“No,” he said. “Would I have loved to have superhero skills like her, being able to take out a bad guy with ease? Sure. But was I also so damned thankful she was there? Yes.”
“I’m right here,” I muttered, reaching for the fork that was laid out on the plate and scooping a huge bite into my mouth.
“I know,” Talbot said, tugging lightly at a strand of my damp hair.
Which, by the way, felt like absolute silk after those miracle products.
“I hate that she got hurt,” he continued, not releasing the strand, making me shiver as he rolled it between thumb and forefinger. “That’s what I’m upset about. Not that she had the skill to protect herself, and luckily for my sorry ass, me as well.”
“Well—” Maggie began.
“Did they find out who the perpetrator was?” was my desperate attempt to get the conversational topic off me.
I couldn’t lie and say it didn’t feel good, the nice things they were saying.
It was just . . . too much.
Plus, the painkillers were starting to wear off.
Silence.
Then Maggie nodded. “Not yet,” she whispered. “It’s still touch and go. He survived the surgery, but when the police searched his belongings and the immediate area, they didn’t find any identification.” A beat. “I don’t think it’ll be long, though. The pictures are everywhere. Someone will ID him soon enough.”
I froze with the fork an inch from my mouth. “Define everywhere.”
Talbot nudged my plate closer. “Eat your omelet first.”
I glanced up at him. “And where’s yours?”
A smile, a nod toward the stove. “There.”
“And don’t you have to do your fancy wrist-flick thing to turn it?”
“Probably,” he said. But didn’t move.
Sighing, I scooped up my abandoned bite, shoved it into my mouth, and only then did he release my hair, push away from the counter, and head back to the cooktop. He did the wrist-flick, and I watched him as he put the omelet on his own plate.
“Are you okay?” Maggie asked quietly. “Like really, actually, okay?”
I tore my gaze from his back, from the hard lines I’d had my hands all over not long before. I faced my friend. “I’m really okay,” I whispered. “I promise.”
She patted my forearm. “This is going to be rough,” she said, voice still quiet, gentleness having invaded, as well. “They are going to be relentless, going to be desperate to find out every last thing about you and your family.” A beat. “If you haven’t called Mark, you should.”
“My brother doesn’t want to hear from me,” I said. “I can promise you that much.”
Another pat, sympathetic this time. “I still think you should call him. You can give him my contact information, just so he has a lifeline in case anything gets really bad on his front.”
She was being logical.
I didn’t want that logic. I’d been burned by my brother more than a few times over the last years, striving for a connection, even moving to Salt Lake to be closer to him and his family. I’d switched departments, leaving the PD in Chicago for just that reason—well, for that reason and also the windchill—but I’d only been in town for three months before he’d up and moved his family to Seattle.
Leaving me to fend for myself.
Again.
Sigh.
“I’ll call him,” I said. “Except—”
“What?”
“My purse and suitcase were in the car, both of which I’m assuming are evidence now.”
Talbot dragged a stool closer, sitting right next to me, making it very difficult for me to focus on anything except for the fact that he was so near, and I wanted to spend more quality time with his body.
Mags’ gaze flicked over my shoulder then she rolled her eyes and ate another bite of her food.
“The car is in my garage,” he said. “Your purse and suitcase are by the front door.”
I glanced down at my body, positively swimming in his T-shirt and sweatpants. “Then why am I wearing your clothes?”
An unrepentant grin. “Because I wanted you to.”
My mouth fell open.
Then Maggie chuckled, and I glared at her then twisted to glare at Talbot for good measure. “Neither of you are funny.”
Hot breath in my ear. “Good thing I wasn’t trying to be.”
I shivered, found myself leaning closer. I really shouldn’t be. But the man was like freaking catnip. “Good thing . . .” Gah. I lost whatever retort I’d had prepared when his front met my back and he snagged my fork, picking up another bite and lifting it to my mouth.
“Eat,” he murmured.
“I—”
He slid the tines in between my lips, and I swear to God, if the man wasn’t so sexy, if the omelet with all of its works weren’t so freaking delicious, I would have snatched that fork back and put it through his right eyeball.
Very specific? Yes.
Very truthful? No.
Also, if I were being realistic, my retort probably wouldn’t have been a good one anyway.
He scooped up another bite and plunked it into my mouth when I started to form another protest. Not that my protest would have mattered. I was starting to see that this man was very much a force to be reckoned with. I needed to get my shit together and find a way to hold my own, even with all of his yumminess pressed to all of my . . . none-i-ness?
Fuck, Conners, that was bad.
So bad, in fact, that I found myself snorting at my inner monologue, drawing the focus of both Maggie and Talbot. Maggie, I could see, her brown eyes sparkling with interest as they studied me—or rather me and Talbot pressed to my back. Talbot, on the other hand, I couldn’t see, not with him still at my back, but I knew he was looking at me, just knew it.
How? Someone might ask.
Idiocy and instinct, I might reply.
Another snort escaped me, more focus settling my way, but I didn’t acknowledge either of them, just plunked the fork out of Tal’s hand, started eating in earnest, and then used the remainder of
