Page 19 of Wild Card

She eases her hand under the collar of my shirt. I close my eyes, enjoying the softness of her hand gently massaging. The ache eases with each rotation.

“You’ve got a way with your hands. Can’t say Koch ever did this.”

“Different techniques.”

“I can get used to this.”

There’s a beat of silence before she speaks low. “It was the vodka. I was drinking peach-infused vodka.”

“Drink of choice?”

“On occasion. Not many bars carry it. I was surprised Tom’s had it.”

“Why? Because it’s a blue bar?”

“Didn’t know it was a blue bar before we went in. My friend Bex picked the place.”

“The pretty blonde?”

Her pressure increases on my joint. “That’s her. She’s single.”

“Any reason you’re letting me know that?”

“You obviously noticed she’s pretty. Most men would want to know she’s single.”

“I’m not most men. Plus, I’m partial to brunettes.”

“Does that line work?”

“Go out with me tonight and I’ll tell you.”

“You’re a natural flirt.”

“All part of my charm.”

“Your charm is wasted here.”

“Because you don’t date cops?”

“Something like that.”

“Maybe I can change your mind.”

“Doubtful. And now you’re my patient. Your efforts are useless.”

“Oh, firefly, you have issued a challenge.”

She veers off the area and freezes when her fingers come into contact with the scarred skin covering my pec.

My body tenses and she yanks her hand out of my shirt. Her coloring has paled and eyes clouded over.

“How did you say you injured yourself?”

“Occupational mishap.”

“Mishap?” The question is loaded with skepticism.

The night in the bar flashes in my mind. The way she closed down and bolted when she discovered I was a cop. There’s something behind that look that settles uneasily in my gut. It’s more than apprehension; it’s fear.

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