Free Skin Deep by T. G. Ayer

enough. I couldn't be rid of him fast enough. "You really should be leaving the office earlier, when it's safer. The city is far more dangerous than you may realize."
    He held out a card and I reached out for it. At the same moment, Westin moved forward as if he knew I’d have to reach to grasp it. I expected the sharp stab of pain in my shoulder as I stretched, testing muscles that preferred to be left alone. I didn't expect the sudden blaze of heat sparked by the meeting of our fingers. Warmth pulsed from the point of contact all the way up my arm to my chest, constricting my lungs so I couldn't breathe and speeding up a heartbeat already hammering double time with nerves. I grabbed my hand back, glancing up and hoping I covered my defensiveness.
    Our eyes met and I knew from his expression he felt something similar. He looked startled and a bit disturbed. As if whatever he felt made him uncomfortable. My pulse raced, this time with anger. He obviously wasn't too thrilled. I sat back down, deciding on silence rather than blurting out my thoughts. Westin cleared his throat and gave his head the tiniest shake, as if he was trying to dislodge the woolly threads of slumber.
    "Are you willing to sign a statement? Even if you haven't seen anything. It's part of the investigation." He frowned as he spoke. Clearly, his mind was elsewhere and the words he spoke formed automatically.
    "Sure." Model citizen.
    "And we'd need your supervisor's details to corroborate your employment." I fished around in Clancy's drawer and passed Westin a business card. This time, we both took care to ensure we avoided contact.
    I leaned against the backrest of my chair and crossed my legs to wait while he studied it. I flicked my foot back and forth, as he spoke.
    "Are you sure you haven't been in the garden this evening?" My forehead creased. He stared pointedly at my booted feet. "You've got soil stuck in your soles."
    "Yeah, I've been in the garden. I'm there every now and then. I have a little patch of flowers I take care of. Or try to." I nodded at the vase of Delphiniums sitting precariously on the edge of the overflowing desk, slightly wilted but still a glorious deep blue.
    Again, I’d stymied him, but he seemed satisfied with my answers so far. I could tell something still bugged him though. Throughout our conversation, he kept looking at my hair.
    Glorious ebony tresses was the way Grandma Ivy described it. Said it reminded her of my mother. I always found it strange my father's mother didn't hate her daughter-in-law for abandoning her family. She had the most annoying habit of stroking my head as if I were the cat, thought I never dared to demand she stop. When it came to Grandma Ivy, submitting was the easiest option.
    "Do you use the back entrance often?" There went my heart again, faster than a freight train.
    "Of course, Detective. It's the route I take to tend my flowers. I'm not lazy, but I certainly won't walk all the way around the building to get the garden. I use the back door all the time. During the day, of course. The light outside hasn’t worked for ages. I've complained but the super never does anything about it."
    "Probably why we found strands of hair the exact shade of yours on the step outside the back door."
    I nodded, the offending dark strands stirring back and forth. The plait had held, but barely, and dozens of tendrils had escaped during my evening’s activities.
    "We've bothered you enough." He hesitated. "Thank you for your help." He retreated from the room after holding the door open for Agent Carnarvon, then shut the door behind him. The tap-tap of their footsteps receded down the hall.
    I stretched my arm, stiffened from controlling the shivers of pain, which ran through my shoulder. Relief flooded me while adrenalin ebbed from my limbs. That damned spot of blood had almost given me a stroke. Not to mention my body's traitorous reaction to his touch.
    Disgusted with myself, I shut the computer down and