. There was no paycheck at the end of this road he and Blair had taken together, but his gut said the leap of faith would be worth the sacrifice.
Blair was a risk, a mystery, and the most certain thing he’d ever known. Fine artwork he could admire forever. For him, home wasn’t the back of a decade-old SUV he’d bought while working as an online dating ghostwriter. Home was in her arms. So maybe the next adventure he was meant to take wasn’t one he’d thought to write down in his childhood journal as a kid. Maybe it was on the other side of the bedroom door.
Colson hit send.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The shrill of her phone pulled her back into consciousness.
Blair lifted her head off one of the many overstuffed pillows she’d collected over the years and recalled she’d left her cell plugged into the outlet in the bathroom. When had she gotten into bed? Moisture clung to her skin as she threw back her comforter and stumbled to collect her phone. Darkness had fallen, but she wasn’t exactly sure how long she’d slept.
Bits and pieces of memory bubbled as she closed one eye against the brightness of her phone’s screen illuminating the entire bathroom. A deep soreness that had nothing to do with the attack in Tiger Mountain State Forest stretched through her. January’s name scrolled across the phone’s screen, and she tapped the green answer button as she pushed Colson’s face to the back of her mind. She cleared her throat but dryness stole her voice. “Hello?”
“You’ve had sex,’” January said.
“I’m already regretting picking up the phone. Why are you asking me about sex at…what time is it?” She lowered the phone from her ear and read the too-small clock in one corner of her screen. 4:05am. Unplugging the device, she worked her way back into her bedroom and collapsed onto the bed. “It’s four in the morning. For your information, I was asleep. You know, because that’s what people do at night. What are you doing up? Don’t criminologists keep business hours?”
“You asked me to do you a favor. I’m calling you with the phone records you requested.” Her sister’s voice held a hint of amusement as though January could read her mind. “Come on, I can hear it in your voice. You’re more relaxed, not as quick to bite my head off. There might even be a hint of happiness in there. That only happens after you’ve gotten laid. You had sex with that private investigator.”
The phone records. Damn it, Blair had forgotten about requesting them, only now her decision to pull Colson’s LUDs upset her stomach. She’d gotten in the bath with the full intention of washing the paint from her hair, but she’d succumbed to the exhaustion she’d been fighting since EMTs had pulled her off that mountain. It’d only been when Colson had tucked her into bed that she’d realized he’d wrapped her in her robe and carried her from the bathroom. As King County’s sheriff, she was responsible for every citizen under her jurisdiction. Men, women, and children. But last night it’d been nice to be the one taken care of rather than the one doing the caring. She’d have to make sure he hadn’t popped a few more stitches.
“Blair?” January asked.
“I’m here. Do I need to remind you, you have your own life?” Her lower back stretched away from her upper spine as she pushed the backs of her thighs into the mattress. Aches and muscle fatigue had ebbed since last night, but it’d be a few days before the pain let up completely. “Isn’t living vicariously through other people above you?”
“I’m your sister. I’ll always be interested in your extracurricular activities.” January’s voice deadpanned, then dipped lower. “As for a life, I’m not sure you’re right about that. My application for adoption with the new agency was declined again. Apparently, sitting behind a desk and calculating patterns for the FBI comes with too many risks to be a parent. A perfect end to the day you learn your only sibling was thrown off a cliff by a psychopath.”