Hidden by Tara Taylor Quinn Page A

pushed things a little too far and there was retaliation. A little girl died. His little girl. He’s still, hands down, the best investigator around. He’s also a drunk. Can’t keep it together long enough to solve a case. But I know that one of the most sought-after divorce P.I.s on the island uses him pretty regularly for fact-finding.”
    â€œOkay, let’s call him.”

8
    T here were no Tricia Campbells listed in Reno. Scott wasn’t surprised. He hadn’t expected the answers to come easy. Turning off the computer in his bedroom Thursday night, he grabbed a book he’d been reading about the history of Ireland, traded jeans for a pair of light-cotton pajama pants then propped himself up in bed and tried to read, waiting for Tricia to finish her shower.
    With her hair being so long, she liked to wash it at night so it had time to dry naturally. Scott generally liked to help her. Tonight he was tired.
    And determined not to lose the distance they’d set up between them at the very beginning. It had occurred to him during the past couple of long, slow days at the station, with no one but bored guys for company, that perhaps he was beginning to care about her too much.
    â€œI’ve never seen those before,” she said. She was standing, naked, in the doorway between the bedroom and attached bath, a towel wrapped around her head.
    She’d missed a drop of water on the top curve of her left breast. And another just below the groin.
    Scott’s blood ran down to his dick.
    â€œMy mother bought them for Christmas a couple of years ago.” But that didn’t explain why he was wearing them to bed. He’d been sleeping nude since he’d graduated from college.
    Her blue eyes narrowed slightly as she stared at him for a few seconds and then, nodding, she turned away, reaching for the short violet cotton gown she had hanging on the back of the bathroom door. Still holding the book, not quite ready to give up on the idea of reading it, he watched as she brushed her teeth, combed her hair, put lotion on her legs.
    She always did that, or let him do it, after she shaved. Which meant those long, slim, softly muscled feminine legs would be smooth as silk tonight. His first night home in four days.
    Then, switching off the bathroom light, she padded barefoot to her side of the bed. Though she didn’t normally wear any more than the brief gown to bed, he’d half expected her to stop at her dresser for a pair of panties. She didn’t.
    And that sure didn’t help his surging blood. Still, the tension he’d felt in his back and neck all day dissipated just a bit.
    Maybe sex was all he needed.
    â€œYou’ve seemed kind of remote today.” He was careful to keep his tone neutral. There was no room between them for accusations.
    â€œI’m sorry.” She slid under the covers, her leg brushing up against his through the sheet and comforter separating them. “I’m just caught up in ideas for Patsy. I really want to get this right for her.”
    She’d talked of little else that day, though he could have sworn she’d used the project as a shield. Maybe she was feeling nervous about their closeness as well.
    Could be he’d made a colossal mistake telling her about his past—his other identity. He’d let her know him a little too well for his own comfort, and apparently for hers. As nearly as he could figure—and he’d spent far too much time figuring—that morning the previous week when he’d confessed all seemed to be when things had started to change between them.
    Only the small lamp on his side of the bed was still lit. He should turn it off, slip underneath the covers with her. Reach for her. A little forgetfulness…
    Her toes moved up and down his calf, touching him through the covers still between them.
    â€œWho’s Taylor’s father?” His stomach dropped when he heard his own question