Free Witness to Passion (Entangled Ignite) (Guarding Her Body) by Naima Simone Page A

he could argue, she backed up, thrusting a hand through her hair and tugging the thick spirals away from her face. “This may be difficult for you to imagine, but I’ve provided for myself these last two years. I haven’t depended on anyone, taken from anyone. I’m not a parasite.” She twisted her fingers in front of her, then as if realizing the telltale agitated gesture, dropped her hands and tilted her chin up. “How long? You didn’t answer before, but this could stretch out for months. How long are you supposed to put your life on hold for me? Maybe you can assign someone else to protect me? Or I can ask Dad to hire another security firm—”
    “Hell. No,” he gritted out. “No one takes over. I said I’m not leaving, and I meant it. And as far as how long? Until.”
    Again, she released a sigh, heavy with irritation. “You can’t just—”
    “Un. Til.” If she believed he would hand her off like a football, he needed to find out what The Grease Spot served in its coffee. Because she’d obviously been drinking too much of it. “Now, are you hungry?”
    A long pause. “Sure. Why not? I just need a moment…” She briefly squeezed her eyes shut. “Where’s your bathroom?”
    “Down the hall to your left. Second door on the left,” he instructed. She nodded and whirled around, but not fast enough to conceal the bright sheen in her eyes. The sight of that unexpected moisture grabbed him by the throat and shook. Everything in him demanded he follow her, comfort her, wipe away her tears. But he remained in place, rigid with a screaming tension that hummed in his veins.
    His phone vibrated against his hip. Still studying the corridor Fallon had disappeared down, he removed his cell from his pocket. This call had only been a matter of time. “Roarke.”
    “You bastard,” Detective Tristan Scott’s deep, furious voice rumbled in Shane’s ear.
    “Hello to you, too,” he said wryly.
    “I should have you arrested right goddamn now,” his friend snapped. “Obstruction of justice. Tampering with a witness. Being a lying, interfering son of a bitch.”
    “They have a charge for that?” Shane drawled.
    “Cute. Very cute.” Tristan paused, and Shane could picture his friend pinching the bridge of his nose, a gesture that telegraphed his struggle to wrestle his temper under control. “You sent me on a wild-goose chase this morning on purpose. You damn well knew Fallon wasn’t at her apartment. Then, while that particular gem was dawning on me, I receive a call that a car has been bombed in Allston. And the owner of the car—a witness in a major criminal case—is in the wind. From the statements of bystanders, she left with a tall, dark-haired man. You know what, Shane, I happen to be a detective, and it didn’t require Sherlock-level deductions to realize the ‘tall, dark-haired man’ who lied to me about her location so he could get to her first is probably the same ‘tall, dark-haired man’ who hauled her away from the scene before police could question her.”
    With one last scan of the empty hallway, Shane headed toward the kitchen. “Fallon has decided against entering witness protection and has agreed to let GDG protect her. It’s her decision.”
    “Because you convinced her,” Tristan barked.
    “Because the police leaked her name and allowed a killer to escape jail. Because two assholes showed up at her home with the intent of blowing her away. Because she was seconds away from being incinerated in the fireball that used to be her car,” Shane shot back, anger rising with every point. He jerked the refrigerator door open and glared into the sparse interior. The cool air puffing against his skin did nothing to chill the fire circulating inside his chest. “You’re damn right I didn’t leave her at the scene. I didn’t know if the person who’d FUBAR-ed her car was still there, waiting around to finish off what the bomb hadn’t accomplished. This is Fallon, Shane. Twice