Page 34 of Chilled

She stood still for a moment longer before her shoulders relaxed. “Good.”

He walked back to the computer and stared down at the screen. “Were there any other names on the list you recognized?”

“I don’t know. Let me look again.” She had to pass in front of him to get to the laptop. The dark circles beneath her eyes caught his attention.

“Wait.” He put his hand out and caught her arm. “You look ready to drop. You can have the shower first. We’ll pick up on the rest of this after we get a few hours sleep.”

“Are you sure?” She looked up into his eyes. “If something happens to someone tonight, I won’t be able to live with myself.”

“You’ll fall flat on your face if you don’t get some rest. We won’t catch a killer if you’re in a hospital from exhaustion.”

Her gaze drifted past him to the screen. “I’ll agree to a shower, but then I’m going over the rest of the list before I sleep.”

He frowned but nodded. She was dedicated, and she had the right to be. This was her hometown. Her family lived here. “I’m going to the vending machine for a soda. You want one?”

“Bottled water for me.” She yawned and covered her mouth, her eyes widening. “Guess I’m sleepier than I thought.”

“Go on. I’ll only be gone a minute.”

Brenna was halfway to her room when Nick left the suite. What he needed was another jog around the city to work off the events of the past two days and to drown the memories of his lousy marriage in the run-off from melting snow. But if he left Brenna for more than five minutes he’d be on edge wondering if the killer would make his move.

No, he couldn’t escape his memories any more than he could walk away from one hardheaded, yet vulnerable criminal investigator.

On the walk down the hall, he made note of all the stairwells and exits. He had to keep his mind clear and alert for danger. Brenna’s life might depend on it.

Armed with a soda and a bottle of water, he returned to the room to hear the shower running in the shared bathroom. He kicked off his damp tennis shoes and pulled off the soaked socks he’d been wearing for the past four hours. With a longing glance at the bathroom, he sank into the chair in front of the laptop and clicked on Victor Greeley.

The file contained basic information—name, age, marital status and the reason for visit—marriage counseling.

Surprise, surprise.

Nick clicked on the last set of notes for a session only a month prior and read,G.G. expressed suspicion of husband’s infidelity. V.G. denied. Body language indicates otherwise. V.G demonstrated open hostility at accusation.

“So, he’s still up to no good,” Nick muttered.

“What’s that?” Brenna’s voice behind him made Nick jump.

“Greeley and his wife were in marriage counseling with Dr. Drummond.”

Brenna snorted and bent at the waist to unwrap the towel from her hair. “Like that was going to help. The man doesn’t understand the meaning of fidelity.” When she straightened, her hair fell in wet lengths around her shoulders, dampening the gray tank top she wore with a pair of navy-blue flannel pajama bottoms.

Without makeup and her hair a mess of tangles, she was still a beautiful woman. “I can see why Greeley would find you attractive. I just can’t understand what you saw in him.”

Hugging herself around the middle, Brenna rocked back on bare feet. “As he would put it, I have ‘issues’ of my own.”

What kind of issues could she have? Then he remembered her story. “Do your issues have to do with the fire?”

Her lips pursed and she nodded, her gaze finally connecting with his.

“How long were you in the hospital?” he asked.

“A month.”

“And the burns?”

Brenna tossed her towel over a chair and answered in what sounded like a conversational tone, “Third degree over thirty-percent of my body.”

“Greeley was referring to your burn scars, wasn’t he?” Nick’s hands bunched into fists. “Bastard.”

---