Get a Clue

here.

'I, um…' She hugged herself, hopefully hiding the bulge of the gloves beneath her shirt. 'This is really a very funny story.'

He leaned back against the doorway, blocking her way out, waiting for her to go on.

Oh boy. He had that scary face on, the one that assured her much of the ghetto still lived within him. 'I heard a noise down here, and I thought it was Shelly-'

At that, he smiled all the way to his eyes. 'You just missed her. She's back upstairs.'

Oh, my God, was it possible he hadn't seen her coming out from beneath his bed? 'Oh. Okay, well, then I'll just-'

Go tell Cooper you had bloody gloves beneath your bed.

'Sorry,' he said, still smiling. 'I'm just realizing something.'

'What's that?' she asked bravely. Please don't say you're wanting to kill me, too. Please-

'-I'm in love with her.' He sighed and shook his head, rubbing the spot over his heart. 'Imagine that.'

Yeah, imagine that. 'Well, that's… sweet. But I've got to-' She gestured to the doorway and, miracle of all miracles, he didn't kill her, but moved aside for her.

With a last smile that was shaky to the core, Breanne scooted past him. It took every ounce of control she had not to tun, run like hell, but she controlled herself until she was out of sight. Then she couldn't hold back any longer and she burst into a full gait, looking back over her shoulder-

Only to plow directly into someone.

Before she could open her lips to scream, a hand settled over her mouth and she was yanked into a dark room and held against a hard, warm body.

Chapter 25

The right lover is like a good bra: supportive, close to the heart, and damned hard to find.

– Breanne Mooreland's Journal Entry

Cooper held a struggling Breanne against him. 'Hey. Hey, it's me,' he said in her ear as she fought him like a wildcat. 'Breanne, it's me.'

'Oh, my God.' Snaking her arms around his neck, she burrowed in close, as if she wanted to climb inside him.

He stroked his hands up and down her back, trying to soothe her. 'What happened?'

When she didn't answer, he reached into his back pocket and grabbed the flashlight, running it over her to make sure she wasn't hurt.

'I'm okay.' But she gulped in air like water, clearly making an effort to get hold of herself. Pale, still shaking, she looked around them, saw they were in the workout room, and said, 'I'm really tired of this house.'

He had a feeling that was a huge understatement.

'I want noise,' she said. 'Airplanes. People yelling. I want a traffic jam on the bridge, anything but this quiet mountain you know? Anything but more spiders and bloody gloves, and-'

'Bloody gloves?' Cupping her face, shocked at how icy cold she was, he looked into her still-glossy eyes. 'What bloody gloves?'

'These.' She reached under her shirt and pulled out a pair of cotton garden gloves, light blue with white trim, and stained with what could have been blood.

She shivered wildly and thrust them at him. 'I can't believe I had those against my skin. God. I need a shower.' She pulled her shirt away from her chest. 'Now.'

Gingerly holding the gloves by just his thumb and forefinger so as not to further contaminate them, he snagged her arm when she moved to the door. 'Where did you get these?'

'I heard a noise that I thought came from the cellar, but you guys were all outside, so I-'

'Damn it, Breanne. Don't tell me you went to investigate.'

'I, um…' She winced. 'Took a knife with me.'

He groaned.

'But I left it under Dante's bed because-'

'Dante's bed?'

'Yeah, I was stuck there while he and Shelly were bouncing it so hard I thought I was going to be squished like a pancake, and-'

'Whoa. Wait.' He shook his head. 'Start at the beginning.'

'I can't.' She was pulling at her sweater. 'I need to scrub first.' Shoving free, she ran out of the workout room and into the hallway, moving with remarkable speed through the house, up the stairs, as if she wanted to lose him.

Not going to happen.

At the honeymoon suite, she stepped inside, then tried to close the door behind her, nearly catching his nose in it.

'Maybe I wasn't clear,' she said, her breath hitching. 'I'm showering. By myself.'

She hadn't gotten her color back, nor her breath. Her eyes sheened with emotion and much more. If he wasn't mistaken, she was an inch from losing it completely. 'Thought you might like some company,' he said.

'In the shower? Gee, what a shock.'

'Breanne.'

'So you don't want to see me wet and naked?'

'Well, yes, but that's because you look great wet and naked Right now, however, I just want to make sure you're okay.'

She hadn't taken her gaze off the evidence in his hands so he shut the suite doors, hit the lock, then very carefully set down the gloves.

She stared at them and then shivered again.

'Go shower,' he said gently. 'I'll wait in here.'

She nodded, then covered her mouth with a hand. 'I think I'm going to throw up. I really, really don't want you to see me do that.'

'You're not going to be sick.' But just in case, he slid an arm around her waist and nudged her toward the bathroom. There, he leaned her against the counter. 'Keep breathing.'

'I'm trying.'

'Good.' He opened the shower, flicking on the hot water; when he turned back to her, she was still concentrating on breathing. 'Okay?' he asked.

'I'm peachy. Really. Just peachy.'

Steam was rising from the shower, fogging the mirror and glass. 'Come on, get in.'

Nodding, Her hands went to her sweater. She pulled on the tassel, let the material slip off her shoulders. She unzipped her jeans and shimmied out of them, doing a little dance on first one foot, then the other as she stripped down to her birthday suit.

A personal favorite of his, but he didn't say a word, just opened the shower for her.

She stepped to the door. One of her breasts brushed the sleeve of his shirt, the nipple puckering into a hard knot. 'Get