Free Have You Seen Her? by Karen Rose Page B

the towing company in your purse. They said your car would be ready by tomorrow at noon. And don’t forget to call the Raleigh PD for their report for your insurance company.”
    Her expression went blank for just a moment and she blinked. “I’m sorry, my brain just crashed. What was the name of the officer again?”
    “You’re feeling the aftereffects of an adrenaline high,” Steven explained, reaching for a pen and one of his business cards. He scrawled the officer’s name on the back. “His name is Al Pullman and he’s with the Investigative Division.” Steven hesitated, then blurted, “My office number’s on the front. Call me if you need anything else.”
    She took the card, her lower lip clamped between her teeth. “Do you have another card?”
    Silently he gave her one and watched as she wrote on the back in neat block letters. She looked up, still biting her lower lip, and he felt the sizzle of lust head straight down along with the urge to bite her lip himself. But that was crazy. Primal and crazy. In a few minutes, he’d be gone, never to see her again.
    She held out the card. “I’m not making a ...a... pass at you, Mr. Thatcher,” she said softly. “Truly. I just wanted you to know I care very much about Brad. If you need to talk, here’s my home number and my e-mail address.” She gave a little shrug. “He’s important to me, too.”
    He slipped the card into his pocket. “Thank you.”
    “I guess I’ll get out of your hair now. Thanks for everything.” She got out and waved.
    He watched her limp up the sidewalk. The apartment unit had a floor-to-ceiling window, three stories high, and through it he could see the flights of stairs winding to the top. That meant there was probably no elevator. And she’d written Apartment 3-D on the back of his business card. Third floor. He continued to watch as she limped inside and climbed to the first landing, one plodding step at a time. Then stopped to rest. And slip off her ridiculous shoes.
    Steven sighed. He was the cause of her injury, even though her shoes were ridiculous. Sitting here while she navigated the stairs alone went against everything his mother had ever taught him. Open doors, hold umbrellas, pull out chairs and assist those you’ve maimed. Well, Mom had never said the last one, but she would have, had the occasion come up. Helping would be the gentlemanly thing to do. Helping would also give him one last opportunity to feel her brush against him and to smell the soft fragrance that made him wonder if it was any stronger on her bare skin. He drew a deep breath.
Bare skin.
That particular picture was one he should put out of his mind that minute. But once there, the picture stubbornly refused to budge. It was a very nice picture.
    If he was perfectly honest, he wanted to see her to her door, whatever his motivation.
So do it, putz,
he told himself. He didn’t need to tell himself twice. He was out of his car and at her side by the time she was halfway up the next flight of stairs.
    She made a face at his appearance. “Now I’m really going to feel guilty at keeping you from your kids. I’m fine. Go home, Mr. Thatcher.”
    He took her shoes in his right hand and offered his left arm. “Steven,” he said before he realized the correction was coming out of his mouth. Once said, the wall of formality couldn’t be rebuilt. Even if he’d wanted to. Which, given the picture still flashing in his mind, he didn’t want to.
    She took his arm, embarrassed gratitude in her expression. “Jenna. And thanks. You really don’t have to.” She hopped up a step, leaning on his arm. “But thanks just the same.”
    By the time they reached her apartment she was flushed and heated and he more so, and very glad he was wearing his suit jacket. It was a good thing he was never seeing her again. His heart couldn’t take it.
    “Thank you, once again.” She smiled and extended her hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Steven. Thank you for