Kincaid’s Dangerous Game

When he heard a gruff, “It’s me-Billie,” his heartbeat settled down to a hard, heavy rhythm he could feel in the bottom of his belly.

He opened the door and she pushed past him without a word, her momentum carrying her into the middle of the room, where she paused and looked around her as if she wasn’t quite sure where she was or how she’d come to be there. Naturally, she was still wearing the shades.

He closed the door and walked around her, touching her elbow as he turned to face her. She flinched away from him like a contrary child.

“Brenna Fallon?” he asked softly.

The dark lenses regarded him steadily, revealing nothing but twin images of himself. Below them her face showed no signs of emotional turmoil, only a kind of poignant defiance. “Used to be,” she said in a voice full of gravel. “A long time ago. I’m Billie now. Billie Farrell.”

“Okay,” he murmured, nodding cautiously.

She spoke rapidly, vehemently, arms folded across her chest. “You got that? I’m not that person you’re looking for. I wasn’t lying.” She sucked in air, and he wondered if her heart was beating as fast as his was. “I’m not that person anymore.”

Again he nodded. Seconds ticked by, counted in those thunderous heartbeats, while he gazed at her and she stared back at him. Then he lifted his hands and gently took the sunglasses off of her face.

Her eyes blazed at him, molten gold like the just-risen sun.

His breath caught, and he felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach. He’d known it-known she was Brenna- from almost the first moment he’d laid eyes on her. Of course he had. But maybe he hadn’t known it in his gut. Until now.

“You have your mother’s eyes,” he heard himself say in a thickened mumble he didn’t recognize.

More seconds passed-he didn’t know how many. Then without warning she reached up, caught his shirt collar in her fisted hands and pulled his head down and kissed him. Kissed him hard, with hunger and desperation and who-knows-what other emotions. And, at least for a while, gained his shocked and instinctive cooperation.

Might as well face it. He was never going to be able to predict Billie Farrell’s next move-or Brenna Fallon’s, either.

She hadn’t known she was going to kiss him-hadn’t even known she wanted to. Kissing anyone was the farthest thing from her mind. For the first couple of seconds it seemed like the wildest, stupidest, most dangerous thing she’d ever done-and given her history, that was saying a lot. Adrenaline surged through her, prickling her skin and sending her heart rate rocketing off the charts.

Then…she felt him. Felt his mouth, silky soft on the surface, firm underneath…the warm, shocked puff of his breath, the solid bulk of his shoulders beneath her balled-up fists. And his response-she hadn’t expected that.

She felt a moment of panic…thought, I should stop this! And discovered she didn’t want to-for a number of different reasons. To keep from having to think about the bombshell that had just been dropped on her. But mostly…because it just felt so damn good.

Such a hard-looking man, and yet…Who would’ve thought he would feel so good?

She would have liked to go on kissing him a considerable while longer, but obviously he didn’t share her desire. She became aware of his hands on her waist, felt them linger there a moment…then move with purpose to her shoulders. The pressure on her shoulders was gentle persuasion, at first, and his mouth still clung to hers in a way more wistful than hungry. Knowing what was coming, she made a soft, whimpering sound of protest, but his hands had already moved on to her arms, slipped along them until he could grasp her wrists. Before he could humiliate her completely by pulling her hands free of his collar, she gave up her grip and jerked away from him, furious and shaken. She would have fled, then, but he’d probably anticipated that, because he didn’t let go of her wrists. And for a few seconds they looked at each other across their locked hands, both breathing hard.

Holt’s eyes narrowed, and he said thickly, “You want to tell me what that was about?”

She lifted her chin and lowered her lashes, and injected her voice with a seductive bravado she was far from feeling. “Don’t tell me you hadn’t thought about it.”

He gave her a sideways, wary look. “Uh…actually, no, I hadn’t.”

“Liar.” But he went on looking at her, saying nothing. She felt cold and queasy. She knew her smile was congealing fast, and it was only pride that enabled her to produce a nice little pout and accompanying puff of laughter to go with it. “Okay, I think my feelings are hurt.”

“They shouldn’t be,” he said dryly, “believe me. It’s just against my principles to hit on my clients’ relatives-or a woman who’s emotionally vulnerable, for that matter.” He gave a sharp little laugh and gallantly added, “But you sure don’t make it easy.”

She bit her lower lip as she smiled up at him and turned her wrists experimentally in his grasp. “You didn’t hit on me, I hit on you. And who says I’m ‘emotionally vulnerable’?”

He made a sound that was more snort than laugh and let go of her wrists abruptly, as if he’d just realized he was still holding them.

And it was only when he was no longer touching her, when she couldn’t feel the warmth of his body and the strength of his hands, that Billie realized how much she’d been depending on those things-on him-for support. Now, without it, she felt herself trembling inside and didn’t know how to stop. To her horror, she realized that what she wanted more than anything at that moment was for Holt to put his arms around her and hold her tight. She wanted to press her face against his chest and gather his shirt in her fists and breathe in the comforting scent of him.

Instead, she folded her arms across her chilled body, supplying herself with the hug she needed, and turned her back to him, preempting the rejection she knew was coming.

Oh no…where are my glasses? I feel so naked…

She would die before she’d ask Holt Kincaid to give them back to her, but…

You better do something about those eyes, Miley always told me, back when he first started teaching me to play poker. You’re never gonna be a successful card player unless you cover those eyes. Every thought in your head is right there in your eyes.

“So it was just some kind of weird emotional reaction,” she said stiffly, without turning. “I’m over it, okay?”

“Billie-Bren-”

She made a sharp gesture, cutting him off. “Look, I just came to tell you so you can go tell your client-Cory… whatever-that you found me. Okay? So it’s over-case closed. Now you just go away. Leave me alone.”

“Just like that?” His voice was soft now, and came from close behind her. A shiver ran down her back for no good reason. “Don’t you want to meet them? They’re your family, Brenna.”

“I told you-it’s Billie. That’s who I am now. You got that?” She flung that at him over one shoulder as she moved away from him. “Family? Look, if you met my sister Brooke, you have to know about me and family. There’s no way in hell I’m ever going back there. You can-”

“He’s dead, Billie.”

“What?” A small gasp followed the word, as if the spoken response had been automatic, and the shock a delayed reaction that came after.

Holt said it again, gently. “Your brother. He’s dead.”

When she slowly turned toward him, he watched her face, vulnerable and naked as a child’s. Saw bewilderment, first, then something feral and raw he couldn’t put a name to.

“How?” She whispered it, suspicious and wary. “When?”

“He was killed in a car crash a couple of years ago. Your parents, too. I’m sorry…”

But she had her defenses back in place now, and she hitched one shoulder only slightly as she turned away. “Hey-I’m sorry about my parents,” she said gruffly. Then she went utterly still, and her voice seemed to come from somewhere else entirely-disembodied and devoid of emotion. “As for my brother…if there’s a God, and any justice at all, he’s in hell, right where he belongs.”

“Don’t you want to know about your sister?” Standing behind her, he watched her raise one hand to her face and wondered if she was wiping away tears, or perhaps feeling for the sunglasses that weren’t there. “Brooke’s had-”