Under the Microscope

“So you ran,” he said flatly.

“I escaped,” she countered. “But I’m sorry for hurting you.”

“You didn’t hurt me. You made me feel like an idiot.” He looked at her then, and there was no warmth in his eyes. “I won’t let that happen again. I’m not going to let you put me on this case and then disappear.”

A chill shimmered through her body. “What does that mean?”

He shucked off his jacket and tossed it on the bed nearest the door. “That means I’m going to stick with you for the duration, babe. Consider this an added bonus. You’ve just bought yourself a round-the-clock bodyguard.”

Chapter Four

“Are you trying to punish her or protect her?” William asked the next morning, his voice tinny with a bad cell connection and background noise.

Max leaned up against the wall outside the hotel room, partly to give Raine privacy while she showered and dressed, partly to give himself a moment of breathing air that held no hint of her scent, no warm sense of the false intimacy created by sleeping in the same room with her once again. “Would it make me a bad person if I said it was a little bit of both?”

William chuckled. “No. It’d make you an honest one.” Then his tone sobered. “Watch yourself, though, for both of our sakes. This is going to be a high-profile case-it’s going to play out in the media as much as in the FDA and the courts. If things go wrong and you’re on camera defending her…”

“I won’t be on camera,” Max said tightly. “And I won’t be defending her unless I have evidence worth defending. So far, I don’t.” Hell, he didn’t have much besides the reports of four dead women, a thin file of papers that said Thriller shouldn’t be lethal, and a house fire that was either attempted murder or attempted escape, depending on whether he believed Raine or the weak-seeming evidence.

“Just be careful, okay?”

Though Max knew William wasn’t just talking about the case anymore, he said, “Don’t worry. I’ve got it under control.”

But once he’d hung up, his optimism drained quickly. He had a bad feeling about the case. About Raine.

Was she in danger, or just dangerous?

The hotel-room door opened, framing her at the threshold. She was wearing the same clothes she’d been in when she’d knocked on his apartment door the previous day, but the expensive black pants were worn-looking, her camel-colored sweater was snagged and smeared with soot, her red wool jacket hung limply and the hat was long gone.

Without it, she looked less mysterious and more vulnerable, an impression that was only heightened by the dark smudges beneath her eyes, mute testimony to the awkward night they’d passed, together, yet not together at all.

She’d tossed and turned well past 3:00 a.m. He knew that for a fact because he’d been awake, restless in his own bed, listening to her breathe.

He gestured toward the elevators. “Are you ready to go?”

“Don’t I look ready to go?” she snapped, then pressed her unpainted lips together in a thin line. “Sorry. Not your fault. I just…” She shrugged beneath the sad-looking wool coat. “I’ve got one outfit and an SUV to my name. The FDA has taken over my office and some bastard burned down my house and put plane tickets in my car to make me look like the villain here. Worse, everyone believes it.”

By everyone, Max knew she meant him. But was it the truth or an act? Ever since she’d reappeared in his life, he’d been jarred by the differences between Raine today and the one he’d walled off in the back corner of his memory.

The Raine he’d remembered-when he’d thought of her at all-was soft and a little tragic, scared about being pregnant by her ex-husband, frightened of the clotting disorder that had landed her in the hospital, clingy when it came to her boss, who’d been one of the few constants in her life.

Back then, she’d reminded him of his nieces, Deena and Diana. The girls were only a few years younger than him, but in the way of complex multigenerational Czech families, he was technically their uncle rather than their cousin. He’d been responsible for nurturing them in the rough-ish Czech-dominated neighborhood north of Boston.

He’d protected the “Double Dees” growing up, just as he’d tried to protect a hurting, vulnerable Raine. But how could he protect this new Raine? Instead of cringing from the danger, she was stepping into it, chin out-thrust, ready to defend her territory.

Or was that the act? Was she really just biding her time, looking to cut and run as she had before?

Hell, he didn’t know.

All he knew was that part of him wanted to hold her close and tell her he’d protect her, that he’d never let anything happen to her. But another, smarter part of him knew that was a bad idea. She hadn’t come to him for personal reasons. It was business this time, more so than it had been before.

He’d do best to keep it that way. He should just pursue his investigation, get the name Vasek and Caine out in the marketplace as positively as he could and draw his paycheck.

Then walk away.

ONCE THEY LEFT THE HOTEL, Raine insisted they stop at the nearest mall, so she could buy a few changes of clothes and other necessities. The look Max shot her suggested he thought she was being frivolous and feminine, but he didn’t get it. She was the boss. Her people relied on her to maintain a certain image. And besides, she could hardly hold her own against the FDA investigators wearing yesterday’s smoke-smelling clothes.

“Give me ten minutes,” she said once he’d parked near the department store entrance.

He raised one thick eyebrow. “I’m coming in.”

“You don’t need to. I’m perfectly- Oh. Right.”

He was coming in to make sure she wasn’t in danger. To make sure she didn’t take off. Both. Neither. “Fine. I’ll make it quick.”

But she paused just inside the doors of the department store, overwhelmed by the number of little things she needed to live life as she knew it.

Makeup. Underwear. Nylons. Toiletries. Everything.

Think of it as a business trip, she told herself. Pretend the airline lost your luggage and you need enough to look professional for a few days.

She couldn’t think beyond the next few days. The future was too uncertain. Too dependent on things she couldn’t control.

Like Max Vasek.

Hyperaware of his stern, watchful presence, she quickly grabbed an armload of clothes that should come close to fitting. She dumped her under things and a casual outfit-jeans, a sweater and sturdy boots-on the counter and kept hold of a pair of trim black pants, a burgundy silk shell and a fitted black blazer. She snagged a few staples from the hair and makeup counter, then ducked into the ladies’ room, where she put herself together.

The clothes and makeup were a shield, a veneer of competence slapped over a shaky core. She forced her hands to stay steady when she applied a layer of gloss over her painted lips, and fought the tears back when they wanted to mist her vision.

She could do this. She could handle this.

She could handle him and the heat that touched her skin when she was near him. When she thought of him. She was going to have to handle it because she was on her own.

No leaning this time. She didn’t want to be that passive wimp anymore.

And she didn’t want a man who was attracted to victims.

Mask firmly in place, she emerged from the restroom and nodded to Max, who had leaned against a nearby support beam with feigned casualness. “I’m all set. You getting anything?”

He shook his head. “I have a bag packed-it’s in my truck. We’ll swing by your place, pick up my stuff, move the truck off the street, and maybe have a look around now that it’s daylight.”