Free Breathless Descent by Lisa Renée Jones Page A

lots of trees and hills surrounding it. “I don’t see a car, unless it’s in the garage, but it looks like there are lights on in the house.”
    “Didn’t you say this guy is a schoolteacher?” Caleb asked, as he pulled into the driveway. “Because teachers don’t make this kind of dime.”
    “He’s written some textbooks,” she said. “Maybe that pays well. We’ve never really talked about his financial position.” Which, now that she thought about it, he seemed to steer away from in their sessions.
    “I doubt that,” Caleb said, and eyed the house. “Let’s go see good ol’ George.”
    He reached for the truck door, and Shay grabbed his arm. “No. I should go alone. I don’t want him to feel I’ve betrayed his trust by letting someone else know that he’s a patient.”
    “He’ll see me in the truck,” he said.
    “And I’ll tell him you are a friend who knows nothing,” she said. “But if you hear me talk with him, that won’t play true. Seriously, Caleb. Talking about a case without a name is much different ethically than putting a face to the case. I need to do this alone.”
    His jaw clenched visibly despite the darkness of the cab. “Don’t go inside.”
    “All right,” she said and reached for her door.
    Caleb shackled her arm. “I mean it, Shay. Don’t go in or I’ll come in after you. You never know what someone is capable of, especially someone already unstable.”
    Shay should have been irritated, but she wasn’t. He’d done a lot for her tonight, and she liked feeling cared about. Still, she had to give him a hard time. “Are all soldiers this paranoid or is this a special quality you’ve honed all on your own?”
    “I’m cautious,” he said. “But that’s not why I’m stopping you now.” He motioned to the window.
    Shay frowned and followed his direction, gaping at what she saw. In the upstairs window, a couple had appeared, or rather the silhouette of a naked couple.
    “He stood me up to have sex,” she gasped.
    “Looks like,” Caleb responded. “In the man’s defense, though, you did say he’s been reclusive for the three years since his wife died. If this woman showed up and made him an offer while he was in that kind of deprived state, he was probably pretty powerless to say no.”
    “Hold on a minute. ‘I need to make a phone call’ sounds pretty simple to me,” she said smartly.
    He laughed and started the engine. “I say Mexican food and margaritas are in order.”
    Shay sighed and said, “Yes. Please.” She was beyond denying herself time with Caleb. She enjoyed him. She wanted to hear about the last ten years. And they needed to talk. In public, if not on the phone. In public being the operative phrase here. That meant she could maintain her “hands off for the night” decision, no matter how hot it might get between her and Caleb. It was a safe plan—she was sure of it.



8
    A N HOUR LATER, AFTER George’s scandalous window show, Shay sat in a booth across from Caleb in the far dark corner of a hole-in-the-wall Mexican-food joint. A bit off the beaten path, Jose’s had less traffic than the busy restaurant scene of Austin on a Saturday night. And darn, was it underrated—both in atmosphere and quality.
    Shay ran her hand over her midsection as the waiter took her plate. Her stomach was officially full and happy, and it cared not a bit about the old, scuffed hardwood or the red, weathered booth with a rip here and there. But then, Caleb was enough visual for Shay. The urge to reach over and caress the light stubble dusting his jaw had all but won out at least three times. Four. Right now was four.
    She curled her fingers in her lap and quickly distracted herself with another memory—one of many they’d shared over dinner. “Remember the fake ID debacle?”
    He paused, beer near his lips. “You mean when Kent tried to sneak into the horse races with an ID that said he was twenty-five, when he was sixteen with peach fuzz?” He